“Will ye share in each other’s laughter and joy and be there through sufferin’ and pain?”
“We will.”
“Will ye pledge yerselves to each other, forsakin’ all others?”
“We will.”
The priest smiled, rattling off something in Latin that Jeane could not quite make out. She had never been the world’s best Christian, but she was glad that their marriage would be recognized by the Lord even outside of the church.
The priest tied the ribbons and bade Fergus to kiss his bride. He kissed her so softly, she started to cry, tears rolling down her face.
He lifted their tied hands, thumbing tears from her cheeks.
From here, they had planned on going directly back to the castle for a feast and drinks. The priest untied their hands after the ceremony was over.
But as everyone started to mount their horses and get in the carriages, Fergus grabbed Jeane around the waist, pulling her up against his chest.
“I want ye now,” he murmured, his eyes dark as he looked down at her. “I want to claim ye, make ye mine. I want to make ye mine forever, Jeane O’Malley.”
Jeane flushed. “Ye cannae wait?—”
“Ye’ve made me wait for weeks,” he groaned, and Jeane could not help but titter.
Excitement and something like fear rushed through her. What if she was not good at bedding him? What if she bored him with her inexperience?
“I cannae wait,” he said, scooping her up and planting her on his stallion. He mounted the horse behind her and took off, galloping toward the castle, passing the carriages.
Jeane giggled wildly, holding onto the stallion’s neck with all her might. It seemed in the eyes of anyone observing that this was the very first time they had ever approached the castle.
Except this time, she was full of desire, not terror.
Fergus left the horse with the stable boy and rushed Jeane to his bedchambers. All her clothes were still strewn across the room since the maids had been busy preparing for the feast.
He shoved some of them off the bed, lying her down on the furs, and Jeane’s breath caught in her throat.
“I’ve never?—”
“I ken, little mouse,” he said, kissing along her neck, already beginning to unbutton the tiny buttons at the back of her dress as he stood behind her. “I will teach ye.”
She hummed, letting out a small moan as he bit down on her shoulder, finally getting the last tiny button undone.
“Damn these buttons,” he complained, and Jeane laughed.
But then her smile faded as she lay bare beneath him and he looked down at her with a shuttered, blank expression. What was he thinking? Did he find her ugly?
“Bonny,” he murmured, tracing his fingers down her sides, gripping onto her hip. She wondered if later she would have bruises in the shapes of his fingertips.
She hoped so.
One hand cupped her breast, and she did not have small ones, but his hands were large, enveloping them as his calloused palm skidded across her nipple.
Jeane drew in a sharp breath, the skin of her abdomen trembling as he cupped her other breast, doing the same thing.
“Lord, ye’re perfect,” Fergus told her, and Jeane was inclined to believe him, the way he was looking at her like she was something precious, something dear.
“Touch me,” she moaned, rocking her hips up as his hands skated down her sides.
“Be patient, mouse. I’ve got ye,” he said, his fingers dragging through her womanhood, finding her slick and wanting. He dipped two fingers inside of her, angling up just the way she liked, and she mewled out his name.
