TemptationinTartan (4 page)

“Yes,” she whispered, so ashamed she did her best to bury
her face into his chest.

“’Tis all right, sweetling. Our experiences shape us,
especially the first time. ’Tis natural ye’d be stirred by the same act. Dinnae
worry. I’ll not hurt ye.”

Lifting her head, she narrowed her eyes at him. “You slapped
my leg.”

He laughed. “But I didnae hurt ye. It also stirred ye. Admit
it.”

“Ye-es,” she murmured sulkily.

Still smiling, he laid her on the pillows and kissed her.
First her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips. He rose and went to the
dressing table, where he poured water from a ewer into a bowl and washed,
stripping off the rest of his clothes. She watched with fascination as he
unfastened his breeches and cleaned his cock, which hung from a dark nest of
hair. He seemed entirely relaxed with his nakedness, behaving as though they’d
been married forever.

She wondered if she’d ever reach a like state.

Chapter Five

When Lydia awoke, she was alone. The curtains were drawn
around their bed and only Kieran’s distinctive male aroma was present.

She stretched, remembering how she’d felt after her first
wedding night, She’d also awakened alone, but in a bed that stank of feces and
blood with a raw, sore bum and an even more injured heart. This day, she felt
rested and pleased with the risk she’d taken by wedding her not-so-wild
Highlander.

He’d been gentle and considerate, eschewing his pleasure in
favor of beginning what she guessed would be a long initiation into the joys of
lovemaking. She had never before heard of anything Kieran had done in bed,
except for the kissing, and wondered what more he would reveal.

Now she understood what some of the other married women of
her acquaintance had hinted at but wouldn’t discuss. Now she understood the
reason George and Jane would frequently cast sidelong glances at each other and
disappear at odd hours, then show up with big smiles and disheveled clothing.

Sitting up, Lydia pushed the curtains aside. Elsbeth
appeared as though she’d popped out of a Jack-in-the-box.

Lydia grabbed the sheet and covered her naked breasts. “When
did you get here?”

“Milaird bade me enter at dawn, my lady.”

“Where is milaird?”

“I don’t know, my lady. He went out after bidding me to
fetch your breakfast when you awakened. He told me to serve you in bed.”

“Did he now?” Lydia lay back onto the pillows, smiling.

She had finished eating when Kieran entered. “And where have
you been, husband?”

“Kisses first, questions second.”

Elsbeth scurried out when he approached the bed, a dark
presence looming over Lydia.

He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her mouth.
“I’ve been spendin’ yer dowry.”

“On what?”

He sat on the side of the bed, which creaked. “Things for
the clan, provisions for the winter that we cannae make or grow ourselves.
Dinnae worry, wife, I’ll not waste your siller.”

“I feel as though you married me for my money. ’Tis an odd
feeling.”

“I betrothed ye for your money, but after we met I married
ye for purely carnal reasons.” He leaned over and nipped her neck.

“Kieran!”

“If ye dinnae want to be attacked in bed, ye should probably
get out of it.”

She winked at him, feeling feminine and daring. “P’raps I’ll
stay here for the nonce.”

He yanked off his jacket and sprawled beside her. “P’raps
I’ll join ye.” He rolled atop her, pressing her down.

She gasped for breath and he rolled back. “Sorry. I dinnae
know my own strength.”

“It’s all right. Just for a moment I felt a little…trapped.”

He eyed her. “Och, I can guess why.”

“William.”

“Aye, William, both blessed and damned. When will he get out
of our bed, lassie? ’Tis a mite crowded in here with the three of us.” Kieran’s
voice was kind but firm.

She breathed, sighed, relaxed. “As soon as I can boot him
out.”

“Let’s start getting rid of him now.” He tossed the quilt
and sheet to the foot of the bed, baring her body.

She blushed but endured his stare, knowing that if she
resisted he might tie her up again. She didn’t want to risk her maid seeing her
in such an embarrassing state.

He caressed her breasts, cupping and examining them with his
dark, curiously intent gaze. He pinched one and she vaguely remembered that
he’d bitten her sharply on that nipple the previous night. But it appeared
unharmed, though a little more swollen than usual. As he fondled her, the tips
firmed and hardened into tight cones of arousal. She leaned back into the
pillows and drew deep breaths, letting her breasts thrust into his hands. He
squeezed and shaped while she allowed herself to enjoy the pressure, the
tugging, the pulling. She moaned. Her hips jerked and her quim moistened,
fluttered, opened, waiting for him.

He spread her legs and said, “What’s this?”

“What?”

“Your courses, I believe.” He pushed in a finger and she
heard a squelching sound.

“Oh, no.” She tried not to cry, but tears sprang to her eyes
despite her determination.

“Oh, no…what?” Kieran asked. He pulled out his finger and
licked off the red fluid that coated it. “I willnae stop having ye for a week
every month, wife. ’Tis too much to ask.”

She watched, amazed. William had avoided her when she bled.
Kieran seemed to relish it.

“Ye look right funny with yer mouth open like that.”

She shut it with a snap.

“Ye know what a man likes to do with a lassie’s open mouth,
don’t ye?”

“Kiss it?”

“Nay.”

“Um, put his tongue into it?”

He stood, unlaced his trews and took out his cock, running
his fingers along its already nerve-racking length. He smoothed away a fleshy
covering to reveal a thick, rigid pole.

She gaped. William hadn’t been as big. What could Kieran do
to her with this weapon?

“Exactly so, my wife. Shall we try this?”

His voice was soft and supplicating. Reassured, she managed
a nod. Her gaze remained fixed on his thickening member as he pulled off boots
and stockings, shirt and trews.

Her gaze flashed up to his chest, muscular, white-skinned
and furred with black curls, then back to his cock and down. His legs were as
hard and brawny as the rest of him, with the shapely calves she remembered from
the first time they’d met.

His member again seized her attention. She was fascinated by
his tool, framed as it was by a thick bed of black hair. “I, er…I’ve never
known anyone who could divest himself of his clothes so quickly.”

“Ye’re a lass of limited experience, but ye’ll not hear me
complain.”

Reaching for her ankles, he tugged them down, then arranged
a pillow beneath her head, elevating it for…what?

“Ye seem right curious about my friend, here.” He fondled
his rigid length, its vivid color a contrast with the pale skin that covered
the rest of his muscular body.

“Er, yes.”

“Explore all ye wish, my bonnie wife. He’s yours to use as
ye will.” Kieran climbed back onto the bed, kneeling with one knee on either
side of her torso. He smiled down at her.

She reached out with a hesitant finger and touched the tip.
Firm, round and red. She stroked, and from beneath the surface smoothness a
hard core jutted into her hand.

“Oh!” She jerked her fingers away.

He replaced them. “He often does seem to have a mind of his
own, but I try to think with the one in my head.” He gave her his impish grin.

She smiled back and gave him a hesitant squeeze.

Sucking in a breath, he closed his eyes. Encouraged, she
squeezed more firmly, then ran her fingertips up and down, watching and
listening as well as feeling. A musky aroma mingled with Kieran’s usual fresh
scent and her roses. She leaned forward to sniff his privates and inhaled
deeply, her nose nuzzling his cods.

His cock, swaying, bumped against her cheek and she used her
lips and tongue to move it away. Another indrawn breath from her husband, this
one louder. Interesting. She turned her head to one side and again put her
mouth to his shaft.

“Yesss…”

Aha. She slid her lips up and down his length, eliciting a
groan. She hoped it was a happy groan, and looked up to see Kieran’s eyes
closed and an ecstatic expression on his face.

Pleased, she continued, flicking her tongue around randomly
until she reached the dome-shaped head. The tiny hole on the top was a little
intimidating, so she contented herself with following the ridge around. Another
groan. Ah.

Emboldened, she traced a line over the top, pausing briefly
at the little slit. It had produced a shiny droplet of some kind of fluid…did
she need that to get a baby?

She was about to ask Kieran to put it inside her before she
remembered she had her courses. A renewed wave of disappointment washed over
her and she leaned back against the pillows.

He opened his eyes to look down at her. “Thank ye, my wife.
Thank ye.” He slid down her body, making her aware of every ridge of his
muscles. His chest hair scratched pleasantly, raising her nipples to tight
little kernels of want.

His head ended up where it had been the night before and she
couldn’t restrain a delighted giggle. This time he pressed his tongue against
her pearl, forcing a quiver of arousal through her before he focused on licking
out her quim, using his fingers to open the narrow slit for better access. The
flesh tingled, even stung a little when he thrust two fingers into her wetness.
Then he kissed her pearl again and the sting transmuted into a sizzle.

She panted, close to completion, but he stopped. “Not yet,
kylyrra
.”

“Soon?” she managed.

He smiled. “Soon.” He stepped away to refresh his mouth with
water from the ewer. During the brief pause his attention remained fixed on
her. She’d never been so closely scrutinized, for his sharp black gaze missed
nothing.

He again towered over the bed, over her, his broad torso
shutting out the morning light. “I’m going to put him in ye, lass,” he said,
his voice soft. “Are ye ready?”

She sighed, tears springing to her eyes. “I’ve been ready
for years.”

He levered his body above her. “I’m glad it’s me.” He kissed
her long and deep, his tongue exploring her mouth at leisure, rubbing and
tangling pleasantly with hers. She sucked and licked, enjoying his flavor.

His cock bumped her thigh before prodding her quim. He
pushed his hips toward hers and reached down with one hand to press his rod
inside.

She winced. He was big and it smarted. Unable to stop more
tears, she blinked them away, clinging to his shoulders.

“Love, I’m sorry, but it will hurt the first time, for a
bit. Just a little bit.” His tone was gentle and coaxing. “Then, I promise ye,
it’ll be wonderful. Ye want bairns, do ye not?”

“Ye-es.”

“Trust me. Please, trust me.”

She managed a nod.

Gripping her hip, he lowered his body and thrust his hard
length entirely into her. She squirmed and cried out at the ripping, tearing
sensation, but he stifled the sound with his mouth. She wrenched her lips away
from his, gasping and panting while he stayed still within her. It was as
though he’d pierced her entire being all the way through with his thick cock.

Gradually her panicked breaths stilled as she realized her
quim had eased open. She blinked at Kieran.

“Better?”

She nodded. Surprise swept her and, yes, desire. She
tentatively reached between them.

“Aye, love, that’s right. Touch yourself, in whatever way
feels good.”

His praise warmed her. She wriggled around to get room to
look down so she could feel and see his cock inside her. Their similar beds of
dark hair mingled and she parted the curls at their joining to look. Lifting
her head, she could see his rod with her quim opened and stretched tight around
him.

“Oh,” she breathed, finding the sight oddly stirring.

“Aye, ’tis beautiful, isnae it? Touch your pearl.” He began
to rock slowly within her.

She obeyed. The sensations combined to replace the pain with
waves—no, floods of pleasure that pulsed through her, unstoppable as their
heartbeats. She pushed herself more tightly against him, responding to the
rhythm he set.

He reached down to grab one of her knees and lift it high.
“Wrap your legs around my waist, so.”

She pulled her hand away and obeyed, finding that her hips
tipped up and he could take her more deeply, crushing her cunny against him.
Every time their bodies slapped together, a burst of flaming ecstasy roared
through her in time with the blood singing in her veins.

His thrusts increased in tempo, slamming the breath out of
her. She was entirely within his power and could do nothing but cling to his
shoulders and hope she’d survive his passionate onslaught. His tool surged in
and out of her channel with her moisture easing away the soreness of her newly
opened quim.

One big hand held her buttock, with a finger caressing her
back portal. Desire seized her, held her captive. She rocked her pelvis back
and forth, pushing her pearl against him with every stroke. Colors pulsated
behind her closed lids as she became a being of pure light. She arched her back
and screamed.

Chapter Six

They left Edinburgh two days later in a small procession of
horses, carts and Highland ponies carrying the provisions Kieran had purchased
for the clan. Dressed in a crimson habit, bright against yet another gray
morning, Lydia blessed the convention that required women to ride side-saddle.
Her thoroughly plundered quim couldn’t have tolerated prolonged contact with a
saddle had she adopted the mannish custom of riding astride.

Mounted stylishly on a pair of flashy bay geldings, she and
Kieran, who was clad in his usual black, headed the group. A number of his
clansmen had traveled to the city expressly to accompany them back to Kilborn
lands for, Kier said, “The Highlands are verra poor, wife, and we are a rich
prize.”

They traveled westward toward the coast. “I plan to cross
the Lowlands and visit our distant relations, the Kilbirnies.” His gelding’s
harness jingled.

“The name is quite similar.”

“Och, the tale is that many centuries ago a Viking boat
capsized in a storm and all hands were lost, but for one man. He was the
ancestor of all the Kilborns. The Kilbirnies took him in even though he was a
Viking and hated. He married into the clan and took their name, but as time
passed, found the Lowlands not to his taste. His wife didnae wish to travel to
the cold, wild country from whence he’d come, but they moved to the far north
of Scotland. They altered their name to avoid confusion but kept a similar
tartan.”

The Lowlands were well-populated and seemed prosperous. They
skirted Glasgow to avoid the thieves and footpads infesting the city. “Why did
we not purchase what was needed in Glasgow?”

“Ah, much of what I bought was imported, and cheaper near
the coast. I bought much in Leith, Edinburgh’s port. Goods are more costly in
Glasgow.” He looked over at her and smiled. “I told ye I’d not waste your
siller, lassie.”

“Our silver, laddie.”

“Och, laddie, is it?”

“Och, aye.” She imitated his accent with a wink, and he
laughed.

The Lowlands were as developed as many places in England,
with quarries and mines in the hilly areas where the fir-covered slopes
allowed. Farms and flocks occupied the meadows. It was a green and lovely land.

Well-maintained roads paralleling the river Garnock led them
to Kilbirnie. Dugald trotted his gray alongside them. “There’s fine fishing in
this river.” He shot a glance laden with meaning at Kieran. Lydia smiled.

“I’m sure we can spare an afternoon for it.” Kieran winked
at her. “Do ye fish, then, lassie?”

She pretended to shudder. “Touch a worm to stab it with a
hook? Never, milaird.”

“Never, eh?” His mouth twitched and he didn’t meet her gaze.
Exactly like her brother George when he planned some joke on her.

She eyed Kier with suspicion. “Do not even think about it,
milaird. I am a hopeless fisherman, er…fisherwoman. My father tried. It is a
waste of a worm.”

“Your da took ye fishing?”

“Yes. It is my belief he would have preferred another son.”
She hoped she didn’t sound bitter.

“One wasnae enough for him?”

“No, and certainly not when my brother declined to join the
army.”

“So ye married a military man instead?”

She nearly fell off her horse. She’d never considered the
possibility that she’d married William to please her father. She turned that
strange new thought over in her mind before she answered. “P’raps so, milaird.
Though at the time I thought I’d married to please myself. But I did marry a
man very much like my father, and he was someone of whom my father approved,
certainly.”

“Would your father have approved of me, d’ye think?”

She laughed, thinking of the bedroom games she and her
husband played. “Not at all, not if he knew you the way I do!”

“Och, that would never happen. Didnae your mother approve of
me?”

“Oh, yes. I would not have married you otherwise.”

“Nay?” He sounded startled.

“No, for my mother is a better judge of character than I
am.”

“Is she, now? She approved of your first marriage, did she
not?”

“That’s true.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your judgment, milady. Ye chose
me, did ye not?” He winked at her, making a jest out of his conceit, and she
laughed.

The castle and town of Kilbirnie were situated near the
river. The setting sun glowed on the castle’s turrets as their procession
approached. Their visit eagerly anticipated, the Kilborns were welcomed like
long-lost cousins.

Later, at dinner in the castle’s Great Hall, the countess
tried to explain a small part of the tangled web-work of history and
relationships binding the clans together.

“After the first Laird Kilborn left us, taking our laird’s
daughter as well as many men and women, he sent tribute to the earls of Clan
Kilbirnie. ’Twasn’t until the Kilborns provided succor—and a number of
Gallowglass warriors—at the battle of Loudon Hill that the Earl declared the
debt satisfied in full.”

“Er, wasn’t that in, um, 1305?” Lydia ate a mouthful of
salmon and chased it with ale.

“It was 1307.” The countess smiled at Lydia before her
glance shifted to Kieran. When he returned her grin, a flush deepened the color
of her already florid countenance. Nevertheless, she continued, “Our clans
continued to intermarry.”

“Yes, the clans are close.” Her husband, the earl, smiled
genially at Lydia. A round-shouldered fellow in his fifties, he sported the
clan features of pale skin contrasting with dark hair and eyes. “Euan, who
you’ll meet, was fostered here…oh, in my father’s day. Or was it my grandda’s?”

“He would have had to have been fostered with your father,
dear,” the countess said. “If he’d lived here with your grandfather, well, he’d
have to be ninety or a hundred years old!”

Kieran chuckled, but Lydia sensed an edge of uneasiness.

“How does Euan tarry?” the earl asked.

“He’s well.” Kieran cut his meat with tidy, precise motions.
“Better than can be expected at his age.”

“The Kilborns have amazing longevity,” the earl told Lydia.
He turned to Kieran. “Just how old was Sir Gareth when he died?”

“No one’s quite certain.” Kieran sounded evasive and stared
at his plate as though his ham slices were the most fascinating morsels ever
cooked.

“Who was Sir Gareth?” Lydia asked.

“My grandfather,” Kier said. “The tenth laird, and an
intimate of His Majesty’s.”

“Which king?”

“The Merrie Monarch.”

“That was nearly a hundred years ago,” Lydia said with
wonder.

“Indeed. Sir Gareth resembled His Majesty, so much so that
he played an important part in the Restoration.” Kieran set down his knife.
“After we Scots crowned him King, a long struggle began, and Charles’ forces
were oft overmatched. He had to flee for his life more than once—in disguise.
But he was an unusually tall, dark man.”

“And the Kilborns are tall and dark also,” Lydia said as
understanding dawned.

“Aye. Because Sir Gareth so greatly resembled the King, he
was able to lead more than one group of Lobsterbacks a merry chase through the
Highlands.”

“That’s quite a tale. And Sir Gareth was your
great-grandfather?”

“Nay, my grandda.”

“How is that possible?”

“We are quite a long-lived clan.” Kieran’s voice was oddly
flat. “’Tis due to healthy Highland living.”

That still didn’t seem quite right. She eyed him. She didn’t
know all her new husband’s moods but sensed that this was a sensitive matter.
Making a quick mental note to ask about it later, she changed the subject. “How
many children did he have?”

“Only two. We live long but produce with rarity,” Kieran
said. “’Tis a curse of the Kilborns.”

“Oh.” Lydia’s mood drooped.

“Dinnae worry, wife. I may take after my mam. The Camerons
are prolific breeders.”

“They have to be,” the countess said with asperity. “They go
to war on the losing side again and again.”

Lydia smiled at the sally but still wasn’t distracted from
the main topic, which to her was the odd but exciting Sir Gareth. Hadn’t the
Scots crowned Charles II King in 1650 or thereabouts? And he’d been born in,
what, 1630? For Sir Gareth to have convincingly played the Merrie Monarch, they
would have had to be about the same age.

If Sir Gareth had been born in 1630, his son, Kieran’s
father, would have been born in 1650 or so. But that wasn’t possible!

However, all of Britain had been in turmoil until the
Restoration in 1661, and Charles himself had died in 1685. If Sir Gareth had
been an intimate of the King, he may have spent a substantial time at Charles’
court before returning to the Highlands to start a family. Men were capable of
siring children when quite aged, and if the Kilborns were long lived…

Nonetheless, it seemed strange.

While she’d been woolgathering, the conversation had moved
on, but because the earl was discussing the dull subject of coal exports with
Kieran, Lydia asked the countess, “How did the Kilbirnies avoid involvement
with the latest rising? And the clearances?”

She smiled. “As you can see by my coloring, I’m not a
Kilbirnie.” She was a little sugar-dumpling of a woman, round and rosy, dressed
in shades of deep gold. “I’m a Campbell of Argyll.”

“But we forgive you for it.” The earl broke off his more
boring conversation to beam fondly at his wife.

“’Twas a wise choice,” Kieran said. “Such an alliance must
have brought security.”

“Aye, it did. Just as your da’s marriage to a Cameron of
Lochaber brought benefits.”

“Argyll swore to protect me, and by extension Kilbirnie,
come what may,” the countess said complacently. “And that included the
clearances. Like Kilborn, we have been spared the worst, though occasionally
Redcoats make demands.”

“Then we appeal to Argyll,” the earl said.

And Lydia understood the wisdom of the earl’s choice, for
not only was the countess a hospitable and charming hostess but the benefits to
Clan Kilbirnie couldn’t be denied. She didn’t grasp the entirety of the scores
of marriages, pacts and alliances that lightly bound the clans, but she had an
inkling of the complex relationships that had evolved and developed over the
centuries. She’d gained a sense of history and of the very great age of the
clan system, a vast family rooted deeply in Scotland and reaching its branches
into the sky of some future realm as yet unknown, despite English efforts to
eradicate it.

It was as though she’d married Scotland and become a part of
that ancient family tree.

A soft-soled boot caressed the side of her ankle and
Scotland, in the person of her husband, winked at her, his smile lustful. The
boot rubbed up and down her ankle, in the exact cadence with which his cock
usually moved inside her. She squirmed, blushed and stared at her plate. To
cover her condition she stuck a fork into the salmon, mangling it further.
Kieran laughed softly.

The countess seemed oblivious. “How long will you stay,
milaird?” she asked Kieran.

“Milady, ye’re a fine hostess and this is a cozy castle, but
not long. I dinnae want my men eating the entire contents of your larder.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” the earl said,
smiling at Lydia. “And to return at any time.”

“I’m sure we’ll be back.”

* * * * *

Camping beside the Garnock the first night away from the
castle allowed the Kilborns to fish, as Dugald had desired.

“My lady wife.” Kieran beckoned to Lydia, one hand behind
his back.

“Ye-es, milaird?”

Whipping out his hidden hand, he dangled a worm an inch from
her face.

She squawked and jumped back, tripping over a fallen log.
The clansmen whooped, clutching their sides.

Grinning, Dugald lifted her up by the arms. “Kier, your bed
will be cold tonight if ye persist teasin’ our lady.”

“It’s all right,” she said, finding her dignity. “If he can
do it, I can too. Just wait a moment. Elsbeth!”

When the maid trotted forth, Lydia said, “The plain brown
sacque, please, behind this tree.” She scooted behind a copse to change into
her oldest dress.

Wearing battered leather gloves, Lydia daintily plucked a
worm from the spadeful of earth that one of the men overturned. Wincing, she
thrust it toward the hook that Kier held.

She missed and the clansmen howled anew.

“Lass,” Kier said, “if ye close your eyes, the wee worm will
ever miss the mark. We’ll starve before ye get your line into the water.”

She cut him a glare. “I’ll pick mushrooms instead.”

“We willnae starve,” Dugald said. “We’ll merely die in
agony.”

“Hah.” She picked up a basket and disappeared into the
trees. Her father had shown her and her brother how to hunt for mushrooms when
they’d been children. She not only knew a mushroom from a toadstool, but could
distinguish the innocent-looking deadly amanita from its edible cousins, knew
where to find morels and boletes, chanterelles and caps.

And the damp woods were a perfect hunting ground. Followed
by Elsbeth, Lydia sniffed deeply, enjoying the aroma of the humid pine forest.
Her old boots sank a bit into the wet duff, supported in part by dead conifer
needles.

She spotted a clump of golden chanterelles, but worried due
to their resemblance to a deadlier species. The cloudy day didn’t offer enough
light to easily examine her finds. She skipped them, preferring the more
distinctive morel.

When she returned, Kier and Dugald peered at and poked
through her haul. Lifting their heads, they eyed each other, raised identical
black brows, then eyed her.

She tried not to preen. “Well?”

“We willnae go hungry, that’s for sure,” Dugald said.

“Nay.” Kier measured her with a glance and nodded, looking
impressed. “Ye’ve hidden depths, my lady wife.”

She winked at him. “I’ll do, shall I?”