“You’ll get me inside you every day and night,” he thickly promised.
He removed his hands from her lush arse and palmed her big tits. He ran his tongue over one extended nipple and then the other, over and over, again and again. She cried out softly, her hips rutting, wanting him inside her. Angus kept sucking her nipples as he reached between them and found her clit. He worked the small piece of aroused flesh with one of his thumbs while she moaned and groaned, hissing and in need.
“I’m coming,” she told him. “Oh my God, I’m—”
She cried out as she came for him, the nipple in his mouth jutting out impossibly further. He suckled it hard as he withdrew his hand. Aroused already, his cock felt nigh unto bursting. He wanted inside her more than he wanted air to breathe. But then…
He plucked her nipple from his mouth with a popping sound. His breathing was ragged. Every muscle in his body was clenched.
“I will not disgrace you, Lady Octavia.”
Her emerald eyes widened even as her breathing proved as heavy as his own. “What?”
He grabbed her arse cheeks again and squeezed. “Do you want me, lass?”
“Oh my God, yes.”
He grunted, pleased. “Then as we say in American English, put a ring on it.”
Octavia looked stunned. Then she threw back her head and laughed. He found himself joining in her amusement.
“You really want to marry me despite everything you now know?” she asked.
“Aye. I do.”
She smiled. “I don’t know where we’ll get rings, but let’s do it. I can’t think of a better man to spend the fourteenth century with.”
His expression was arrogant. “Neither can I.”
Chapter Eight
The wedding took place early the next morning. The quickness was weird by Octavia’s standards, but apparently not by medieval ones. James and Dr. Kincaid both gave her away. The McClintocks’ resident priest officiated. Unfortunately, he officiated in ancient Latin so she didn’t know she was a married woman until the Highlanders held up their swords and shouted their approval. The Karrik warriors all took to one knee and pledged their loyalty to their new mistress. Formalities out of the way, the Karriks took turns thumping Angus on the back before a handful of McClintock warriors joined in.
Magnus and Iohanna McClintock offered their best wishes and insisted the newly wedded couple break their fast with them before leaving. Angus accepted. Octavia and him had to share his dagger so they could both eat.
“Thank you again for this beautiful dress,” Octavia said with all sincerity to Lady Iohanna. It truly was a huge gift for this time period—and beyond gorgeous. The blue and gold gown fell to the floor, but was form-fitting. A gold chain dangled from her hips and little blue shoes completed the ensemble. She left her hair loose, unplaited, honey-brown curls cascading down to the middle of her back. “I adore it.”
“You are most welcome. I am humbled that the laird chose to wed with you here. I have three more dresses I’ve instructed my maids to put into a valise for you.”
“I couldn’t—”
“’Tis an honor,” Lady Iohanna insisted. She held up a hand before Octavia could say another word. “The dresses belonged to my daughter afore she died. ‘Tis meant for you to have them and make use of them else you wouldn’t be the exact same size.”
Octavia couldn’t say no to that. It was too kind of a gesture. And she really did need clothing that fit in with who she was supposed to be. “Thank you so much. I will treasure them forever.”
She and Angus had briefly discussed Octavia’s bizarre situation and decided to go with most of the story she had crafted. She was a Roman noblewoman on the run from an evil knight who sought to wed with her. While fleeing, though, she was captured by the English in the Lowlands who Laird Karrik had freed her from and wed himself. Angus had even sent two of his men to ride out before their party so they could give the news to the clan before their arrival. He had told her it would take the two riders no longer than two additional days at the pace they’d be keeping. Their party, on the other hand, would probably take four days—a fact she could blame herself for because of Niall’s injury.
They had time for the wedding, time for a wedding breakfast, but no time or privacy for some good old fashioned consummation. As Octavia climbed up onto Angus’ mount, she whispered, “I put a ring on it.”
He flashed her a grin. “Aye, you did. Dinna worry, wife. You will get what you’re wanting soon enough.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.”
“What is your definition of ‘soon enough’?”
“I’ve wed a wanton.”
