This...this is what it must be like to be seduced, desired to within an inch of reason.
And it was lovely.
She trembled against him as his hands caressed her despite the mountain of material that divided their flesh. The soapy scent of him mixed with the vibrant smells of earth, wooded trees and the crisp, cool snowfall lit her senses on fire. This...this is where she wished to first join with her husband. In nature, there were no memories of blankets, beds and hasty couplings. This would be a new memory to stamp over the old. She knew she could never erase her memories of Peter, but she could paint over them one by one with Rory.
Ack.
Rory had never wanted a woman as he did Moira. And now of all places, in the middle of the forest with dusk settling in around them, she finally wanted him. The irony made him wish to laugh aloud. He could scarce think or hear as the thrumming of need threatened to drown out any lucid thought he had.
Steady. Steady.
He wouldn’t rush, despite how his body demanded it. He would take it slow, even if he wanted to ravish her. He was not Peter Fraser. This would be his chance to be gentle, take his time and show her of the pleasure she could have. When she lowered her hand to unbutton his trews, he gasped and grit his teeth.
‘Moira,’ he pleaded. The woman would rush this along if she weren’t careful.
She granted him a wicked smile. A beautiful flush from exertion filled her cheeks, and his breath hitched in his throat. Her bright blue eyes and full lips distracted him from speaking.
‘’Tis not my first coupling. You need not seduce me or tarry. I am ready.’ She shifted her leg up and he sighed at the sight of her bare flesh. It seemed he would need to rethink his plan.
Sweat beaded his forehead and his body vibrated at the thought of being one with his wife. She popped one button on his trews and then another. He cursed and tugged up her skirts.
She gasped and he stilled until she pulled him down to her. He kissed her deeply and soon he was joined with his wife as one surrounded by smooth soft blankets of snowfall. The sweet cry of her release followed by his own a reminder that he was still alive and his hope of keeping the McKenna line from dying out was also.
Good Lord.
She didn’t know it could be quite likethat. She sighed with pleasure, sated like a cat having lapped up a full bowl of warm milk. If it hadn’t been cold and windy, she might have wished to fall asleep right here and now amidst the forest draped in a blanket of fallen snow.
Moira closed her eyes and clutched her husband’s head to her chest. She and Peter had never had such a connection, and the beauty of it created a smooth stroke of bold, bright colour to blot out the dark, muted shades of her past. Their first union had been a grand first step to letting go.
Both of them were out of breath and heated despite the budding cold as they lay on the ground. The temperature had dropped and heavier snow threatened. The moon was now full and climbing higher into the dark night skies. Their breath twined in smoky columns of air reminding her that they would be missed for their evening meal with Uncle Leo soon, and that they truly shouldn’t get any colder and damp than they already were by remaining on the snowy ground. She playfully ruffled her husband’s hair.
‘Now, I believe I am ready to go in, my laird,’ she teased.
He rested his chin on her chest and grinned at her. ‘I am at your bidding, my lady. Whatever you wish.’ He brushed a fingertip to her cheek, creating a single spark of desire in her once more. Surprise rippled through her at her body’s response. She had no idea she might crave more so soon. It seemed her body and Rory McKenna were full of surprises.
He shifted and straightened his trews as well as her skirts. Gaining purchase, he reached down and drew her up beside him to standing. They both brushed crushed snow from their clothes and each other, and then headed off to the castle. He tugged her hand as the snow turned into thick downy blankets steadily collapsing one after another upon them as they jogged towards the lit torches flickering outside of Blackmore. Laughter pealed through the air as they climbed the stairs, and for a moment she felt like the newlywed she was and not the widow she had long been. Hope bloomed full in her chest, and for the first time in a long time, she wanted for nothing. This moment was perfect.
Chapter Eighteen
Afew more minutes out in the snow with her and Rory might have attempted to make love to his wife once more then and there on the forest floor. He shook the snow from his head and attempted to regain his reason as they stood in the main hall, shrugging off their outer clothes. He felt like a lad having stolen his first kiss. He righted his still twisted trews. In some aspects he most likely looked like one too. He batted away a glob of snow from Moira’s backside and she laughed anew.
‘Ah! There you are, son.’ His uncle called to him from the other end of the hall, splintering their revelry. Their chuckles dwindled away, and Rory cleared his throat.
‘Aye, Uncle?’ he asked, not meeting his elder’s gaze, lest he see a blush on his cheeks.
‘We must speak. A letter has arrived.’
The mere fact that he didn’t say who’d sent it in front of Moira told Rory it was another missive from Bran and most likely a nasty one. Over the last few weeks, the Stewart laird had sent regular correspondence deploring what Rory had done in whisking away his widowed daughter and marrying her against the man’s wishes. Rory frowned. The laird was hell-bent on making their lives a misery. ‘Go ahead and ready yourself for supper,’ he urged, shaking out Moira’s cloak and kissing her cheek. ‘I will speak with Uncle.’
‘I shall look in on my lovelies, and then ready myself. Soon, they will need to be transferred to larger pots. They love it here.’
As I love having you here.
The words had bubbled up in his mind before he could even stop them. He watched her disappear around the corner and faced his uncle. ‘What has my dear father-in-law demanded now?’ he asked in low tones once he was sure Moira was out of earshot.
‘Come with me.’ Uncle’s features were tight and drawn. Rory knew he wouldn’t like whatever it was one bit as his uncle wasn’t a man prone to scowling.
Once they were sealed in the vault of his uncle’s chambers, Uncle Leo turned to him. ‘He has made yet another complaint of your hasty marriage to Moira and claims it is not legal. He accuses you of theft of his property.’
