Defiant (12 page)

The major must have noticed her staring. “’Tis a wedding dance, aye? The entire village shares in the joy of that bonding. See how the man says something sweet to his lady, and she speaks kind words to him in return? Let us try it.”

He wanted her to do what the others were doing?

She glanced beside her, watched the woman rub her nipples over the man’s bare chest, both of them with their hands on their hips, their chests jutting out, their eyes closed. “Oh, no, Major, I could never—”

The major’s grin widened. “Words only, lass.”

They drew apart.

When they came together again, the major’s gaze was fixed on hers. He leaned in, his scent surrounding her. “You are bonnie beyond a man’s dreams, my lady.”

The sincerity in his voice and in his eyes made her face grow warm, and all she could do was stare at him as they drew apart again. But what was she to say to him? She’d never played at coquetry before.

Four steps out. Four steps in.

She looked up at him—and the words came easily. “You are the most courageous man I know, Major.”

It was the simple truth.

Four steps out. Four steps in.

He touched a knuckle to her cheek. “A man could lose himself in your eyes.”

But it was Sarah who felt lost, the drumbeat and the heat in his gaze driving her on. “I…I’ve never met a man like you.”

He chuckled, a broad grin on his face. “Of that, my lady, I’m certain.”

Four steps out. Four steps in.

His gaze seemed to pierce her. “Your lips were meant for a man’s kisses, my lady. I willna lie. When I kissed you today, I found pleasure in it.”

Her heart seemed to miss a beat—her feet, as well. “Y-you did?”

“Aye. And I’ve a mind to kiss you again.” He slipped an arm around her, drew her against him, and took her mouth with his.

His lips pressed hard and hot against hers, his tongue seeking hers more forcefully this time, coaxing it to life with velvet flicks, luring it into his mouth. Her knees went weak, and she heard herself whimper, her fears about what was to come momentarily forgotten as her hands found their way over the hard muscles of his shoulders and into his hair, her pulse thrumming in her ears like a heartbeat, like a drumbeat.

It took a long moment after the kiss ended for her to notice the dance was over, too, her gaze locked with Major MacKinnon’s, her lips tingling, aching.

He ran his thumb over her lower lip, his voice deep. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, my lady, you find pleasure in kissin’ me, too.”

“Yes.”
It was an admission she would never have made at home in London.

Then again, if she’d been at home in London, she would never have kissed a man, nor would she have been alone with one. Nor would she be about to endure a sham wedding and a forced wedding night. And the fears his kiss had banished came rushing back to her.

She glanced around. The drum had fallen silent, the people of the village drifting toward the council house. “What happens now?”

The major smiled and threaded his fingers through hers. “We feast.”

He led her into the council house and sat where he’d sat this afternoon—across the fire from the woman chief. Wooden bowls were placed before them holding strips of roasted meat, cakes made of corn, nuts, and dried berries. Then the hall fell silent.

The old chief said something, then all eyes turned toward Sarah and the major.

“You eat from my hand, then I eat from yours to show that we shall take care of one another in years to come.” He picked up a sliver of venison, raised it to her lips. “Take it, lass.”

She caught the strip of meat on her tongue, drew it into her mouth, chewed. It was delicious, the meat tender and juicy.

“Now you feed me.”

She chose a strip of meat from the bowl, raised it to his lips.

“Mmm.” He caught her wrist, took the meat, and chewed, then licked the juices from her fingers. “My thanks, lass.”

Around them, people shouted and whooped.

“Now we are married, my lady.”

C
onnor watched as the villagers, their bellies full, rose in small groups and left the council house until the hall was all but empty, the people waiting outside to greet him and Sarah and walk them to their lodge.

“Come, lass.” He stood, reached down for Lady Sarah’s hand. “It is time.”

She looked up at him, the brave mask she’d worn throughout the meal slipping, naked fear in her eyes. She took his hand, got to her feet. “Now we go to the lodge?”

“Aye. Hold my hand, and walk beside me.” He led her around the fire pit and out the door, where they were greeted with whoops, cheers, and ululations.

Lady Sarah gasped and drew close against him, her hand holding his tight.

He set his arm around her, raised his voice so she could hear him. “’Tis nothin’ to fear, my lady. They’re merely wishin’ us well.”

“I do not mean to be so timid. It’s only that…The sound…It reminded me for a moment of the cries they made when they attacked us by the river.”

“You’ve naugh’ to explain, lass. I understand.” He led her past the bonfire and through the maze of lodges, the villagers following a few steps behind, their whoops and cheers enough to wake the dead.

There, by the door to the guest lodge, stood an older woman who was so alike to Grannie Clear Water that she could only be her sister. A sour look on her face, she ducked inside the moment she saw them draw near.

Crow Mother—the midwife.

Connor felt his anger at this indignity rekindle. Still, he would do Lady Sarah no good by becoming enraged. He stopped at the lodge door, then turned to face the crowd, forcing a smile onto his face and speaking in Shawnee. “We thank you
for your prayers and good thoughts. Now seek your beds as we do ours.”

The villagers laughed, a few men calling out crude suggestions as to what Connor should do in his bed tonight.

“Split her with your hatchet!”

“Push her onto her hands and knees, and take her like a bull elk in rut!”

“Fill her sweet hive with your honey—or let me do it for you!”

He ignored their vulgar words, then shocked Lady Sarah by scooping her into his arms, her weight settling easily. He looked into her startled eyes. “Though this marriage is a sham, what we share tonight will be real, my lady. I said I’d treat you wi’ the same respect I’d show my own true bride, and I meant it. I’d no’ be able to call myself a Scotsman if I let you walk across this threshold.”

He shouldered the door of woven mats aside and stepped inside to find Crow Mother sitting near a fire that had all but burned to embers. He set Lady Sarah on her feet. “Rest, my lady, while I build up the fire.”

He turned toward the woodpile, grabbed a fistful of kindling together with several larger pieces of wood, then turned back toward the fire only to find Crow Mother reaching for the buttons on Lady Sarah’s shirt—his shirt. He dropped the wood and started forward.

But before he could intervene, Lady Sarah smacked Crow Mother’s hands away. “Don’t touch me!”

Crow Mother drew her hand back as if to strike Lady Sarah, but Connor caught the old woman’s wrist and leaned in close, speaking in Shawnee. “From this moment, only my hand shall touch her. You are here to watch, and I will permit nothing more. Sit down, and keep silent. Do nothing to remind me you are here.”

He knew he took a risk by speaking to the chief’s sister with such disrespect, but he couldn’t hold it back. Her presence here was ill-intentioned and spiteful, and he would not abide her abusing or further frightening Lady Sarah.

Crow Mother glared at him but wisely said nothing, settling her girth on a sleeping platform against the far wall.

As the shouting and laughter died down outside the lodge, Connor gathered the wood he’d dropped and squatted down
next to the fire, feeding it first the kindling and then the larger pieces of firewood until embers flared into flames. Still nervish, he looked up to see Lady Sarah sitting on a sleeping platform, watching him. “Come sit by the fire, my lady. Warm yourself.”

She lay down, flat and stiff on her back, her hands balled into little fists at her sides. “Pl-please, Major, do what must be done. Let this night be over.”

She was offering herself to him, trying to be brave.

The poor lass!

Painfully aware that whatever happened tonight would color her feelings about men forever, Connor walked over to sit beside her, pity for her swelling inside him. He took her hand and drew her up into his arms. And for a time he did naught but hold her.

“I ken you are afraid, my lady, but you must trust me. I willna simply climb atop you and have done wi’ it. Lyin’ back and offerin’ yourself to me like a sacrifice took courage, but only an animal would take a woman in such a fashion. Whatever else I may be, I’m no’ an animal. Come. Sit wi’ me by the fire.”

F
eeling as if she were made of wood, Sarah followed the major, sitting beside him on the reed mats, the midwife watching her.

The major caught her cheek, turned her face toward him. “Pay no heed to that old crow. Forget she is there. Keep your eyes on me, lass.”

Then he drew a leather-wrapped flask and a tin cup out of his gear, poured amber liquid into the cup, and placed it in her hands. “Drink. It will help to calm you.”

She did as he asked, shuddering at the strong taste. “What is it?”

He chuckled. “Rum—a soldier’s drink.”

She took another, bigger swallow, grimacing as what felt like liquid fire burnt its way down her throat.

“Let us take out these braids, for I dinnae think you care for them. I saw you tuggin’ at them earlier.”

“They’re too tight. They pull at my hair.” She watched as he untied the leather thongs at the end of the braids, surprised that he had noticed her discomfort. Given all they were facing, it was but a small thing.

She took another sip, shuddered, her blood already warming.

He shifted to sit behind her, his voice deep and soft. “Tell me, my lady, what do you ken of the pleasures of men and women?”

The unexpected question sent a rush of heat into her cheeks, and she stammered. “I…My…M-my mother said my husband would tell me what he wished me to know on our wedding night.”

“Then that duty falls to me, aye?” He slowly unbraided her hair, bringing her relief. “As I’ve said, this marriage is a sham, but what we’re doin’ tonight will be real. I wish only to ease your fears. You must understand what is happenin’.”

His words set off butterflies in her stomach, and she wondered if she dared tell him that she already
did
know much about the marital act. Margaret had shared the ordeal of her wedding night, even showing Sarah sketches of ancient Greek sculptures she’d made when on holiday to answer Sarah questions about how men and women’s bodies were joined.

“It was my mother’s wish that we remain chaste in mind and body, but…Lady Margaret told me…She said that a man lies atop his wife and pushes his…his
membrum virile
—”

“His what?” The major gave a chuckle. “I’ve no’ heard it called that afore.”

“It’s Latin and means…penis.”

“I ken what it means. I may be a Ranger and simple compared to the men in your family, but I was raised in my grandfather’s keep until the age of twelve and can read and speak both French and Latin. But never you mind, lass. Tell me what Lady Margaret said.”

Sarah was too discomfited by the subject to take in this surprising revelation. “He pushes…his penis…inside his wife again and again until his seed spills. Margaret said this gives the man great pleasure but causes the woman pain.”

Face burning with embarrassment, Sarah took another sip of rum.

“You’ve beautiful hair, lass—soft as silk and the color of honey in sunlight.” The major’s fingers worked their way steadily upward, gently coaxing the tangles from the strands. “Who is Lady Margaret?”

“She is…
was
a friend. She…died last summer.” Sarah could not tell the major that Margaret had taken her own life,
for he would surely ask why, and Sarah could not tell him without exposing herself.

“Was poor Lady Margaret married?” The major’s fingers reached her scalp.

Despite herself and her situation, Sarah’s eyes drifted shut at the pleasing sensation as his fingertips curled against her nape. “Yes, she was. Her husband was thrown from his horse and died without an heir not long after their wedding.”

“Och, well, he must have been a brute, for the union of husband and wife is no’ meant to be a chore.” The major ran his fingers through her hair, his touch—and his words—sending little shivers down Sarah’s spine. “There is far more to what happens in the marriage bed than Lady Margaret told you. First, we kiss.”

He drew back her hair, exposing the side of her throat, then nibbled the sensitive skin just below her ear. His breath was hot, his lips hotter, seeming to scorch her as he trailed little kisses along the side of her throat, her cheek, her temple, raising tiny goose bumps on her skin. “Then I will touch and taste you everywhere.”

Everywhere?

Something shivered inside her.

“You can touch and taste me as well.” He sucked her earlobe into his mouth, making her gasp. “I will raise your passion, and you will raise mine.”

Major MacKinnon seemed to be all around her, surrounding her with his heat, his scent, his touch. He nipped her throat with his teeth, a strong arm encircling her waist, his fingers teasing apart the top few buttons of her shirt to caress the bare skin between her breasts.

Something fluttered deep in her belly, her nipples drawing tight as they did whenever she was cold. But she was anything but cold. A warm flush spread throughout her body, leaving her short of breath, her heart beating faster.

He nibbled her earlobe. “After a time, when your body is ready and you ache to have me inside you, I will enter you, bringing us both delight.”

Margaret had said nothing of this.

“It…It does not hurt, then?”

“The first few times can be painful for a lass, but if her husband takes his time wi’ her and is gentle, she willna suffer. That
is why I wish to take my time with you, my lady. I dinnae wish to hurt you. I want you to ken how good it can be for a woman.”