He took her face in his hands and looked squarely in her eyes, ignoring her blushes. “If someone has told ye that a lady must lie beneath her mon like a body ready for a winding sheet, they were wrong. I would e’en wonder if their aim was a cruel one, for I cannae think of much else that would more quickly send a mon out seeking a pair of warmer arms.”
Cecily blinked as she realized that the anger she had sensed in him lately came from the fact that he had believed she had turned cold toward him. “But ’tis said a mon doesnae respect a lass who is too, weel, warm.”
“If ’tis his own sweet wife who leaves scratches on his back and her cries of pleasure still ringing in his ears for hours later, he nay only respects her, he craves her. At least this mon does.” He eased down her body a little and began to kiss and caress her breasts. “He likes to hear those soft kitten sounds she makes when he feasts upon her bonnie breasts.” He slid his hand down her body and began to stroke her intimately. “Aye, and that soft keening sound when he caresses her here is sweet music to his ears.”
Seeing how a returning desire had darkened her eyes, he began to kiss his way down her body. He had sorely missed the fire they shared, and he was determined to make her see that he did crave it and had no intention of letting her keep it from him again. If he had to make love to her until he could not walk, well, he mused and grinned, he was willing to make the sacrifice.
“He likes to feel how her sweet body lifts to his every kiss and caress.” He used his shoulders to nudge her legs apart and open her for his kiss. “And he loves to feel her writhe with delight when he does this.”
Cecily cried out softly when he began to love her with his mouth. Embarrassment and hesitation over such an intimacy came and went in the space of a heartbeat. She tried to fight her own passion, but this time it was so she could savor the pleasure he gave her for a long time. Too soon she knew her release was rushing through her and she struggled to pull him into her arms. He ignored her, taking her to pleasure’s heights with his kiss. She was still crying out with the force of her release when he thrust inside of her and joined her in that blissful place.
It was several moments before she could find the strength to speak. “So, I am to cease trying to be a corpse in the bedchamber?”
Artan laughed and forced his sated body to shift a little to the side. He lifted his head enough to give her a lazy kiss, then drew her up close to his body. “Aye, ne’er bring that woman back here. I fair to froze my parts off trying to warm her.”
“Oh, weel, that settles it then. I shall ne’er invite her back. The verra last thing I wish to do is damage your parts.”
He grinned briefly, then grew serious. “Ye dinnae have to be any more than ye are, Sile. That insult-spitting, rock-throwing, shin-kicking lass is the one I married, the one I wanted to marry. I dinnae care if ye can make cushions or shirts or sew a straight stitch on anything other than a wound. I dinnae need those things. I need the lass who rode from Dunburn to Glascreag without a complaint, the one who tells me I am an idiot when I deserve it, and, aye, the one who throws ewers at my head when I have been a fool and hurt her feelings.”
“I shouldnae have done that, Artan. I could have really hurt ye.”
“And I deserved to be hurt for I hurt ye.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and said quietly, “I cannae say I will ne’er do so again either, for men can be louts who dinnae think ere they act or speak. But I will do my best, for I cannae bear to see that look of pain in your eyes. I would rather cut off my own leg. Just remember that ye are my wife, my mate, my heart, aye, and my love.” He felt her tense in his arms and wondered what he had said wrong now.
“Your heart? Your love? Do ye love me, Artan?” she asked in a somewhat small, unsteady voice.
“Aye, I do.” He sighed and held her a little tighter when he felt the damp of tears on his chest. “That makes ye cry?”
“With happiness. Only with happiness. I ne’er thought ye would, ye see, e’en though I have loved ye for so long.”
“Weel, I cannae say exactly how long I have kenned that I love ye, but I have been acting like an idiot since I met ye, so I suspicion it has been nearly from the start. Once I kissed ye, I kenned that ye were my mate and my poor mon’s mind got stuck on that word.” He grinned when she laughed and then, grasping her by the chin, turned her face up to him. “I love ye, Sile mine. Ne’er forget that. I love ye as ye are. Ye dinnae have to try to turn yourself into someone else to win my approval or respect or love. Ye have that. Always.”
Cecily touched a kiss to his lips and lightly stroked his cheek with her fingers. She found it hard to believe that this man loved her and that he obviously understood her very well. The fact that he loved her despite or perhaps because she was a little rough at times soothed a lot of wounds, and she loved him all the more for that.
“Just as I am?”
“Aye, just as ye are. I saw that spirit peeking out of ye at Dunburn. The further away from that place we got the more that spirit showed itself and the more I wanted ye. I dinnae need excellent manners, dainty cushions, and lush tapestries. I need ye.” He smiled slightly when she hugged him, hard. “I had feared that I had lost ye, lass.”
There was a strong hint of grief in his voice and she pressed a kiss to his chest. “Never. And I will ne’er again try to make myself into something I think ye want.”
“Good, for ye were driving all of us mad.”
“All of ye?”
“Aye, your uncle e’en offered to help me strangle some sense into ye. We agreed that ye had become so sweet and so pleasant our teeth hurt and something had to be done.”
“I was driving myself a wee bit mad as weel,” she admitted. “I was making myself very angry.”
“Ah, and that is why ye were stomping on that shirt.”
“I fear so. So, I shall be happy now by being who I am, and if I try to slip back, try to do something that isnae like me just to make someone else happy—”
“I will beat ye.”
“A strong word will suffice, thank ye.”
“Fair enough. We will be happy, lass. Dinnae fret o’er that. How can we nay be when we love each other?”
“Verra true, Highlander.”
