“As do I. Shall I help ye?” She reached for the Sutherland pin holding his sash on his shoulder.
“Aye, please do. My shoulder still pains me a bit,” he said and rolled it, grimacing.
She knew exactly what he was doing. “This is nay the night for sympathy, my love. I ken ye will be strong and yet tender and will ignore any twinges yer injuries may still give ye.”
He pulled her to him before she could unbuckle his belt and kissed her soundly. “I will, love,” he said and began undressing her. “And ye ken how eager I am to see all of ye.”
“As I am to see ye,” she replied and opened his belt, let it fall to the floor and watched the yards of his kilt’s woolen fabric join it in a plaid puddle.
He stood before her in hisleine, determined that his brave bride would join him. He reached for her kirtle but she held up a hand.
“If ye tear this, ye will have three women after yer blood, and I will be one of them. Brìghde and yer cousin Nan, who made this, will be the other two. I suggest ye take yer time and loosen the laces, husband, before ye make a fatal mistake.” She grinned.
“Ye three planned this to frustrate me,” he accused, then sank to his knees and worked on each set of laces, loosening them enough to let the kirtle slip from her shoulders and down her body.
She stepped out of it, picked it up and laid it reverently over a chair.
In moving around the room, the candlelight and firelight of the hearth glowed through her fine lawn chemise, giving him sweet glimpses of her form through the semi-sheer fabric. He stood, unable to resist holding her any longer. “Come here, Mariota.”
She came into his arms and pressed against him. “’Tis time, aye?” She turned her head and looked toward the window that overlooked the gates to Dunrobin’s walls.
“Ye worry for Anders?”
“I ken ye do. He should be far enough away by now.”
Surprised, he said, “So ye ken about that.”
“I’ve heard tales.”
“He is. And well sotted, too. But that is no’ what I meant. Ye are no’ ready. I want ye to remember this night with joy— and delight. Nay with pain.”
“Then delight me, husband. I’m eager to be yers.”
The first thingMariota had noted when she entered Stellan’s chambers was not the candlelight or the roses. The four-season tapestry hanging in the chamber she would now share with Stellan delighted her. It had been hung in the public room, where others might visit and see it. A doorway led to the inner bedchamber. Stellan’s space was larger than the laird’s chamber at MacKay, and so fine, she wondered how much nicer the laird’s chambers at Sutherland could be.
She’d find out in due time. For now, she was alone with Stellan. Her husband. And she could not wait for the rest of the evening to begin.
She was nervous, but hid it in playfulness, teasing him out of his clothes, then threatening his life if he ruined her wedding finery. He met her challenge and before she knew it, they were both naked and lying on Stellan’s bed. It was much larger than the one in her chamber. Her former chamber. Of course, it had to be large enough for two.
He kissed her, did it again, moving from her lips to her eyelids, her cheeks, down her throat and farther still. She forgot everything she’d been distracting herself with, forgot her nerves, forgot even where she was. There was only Stellan. His mouth, his hands. His scent. The rough texture of his body against hers, his whiskers teasing over her sensitive skin.
Every touch made her blood swirl and dance in her veins, every kiss made her warmer, needier, hungry for sensations she couldn’t name. Stellan answered her every cry with a kiss or caress until she was writhing with unnamed need.
“’Tis time, husband,” she gasped as he began kissing the insides of her thighs. “I canna take much more.”
“Ye can, love, and ye will,” he murmured, then put all his attention on her center.
Something within her shattered, scattering light and heat and a liquid surge of satisfaction throughout her body. She dared not open her eyes. The sky was already too full of stars falling behind her eyelids, and the cries and whimpers she heard were her own. When the storm passed, she lay quiet, just breathing.
“Now,” Stellan told her, “’tis time.”
He moved over her and supporting his weight above her, entered her slowly. At first she didn’t realize what was happening. Then she smiled and lifted to meet him, welcoming him, wanting him to fill the aching emptiness within her. “I need ye, husband,” she murmured. “All of ye.”
He surged forward, and for the briefest time, a sharp sting surprised her, but it soon faded away, and there was Stellan. Filling her.
“Ye are mine, now, Mariota. Forever, my love. My wife.”
“As ye are mine, Stellan, forever, my love. My husband.”
