“I’m absolutely sure.” All she wanted was to feel him inside her again.
He braced his feet apart on the floor, then slowly slid into her soaking depths with glorious ease this time. He made love to her while standing up, and he made it last a good long time, working inside her with smooth, plunging meticulousness that left her reeling with amazement. When he climaxed, she felt it as if it were her own. He finally collapsed onto her with a groan of deep satisfaction.
A moment later he climbed onto the bed—explaining that he was too exhausted to make it to the door. He stripped off his clothes, then fell onto his back like a tremendous toppling oak.
He did not leave the bed again until morning, and by that time, Gwendolen was feeling somewhat addicted to her new husband’s sexual expertise.
And quite thoroughly schooled in the enticing act of lovemaking.
Chapter Twelve
Angus strode in circles around the Great Hall, swinging his sword through the air in wide, sweeping arcs, waiting impatiently for Lachlan for arrive.
He had not had breakfast yet—it was still too early for that—but he felt a great need to work his body into a lather and ease some of the tension he was feeling, for his wedding night had been more complicated than he’d expected. Gwendolen had drained him dry, and he needed to prove to himself that he was not entirely sapped of strength and vigor, otherwise he might have to lay down some boundaries.
At last Lachlan appeared under the wide, arched entrance and leaned a shoulder against the wall. His face was shadowed with dark stubble, his eyes rimmed with red. He watched Angus lunge and strike at the air, then he ambled forward, yawning.
“Is there a reason you dragged me out of bed on this, of all days, when you should still be shagging your pretty new wife? Bluidy hell, Angus, I only got to sleep an hour ago.”
“And what were you doing all night?” Angus asked irritably.
“Ah, you know. The usual. Drinking. Singing. Shagging.”
“I told you to stay away from the MacEwen women for a while.”
“Not to worry. My little friend last night was a MacDonald from the village, and a bonnie one at that.”
Lachlan drew his sword. They paced back and forth, eyeing each other intently.
Suddenly, Angus swung hard, and the heavy clang of steel against steel did wonders for his mood. He needed to feel like he was still the same man he had been on the day he stormed the gates of Kinloch. He needed to know that his desire for his wife was not going to consume him.
A particular memory flashed through his brain as he ducked under Lachlan’s aggressive attack. He remembered wiping a tear from Gwendolen’s cheek, just before dawn. She’d looked up at him and told him she was happy, and he had done the unthinkable and gathered her into his arms.
Lachlan came at him suddenly.
Angus shouted a fearsome war cry and defended himself against his cousin’s impressive overhanded swing.
“Is there a reason you’re so keen to fight this morning?” Lachlan asked, moving quickly to deflect another blow. “She didn’t hold out on you, did she?”
“Nay.”
They fought hard and fast for a few more minutes.
“That’s it?” Lachlan said, as he turned away and circled the room. “That’s all you’re going to say about your wedding night?”
“That’s all I’m going to say.”
Lachlan came at him again. There was a piercing ring of steel against steel.
“No regrets then?” Lachlan asked. “You’re pleased with your wife?”
“Stop talking, Lachlan, and fight me!”
Later, when they were both dripping with sweat and breathing heavily, they sat down on the dais. Angus threw Lachlan a towel.
“You know,” Angus said, wiping his face, “I never imagined I’d end up married to a woman like Gwendolen MacEwen. I always believed that only foolish men took beautiful wives because they were thinking with their knobs instead of their heads.”
“And love makes a man weak,” Lachlan added. “So you’ve always said.”
