Kate Wingo - Highland Mist 01 (27 page)

Iain
took several steadying breaths before he bore down on her, breaching the narrow opening. A sudden clash of smooth steel and wet warmth.

With each slow,
steady push, Yvette suffered an escalating tightness, her maiden’s body doing all in its power to repel the intruder’s advance. Having suddenly become uncomfortable, she restlessly squirmed, battling the urge to throw him off of her.

Hitting against her virginal barrier, Iain
pushed out a tortured groan. “I am aching from the want of ye but . . . I dinna want to hurt ye.”

Yvette
cupped his flushed cheek in the palm of her hand. “All along I have known there would be pain.”

“Aye,
but only this first time. And the pain willna last long.”

Assurance given
, Iain thrust past the obstruction.

Impaled, Yvette heaved
as she cried out, the searing pain far greater than she had expected.

At h
earing the panic in her voice, as well as seeing the tears in her eyes, Iain came to a complete halt. Inclining his head, he lapped a stray tear that fell from the corner of her eye.

“Dinna
cry, sweet Yvette. Now that yer maidenhead is pierced, the pain will soon cease.”

Unconvinced, s
he said, “I cannot bear it, Iain! Take it out . . .
please
.”

“I canna . . . I w
illna . . . anything but that. Give it a few moments,” he quietly pleaded. “I will keep still until ye are accustomed to me.”

True to his word, Iain
remained unmoving, despite the fact that he was completely imbedded within her. Weighed down by his much bigger body, Yvette felt trapped. Although tempted to move, she didn’t dare, terrified the pain would rear its ugly head given the slightest motion.

As the agonizingly slow seconds slipped past,
Iain’s arms began to quiver, the muscles threaded with raised veins.

In the next instant, a
bead of sweat rolled down his cheek, slid along his jaw, and plopped onto Yvette’s breast.

Iain
groaned, his lips twisted in a harrowed grimace.

Gradually, the worst of the pain subsided.

Peering into her eyes, Iain said, “D’ye think I could move just a wee bit now?”

Yvette mutely nodded,
bracing herself for another burst of pain.

Ever so
slowly, Iain moved. To her relief, the pain was more tolerable, having mutated into a burning fullness. One which was soon replaced with a pleasurable kind of tension that sharpened each time Iain flexed his hips.

Curious,
Yvette raised her head to better observe him slide in and out of her. As she did, her breath caught in her throat.

Awestruck, she stared at Iain’s male organ, glistening with silken lubricant,
plunge into her body.

“
’Tis the most compelling sight that I have ever seen,” she breathlessly marveled.

Iain followed her gaze.
“Aye, we are now truly bound . . . husband and wife.”

Repeatedly
, he thrust into her, the mounting pressure fast becoming unbearable.

“Wrap yer legs around me,” Iain ordered, the command hanging on a ragged breath.

To her delight, the shift in position allowed Iain to thrust that much deeper. So deep, she began to experience a frantic quickening.

Although
she’d come to their wedding bed a virgin, Yvette was no stranger to a woman’s pleasure. She knew exactly where the pleasurable tension would lead. Moaning incoherently, she dug her nails into Iain’s back as she cinched her legs that much tighter around his muscled flanks.

Certain she could no longer withstand that ever tightening knot,
she was suddenly struck senseless with a pleasure so precise, so exquisite, she arched her back.

Clinging to the only solid thing within her grasp
– her husband – she tried to draw air into her lungs. Only to be seized with another spasm. This one even tighter, the deeply-felt pleasure just verging on pain.

“
Ye’re – so – glorious
,” Iain panted . . . right before he reared his head.

In the next instant, his entire body s
huddering, he filled Yvette with his seed.

Then, a
s if the act had drained him of his very life force, Iain slumped against her. Overcome with a myriad of emotions, her eyes brimming with tears, Yvette cradled him in her body.

Capturing
her hands in his, Iain entwined their fingers. “We are now handfasted,” he murmured in her ear.

And heartjoine
d.

For they were now
one body, one heart.

Naked,
Iain padded across the bed chamber and lit a taper, the yellow glow instantly banishing the shades of eventide.

The candle lit, he walked back to the tousled bed,
taking care not to rouse Yvette from her slumbers.

Riveted
, he stared at his wife of a fortnight.

Sweet Jesu, but she
is beautiful,
he mused, the candle glow turning her skin a pale shade of gold.

To behold such radiance, and know
that it was his for the taking, made Iain’s blood thrum and his heart beat faster.

Like a man under a sorcerer’s spell, he watched as Yvette softly murmured in her sleep before her hand in
ched toward his vacant pillow. To his delight, the slight motion caused a rosy-tipped nipple to poke through the parted tresses of her hair.

Such lovely breasts.
Such luxurious hair.

Again, he regretted the
savage way that he’d cut her locks. A glorious, shiny bounty, it had fallen past her hips. And would again; though it would not reach that splendid length in the span of a year and one day.

A year and
one day
. Admittedly, the words weighed heavy upon his mind.

While
that was the customary duration of a handfast, Iain knew it would prove too brief a tenure. Already he felt the loss of the fourteen days just passed.

And though the handfast gave him certain legal rights over
Yvette, it was too ephemeral and loose-knit a union. To be truly bound, one to the other, they must exchange vows in a kirk before a priest. However, he would not force Yvette to that. She would have to agree to the church wedding of her own free will. Something he’d not permitted that day on the battlements when he urged the handfast upon her.

Afraid
that he would lose her, Iain had purposefully refrained from giving Yvette a choice, allowing her to think that she’d been abandoned by her father; that she was a lone woman in an uncertain world. Refusing to reveal just how much power she wielded over him, he’d withheld the truth. Moreover, he was unwilling to disclose to kith and kin the fact that he’d squandered his chance to avenge Kenneth’s death by forfeiting the ransom.

’Twas an injudicious act best kept secret.

Although he’d not kept his decision secret from the Earl of Angus, having sent a tersely worded missive to the earl’s nephew, Galen de Ogilvy. In it, Iain formally refused the ransom and declared his intention to wed Yvette.

Having yet to receive a reply, he surmised
that the handfast would raise the ire of the spurned Angus, as well as Yvette’s highborn kinsmen. And because of that, more than likely a blood feud would arise between the House de Ogilvy and the Clan MacKinnon.

So be it.

Realizing that his attention had wandered far afield, Iain shepherded his itinerant musings back to the bed. To his surprise, he discovered Yvette staring directly at him, a sultry smile upon her lips.

“I didna mean to wake ye.”

“And you didn’t.” Yvette’s smile widened, making her look like a well-pleasured woman. “I was just lying here thinking.”

“Ach, it must h
a’ been a verra good thought.” The bed ropes groaned as Iain sat beside her. Reaching over, he playfully tweaked a pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Mayhap ye were thinking about our earlier loveplay.”

Yvette lazily
arched her back. “’Twas another thought I pondered.”

His brow furrowed.
“Well if ye weren’t thinking about the way I pleasured ye, what put that siren’s smile on yer sweet lips?”

“
If you must know, I was contemplating the workings of an astrolabe.”

An astrolabe?!

“Christ above! Ye know how to cut a man to the quick, don’t ye? Most wives would be thinking how brawn and potent their husband was. But no’ you. Instead, ye lay there thinking about some bloody instrument that’s used to— The devil take ye! I dinna even know what the damned thing is used for.”

Having patiently waited until his indignant braying
had run its course, Yvette said, “An astrolabe is used to measure the distance between earth and heaven. And it occurred to me that when we pleasure one another, ’tis like the sweetest heaven imaginable. That, in turn, led me to wonder if mayhap heaven does exist
here
on earth. If that
is true, an astrolabe is a superfluous instrument.”

Iain threaded his fingers in
Yvette’s silky hair. Then, seeking validation, he said, “Heaven on earth . . . are ye certain of that?”

“For me it is,” she said with a solemn nod.

“For me, as well,” he admitted, his heart made glad by their dual confessions. “But just to be certain, perhaps we should—”

A terse rap on the closed bedchambe
r door halted Iain in mid-sentence.

“I shall see who is at the door,” Yvette volunteered, throwing back the cove
rlet and scooting off the bed.

Having grown
at ease with her nakedness whilst in their chamber, she moved with a natural grace, her hips swaying gently, her teats bouncing ever so slightly. When she bent at the waist to retrieve the linen chemise that had earlier been tossed onto the floor, Iain was hit with a breathtaking jolt of raw animal lust, his sap quickly rising.

As Yvette
opened the door, he yanked the coverlet over his lap to hide his aroused state.

Craning his neck,
he could see that Eara stood on the other side of the threshold. A murmured exchange took place between the two women before the door was once again closed.

Clearly puzzled,
Yvette walked back to the bed bearing a tray laden with food and wine. “What is
this
?”

“I sent for it.”

“So Eara informed me. Mayhap the lord of the castle needs to fortify his strength?” she impishly inquired.

“Fourteen nights and I have yet to flag!”

“Yea, I have been duly impressed with your stamina. During the fortnight just passed, you have proved yourself a robust, able-bodied man.”

“
Aye, I have at that,” Iain concurred with no small amount of masculine conceit. “A new husband doesna want to hear that he is anything but impressive.”

“Impressive and . . . .” Yvette’s
gaze slowly traveled from his face to his covered lap. “Prodigious.”

Iain pulled back the coverlet. Cocking his head to one side, he appraised with a cri
tical eye. “D’ye really think so?”

After taking a moment to
peer over the top of the blanket to assess his attributes, Yvette said, “Very much so. However, I also think all the flattery about your prowess has gone straight to your head.”

“And here I was thinking it had gone to another body part all t
ogether.” Chortling, Iain rose to his feet and snatched his kilt off the floor. His movements swift and sure, he wrapped it around his waist, not bothering with a belt. He then took the tray from Yvette. “Come with me.”

“Where to?”

“’Tis a surprise.”

“But we are not properly dressed!”

“For what I have in mind, sweet wife, we are both
overdressed
.”

“Lend me your lips, husband.”

Smiling, Iain obediently opened his mouth, enabling Yvette to hand feed him a sugared fig.

“Are ye no’ glad that I insisted on coming up here?” he asked
after he’d consumed the sweet morsel.

Wedged between his spread thighs as she sat facing him,
Yvette sighed contentedly. “Yea, I am glad. With this unseasonably warm weather, ’tis a perfect evening for stargazing.”

As she spoke, Yvette craned her neck and peered at
the night sky. A myriad of stars, like a thousand lit tapers, flickered on heaven’s canopy.

Sighting a familiar constellation, she excitedly
pointed to the twinkling patch of stars. “Look! ‘Tis Orion the hunter.”

“
And there are the Seven Sisters,” Iain said, pointing to a different starry cluster.

Yvette squinted slightly. “I count only six.”

Reaching for another fig, she raised it to Iain’s lips; only to have him snake a hand around her wrist, preventing her from feeding him the sugared confection.

“Would
ye like to play a game, wife?”

“A game?”
she repeated, thinking it an odd question.

“Aye, ’tis an easy enough game to play,”
he assured her, a mischievous grin hovering on his lips. “I’ll close my eyes and you hide the fig.”

Suspicious, Yvette glanced from her husband to the fig in quest
ion. “You close your eyes and I hide a fig . . . what kind of game is
that
?”

“Well, I did
omit one wee detail. The fig must be hidden somewhere –” with a circular motion of his hand, Iain gestured to her lower torso –“on yer body.”

“Where on my body could I possibly hide a
—” The brazenly shocking realization of what he had in mind, suddenly dawned on her. “Iain MacKinnon! Have you no shame?”

“Er, no’ much,” he
r husband replied with a bawdy laugh as he snatched the fig from Yvette’s hand and tossed it back onto the pewter tray. “And I can see from yer pinched expression that ye willna play the game with me. ’Tis a pity as I had been looking forward to finding the fig and
verra
slowly eating it.”

Aroused despite her best intentions not to be, Yvette ran her fingers
along his bare forearm. “Mayhap we can later play the game.”

“Aha! Just as I thought!
Yer indignant outrage was naught but a pretense. ’Tis obvious the lady is far more adventurous than she lets on.”

“
Methinks you are right,” Yvette replied with a giggle, already looking forward to hiding the sugared fig.

Grabbing her by the hips
, Iain urged Yvette to scoot closer to him.

Happy to comply, she hitched her
chemise up to her thighs, enabling her to wrap her legs around his waist. Iain’s blue eyes gleamed wickedly as he cupped a breast in each hand. He then proceeded to slowly strum his callused thumbs over Yvette’s puckered nipples.

“
Hmm
. . . like a lute you do play me,” she murmured.

Using the pads of his thumbs, Iain gently pressed her nipples inward, holding them there for several
moments before releasing them.

The pleasurable sensation caused her to whimper softly.

“Is the melody to yer liking, my lady wife?”

“Yea, but –
” Yvette brazenly slipped a hand under his kilt –“Mayhap it needs some accompaniment.”

Iain raised an askance brow.
“Have ye no shame, woman?”

“You do not play the indignant spouse nearly as well as I,”
she informed him with an amused smile.

“
’Tis hard to play at indignation when I have a cockstand concealed beneath my plaids.”

“You do?”
Yvette lifted the edge of the wool fabric and peered beneath it. “Sweet Mary! Where did
that
come from?”

Throwing back his head, Iain
laughed robustly. “Had I known wedlock would be so enjoyable, I would have remarried much sooner.”

“D
o you still think about Fiona?”

Instantly regretting the impetuous question,
Yvette wordlessly pulled her hands out from under Iain’s kilt. In counterpoise, he removed his hands from her breasts.

“No’ as much as I used to,” he said
after a lengthy pause.

“Was your marriage to Fiona ver
y different from our marriage?” she next asked, curiosity getting the better of her.