A WINTER’S WEDDING
The wedding was brief. It was held in the small, stone chapel at Glencurrie, the wintry light filtering blue-dark through the high windows on a day so dark it was almost night without.
The candles flickered on the altar, the scent of pine and ivy filling the church while, closer, the scent of roses flowed off the bride.
When the priest came to the end of his interminable Latin, Blaine turned to his bride. Chrissie. He lifted the gauzy lace of the veil. He kissed her mouth.
His tongue slid between the soft lips and he knew that moment that his life was truly blessed.
The crowd who greeted them was subdued: relatives of Chrissie's whom he did not know, a strange, pinched, solemn man and a much older one, with a shock of pale hair and wide eyes that seemed almost blind. Amabel was there, her long red hair piled up artfully, and Broderick. Alina was there, and Duncan. Alina looked terrible – gaunt and white. Chrissie seemed shocked and Blaine was sure she was very ill. He planned to ask Duncan about it when he saw him alone.
At this moment, though, they were all sweeping out of the hall, he at the head. He tossed the coins for the gathered cottagers, feeling odd. I am not a lord. This is not my place. However, he was marrying a lady. He had to do what was proper.
They went to the great hall for the banquet. It was dark and smelled of smoke, but the meal was excellent. Blaine was too overwrought, and could only pick at his food. All he could think about was Chrissie.
She overwhelmed his thoughts, each aspect of her filling his senses, driving his body to a point of screaming urgency he knew he would not much longer be able to withstand.
He watched her sip her ale, the fluid leaving a trail of moisture on her lips that he had to clench his hands to stop himself leaning forward to lick up. Her hand, soft and flower-scented, brushed his as she reached for marzipan and he groaned, feeling the satiny softness of it slip across his skin. He could not help imagining what it would be like when they were upstairs, alone, and he could slowly slide that dress down her sweet body, and kiss her skin and...
“A toast!” the sorrowful looking man exclaimed. “To the newlyweds!”
“Hurrah!”
“Slainte!”
“Slainte!”
The hall filled with cheers, congratulations, and the sound of feet, stamping on flagstones, or men thumping the boards. Blaine felt his heart fill with pride, but he also felt slightly queasy. They had to finish dinner soon! The last course was being eaten already. He had to get upstairs and...
“Well, my friends! 'Tis time to put the newly wedded pair to bed. What say you?”
“Aye!”
“Hurrah!”
“Yes!”
Blaine winced. Chrissie had gone as white as buttermilk, her pallor contrasting with the buttery yellow of her gown. He knew that the crudity and comments, the thought of witnesses, even if on the other side of the door, was overwhelming to her. They were the last thing she needed.
“I propose you give us a head start!” he said, standing unsteadily. They likely thought him the worse for drink; so much the better. They would humor him them.
The whole company laughed, as he had expected. Chrissie glared at him, as if he intended to humiliate her further, then she seemed to realize what he was doing, and she leaned against him.
“We'll foil them,” he whispered to her. He glanced across at his lordship, her uncle, but he seemed oblivious.
The company gave them their head start, as he had requested. Instead of heading upstairs to the fragrant bedchamber that had been set aside for them, the maids spending hours strewing the floor with scented herbs, they headed left and up, to the bedchamber that had been his during his stay.
It was tiny, but the fire warmed it well. It was also private. Theirs alone.
They hurried through the door and shut it. Then they were alone.
Blaine turned to Chrissie. He looked into her eyes, his forehead resting on hers for a moment. Then he kissed her. He shuddered as he tasted her mouth, sugary from dessert, her lips clinging and eager as his tongue separated them.
“Oh, Chrissie,” he whispered. He kissed her hair, her brow, her face. His body was throbbing, aching, desperate. He strained for control, wanting to lift her and throw her onto the bed, to take her clothes from her and kiss that fragrant skin from head to toe.
“Chrissie,” he said instead. He kissed her again, more slowly. Her lips parted and she gave a little gasp. He went slowly, his hands stroking her hair and her neck. He let his mouth move down, sucking at her jaw and then her throat.
Her skin was scented with lavender and he buried his face against it, lapping at the silky skin. She moaned, but made no move to stop him. He moved lower.
Her gown, he noticed, had buttons down the back. He held her close and, very slowly, so as not to alarm her, he unfastened the top one. The bodice of her gown, laced so tight across her round breasts, sagged just slightly, revealing a sight of cleavage.
“Oh,” he groaned. Her breasts were so round and firm, and they looked so soft...
He bent lower, his fingers fumbling as he shook, and took down the next three. The neck of the gown widened, and he found he could gently work it down.
He lowered the under-shift and knelt before her. Her breasts were perfect hemispheres, tipped with garnets. He stared at her, feeling his loins jerk with need. His body was hard, turgid. Ready. Nevertheless, he would not rush this. He didn't want to. This was a night of his dreams. The night he had longed for since he could remember. He had patience and he would be slow. It would be something they would both remember with pleasure.
“Chrissie,” he whispered. He reached up and let his hand gently pluck at one of those perfect breasts. The skin was satin below his fingers, and he stroked forward, letting his fingers gently pinch her nipple. He felt his body stiffen as he pulled that nipple out, feeling it firm in his fingers.
He stood and took it into his mouth. Sucking her gently, he lapped at the hardness of it, letting his tongue work it gently, tease it further. He heard her gasp and the sound drove him to want more.
He leaned back, taking the other breast in his mouth. While he sucked, his hand traced the first, gently tugging the nipple, thumbing it over and over and over.
She was making a sobbing sound and he looked up, frightened that he was scaring her. However, her eyes were closed, her soft lips parted in a grin. The sight of her delight fired him to greater efforts.
He lifted her and gently laid her on the bed. Her eyes were closed and she was still smiling. He felt blessed. He sighed.
“May I?” he asked, his hands at the neck of her gown. He wanted to remove it completely.
“Yes.”
He felt his throat constrict painfully and coughed. This was something beyond his wildest imaginings.
He lifted her so he could undo the last buttons, then slowly, gently, drew the gown away.
He found himself looking at pale, soft flesh, curved, sweet, and lovely.
The scent of her womanhood was strong, and he stared, drinking in the sight and scents of her.
Suddenly, he knew what he wanted to do. He bowed his head and, very slowly, nibbled at her belly. She gasped, her eyes flashing open.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, the sound reassuring him beyond what he had known before. “Yes.”
“Good.”
He lapped at her, making little lines down the length of her cleft. She tensed and then relaxed, and he did it again, the scent of her driving him to madness. She gasped, and moved so that he could reach her. He licked her, his tongue working over all the spots he knew were ticklish.
She was gasping, thrusting, moving beneath him, her body pressing on him. He felt himself growing more and more ready, his need ready to explode.
At last, she made a wild sound. He had never heard so wonderful, so free, a sound. He rejoiced to hear it. Her body tensed, and then jerked as if in spasm. He smiled, knowing how she felt right then.
He sat up and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling.
“Husband,” she murmured.
He smiled. He took her in his arms and kissed her mouth.
He would have time to disrobe, time to find his own release...this was her night and he would not rush.