The Maclean Groom (26 page)

The rain continued in a steady downpour. With the pale morning light coming faintly through the drawn curtains, Rory listened to the raindrops beat against the window and gazed at his wife. Joanna lay on her stomach. Her delicate profile, with its dusting of ginger, was outlined against the white pillowcase. The profusion of curls, bright as newly struck pennies, spilled over her shoulders in lustrous disarray. He reached out and lazily wound the long strands around his finger, savoring their silken texture.

The thick, curving lashes fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes. “What are you doing in my bed?” she whispered.

She remained perfectly still, as though too horrified to move, and stared at his bare skin. The bedclothes lay across Rory's belly, leaving everything above his waist in plain view. Her startled gaze eventually came to rest on the fire-breathing dragon wrapped around his right arm.

He grinned at her artless naïveté. “'Tis my bed, too, Lady MacLean.”

“Godsakes, you didn't sleep here all night!” she gasped.

“Usually a man sleeps in his bed,” he replied, pausing meaningfully before adding, “among other things. But 'twasn't easy getting any sleep, what with being jabbed first by your elbow and then by your knee. I did get a few hours of rest. Most of the night, however, I just lay awake and listened to you snore.”

“I don't snore.”

“How would you know?”

Still on her stomach, Joanna cautiously raised herself up on her elbows and scowled at him. “Maude's never complained.”

Rory leaned over and braced his hand on the other side of his wife, effectively trapping her in the crook of his arm. He bent to kiss her cheek, and she turned her head away. He buried his face in her disheveled hair and inhaled deeply.

“Who's complaining?” he murmured.

“I am,” she said, her words muffled by the pillow. “You came to bed without your nightclothes again.”

He laughed softly as he nuzzled the curve of her shoulder. Her shift smelled of lavender and woman. Sweet, adorable woman.

God, he enjoyed being so close to her. And he hadn't even undressed her yet.

“I didn't bring a nightshirt along,” he said. “I left in such a hurry, I forgot to pack it.”

“Then you're a barbarian,” she muttered crossly. “Only barbarians leave home without their nightshirts.”

“Ah, and I suppose 'tis your own nightshift, that you're wearing, Lady MacLean.”

“Will you stop calling me that!”

“'Tis your name, lass.”

“Not for long,” she snapped. “You tricked me into saying those vows.”

Rory brushed her hair aside and pressed his mouth to the
pink shell of her ear. “You were caught in your own deception, Joanna,” he said with a tender smile. “We're well and truly married.”

He knew how confused she felt. Snared in a maze of conflicting emotions—emotions he couldn't understand himself, let alone express to his unwilling bride—he struggled to make some sense of the past two weeks.

He didn't believe in the romantic gibberish that lovers spouted to explain their silly infatuations and their clandestine affairs. The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted Joanna in his bed, a willing and eager partner. Yet despite his overwhelming sexual desire for his wife, Rory couldn't ignore her tender feelings. He wanted their life together to begin with mutual trust and sincere regard.

“Joanna,” he said quietly, “I'm sorry I called your mother and father those terrible names.”

She rolled over to face him, her eyes huge and filled with gratitude. “Thank you for that,” she said softly.

He dropped a chaste kiss on her brow, then pulled back to meet her eyes. A hint of tears brightened their violet-blue depths. “Say you'll forgive me.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “I forgive you.”

He gently brushed his lips across her flickering eyelids, her darling nose, her satiny cheeks. “Thank you for that,” he whispered.

As he'd chased after Joanna and Andrew the previous night, Rory had had plenty of time to realize his second grievous error. Had he failed to catch up with Joanna before she reached Mingarry, her kinsmen could have declared the vows null and void on the grounds their marriage had never been consummated. He'd have immediately stormed their castle, but at a terrible loss of life on both sides. Not a harbinger of wedded bliss.

Rory knew, without being told, that Joanna didn't fancy herself in love with Andrew. When he'd caught up with them, there'd been no indication the two cousins were a pair of infatuated young lovers fleeing from the harsh dictates of the king. Dressed as a stable boy, she'd had over
a week to attempt an escape from Kinlochleven. She hadn't bolted until someone told her of Rory's caustic denigration of her parents.

He'd bet his best Ferrara blade that the loudmouthed someone was Ewen. The Macdonald war commander had played on Joanna's loyalty to her clan and her love for her dead parents. Rory understood her feelings—but he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

He had no intention of allowing Joanna to leave their bed until he'd bound her to him in a knot that could never be unraveled. Not by her kinsmen. Not by an archbishop. Not even by the pope.

J
oanna knew she should jump out of bed that very instant, race to the door, and tear down the stairs in her borrowed shift and bare feet, calling for help all the way to the ground floor. But the knowledge that MacLean hadn't a stitch of clothing on his large, long-legged body sent a tingling sensation from the top of her head right down to her curling toes.

Oh, she fully intended to run from the room.

But not quite yet.

Later this morning, she'd inform her gentle hostess that until she left for Kinlochleven, she intended to sleep in her own
private
bedchamber or sit up all night, wide-awake, in their hall.

So since she'd never again lie beside MacLean, bare-arsed and splendid beneath the covers, this was Joanna's last chance to discover if what she'd been told as a bairn was indeed fact, or could be relegated to the realm of childhood fantasy. She had no intention of leaving the bed until she found out.

She met his heavy-lidded gaze and placed her hand on his arm in a gesture of friendship. “I didn't really intend to shoot you with that crossbow,” she said sincerely. “I only wanted to learn the truth.”

“I know.”

Leaning on one elbow, he bent over her, and the ferocious, three-headed dragon on his upper arm seemed to stir
menacingly as his bicep flexed. But a fetching smile curved Rory's mouth. His indolent gaze drifted over her hair and face as he pulled on the narrow blue ribbon at her throat, releasing the top bow of her nightshift.

Joanna studied his strong features, sharp as the blade of a Lochaber ax. He'd removed the thong from his hair and the smooth golden waves brushed against his shoulders. She reached up and traced her fingers over his straight eyebrows, touched the precious jewel that glittered on his earlobe, then buried her fingertips in his thick hair.

“I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me,” she whispered.

“You're already forgiven.”

She smiled tentatively, abashed that she'd dared to point a loaded weapon at her formidable bridegroom. “Did I frighten you terribly?”

His dazzling smile widened. He tugged on the ribbon of the second bow, and Joanna frowned as her gaze dropped to his long, capable fingers. She'd have to make her discovery soon or retreat without the answer she sought. And God knew, she didn't want to do that!

“You certainly caught me by surprise, lass,” he said in a low, husky voice. “I had my thoughts on other things at the time. I didn't hear you get out of bed, much less pick up a weapon.”

“What other things?”

“Things like this,” he murmured, releasing the third bow.

He leaned closer and covered her mouth with his. He followed the line of her closed lips with the tip of his tongue, coaxing her to open for him. When Joanna complied his tongue plunged into her mouth, teasing and instructing, and she greeted his cajoling thrusts with eagerness.

Setting aside her secret quest for the moment, Joanna slid her arms around his neck and returned his kiss. His lips were firm and purposeful, his tongue tantalizingly bold. Shy and hesitant, she entered his mouth and found him avidly
awaiting her caresses. Slowly she explored his welcoming warmth, learning to give as well as to take.

Her husband broke the kiss to slide his parted lips along the curve of her neck, marking a path of flame with his tongue. She released a soft, quivery sigh as the heat spread beneath the lacy collar of her voluminous sleeping gown.

Taken unawares, Joanna opened her eyes, belatedly realizing that her nightshift gaped open from her throat all the way to her navel.

Godsakes, when had he untied the other three bows?

“Oh, my,” she breathed. “I'm coming undone.” She reached down to retie the ribbons, and he caught her hands in his.

Interlacing their fingers, Rory brought Joanna's hands up to the pillow and held them lightly on either side of her head. He scattered a shower of kisses down one edge of her gaping bodice and up the other.

Joanna's heart pattered to the beat of the rain on the window. “Rory,” she said, unaccountably short of breath.

“Mm,” he answered.

“I…I think we should wait and get better acquainted.”

He chuckled softly as he nuzzled the embroidered material aside to reveal her pink crests. “We are getting better acquainted, lass.”

Her breasts swayed gently beneath his kisses. Joanna released a long, drawn-out sigh at the marvelous feel of his warm, moist tongue sliding over first one nipple and then the other. As he licked the sensitive peaks into tight, wee buds, she fought to keep her mind on her goal.

She needed to learn the truth about the chief of Clan MacLean as quickly as possible, and then get her prying, inquisitive mind out of his bed, and her fascinated body along with it.

“You're becoming better acquainted with me,” she pointed out in a shaky voice, “but I'm not becoming better acquainted with you.”

“We'll take turns,” he said huskily. “I'll go first.”

He suckled her, and the exquisite pleasure caught Joanna
by surprise. Her indrawn breath hissing between her teeth, she arched her back, lifting her breasts higher in glorious response. A sensation of warmth spread through her belly, and with it came an urgency to draw closer to him. She felt an unaccountable frustration that the bedclothes still lay between their lower bodies, and she shifted her legs restlessly.

Rory released her hands to cup her breasts. “I intend to get intimately acquainted with every inch of your sweet little body, lass,” he said, “and then I'll let you explore my big, hairy carcass to your heart's content.” He flicked the callused pads of his thumbs over her taut peaks as he kissed her deeply.

Joanna knew she couldn't wait for her turn to explore—not if she wanted to leave the bed with her virginity intact.

Getting an annulment would depend on it.

And her clan was depending upon her.

Timidly, she ran her hands across his sun-bronzed arms and wide shoulders. The bulging muscles beneath her fingers had been cast in iron. There was nothing soft or yielding about him.

“Let's explore together,” she whispered.

As he suckled her, Joanna slid her hands across his broad shoulder blades and down, down beneath the bedcovers, following the hard ridge of his spine to the curve of his lower back. Her heart pounding wildly, she smoothed her palms downward to the base of his tailbone, glided her fingers over his compact buttocks, and traced the cleft between with her exploring fingertips. She traced it once more, just to make certain.

Her feathering touch on his naked loins seemed to have a riveting effect on her husband, for he tensed and grew absolutely still beneath her curious inspection. Lifting his head from her breasts, he met her gaze in wonder.

“Joanna…darling…” he said with a surprised little laugh. He brushed his mouth lightly across her lips. “You don't know what you're doing to me, lass.”

Joanna giggled softly in relief and thanksgiving.

No dragon's tail—not the teeniest, tiniest trace of one!

“I'm learning about you,” she told him happily as she clasped his lean flanks. Once again, she ran her palms across his bare bottom and smiled in satisfaction.

Too late, she realized that Rory had already flung off the coverlet. He caught the hem of her nightshift in his fingers and drew the loose, flowing gown over her head with practiced ease. Before she could attempt to cover herself, he captured her hands and leaned back on his haunches.

“My God, lass, you're bonny,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper as his gaze moved over her with leisurely, deliberate thoroughness.

“Holy heavens,” she rasped.

At the sight of her husband's massive erection, Joanna knew she'd committed a major blunder. Her foolish, irrepressible curiosity had led her straight into the boiling caldron of unbridled male lust. She leaned on her elbows and tried to scoot away from him. She'd made some huge mistakes in the past, but this time Joanna Màiri Macdonald was really in trouble.

“If we don't get out of bed right this minute,” she announced with a jaunty smile, “we're liable to miss breakfast.” She jerked her fingers from his grasp and started to roll off the high mattress. “And 'tis starving I am.”

“So am I,” he said with a smothered laugh. He caught her by the waist and brought her up on her knees in front of him.

“Fine,” she said, croaking like a frog. “Then we're both hungry.” She braced her palms on his solid chest and leaned as far away from him as possible. “Let's go downstairs and get something to eat.”

He imprisoned her hips in his strong hands. “There's nothing to be frightened of, Joanna,” he said, his words low and silky smooth. “All we're going to do is get very well acquainted.”

Unable to meet his gaze, Joanna lowered her lids and stared at the holy medal adorning his scarred, hairy chest. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She'd seen Tam
and Mary in the stables, so she knew what her husband had in mind—he didn't mean a lengthy conversation about their favorite childhood games or the color of their first pony.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed with a noisy gulp. Tam wasn't as big as Rory, and the buxom dairymaid outweighed Joanna by a good three stone.

The words came out of her parched throat in a raspy whisper. “My cousin Ewen wants me to get an annulment.”

“There'll be no annulment, Joanna,” he said placidly.

Resting on his flanks, Rory leaned closer and laved her nipples. Shafts of pleasure shot through her, and she bit her bottom lip to smother a soft cry of delight. In spite of her determination to resist his erotic onslaught, her breasts grew firm and full beneath the persuasion of his adept, experienced mouth.

Joanna cleared her throat and tried again. “Ewen says I'm supposed to marry Andrew.”

“Forget about Andrew,” he told her with a growl. “I'm the only husband you'll ever have, lass.”

He slid his hand between her bare thighs, and his fingers delved into her triangle of reddish-brown curls with seductive expertise. He played with her gently as he suckled her. A tremor ran through Joanna's tense limbs, awakening within her an unbelievable need to get closer, and closer still, to this powerful warrior who touched her with such heart-wrenching tenderness.

“Oh, my,” she murmured.

He smiled and continued to taste and caress the most sensitive parts of her quivering body.

Joanna tried to recite the Macdonald clan motto in her head, but she could feel herself become moist and slick beneath his skillful manipulations. She moaned as the incredible pleasure pulsed through her secret places, trying desperately to concentrate on what she needed to tell MacLean before things went too far.

God's truth, she didn't want Rory to think her a wanton tease who'd give him license to fondle and then demand
that he stop. The possibility that she might have gone too far already set her heart hammering.

“Ewen sent to Rome asking permission for me to marry my cousin,” she said on a breathless sigh. “Maybe we should wait and see if it comes.”

“We're not waiting,” he told her. He slipped his finger inside her, and the feeling of fullness made her sob in pleasure.

“Rory…” she said in confusion. “I'm not sure…”

“Kiss me, Joanna.” He covered her mouth with his in fierce possession. She slid her splayed fingers across his scarred chest, touching his tightened nipples as he had touched hers.

“God above, you're sweet,” he murmured in her ear, continuing to stroke and fondle her.

Joanna lowered her head, burying her face in the curve of his throat. She breathed in the earthy male scent of him as she nuzzled his bare skin. Her fingers caught on the gold chain, and she clutched the holy medallion in a silent prayer to St. Columba.

Her whispered words were scarcely audible. “I think I'm too small.”

She could feel his chuckle vibrate deep in his chest. “You let me worry about that,” he said softly. “That's the bridegroom's responsibility.”

“What's the bride's?”

“All you need do is enjoy it.”

“Will I?”

“You will, Joanna. I promise.”

Rory eased his wife down to the soft mattress and knelt between her slender legs. He crouched over her and kissed the swollen tips of her breasts. Her long russet lashes floated downward to rest on her silken cheeks. With consummate care, he opened her velvety petals, gently teasing the fragile tissues till Joanna writhed with pleasure.

The beauty of her, lying there before him, pale and slim, with the mass of coppery silk strands spread across the pillow and the nest of auburn curls at the juncture of her
white thighs, struck a chord of tenderness within him that he'd never known existed. She belonged to him. To touch, and fondle, and caress. No man but Rory would ever know the loveliness of her naked body or the sensual passion glowing in her marvelous eyes.

“Touch me, Joanna,” he urged.

Her lids fluttered open. When she shyly reached toward him, he took her hand and taught her how to stroke him. The sight of her dainty fingers on his turgid flesh rocked him with the full, primitive force of pagan lust. Rory clenched his teeth, the pleasure so great his need nearly overcame his will. His lungs constricted, and he grew embarrassingly short of breath—a hardened soldier of twenty-eight years brought to the point of surrender by his inexperienced wife's silken touch.

Rory bent over her, kissing Joanna with the unfettered joy of total possession. “I'm going to come into you now,” he told her softly. “I'll be very gentle, darling.” But despite his confident words, Rory's heart thundered in his chest. God, she was small.

Bit by bit, Rory edged his rigid sex into Joanna's honeyed warmth. He entered her as slowly and carefully as he could, but her tight sheath resisted his efforts to be gentle. Covered with a fine sheen of sweat, his great body shook with the effort to maintain control. He could sense her apprehension building.