For a brief moment, she was puzzled when Sigimor knelt before her instead of pushing her down onto the sheepskin. That confusion faded as he kissed her middle and gently kneaded her bottom. Jolene closed her eyes in pleasure as he slid his hand between her legs. She parted her legs slightly to welcome his caress. She opened her eyes quickly, in shock, when his lips replaced his hand.
"Sigimor?” She called his name in uncertainty more than protest.
"Hush, wife,” he murmured as he kissed her inner thighs. “Gift your husband with this pleasure. Twill be returned to ye twofold, I promise."
He had not even finished reassuring her when all of her hesitation vanished, that wild sensuous woman within her kicking it aside. Jolene opened herself to his intimate kiss, curling her fingers through his thick hair to steady herself as she trembled beneath the strength of the pleasure washing over her. She cried out for him as she felt her desire begin to peak, but he held her steady, his hands firmly grasping her by the hips, as he drove her to those blinding heights with his mouth.
Jolene was still shaking from the strength of her release when she found herself flat on her back on the sheepskin. A heartbeat later, Sigimor was thrusting himself into her. Her waning passion burst to life once again. She wrapped herself around his strong body, welcoming the ferocity of his love-making as he forced her back up that blissful peak. This time when she shattered and cried out his name, he was with her, his cry of release blending with hers.
It was not until Sigimor had hastily washed them both off and set her in their bed, that Jolene fully regained her senses. That wild, sensual Jolene had fled to parts unknown, leaving plain old Jolene to suffer from an intense bout of mortification. When Sigimor got into bed and pulled her into his arms, she pressed her blush-seared face against his chest. She could almost feel him looking at her, but could not muster the fortitude to meet his gaze.
"Ah, my poor wee wife,” he said, grinning down at the top of her head. “So wild and free when your blood runs hot and so embarrassed by that when it cools, aye?"
She was not sure she appreciated how accurately he had judged her feelings. “Well, how else should I feel after such a gross lapse in proper conduct?"
"Pleasantly sated? Warm and happily drowsy? Grateful that your mon is such a wondrous lover he can make ye scream?"
"I didnotscream."
"Och, aye, ye did. My ears are still ringing. I think there were a fewmoresanddinnae stopsas weel as my name."
That was more teasing than anyone ought to have to endure, Jolene decided. She reached down and pinched him right where his leg joined with his body, one of the very few softer spots on his body. His grunt of pain pleased her. There was no denying that he could make her crazed with his loving, but there was no need of his boasting about it.
"Cruel mistress,” he said and began to trail his fingers up and down her back as he savored the remnants of desire still lingering in his sated body.
Jolene was so passionate, so easily enflamed by his loving, she inspired him. He would never admit it to her, but he had never been a particularly adventurous or creative lover. Most of the women he had bedded had been the sort a man bought and paid for. He would reach a point where hunger for a woman drove him to seek one out and he would do so at the nearest inn, tavern, or alehouse. He would select a woman who was both buxom and relatively clean, then bed her. Although he had felt obliged to give her pleasure, he had done only the barest minimum needed to accomplish that. Those women had been no more than a warm body to him in many ways and, selfish though it was, most of his interest had been in gaining his own release from the need that gripped him. If he had not learned that that satisfaction was better if there was some warmth in the woman, he doubted he would have afforded their pleasure what little attention he had.
But Jolene truly inspired him in so many ways. Every gasp she made, every shiver he felt go through her slender body, made him want to enhance her pleasure. The way she yelled his name and how every part of her body seemed affected by her release, inside and out, only made him want to bring her to those heights again and again. In fact, if he could gain a tighter control over his own needs, he would enjoy spending a night seeing how many times he could make her scream. For a moment, he savored the image of loving his wife with his hands and his mouth until she pinned him down and threatened him into riding her hard so that they both found that bliss, together.
He had never used his mouth to bring a woman pleasure before, but he had obviously done it right. Sigimor suspected that knowing he was the only man to ever make love to her added to his enjoyment of pleasuring her in such a way. There were other things he had never done, too, and he was eager to try them with Jolene. There were also a few things he would like her to try on him. His body hardened at the thought and he grinned. Not only was Jolene inspiring him to become a great lover, she was also turning him into a greedy one.
Unfortunately, his greed would have to go unsatisfied, he realized when he looked at her. She was sprawled on top of him like a blanket, sleeping soundly. Considering what they had been through that day, he was not surprised. It was probably only the need to find out who Barbara was that had kept her awake long enough for him to get some loving. He counted himself lucky indeed that she had not fallen ill.
The way she had behaved upon hearing that some woman from his past was hunting him pleased him mightily. Sigimor recognized her sense of possession and had seen the glint of jealousy in her eyes. She was settling down to being his wife, to fully accepting him as her husband. A man ought to be able to build on that, to use a sense of possession and fierce passion to breed love, or, at least, a binding affection. It troubled him a little that he wanted that so badly, but he did, and he was determined to get it.
Keeping one arm around Jolene and crossing the other beneath his head, Sigimor thought about Barbara. Although he had not been a virgin when he met her, she was his first true lover, the first who had not been some common wench bought for an hour or more. She had been the first woman to stir thoughts of love and marriage. Her betrayal had struck him hard, but, he realized, it had really only hurt his pride and struck a nearly killing blow to whatever vanity he had had. It had also driven him back to the sort of woman who wanted to see a man's coin first, a crude but honest business deal. The occasional thoughts he had had of Barbara had been no more than the musings of a man who slept alone far too often and had, for a brief time in his youth, thought he had found his mate. He kissed the top of Jolene's head. This time he had no doubt. He just had to make her see it, too.
And Barbara could cause some trouble for him in that endeavor. Sigimor had the strongest feeling that Jolene was not secure in her womanhood, in her ability to keep her man satisfied. A woman like Barbara would sniff out that weakness in a heartbeat. She could easily destroy whatever advances he had made in binding Jolene to him in heart and mind as well as body.
He could only hope he was wrong in thinking that Barbara was hunting him, but he feared he was exactly right. Sigimor yawned and closed his eyes. If Barbara still had all the ties she used to have, if she was still accepted by all her kinsmen and allies, it would be unwise to refuse her his hospitality if she arrived at Dubheidland's gates. It might not hurt to try and find out ways to reassure a woman when a past lover tries to whisper poison in her ear. Of course, he could just keep Jolene in his bed until Barbara gave up and went home. Sigimor fell asleep still smiling with pleasure over that plan.
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Chapter Thirteen
"Harold is still lurking about."
Jolene sighed and looked at Sigimor as he strode into the solar where she and Fiona played with the children. She had enjoyed the past two days of peace, false as it was. It did not surprise her that Harold had followed them to Scarglas, but she had hoped his inability to reach them would discourage him. Either that or the constant harrassment of the MacFingals. No one told her exactly what they were doing, but they certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves.
"Mayhap that is because he is short of horses upon which to ride away,” she said, settling Fiona's infant son Ahearn more comfortably in her arms. “Thosewerehis horses I saw brought in yestereve, were they not?” She watched in some amusement as Sigimor was suddenly besieged by Reynard, Ciaran, and several other little boys.
"Aye, lass, they were,” he replied, then turned his attention to tickling and wrestling with the boys.
Watching him, Jolene realized he loved children and they loved him. He would be such a good father, she thought as she rubbed little Ahearn's back, and felt a strange new hunger stir to life inside her. She had always dreamed of having children and now she badly wanted to have Sigimor's child. Her life just kept getting more and more complicated, she thought ruefully. Harold, a new husband, a woman from Sigimor's past hunting him down, and, now, a sudden craving for a child from a man she was still not sure she could stay with.
Reynard's happy laugh caught her attention. He was so blissfully unaware of how much danger he was in. The child was thoroughly enjoying the other children and she realized he had never had much chance to play with other children. As the heir, he had been kept apart from the servants’ children as much as possible. Peter would have been appalled to see his precious heir playing with the bastard children of the old laird MacFingal and his sons, many of them born of common women. In his way, Peter had been a little too proud of his place in the world. He had bred three children among his tenants and servants, yet had never allowed them near his son, just as their father had kept his bastard children away from them. She was ashamed that she had accepted that, seeing it now as grossly unfair. Reynard would obviously have loved having other children about, and who better than his own siblings, illegitimate or not. If she had any say in Reynard's life when this was over, she would see that that changed.
When Fiona came to collect her sleepy child, Jolene reluctantly handed him over. The brief look of sympathy Fiona gave her told Jolene that the woman understood the sudden need she felt. As Fiona left with the baby, several of the boys trailing after her, Jolene crossed her arms in a vain attempt to lessen the feeling of emptiness she suffered.
