To Love a Highlander (29 page)

Mirabelle shivered at the provocative appreciation in his low, deep voice. Flames of her own licked across her skin, melting her inside.

Then he did what she’d known he would, kissing her there where she burned the hottest, tingled so maddeningly. He opened his mouth over her, licking her most lasciviously. And still, he circled the pad of his thumb over that one spot that seemed the center of all pleasure.

Her heart raced, everything in her tightening as he kissed and licked her, ravishing her indeed. He looked up at her as he did so, his dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. His gaze held passion and want, raw desire that made what he was doing to her an even headier delight.

Or so she thought until he replaced his circling thumb with his tongue, flicking its tip back and forth over her tingling, pulsing flesh, the tiny nub that quivered with such intense sensation it was unbearable.

“Relax.” He slid a hand behind her, splaying his fingers across the curve of her bottom, holding her steady. “Let me give you this, show you how much I want you.”

“You are.” She couldn’t say more. She was breathless, falling into an abyss, the room darkening as his tongue lashed at her, licking the length of her, swirling over that one maddening spot.

Then he stopped there, taking that place into his mouth, drawing on her, gently. She cried out, her entire body trembling with her release, the unexpected rush of such intense, all-consuming bliss.

Sensation swept her, endless waves of dizzying pleasure. She felt her hips arching, knew she was pushing herself against him. As if from a great distance, she heard a sound, almost a deep, dark growl, purely masculine. It was hard to tell because she was melting into him, disappearing as surely as morning sun banishes mist.

As she floated, she was vaguely aware of him scooping
her into his arms and carrying her across the room, where he lowered her carefully onto the bed. Half sure she was dreaming, she opened her eyes to see him standing a few feet away, undoing the shoulder clasp that held his plaid.

He was looking right at her, his gaze dark and fierce.

Mirabelle’s heart started pounding again, her blood heating anew. As long as she could remember, or so it seemed, she’d dreamed of this moment. Seeing Sorley before her now, his magnificence limned by the firelight, so much passion and love on his face, was almost more than she could bear. She trembled, her breath quickening as he pulled off his plaid and let it fall to the floor. His shirt followed, disappearing in an eye-blink. His eagerness to be naked with her excited her so much that the hot tingling between her thighs returned, the sensations almost overpowering. She shifted on the bed, so in love, so impatient to be in his arms. She burned for him to make her his at last, in all ways.

“I dinnae do this lightly, lass.” He set his hand on the wolf’s-head buckle of his sword-belt. “You ken I have ne’er lain with a virgin, ne’er despoiled a highborn lady.” He unhooked his belt, threw it aside, coming forward to stand right before the bed’s edge.

“I’m no’ ruining a lady now either.” He shoved down his hose, stepped out of them. “I am claiming you, Mirabelle. I am taking what is mine and what I’ve wanted for so long. There is no shame, no scandal in what we are about to do. You shall be my bride, my lady wife for the rest of our days. All that is happening now is that I’m about to show you how much I love and desire you, as I have always done.”

“Oh, Sorley, you know I lost my heart to you that long-ago night.” Mirabelle pressed a hand to her mouth, unable to say more. Her throat was too thick, her joy too great. She opened her arms to him, awed to see how ready he was to do as he’d vowed.

His darkly wicked smile alone curled her toes.

His big, strong body, now fully naked and so near to her, stole her breath. His skin gleamed, the soft glow of the fire playing over his hard-muscled form. She saw the scars he’d taken in battle. Her heart squeezed to see them. She meant to caress and kiss each one, erasing the hurt they must’ve caused. She also ached to touch the dusting of his dark chest hair, to trail her fingers over such pure male glory, trace the arrowing line of that crisp hair straight to where his long, thick manhood strained so proud against his abdomen, his desire apparent.

Mirabelle drew a breath, so pleased that he stood there, bold and glorious, letting her look her fill of him. She’d never tire of gazing on him, so heady was the sight of his raw male beauty.

“Enough, lass. It’s no’ easy to stand here, you studying me as you are.” His words, the implication behind them, sent a new barrage of tingles sweeping across her most tender flesh. “For truth, I’d rather look at you,” he said, the roughness of his voice exciting her even more. Reaching down, he eased her thighs apart, his eyes darkening as he gazed at her. He stepped closer, trailed his fingers over her damp curls. “Ne’er have I been more roused.”

“O-o-oh…” She leaned back against the pillows, barely breathing as another floodtide of delicious shivers raced across the soft, sensitive place he stroked so expertly.

“Sweet lass, sweet precious lass.” He cupped her hard, squeezing. “You dinnae ken what you do to me, but I’m about to show you.”

Then, with the same speed with which he’d removed his clothes, he was on the bed, stretched out beside her. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against him as he slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply. It was a hard, rough kiss, full of breath and tongue, and so savage that her entire body quivered. She returned the kiss with equal fervor, twining her arms around his shoulders, gripping tight as
he plundered her lips, the sensations so intense, so pleasurable, she didn’t want him to ever stop.

She cupped the back of his neck, clutching him to her, melting into his kiss. But he tore his lips from hers and caught her hand, bringing it to his mouth. He nipped the flesh beneath her thumb, and then kissed her wrist before he raised her arm, stretching it over her head.

“My heart,” he hushed the endearment against her shoulder, pressed his lips there as he rolled on top of her. He reached down between them, guiding the hard, hot length of him to her entrance. “I’d no’ hurt you for the world.”

“You won’t—only if you do not claim me now.” Mirabelle grasped his face with both hands, turning him to her for more kisses.

He obliged, sealing his mouth over hers in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, the glory of it proving again that she could never live without such pleasure, without him.

Then all thought vanished when she felt him tense and begin pushing his maleness slowly, carefully inside her. She kissed him more deeply, swirling her tongue round and over his, savoring the intimacy, not minding the hot, tight, pinching sensations clenching at her center. The pressure did hurt, but it was also thrilling. A union with the man she’d loved and wanted since girlhood.

“My love…” She thrust her fingers into his hair, holding him tight, kissing and kissing him as he eased ever deeper into her, claiming her innocence, her heart, body, and soul, granting her heart’s desire.

“You are mine.” He pulled back, breaking their kiss to push up on his arms and look down at her, his expression almost feral.

“Only yours.” Mirabelle held his gaze as he pressed deeper, now fully inside her, riding her. She soared, wrapping her legs about his hips, needing, craving the closeness of being one with him.

“My precious lass.” He tipped back his head, staring up at the rafters, the cords of muscle in his arms and neck straining, his jaw clenched. “My sweet Mirabelle…”

Then he stilled, a great shudder passing through him as he jerked and called out her name, a flood of heat filling her as he released his seed.

“Sorley…” Mirabelle lay perfectly still, half afraid to move, not knowing what to do.

She felt awed, humbled, and blessed to have brought him such intense pleasure.

“You unman me, sweet.” He eased off her, drawing her gently into his arms, nestling her head against his shoulder. “I should have lasted longer, but”—he slid his hand between her damp thighs, his thumb once again finding that wondrous knot of sensation he’d rubbed before. He began circling the spot now, slowly and gently, his touch so light that it could’ve been a butterfly wing.

“Just lie still, let me pleasure you.” He kissed the top of her head, his circling thumb rubbing round and round. Melting her until, as before, the waves of bliss washed over her, rushing her into that dark, glittering place where nothing existed except the ecstasy he gave her.

She closed her eyes, felt herself falling as the room spun away and all she heard was the thunder of her blood in her ears, the beating of her heart.

And, though she couldn’t quite be sure of this, Sorley’s softly muttered praise. Thanks for all she’d given him.

Of course, she saw it differently.

And the more she came back to her senses, the more she knew that was so. Words of love and endearment weren’t all he’d said as he’d made her his.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes, still too drained to slip from the bed. She did note that Sorley had done so. He stood across the room, at the small table that held her water jug and wash basin, pouring water, delightfully at
ease in his nakedness. Indeed, she enjoyed the view of his strong back, his legs and buttocks, so much that she almost wished he wouldn’t turn around. But she needed to clarify something, so she scrambled up against the cushions and pulled a pillow before her.

Not to hide herself, but because the hearth fire had dwindled to little more than a flickering red glow of ash, and the night’s chill was biting now, the room’s cold raising gooseflesh on her bared skin.

“Sorley…” Her voice was hoarse, her lips tender from their kisses. “Did I truly hear you say you wish to marry me? I didn’t think—”

“That I’m the marrying sort?” He turned, striding toward her with the basin and a few linen cloths clutched in his hand. His manhood hung loose and free, relaxed now, yet still so beautiful to behold that another faint wash of tingles rippled across the still-throbbing flesh between her legs. “That I am no’, as anyone will tell you. In truth,”—he stopped before her, setting the bowl and cloths on the night table—“you couldnae land a worse husband, there’s no denying. But no man will ever love or want you more.” He dipped one of cloths into the basin, wringing it out before he planted a firm hand on her belly, holding her still as he slid the linen between her legs, wiping the blood smears from her thighs, her aching female flesh.

Mirabelle felt herself flushing at his ministrations, but…

They also roused her—that he would tend her so intimately, his gaze on that exposed part of her, thrilling and exciting her. It made her want him to claim her again. First with his bliss-spending fingers and mouth, then—she shivered—once more with all of him, again and again.

She bit her lip and glanced aside, wondering if she wasn’t the one unsuited for marriage.

Surely she’d turned wanton?

“You are a prize any man would give his soul to claim,
Mirabelle.” He parted her thighs a bit more, rubbing her with the cloth. “So beautiful, so responsive, so proud and true, courageous. You are caring.” He glanced at the corner brazier where Little Heart slept contentedly. “So many good things that I’d need the whole of our lives to count them all.”

“You do not think I am brazen?” There, she’d said the word aloud.

“You are perfect.” He tossed aside the damp cloth and reached for a dry one, dabbing her gently. “I wouldnae want you any other way.

“I am the one no’ bent for marriage.” He didn’t sound as if he objected, though. “We’ll just have to think on where to wed, where to live, how to shape our lives. We’ll manage. I should warn you that I have a stubborn streak. I am no’ dissuaded by difficulties or challenges. Indeed, I aye find a way to master the first and welcome the second.

“The King will surely want us to marry here, at Stirling.” He finished drying her and dropped the linen to the floor. Sitting beside her on the bed, he pulled her against him. “William will ne’er speak to me again if we dinnae hold a wedding celebration at the Red Lion. Your father, once I have spoken to him, may wish for a further feasting at Knocking.”

“My father…” Mirabelle felt a pang of doubt, tamping it down before Sorley noticed. “He has always wished me to settle in the Highlands. He is eager for grandchildren and—”

“He shall have them, and plenty.” Sorley took her face between his hands, kissing her deeply. “I will purchase or build a small tower house somewhere between here and your beloved Knocking Tower.”

“Such a site would be near to your father’s Duncreag.” Mirabelle touched his cheek, not liking how his expression hardened on her suggestion. “I know Archibald. He is a good man, old and cranky at times, but—”

“I will deal with him in my own time, lass.” He gripped her wrist, lowering her hand. “First, I’ll postpone my journey
north with Grim Mackintosh. That can wait. I’ve other, more important matters to attend. For the now, I will leave you be.” He stood and began gathering his clothes off the floor, dressing as quickly as he’d disrobed. “You’ll need a good night’s rest and I’ll no’ have folk wagging their tongues if a servant should enter and find me naked in your bed.”

She wanted him to stay. “But I’d rather—”

“I told you once, sweet…” He came back to the bed, leaned down, and dropped a quick kiss to her brow. “I dinnae use the word ‘but.’ ”

Already clothed, he stepped back and slung his sword-belt low about his hips. The flame of the night candle caught the jeweled eyes of the belt’s wolf’s-head buckle, making them gleam as if the beast lived.

Mirabelle shivered, rubbing her arms against the chill that swept her. “What of the Fenris? Will you not be missed if you leave Stirling?” She surprised herself by mentioning the secret brotherhood.

But the wolf’s-head buckle brought the myth to mind.

The way Sorley’s gaze sharpened on her was even more telling.

She scooted from the bed, went over to him and gripped his arms, challenging. “I know the name hails from Fenris the Wolf in Norse mythology. He was a troublemaker, the son of Loki the trickster.”