She pulled him to her. The memory of the knife plunging into him came back to her, inescapable no matter how much she tried to push it aside. Only his hand in hers helped it fade.
“Take off the plaid, my lord,” she said.
“Do you need help with your nightrail?” he asked.
They helped each other as if they were unwrapping their future. She was eager, tugging at the fabric of his tartan, shocked when she saw where it had been cut, but able to move beyond the slash to the naked man beneath. He pulled at her clothing carefully, being gentle with her body even as he eased her out of the fabric. Then he lifted her into his arms as he slid into bed beside her.
Such strength he had, such power as he lay beside her.
“I know of no other woman who could be cut as you and still come out fighting.”
“I thought they’d killed you. Of course, I fought.”
“I thought you hurt such that I could not save you. I wanted to rend them limb from limb.”
She felt the shudder that went through his body and knew its echo trembled inside her. She kissed him not to end the fear but to weather it together. He rode it out with her, deepening the kiss because he always made things deeper, stronger, and so much better.
They took their time touching each other. His expression darkened whenever he touched her bandage, so she pulled his hand upward to cup her breast. He teased her nipple while she gasped at the pleasure he stroked through her. And when he bent his head to suckle there, she envisioned their child. A babe born of their love would be a miracle. No matter if she lost him the next day, the child would be a gift from God and from him. One that would keep him alive even if the unthinkable happened.
That was what her father felt, she realized, whenever he looked at her with his eyes misty with tears. It wasn’t grief, it was gratitude and love.
She wanted that now with a strength that startled her. So without double-guessing the feeling or doubting the truth of it, she surged upward. If it bothered her wound, she didn’t feel it. All she wanted was Connall inside her, creating his babe in her womb.
He gasped when she pushed him onto his back, but he grinned when she straddled him. He held her steady as she settled on her knees while his cock teased unerringly close.
“You always surprise me, Mairi,” he said with a grin.
“Did you think I would wait when I finally know what I want?”
“Ach, no. I’m just grateful you came to your senses.”
She laughed at his confidence and then she tilted her hips. “Make me your wife, Connall Aberbeag, for I will have no other.”
“With pleasure,” he said as he thrust into her.
She cried out in shock, not at the penetration, but at the pleasure. She had heard of a maiden’s pain since a very young age. But this wasn’t pain, this was connection. A bond that couldn’t be broken. A man who took her as his own.
Pure joy as he filled her.
Pure pleasure as he moved inside her.
She set the rhythm, and he matched it.
As she took control, he pleasured her breasts.
As his breath became ragged, he slipped his thumb between her folds.
Fire shot through her body as he worked her.
Wildness took hold as she alternately opened to him then squeezed him tight.
Her body spoke the words,Love me.
His answered,Forever.
And together they soared.
And maybe they went high enough in heaven to catch a child.
