Sleepless in Scotland (16 page)

MacLean pushed himself up on one elbow, his hair falling over his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

As the sheet slipped down, Triona found herself admiring his broad, finely muscled chest and flat, rippled stomach.

He started to toss the sheets aside.

“Don’t!”

He froze. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t get up! You…you don’t have any clothes on.”

After a startled moment, he gave a deep laugh. Still grinning, he dropped back against the pillows and tucked his hands beneath his head. “I always sleep in the nude.”

Didn’t he get cold? Perhaps not, for his skin had been as warm as if he’d been standing in front of a fire. Still, it seemed decadent and naughty.

He grinned, his gaze flickering over her. “I can see you believe in the benefits of sturdy nightwear. There’s enough material there for two gowns. Maybe three.”

She smoothed her night rail. “It’s cold at Wythburn. The chimneys put out more smoke than heat, so we all wear sensible nightwear.” The thought of her brothers and sisters made her throat tighten with homesickness, so she shoved the thought aside. “I was afraid to catch the ague.”

He smiled slowly. “I haven’t been ill a day in my life.”

She’d wager that was true, for he certainly looked exceedingly…healthy.

He reached down and flipped back the sheet on her side of the bed, revealing a narrow strip of his muscular hip and leg. “Come back to bed; it’s too cold to be up. Give Mrs. Wallis’s troops a little time to light the morning fires.”

It
was
a bit cold, even standing on the thick rug. And he’d felt so very warm.

Her gaze took in his broad shoulders, the way his chest tapered down to narrow hips that were barely hidden by the sheet.

Suddenly it was hard to breathe. Her heart pounded and her nipples tightened in the most unusual way.

“Come back to bed, Triona. It’s too cold to be up.”

She frowned. “No, really, I—”

Suddenly, the wind moaned—a dull, roaring moan that rattled the windows and stirred the curtains. Cold air whooshed down the fireplace with such force that a puff of ash blew out, and Triona shivered as her night rail fluttered about her.

She glanced suspiciously at MacLean. He was still in the same relaxed position, hands locked under his head, but there was a tension about his face—the look one got if one had a headache.

She eyed him. “You did that.”

He laughed, though he rubbed one temple. “What if I did?”

“I’ve always heard that the MacLeans cannot control the weather; they just start it when they get angry.”

“Hmm. Apparently you heard wrong.”

She eyed him warily, crossing her arms over her chest against the swirling cold, not sure how she felt about this development. “Can the others do the same?”

He gave a smug smile. “No, just me. Now, come to bed, sweet. It’s not even seven yet, and I refuse to give up a perfectly good morning. I get so few, because of—” He stopped suddenly.

She rubbed her cold arms. “Because of what?”

He lifted the blankets again. “Come to bed, and I’ll tell you.”

The bed did look tempting, and the wind had sucked all of the warmth from the room. It would take the fireplace hours to rewarm it. She hugged herself tighter, her teeth beginning to chatter.

Hugh’s smile vanished. “Damn it, I didn’t mean to make you freeze. Come to bed!”

She shook her head, her teeth clattering now.

With a muffled curse, he tossed back the sheet and rose. For one glorious instant, the light from the window by the bed highlighted him from head to toe.

Triona couldn’t help but appreciate his fine masculine form. He was every nude statue she’d ever seen—a wide and powerful chest, narrow hips, a flat, rippled stomach, and massive thighs.

She only had one second to look, because he scooped her up and carried her back to his bed, where he tucked her under the sheets and blankets, then climbed in beside her.

Triona closed her eyes, savoring his warmth as he wrapped himself around her.

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered as he tucked her back against him, his hand once again cupping her breast, but not so loosely this time.

“Did-did it hurt you?”

“Did what hurt me?” His voice purred lazily.

“Raising the wind.”

“No. Trying to make it stop after it’s been stirred does, though.”

She turned in his arms so she could see his face. They were now chest to chest, Hugh’s arms loosely clasped about her waist. “But that’s against the legend. If you can control it, it’s not really a curse, is it?”

“If I lose my temper, the weather will roar just as it does with my brothers. But if I work hard, sometimes I can stop it.
Sometimes.
”

Something about the somber way he spoke made her ask, “At what cost?”

MacLean placed a warm kiss on her forehead. “That is for me to worry about.”

She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “I want to know more. My grandmother was forever telling us about the curse and how it works.”

He chuckled, the rumbling noise making his chest vibrate against hers. “You are as curious as a cat.”

She touched a finger to his chin. “How long have you known you’re able to control your particular…ability?”

His wolfish grin made her heart sputter. “I’ve always been able to control my…” He slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her tight against him so she could feel his erection. “…ability. Would you like a demonstration?”

Triona leaned toward him, savoring the contact and relishing his good humor. “You are very different here, at your house.”

“I’m home,” he said simply. He cupped her face with a gentle hand and slid it down her neck to her shoulder. “I have a question for you: do you always talk this much in the morning?”

“Do you always touch this much in the morning?” she retorted. His hands had never stilled, stroking her back, her shoulders, down her side, grazing the side of her breasts in a way that made her stomach tighten and kept her from thinking about anything but him.

His eyes twinkled. “Sometimes I do even more.” He kissed her cheek, then rubbed his cheek to hers.

There was something so…interesting about the way his bare legs felt entwined with hers, the way her breasts seemed to tighten and swell as his fingers cupped her.

Her entire body warmed inside and out as restlessness grew within her. This was her husband and their marital bed, and it felt so
right
.

She tentatively trailed her fingers over his hard muscles, down his shoulder to his arm, then across his chest. Emboldened by her own daring and the way MacLean’s eyes shimmered with growing passion, she continued.

Touching him excited her as much as being touched. She thrilled at the masculine beauty of his body, at the sensual feel of his skin gliding beneath her fingertips. She watched as her fingers brushed over his hip and then down his thigh.

She suddenly realized he wasn’t moving. She glanced into his face and surprised a look of fierce determination. “What’s wrong?”

He captured her hand on his thigh. “I must maintain some control, my love; I don’t want this to hurt you.”

“Hurt?” Her voice squeaked.

“The first time, it can—” He caught her expression and frowned. “Didn’t your mother tell you anything?”

“She told me that it would be a pleasure to be with a man I l—” Triona clamped her mouth closed. “She said when the time came, my husband would show me what to do.”

Hugh grimaced.

Suddenly feeling deficient, she added hastily, “I’ve seen animals mate, though, if you’re worried I don’t know the mechanics.”

He looked astounded, then laughed as he kissed first one, then the other of her hands. “I am glad you know those, at least. That makes things easier.” His expression softened. “I don’t want your first time to be a sad shock, as I’ve heard it may be uncomfortable.”

“Have you ever seduced a virg—”

“No,” he said hastily.

“Then who told you that?”

His face grew red. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, but who would—”

Hugh kissed her to silence the questions that were too awkward to answer, but as soon as his lips touched hers, all thought of anything was gone. She’d been driving him mad since he’d awakened to see her jump out of bed, all slender ankles and volumes of muslin floating about. As she’d moved, the material had caressed portions of her body with agonizing clarity—a long leg, her full breasts, the rounded curve of a hip—only to allow them to fade back into the soft folds. Now, holding her against him, he could feel every inch of her through the night rail, and it was driving him mad.

Oh, how he lusted for her! She was challenge and sweetness and something else he couldn’t quite name.

He kissed her, moving from her sweet lips to her neck and then her shoulder. He pushed aside the maddening night rail and nuzzled her neck until she shivered with pleasure.

That was what he wanted! He slipped his thigh between hers as he moved back to her ear. He found her breast and cupped it gently, rubbing his thumb over the nipple until it peaked and hardened.

There were so many things he longed to do, so many places he yearned to kiss—but now was not the time. He wanted to stir her senses, to raise her passion gently so as not to frighten her. He increased his ministrations, blowing softly on the delicate skin behind her ear. Her movements, growing increasingly restless, made him ache for her anew.

Finally she began to move against his thigh, her breath short, her hands grasping his arms as she strove to pull him closer. She was almost there…he could feel it.

Hugh gritted his teeth against his howling lust. He couldn’t afford to let it loose, not yet.

He began to tug her night rail up and, to his surprise, she helped him, lifting her hips and yanking the material out of the way. Her face was flushed, her lips moist and swollen from his kisses, her hair tumbled about her in a cascade of curls. To see her so roused and so innocent was the most erotic moment Hugh had ever experienced. He had to rest his damp forehead against hers and halt his galloping imagination.
For her. This has to be for her.

She writhed against him, her night rail now bunched about her waist, the tight curls between her thighs brushing his leg, damp and urgent.

Hugh positioned himself carefully, her legs opening for him naturally, then lifted up on his elbows so he could see her face. Slowly, inch by inch, he lowered himself into her. She was so tight, so sweet! His body pulsed with need and lust.
Don’t frighten her,
he told himself fiercely. He sank deeper, the tight wetness almost undoing him. His body was drenched with sweat, his muscles screaming as he clenched them to hold off the building heat.

He paused as he reached the small barrier, holding himself there. She writhed against him, grasping his shoulders and pulling him. “Hugh!” she gasped. “Please! I want…” She locked her legs about his waist, and yanked him deeper inside her.

Her head jerked back and pain briefly flickered over her face. Hugh moved smoothly and quickly, caressing her breasts and kissing her deeply as he increased the tempo until she was gasping, her skin dewy with exertion and flushed a delicate pink.

She was so beautiful—so
his
.

Suddenly she arched, gasping his name and quivering. He shuddered as she tightened around him, stroking him with her heat and wetness. The moment seemed to stretch into infinity, his body aching with pleasure. Finally she stilled, gasping, her arms locked about his neck. Holding her close, he released his control and tumbled over the edge of pleasure after her.

A good deal later, Triona opened her eyes again, wincing a little at the tenderness between her legs. Mingled with that tenderness was a glow of sated passion that made her smile in deep contentment.
So this is what it feels like. No wonder so many poems are written about it!

Beside her she could feel Hugh’s deep, even breath, his arm once again over her, his body completely relaxed as he slept.

She smiled and looked around the room—
her
room now. The bedchamber streamed with sunshine, the rich, jeweled tones of the décor suiting her perfectly—the stream of golden sun as it fell on cobalt blue bed hangings, the bright green and red carpet adorning the floor, and the rich mahogany furniture.

Her favorite piece of furniture was the bed. She smiled again. Lovemaking was a wildly pleasurable affair, and she thought that she and Hugh had done it exceptionally well. The first time had been rather quick, compared to the final two, but she had no complaints other than a deep ache and a bit of stiffness, both of which were oddly pleasant.

She shivered at the memory and carefully extricated herself from the bed, sliding a pillow under Hugh’s arm. He shifted slightly, snuggling deeper into the sheets.

He looked so boyish asleep, his lashes enviably long. And this man was her husband. Triona murmured the word “husband” several times, filling her mouth with the taste of it.

Feeling slightly silly, she pulled the covers over him and went to wash in the basin by the bed. To her delight, her clothes had been brought in while they slept and were brushed and pressed and were now hanging neatly in the huge wardrobe. God bless Mrs. Wallis!

Triona dressed, slipped on her boots, then found her spectacles on a small table beside the washbasin. She settled them onto her nose and took stock of her situation. This morning had been an auspicious beginning for her marriage.

She’d lived through the scandal, the wedding, and the trip to Gilmerton, and now she’d conquered her first few hours as mistress. Except for the faint homesickness, she was quite satisfied with her position. All she needed to do was discover how the house was run, so she could carve out a place for herself until it was time to return home.

Home.
Back at Wythburn, her brothers and sisters would be crowded in the breakfast room, laughing and talking of the day’s activities. Her parents would have returned and would know of her marriage, and perhaps be concerned about her.
I should write them a letter today, and one to grandmother letting her know I am here and arranging a visit.
Triona wasn’t quite sure where Mam’s house was in relation to Gilmerton, but they might be close enough for a day visit.