Chapter Twenty Six
The laird of the MacLeod had, indeed, brought home an army.
Fiona gazed out across the great hall in wonder. MacDonnell warriors filled the trencher tables, sitting among the Làidir MacLeod and the MacLeod warriors from the Isles of Harris and Raasay. Smiling, she waved to her kinsmen. The evening would be perfect if only her father was present, but Gordon MacDonnell had stayed behind at Castle Creagan to safeguard his fortress against attack. Still, he had ridden out to meet Jamie with nearly two hundred warriors to aid their cause.
“I wish my father could be here to see this,” she said to Jamie.
“He had a glimpse of our clans together when our men gathered at Loch Ewe. I’m sure he won’t mind me telling ye that he shed a tear or two at the sight.”
Fiona’s gaze darted across the room, following a pack of wee ones racing after Broden with wooden swords raised high. The tall, handsome warrior laughed as he jumped up on one of the tables, then skirted platters of roasted meat and good-natured diners to reach the other side. But the children were already waiting for him. He raised his hands in surrender, and the wee ones squealed with delight.
Everywhere Fiona turned, people were laughing and toasting the day that had begun with tragedy but ended in gratitude. At one table near the front of the hall, she spied Esme and Abby. They both looked radiant with their hair unbound, skimming their waists in flaxen waves. Clearly, Fiona was not the only one who appreciated her maids’ beauty. Sebastian had his arm wrapped possessively around Esme’s waist while Thomas straddled the bench at Abby’s side and held her close. He wore a soft expression as he grazed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. Fiona smiled when her maid blushed in response.
“Love seems to be blossoming,” Fiona told Jamie.
His gaze followed hers. “Aye, in fact, both Sebastian and Thomas made mention of their growing affection for yer maids on our journey to Loch Ewe.”
Fiona smiled. “I am glad. They both seem like fine men.”
Jamie nodded. “Thomas has proven himself a natural warrior. He works hard and is eager to please his captains. Sebastian has a keen mind. He will be a captain one day, but his true passion is for the land. If he had his way, he would trade his sword for the plow.”
She raised her cup to Jamie. “To lives saved and love found.”
He joined her, lifting his tankard of ale. “There could be no finer reasons to celebrate.” Then he motioned to the room. “Never did I dream this could be possible.”
She laughed. “And to think, the same bustling merriment fills our courtyard and the land beyond the outer wall.”
Jamie smiled. “I told ye I would bring home an army.”
She leaned close. “More than anything, ‘tis yer homecoming that fills my heart with joy.”
He shifted in his seat, turning to face her. “Thank ye for the selfless way ye aided my people today.”
“They are my people now, too,” she said softly.
He cupped her cheek. “Our people.” His eyes glinted with hope. “We will have our peace, Fiona. This I do not doubt.” He leaned closer, his face earnest. “Our children will know peace.”
Fiona’s breath caught. She swallowed hard. “Our children,” she repeated, her heart hammering in her chest. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, causing the room to erupt into cheers.
That night, Fiona stood in front of the hearth. Her heart raced but not from fear—it was need.
It was hunger.
Hunger for her husband. She wanted to be his, body and soul. She wanted to feel the heat of his hands on her skin, to feel the passion of his kiss. The last few nights alone in that empty bed had only fueled her desire. But how could she tell him that she was ready, ready to feel his touch, ready to be his? Dare she speak of her heart’s longing? Or mayhap, she could just leap—throw herself into his arms and boldly kiss him. It was within her rights, was it not? Or was it just the husband who could make demands of his wife’s body? She took a deep breath. Somehow, she would give herself to her husband that very night.
~ * ~
Jamie paced outside his chamber door. He wanted his wife.
Nay, he needed her.
He hungered for her. Desire hardened his body, making his heart pound.
But what if she wasn’t ready? What if she still feared his touch?
He stopped pacing and faced the door. Once he brought her body to the heights of glorious passion, she would forget her fear.
He threw the door open.
She stood near the hearth but whirled to face him as he entered the room.
Their eyes locked.
“Fiona,” he blurted.
“Jamie,” she gasped, stepping forward.
Her skin was flushed. Her unbound black hair fell in waves over her shoulders, skimming her trim waist.
“Fiona,” he groaned, drawing even closer.
She reached for the ties at her shoulders and tugged. The fabric of her kirtle slipped down her sleek body and puddled at her feet. Her eyes smoldered, licking at his with flames of sweet desire.
“I want ye to make me yers,” she rasped, opening her arms to him.
He seized her, pulling her into a crushing embrace. His lips claimed hers, desperate, hungry. His hands explored her naked flesh. He caressed her soft curves, his hands coursing down her bare torso. Her skin was smooth and silky. He scooped her into his arms, his gaze devouring her round, luscious breasts. Nipples, pink and hard, made his mouth water. He licked his lips as he laid her on the bed. Climbing over her, his kiss started at her lips. Her mouth opened for his tongue. He stroked and teased, delighting in her gasps and how her tongue danced with his. Then he trailed his kiss down her neck.
She groaned. He savored the sound. Her skin tasted so good, so sweet. He moved lower, drawing one of her taut, rosy nipples into his mouth. She arched her back.
“Jamie,” she cried, her nails biting into his shoulders.
He gently squeezed her firm breast, palming her nipple while he continued to suckle her other peak. His lips, trailed over her tender flesh. He caressed the curve of her waist, smoothing his hand down the flare of her hips. As he journeyed lower, tasting, licking, caressing, his tongue found her navel. Her hands raked through his hair. He trailed kisses down her stomach. Then he eased his hand between her thighs. He lifted his head, meeting her gaze.
“Open for me,” he rasped. Her eyes were limpid slits of vulnerable desire. “Spread yer thighs.” She sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands flew to her face. She squeezed her thighs tight. But then her hands fell away.
“I must leap,” she cried out and opened her legs, revealing her body to his gaze. He touched her honeyed warmth, his fingers gently grazing her sensitive nub, stroking, touching. She bucked her hips. He slipped one finger inside her, stoking the flames of her desire, plunging deeper and deeper. She was so tight, so hot.
She gasped, her breaths quickened.
“Oh, Jamie,” she cried.
Fueled by her passionate response, he lowered his head between her thighs and breathed deep her rich scent.
“Nay, Jamie, ye mustn’t.”
“Oh, but I must,” he breathed.
For so long, he had wanted to taste her. He circled his tongue, teasing the very heat of her. She cried out. He trailed his lips and tongue over her hot skin. Savoring, her sweet warmth. He slid his hand under her round buttocks and lifted her hips, plunging his tongue deep inside her. He tasted, teased, swirling his tongue, making her moan and gasp. Her hands reached down, weaving her fingers through his hair. She moved against him, her breath quickening, her hips bucking. She writhed beneath his tongue.
“Jamie, please,” she cried, trembling, rising. “Oh, God! Oh, Jamie!” Reaching her climax, she shuddered again and again, her legs curling around him.
“Oh Jamie,” she sighed.
Never could Fiona have imagined such sensations.
Through half-closed lids, she watched him stand and remove his belt. His plaid dropped to the ground. Her eyes widened at the sight of his thick, hard length.
She sucked in a sharp breath as he climbed onto the bed. He advanced toward her on his knees, like a predator hunting his prey. But she was his willing victim.
She reached for him, wanting to feel his body, to touch and taste him in the same way he had her.
His lips found hers. He kissed her long and hard. Then he shifted over her, covering her body. She had never felt so protected and so vulnerable at the same time.
“Open yer legs for me again,” he rasped.
This time, she needed no convincing. Closing her eyes, she spread wide, straining for his touch. The ache within her body rekindled. She felt his hard shaft against her. Slowly, he eased inside her. She winced as he stretched her, easing deeper and deeper, and then he plunged into her body, breaking her maidenhead. She cried out as pain shot through her.
He held her close, his body taught and unmoving between her legs. Slowly, the pain faded. The tension in her body released.
Holding his weight on his elbow, he looked at her with pained eyes.
“I promised ye I would never hurt ye again.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ye make my body fly.” She moved against him. “I ache for ye. Make me fly again.”
“He pulled out and thrust deep, again and again. She wrapped her legs around his waist, meeting each of his thrusts with a passion all her own.
Sweet torture filled her, building, cresting. She cried out as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. His own cry of pleasure mingled with hers.
He held her close and gaze into her limpid blue eyes. “Now, I will never hurt ye again.”
“Please,” she begged, smiling through her euphoric haze. “Please hurt me again.”
He nibbled her ear, raking his teeth gently down her throat. “Ye asked for it.”