Her breathing quickened, and she began to press herself against his thigh, color rising in her cheeks as he bent to kiss her throat. The flush of her arousal only heightened his own need, and he drew her higher, pulling her leg around his waist. Instinct commanded his mind, though he knew he was taking things too far.
He didn’t care. Since he had no words to wield as weapons, he had no qualms about using touch instead. He wanted to seduce her, to bring her such pleasure she would never think of leaving him.
But then, she began to move against him, of her own accord. “I’ve never felt this way before,” she breathed, pulling him into another kiss. “I want you in a way I don’t understand.”
Her body trembled against him, her thighs tightening. He reached to lift her higher, wrapping her legs around his waist. Fiery and passionate, Marguerite continued the stroking rhythm, lifting her hips against his erection. He pressed her back against one of the trees as her breathing quickened.
Control fled him, and he supported her weight with one hand, moving the other beneath her skirts. He needed to touch her, craved it beyond all else. His hand cupped her bare bottom beneath the chemise, and she shifted her hold around his waist.
“Callum,” she murmured, but her voice wasn’t a protest. It was a demand.
Maddening lust gave him the courage to bring his hand between her thighs, and when he touched her damp curls, she gave a throaty moan.
“Dieu,“ she whispered, and with her plea, he touched the wetness, exploring her intimate skin as if to mark her as his. She trembled, her lips swollen from his kiss, but he saw the pleasure breaking forth as her breath grew hitched.
He stroked her slowly, not wanting to hurt her, but she behaved as if he were torturing her. Not knowing whether he should pull his hand away, he held still. “Please,” she begged. “More.”
He dipped his fingers within her wetness, and her legs squirmed. She was exquisite, her body so tight against his hand. Using a soft rhythm, he thrust his fingers within her, and she ground her mouth against him.
He now understood why men killed one another out of jealousy. The visceral need to mark her, to ensure that she wanted only him, was filling his veins in a primal way. He burned for her, wishing he could remove the barriers between them and be the man to claim her innocence.
Abruptly, she convulsed against him, her body racked with violence. For a moment, he feared he’d hurt her, only to see a look of languid passion on her face.
Slowly, he lowered her down. Marguerite pressed her face against his chest, her arms around his waist. His body was so rigid, the physical frustration hurt. But he merely stroked her hair, holding her.
“I don’t know what to say to you,” she murmured. “I should be ashamed of what I did, but I’m not.” Her blue eyes held the fire of longing, and she held his gaze. “I wanted more.”
Marguerite was shaken by the experience, though she tried to pull her thoughts together. Her body was liquid, her legs hardly able to walk. It was dangerous being around Callum, for he made her inhibitions vanish.
She wanted him as her lover. She wanted to lie with him, to feel the intimacy of his body inside hers.
But if she dared to reach for another future, her father wouldn’t hesitate to use his power against the MacKinloch Clan. She was his pawn, not permitted to have any say in her marriage. And with every moment she spent with Callum, the suffocating resentment rose higher.
The Duc wasn’t the one who had to wed a stranger and welcome him into bed. He didn’t seem to care what Marguerite’s desires were. It was about strengthening political ties, increasing the family wealth. Not about her wishes.
The question was, should she fight for what she wanted, knowing that it would likely fail? It was too late to stop her father from bringing back another potential husband. But perhaps there was a way to appeal to him, to somehow make him see that there could be advantages to allying with a Scottish clan.
Callum took her hand and led her back to the fire. He dropped down to one knee and picked up a twig. He drew in the dirt for a moment, and when he stood, Marguerite saw her name written in the earth. Had he spent the past few days practicing? She’d only written her name once for him. The letters weren’t perfect, but they were legible.
“You learn quickly,” she said, startled that he had made such progress. She welcomed the distraction of teaching him more letters, for it kept her mind off the staggering pleasure he’d given her. Or their unknown future.
Callum took her by the hand and led her to a log. There was unrest carved into his face, the tension of a man who had been denied his own release. The sting of shame made her wish she could do something for him.
And when she saw his attempts at her name, written within the dirt, she understood that he’d brought her here for another distraction.
Marguerite sat down and studied the words. He must have written her name nearly fifty times. It touched her, that he’d practiced for so long.
As he swept the dirt aside with a pine branch, he handed her the twig once more. She held it for a moment and said once more, “It’s not enough. Even if I teach you the letters, I don’t think you can—”
Impatiently, he cut off her words, touching a finger to her lips. Then he guided her hand down to the dirt in front of them. There was determination in his eyes and a will to learn that she’d not seen before.
This might be his only way to communicate. The only way to unlock the voice inside of him. She understood that, even if he didn’t know how difficult it would be.
“I can try to teach you,” she said, “But I don’t know if there is time enough for you to learn.” It had taken her years to master writing, and she doubted if her efforts would do anything at all for him.
He pressed the twig into her hand, nodding for her to begin.
Callum drank in the knowledge faster than anyone she’d ever known. Marguerite had never seen anything like it. She’d written the alphabet and Callum had practiced each one, struggling with the curved letters. He’d worked as hard as he could, shaking out the stiffness in his fingers.
