Timeless Tales of Honor (32 page)

The English would find her. And when they did, they’d kill anyone who stood in their path or had offered refuge to her. It was as simple as that and there was only one thing she could think of to keep that from happening.

S
he had decided
to wear the purple gown, the one she had worn when Duncan had kissed her the very first time. While most lasses might have preferred to wear a more cheery or brighter color, the purple was Duncan’s favorite. Over her gown she proudly wore the dark blue and green plaid of the Clan MacDougall.

It was a very quiet ceremony held in the gathering room just as the sun had begun to set. The room had been filled near to capacity with their fellow clansman as well as the McDunnah men. While nearly everyone in attendance was glad to see the two young people marry, apprehension over the impending arrival of the English hung in the room like a thick, worrisome fog.

After the priest pronounced them married, Duncan kissed her sweetly, almost chastely as the people surrounding them cheered on. Aishlinn blushed and though her heart ached with knowing what she would do come morning, she wanted to enjoy what little time they had together.

Guilt tugged at her for not sharing with Duncan her plan to save them, but she knew that had she told him, he would have locked her in her room for the rest of her life.

There was no time for congratulatory celebration for the newlyweds. Duncan took her hand and leaned in to whisper to her. “’Tis not the wedding I’m sure ye imagined, nor the one ye be deservin’, lass. I promise we’ll have a better celebration after we be done with the English.”

Aishlinn thought his smile could light up the darkest of rooms and nearly burst into tears. She knew that after tonight, her eyes and heart would never again be blessed with seeing it.

They went to Duncan’s room, for hers had lost its door and could no longer afford them any privacy. Someone had put fresh linens on the bed and a single white rose lay atop the pillows. A low fire burned in the fireplace and candles had been lit and placed about the room.

When her eyes fell back to the bed, a great sense of nervousness enveloped her. They’d be consummating their marriage soon and she hadn’t a clue what to do.

Duncan saw the look of apprehension in her eyes and it brought a smile to his face. “Are ye frightened, lass?” he asked.

“Aye,” she whispered. Terrified was a more apt description. “I know not what to do,” she murmured softly.

Duncan let out a chuckle. “No worries, lass. I’ll help ye through it.”

He bent to kiss her and the moment his lips touched hers, everything else in the world seemed to slip away. She wrapped her hands around his neck, twisting her fingers through his thick hair as she stood on her toes to reach him. Until just a sennight or two ago, had someone told her not only would she be married someday, but married to a man who made her heart pound, her palms sweat, and her stomach twist and flip at his mere touch, she would have laughed herself silly over it.

Desperate to feel his skin against hers, Duncan undid the broach holding her plaid together and tossed it on the table beside his bed. Carefully he removed her plaid and laid it upon the chair near the table. He was trying to not appear as desperate for her as he felt.

Within a moment, he wrapped his arms around her and began to fumble with the buttons on her gown. He did not want to stop kissing her, but he felt he might explode from want if he didn’t remove the gown quickly enough. A moan escaped him as he tried to concentrate on the buttons. But her tongue, her kisses, her rapid breathing made it nearly impossible for him to think of anything but the kisses.

“How many buttons are on this gown?” he asked as he put his lips to the nape of her neck.

“I know not. Bree and Ellen have to help me into it,” she said breathlessly. Her skin was covered in chill bumps and her knees were beginning to knock together.

“How fond are ye of this dress?” he asked her, his need for her was rising quickly.

Aishlinn was lost in her own thoughts, wanting to feel his lips on hers again. “’Tis the dress I received my first kiss from you in,” she whispered, wishing he would hurry with it.

“My first kiss ever, really.” She felt a smile come to her face when she thought of that night and how impossible it had all seemed then.

Duncan growled, trying to hold himself in. Had he not been an honorable man, he would have simply lifted her skirts and taken her there on the floor.

“I’m afraid lass, that if I don’t get these many buttons undone soon, I’ll die from want of ye.”

Aishlinn giggled slightly, as she remembered Mary and Laren explaining to her the control a woman had over a man. She realized then what they had been speaking of. She turned around quickly and lifted her hair so that he could undo the buttons. Her hands trembled while her stomach felt as though someone were tickling it from the inside.

Duncan would have preferred to just rip the damn thing from her, but fought that urge. He’d been around enough women to know the importance they sometimes put to things. Knowing the dress held special memories for her, he couldn’t allow himself to do it.

He groaned as he his fingers seemed to not go nearly as fast as he would have liked. He would have a talk with Bree later about the number of buttons that would be acceptable on any future gowns she might make for his wife.

His wife. The realization of it sent pleasant shivers down his spine. She was his. Forever his. As he undid the last button, the candlelight flickered across her back, giving him a glimpse of the scars left by an evil bastard of a man. He held his breath and remained still. Silently he vowed that come the morrow he would personally kill the man responsible, even if he had to ride across English lands to do it.

It took only a moment for Aishlinn to realize why he had paused. Perhaps he had changed his mind when he caught sight of the scars. Bree and Ellen had insisted they were not hideously disfiguring and barely noticeable. But Aishlinn had serious doubts and was certain they lied only to protect her.

“I cannot blame you if you’ve changed your mind, Duncan,” she whispered. Her heart fell to her toes when he did not immediately answer.

He turned her around so that he could look at her beautiful face. God’s teeth, but she was beautiful.

“Nay, I haven’t changed me mind,” he whispered as he brushed his lips tenderly over hers. “Mayhap ye’ll change yer mind when ye see me battle scars,” he teased.

He could have a thousand scars covering him from head to toe and it would not have mattered one wit to her. It was his heart and how he felt about her that mattered.

Duncan took in a deep breath before he began kissing her again. He would never spend another lonely night alone in his bed mad with lust and want of her. She would be there every night with him. Och! There would be much lust, much need of her, but he wouldn’t have to throw himself into the cold loch to fight it. He would be able to reach out for her and she would be there.

“I love ye, Aishlinn.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She knew he meant the words he spoke. “I love you, Duncan,” she whispered.

She had to kiss him then to keep the tears from spilling forth. Instantly, a strange and new sensation fluttered through her body. It was rather reminiscent of being extremely hungry, a need of something but what that something was she had no clue.

She wiggled out of her dress, letting it drop to the floor, and stood before him in only her shift. A most serious expression of determination appeared on his face right before he began to ply her again with warm, passionate kisses.

A burning need filled her to the marrow and she wanted to see him, all of him. She undid the broach clipped to his plaid, not certain what to do with it. Duncan took it from her and tossed it over his shoulder where it landed with a plink somewhere near the door. His plaid fell away and he pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it to the floor as well.

She sucked in air deeply as she looked at his well-muscled and toned arms and chest. His skin had been kissed by the sun and seemed to ripple in the candlelight. There were scars upon his shoulders as well as his tight, wavy stomach, scars he wore with pride for he had earned every one of them in battle. Her eyes moved downward and when she caught sight of his manhood, she closed them quickly, embarrassed for having looked there.

Duncan chuckled at her crimson face as he grasped her neck and pulled her to him. He lifted her in his arms, kissed the soft spot at the base of her neck whilst he gently laid her down upon the bed. Her eyes were still closed, her fingers holding onto the sheets tightly as if she were bracing herself for the unknown.

He chuckled again as he lay beside her and began to kiss her lips, her cheeks and eyelids. She finally let go her hold on the sheets and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I’ll be gentle lass, I swear it,” he told her, kissing the nape of her neck. As much as he wanted to simply plunge himself into her, he wanted for her to enjoy their first time together. It was important for her to feel the pleasures he could give her.

“Tell me if I do anythin’ that hurts,” he whispered as he kissed her bare shoulders. “Tell me if I do anythin’ ye dunna like.”

Aishlinn could not imagine him doing anything to her that would be at all unpleasant. Excitement coursed through her as she pulled him closer, desperately needing to feel his lips against her own. “Kiss me,” she said breathlessly.

He honored her request. Her mouth was hungry for his and his for hers. She felt his hand as he touched her thigh every so gently with just the tips of his fingers. More chill bumps covered her body and she thought she might faint from the sheer exhilaration he brought to her with his touch.

His feather soft touches, as he slowly ran his fingers across her skin, brought forth more chill bumps. Ever so carefully and slowly he pushed her shift up exposing her skin, her secret places. It left her feeling nearly intoxicated.

When he kissed her belly button she thought for certain she would lose her mind for it seemed so inappropriate! She stopped breathing altogether when he touched her breasts, for she didn’t think that was proper either. He stopped only long enough to lift the shift over her head before tossing it to the floor.

She had not been prepared for this, for laying completely naked and exposing herself in such a fashion! She had imagined she would have only needed to expose the places necessary for consummation, not every square inch of her body!

“Breathe lass, or ye’ll swoon on me,” he chuckled as he began to kiss her again.

She forced herself to breathe for the last thing she wanted was to swoon and miss out on what might happen next. Running her hands along his arms then his back, she could hear him moan with pleasure. She was surprised to find that when she heard his soft moans, they brought an intense and thrilling excitement to the pit of her stomach.

Before she realized it, Duncan was on top of her and his kisses were growing more penetrating and passionate. The powerful, urgent need boiled within her like liquid heat. It was as exhilarating as it was confusing. Exhilarating because she had never before felt so alive and blissfully happy all the while feeling very alarmed and anxious.

’Twas confusing because she knew not what the vibrant, pulsing need was, only that it made her feel there was more to this joining of husband and wife than just deep, ardent kisses, heavy, anxious breathing, and feverish, unrestrained touches. There had to be more to it.

’Twas then that she felt something rather large as it lingered near the entrance to her womanly nether regions. She gasped when she realized just what “it” was and what he planned on doing with it.

Before she could even ask “are you quite serious that you mean to do what I think you mean to do,” he did just what she thought he intended to do.

“Ow!” she said, taking in a deep breath and holding it until she nearly swooned from fright and shock and the pain.

Duncan paused, lifted his head from her neck and looked at her with a fearful and frustrated expression. “Do ye wish me to stop?” he asked.

She was certain that what he truly meant to say was, “Please, I beg you do not ask me to stop now.” Or to hear her say “Nay, husband, please continue at your leisure.”

For a moment she could not speak. She could only hold her breath and retain her deathlike grip on the sheets near her hips. After several agonizingly long moments, the pain began to subside and she was finally able to find her voice, or a close likeness to it, for she wasn’t sure she recognized the sound that came from her own mouth. “Nay,” she told him.

She was frightened for his wellbeing and health for there were many times over the last sennight that he had told her he was ready to explode with want and desire for her. The image of her husband exploding into a thousands pieces of flesh all over the marital bed kept her from saying nay. How would she begin to explain it to anyone?

She fought the urge to laugh a moment later when she heard his deep sigh of relief at her answer. Somehow his frustration made her feel a bit better about the entire situation and for the life of her she could not figure out why. Perhaps it made him seem more human and less God-like, more real and less perfect, even though he was as close to perfection as any man could possibly get, at least in her way of thinking.

Not a moment had passed before he began to slowly move within her, kissing her tenderly as he caressed any part of her body that was naked and exposed. As he moved, she realized that “this” was the deep need she had been craving. He whispered to her in Gaelic, a few of the words she recognized, others not.

As his pace quickened she began to feel very odd, tingly sensations as she began to meet his movements with her hips. It was all beginning to make sense, this joining of a man and a woman. It did not take very long after that for her to realize what Mary and Laren had been talking about when they discussed the pleasures joining brought to both man and woman when it was done correctly.

“
Mo Chuisle,
” Duncan whispered. “Is tu no ghra,” Aishlinn knew what those words meant. More excitement rushed over her when he used the Gaelic to say he loved her.

When she thought the feelings of joining with her husband could not possibly get any better, something unfamiliar began to spread over her body. It began from somewhere deep within her and rapidly rose before exploding to every inch of her body. Her toes curled, her fingers dug into her husband’s back, and her eyes rolled back into their sockets.