Highland Conquest Page 25

  She let out an alarmed shriek as he marched up the stairs she’d just come down, yanked open the door, continued through the dancers and up the second set of stairs. His clans began to cheer as they noticed and crowded toward them. The drink they’d consumed was addling their brains if they thought Lachlan would allow them to accompany him to their bedchamber—no matter what tradition dictated. No one but he would see his wife naked.

  A sharp whistle got his brothers’ attention. They intercepted the crowd and blocked off the stairs so no one could follow the newly wed couple.

  When he turned the corner with Amber toward their bedchamber, she finally began to struggle.

  “Lachlan, put me down right now!”

  “I will put you down, Amber. Beneath me on our bed. This is how we’ll be going forward in our marriage. Together. Not separately.”

  She stiffened, and he thought he heard a sob break from her lips, but it was still loud in the passageway. He pushed into their bedchamber, the fire burning brightly, a beautiful blue quilt and fluffy pillows on the bed. Lit candles burned on either side. A washstand stood in the corner, and on the table beside the bed, a jug of mead sat with two cups.

  He shut the door behind them, and using one hand, slid the bar across, locking them in. Amber twisted her body and slipped off his shoulder, taking several steps backward, staring at him. Her breath sawed through her lungs, her fists clenched, her eyes filled with…fright?

  He stopped, his anger and hurt slowly replaced by concern. He raised a hand toward her, and she took another step backward. “God in heaven. Amber, sweetling, are you scared of me?”

  Her jaw set in denial, but her eyes scanned the room as if looking for a way out, and it felt like someone gutted him.

  “I would ne’er hurt you. What’s going on? Amber, talk to me.”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it, and he saw her chin tremble for a moment before she cleared her throat and tried again. “We shouldnae have married.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I doona want…this.” She waved her hand at the bed.

  He looked to where she’d waved, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Beds? Quilts? Pillows? What exactly is this? Are you talking about living at the castle? Do you want us to stay at your cottage?”

  Her cheeks turned scarlet. “Nay. It’s not that. I doona want…carnal relations with you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and her teeth clamped together so tightly he could see the tension in her jaw.

  His brow rose. “But…you love being touched by me. You begged me not to stop.” He took a step toward her. When she didn’t back off, he took another. “When I put my hands on your body, you melt. I feel the same way.”

  The rigid lines of her face and body softened, and she looked so vulnerable, so scared and miserable, his heart nearly broke. He lifted his hand to caress his fingers down her cheek. “Tell me what’s going on? Why are you so upset?”

  Tears wet her lashes, and they glistened, brightening her violet eyes to an unbelievable color. Her lips and cheeks had flushed, and her hair, that gorgeous orange-gold hair, was twisted so intricately with ribbons that matched her eyes, she looked like a Celtic queen.

  Like his wife.

  “I shouldnae have married you, Lachlan. I shouldnae be married to anyone. I like being touched, aye, but everything else is…horrifying to me. I know that sounds terrible, and I’m sorry, but that’s the way I feel. Isla tells me I’ll love having you inside my body, but…”

  He slowly lifted his other hand, moved a wee bit closer to her, and gently cupped her face, his thumbs rubbing away the tears that had trickled down her cheeks. “But you’ve spent the last five years thinking a man penetrating your body is an act of violence. A forced invasion.”

  She nodded, her lips trembling, the tears falling faster. “Rape,” she whispered.

  He drew her head toward him to rest on his chest. “Ne’er, Amber. I would ne’er rape you.”

  “But I’ll ne’er consent. So it must be rape.”

  “Amber, I willna rape you.”

  “So you doona care about your own release? You’re willing to do as we did before and touch me, kiss me as you once asked to do, but not reach your own pinnacle?”

  “I doona need to be inside you to release, sweetling. ’Tis no different for me than it is for you when you touch yourself. Or when you touch me.”

  She pulled away again, and he let her go. “Nay, I doona want to touch you, either. I doona want my hand anywhere near a cock—at least, not for the purpose of carnal pleasure.”

  His eyes widened, and he stared at her, his mind whirling. Sweet Jesus, how frightened she must have been all these years and ne’er showed it to anyone.

  But he was her husband. ’Twas his job to take on her burdens and make her feel safe. How could he get through to her?

  “I see you thinking,” she said, “trying to decide what to do, how to convince me. Well, I also doona want bairns, so you should just turn around now and have our marriage annulled.”

  He couldn’t help it, he laughed. It was brief, and he didn’t feel at all amused by her words, but the irony was strong. “You doona have to worry about bairns if you willna touch my cock, sweetling.”

  “I doona have to worry about it anyway, I’ve taken precautions. An herb that stops conception.” She said it defiantly, her hands closing into fists again and her chin rising. She expected him to be angry with her.

  “’Tis a good decision. We have a long way to go before we bring bairns into our marriage—if we do.”

  “How can you not want bairns? You’re a laird. You have to pass down the title.”

  “I ne’er thought I’d be laird and had decided not to marry. I thought I’d pass it to another clan member. Or let the clan vote. Being married doesn’t stop that.”

  He walked past her to the window, rubbing the back of his neck. He saw her eyeing the door. “Please doona leave, Amber. Like it or not, we’re married now, and I meant what I said. We will sleep together every night. Naked.”

  “But I—”

  “I said sleep, Amber. The other is up to you.” He crossed back to her, gently took her hand. “We need to build trust and ties between us. If touching you is all you’ll allow, then that’s what I’ll take.”

  “I’ll not sleep naked.”

  “Aye, you will. Skin to skin. That’s how we connect. You doona want me to claim my husbandly rights—”

  “Rape is not a right—married or not.”

  “Aye, I agree. But I’d like you to agree too.” He released her hand and ran his fingertips all the way from her knuckles, up the backs of her wrists and arms, across her shoulders. She shivered when he trailed them down her back to her waist and pulled her closer. “Agree to sleep naked with me Amber. Feel my heat, my touch. Wake with my fingers and mouth on your breasts. My palms on your thighs, stroking them, pushing them apart for my kiss.” As he spoke, his hands moved lower over her backside and squeezed. She buried her head in his chest and groaned.

  He turned her in his arms, hands never leaving her body, so her back was pressed to his chest. “Think of it, Amber. Waking up like this.” He stroked upward this time and cupped both breasts. “If you were naked, my thumbs could strum your nipples. Or slide down and touch you here.”

  She let out a sob and grasped his arm for support as he lowered one palm down her body to cup between her thighs. “I would kiss you and lick you and suck you and rub you all over, all through the night. I would spread your thighs and bend your knees and position you for my tongue or my hands or my fingers. I would bite, I would knead, I would devour you.”

  He turned her again so she faced him, her body lax, her lips plump, red, and wet, just like her other ones down below, he was sure. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her cheeks flushed. “You and I, Amber, in our bedchamber, under our quilts, hot skin against hot s
kin. Night after night. I willna push you for more unless you ask me to.”

  She licked her lips. “I willna ask.”

  “Nay, you’ll take. There will come a time, sweetling, when you will take me.”

  * * *

  Amber didn’t speak. Just let the silence, the warmth and crackle from the fire, the stirring of her hair from his breath deepen the connection between them. Build those ties and bonds.

  The need to see him naked grew inside her until her fingers twitched. Aye, she wanted to be under the covers with him, skin to skin.

  Finally, she raised her hands, slid them to the belt around his waist and pulled it free—his sword and sporran too. His breath left his lungs in a shudder as his plaid fell open and she tugged it off his body.

  He stood in a fine, white linen shirt, long-sleeved, tied loosely at the neck and hanging halfway down his thighs. Her eyes caressed him—broad shoulders, strong hands, arms, and chest. And down below, the bulge at the front where his cock twitched and jutted toward her. She forced her eyes to stay on it. To think of it as a part of Lachlan, her husband, no different than his hand or his arm rather than an object of hurt and destruction.

  Isla said she received pleasure from Alban’s cock. She didn’t find it aggressive or intrusive. Nay, she accepted Alban into her body. Invited him in.

  Could Amber ever invite Lachlan in?

  Aye, she already had. She’d opened for his fingers and soon would feel his tongue inside her too. A surge of desire swept over her and pooled in her loins. She felt soft and wet and welcoming.

  “Please…take the ribbons out of my hair,” she whispered.

  His fingers trembled as he loosed her curls. He carefully undid and unwound four ribbons. He placed them in her palm as he worked on the next one, then the next one. When they were all out, he gently pushed his fingers into her hair, combing the curls and kinks into place. Then he cupped her cheek, brushed his thumb over her lips.

  She wanted to capture it in her teeth. Instead, she walked to the table beside the bed and placed the ribbons by the pitcher of mead. Lifting her hands to her breast, she unpinned her silver brooch and let her dress fall away too, laying it across the end of the bed. Her shift was longer than Lachlan’s—to her knees—but it was also long-sleeved and made of fine white linen. Hesitating for only a second, she slipped off her shoes, lifted her skirt, and loosed the ribbons at her calves so her stockings fell down.

  She heard feet treading softly on the wool rug as Lachlan moved behind her. She peered over her shoulder and saw him place his shoes and socks by the chair in front of the fire, his eyes never leaving her, caressing every inch—from her bare toes, over her shift, to her orangey-gold curls. It excited her. Aye, she liked knowing he watched her as she undressed. Liked that only a thin piece of linen hid her body from his sight.

  She wanted him to see the fullness of her breasts, how they swayed when she moved, the hardened nubs on top so red and sensitive for his tongue. Wanted him to see the tight gold curls, wet now, at the apex of her thighs, and the cleft between the globes of her backside from behind.

  Her heart battered against her rib cage, and her belly clenched at the thought. After a brief hesitation, she pulled on the tie that held her shift closed, and slipped it off, slowly over one shoulder, then another, baring herself to him as it fell to her waist and to the rug on the floor.

  The breath whooshed from his lungs on a loud exhale, and she glanced at him. Skin flushed, eyes bright, he looked almost feral, his lips red, his cock standing tall and broad against his shirt.

  “Turn,” he said, sounding strangled.

  She did, slowly. Toward him first, then in a circle. Heat and pressure pulsed at her core, a heavy, full feeling between her legs, knowing that he watched her. She had the urge to spread her thighs, to open and stay open for him.

  When she faced the bed, which reached the tops of her thighs, she leaned over to pull back the covers, and he groaned, which caused a spasm of need to clench low in her body, to flood her sheath. She closed her eyes and stayed there, trembling, the quilt clutched in her hand. Then she lifted her knee, finally spreading her legs how she wanted, and crawled onto the bed, moving across to the far side as he watched.

  She wanted to stop in the middle and lay her head down on the quilts. Exposing herself to him, at his mercy, anticipating what he would do to her. That thought raced through her head, built in her mind’s eye until she panted.

  Reaching her side, she lay on her back and pulled up the quilts. He’d moved as she’d crawled across the bed, and now stood perfectly still and rigid—other than the quick rise and fall of his chest—a few feet back from where she’d crawled on.

  Her eyes met his, and they stared at each other for a long moment before he loosed the tie at his neck and yanked the shirt over his head.

  She closed her eyes, suddenly afraid to see him naked, knowing there was no going back. Whom was she kidding? There’d been no going back the moment she’d crawled over the bed, drawing it out, excited that he watched her.

  “Amber, open your eyes.”

  She shook her head.

  “Aye, lass. Now.”

  He said it with such command that a shiver of need raced through her body—the same as when he’d controlled Earc and the other men from attacking Father Odhran in front of the chapel.

  She’d married a warrior lord, and she loved his strength as much as his gentleness.

  Lifting her eyelids slowly, she stared at her husband’s body, forgetting to breathe at the impact of seeing him naked. His muscles were heavily roped—his shoulders and arms bulging, his chest wide, hard, and scattered with a light dusting of hair. His waist and hips barely narrowed, his torso rippled long and lean to his pelvis.

  She skipped past the part of him she didn’t want to acknowledge, and instead focused on his massive thighs and calves, before dropping to the ground. Unsurprisingly, his feet were big too. Not ugly, but not bonnie, either.

  “Amber.”

  She knew what he wanted, but she wasn’t ready for it…yet. “Aye.”

  “Look at me.”

  She shook her head, still staring at his feet.

  “You have to acknowledge what you’re frightened of before you can e’er hope to beat it.”

  She pursed her lips mulishly and slowly raised her eyes up the middle of his body. Her heart rate rose again, but this time not in a good way, and she had to resist looking away.

  He was long and wide and jutted up toward his belly from a nest of dark hair. His sac hung heavily below. The head mushroomed over the top, and a drop of seed pooled at the tip.

  “’Tis not the first cock I’ve seen,” she said, a wee bit defiantly. “I’ve treated three of them over the years. Pus and pincers abounded.” She said the last just to make him wince. He laughed instead, his eyes dancing, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

  Taking a deep breath to calm her fear, she looked again at his cock and found herself noting how smooth and muscular it looked. Nay, not ‘it.’ His cock wasn’t separate from Lachlan. He looked smooth and muscular. The perfect shape for her own soft sheath.

  Aye, God had made men and women to fit together. She couldn’t imagine their joining would hurt, at least not after the first time and not with Lachlan. His fingers inside her had felt amazing, but she’d still felt…unfilled.

  “’Tis a nice cock, as cocks go,” she said, suddenly feeling awkward just sitting there staring at it. “Maybe someday…”

  His grin returned. “Aye, maybe.”

  As he stepped toward the candle in a sconce on the wall and blew it out, her eyes were drawn downward again. His cock bobbed when he walked. She found herself swallowing, wondering how it would feel on her palm…in her mouth.

  He proceeded around the foot of the bed to her side and blew out the other candle.

  The room had darkene
d considerably, lit only by the fire in the hearth. The light glinted warmly on his body, dancing over the ripple of his muscle and smooth skin. She stared at his curved backside, long, strong thighs, and equally long, strong back, and thought that as much as she loved his front view, the back view might be her favorite. The sight of his manly arse made her want to do something addled—like bite it.

  When he turned, she found herself staring at his cock again, and this time, when her pulse accelerated, she knew it wasn’t out of fear. The broad head glowed in the firelight, and she had the urge to open her mouth and let him slide in, to tup her mouth.

  He walked to her side of the bed. She looked up almost reluctantly. “Did you want to sleep on this side?”

  “Nay. I sleep between you and the door. Always. And ’tis not to keep you in, but to keep you safe lest anyone comes in.”

  And just like that, she was back to teary-eyed. For so long, she’d had no one to defend her—through horrible circumstances. Now she no longer had to sleep listening for her goats to bleat, alerting her someone was outside her cottage.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “’Tis no need to thank me, Amber. I wouldnae have it any other way.” He put his hand on the edge of the quilt. “May I come in?”

  Her breathing stopped for a moment before she nodded.

  He pulled back the down-filled quilts, his eyes on her body, especially her breasts, as he climbed over her, slid beneath the quilts, and pulled the covers up to their shoulders. He faced her, his head on his pillow, and after a brief hesitation, she rolled to her side so she faced him too.

  His fingers found hers against the pillow and laced them together, their hands palm to palm. Warmth spread from the point of contact, and she took a deep breath, feeling like her chest might burst.

  “What do we do now?” she asked, the words whispered as if she were afraid to say them aloud. Afraid the feeling between them might shatter.

  He raised her hand, kissed the back of it, then tucked it against his heart. “Now we sleep.”