Page 59 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

“Lass, I…”

He pinched her lips in his teeth, staving off his release as her moans grew into a whine, gripping him, as his pace increased and his skin smarted hers. She tossed her head and tipped it back and gripped him tightly around the waist and rear as her whole body shook. Her legs tightened upon him. She froze, clinging to him, and a delightful moan welled from her throat, her nails biting through his tunic.

Warmth coated him. Her thighs trembled. Ah, there it was: his woman’s pleasure, sweeter than fine sugar. He was the lucky bastard to claim this cherished prize, and he drove himself once more, a swift, hard, desperate thrust.

A roar tore up his throat, and he kissed her hard, forcing the guttural exclamation into her mouth, spilling his seed within her in pulsing surges as he released and flexed helplessly, at her mercy. Panting, his body tingling as if he’d just sprinted an entire league, he finally opened his eyes—which had at some point, fallen shut—and noticed Aileana gazing into his face, such softness and wonder on her brow as she idly twisted his braid in her fingertips, a languid smile shimmering over her lips.

Their lips met—soft pecks, no words spoken—as he pulled free his tartan and shook it out to lay atop them. Cocooned together, he held their union while he softened. Lazily, his lips roved over her nose, her cheeks, as she continued to toy with his braids.

There would be time for their affection to grow and blossom into that love that James felt in his heart and knew that Aileana felt, too. Now, as he basked in the warmth of her flesh tangled with his, there was all the time in the world. He couldn’t be happier.

Chapter Thirteen

4th of January

Aileana had floated through the night and all through another day. Who knew such an act as the scullery maids oft tittered about was really as amazing as they’d said? She smiled idly as she glided down the corridor toward Jamie’s chambers, for he’d asked her to join him tonight, and every night hereafter. His Allie. Goodness, she could scarcely keep her feet anchored to the ground, as if her heart had grown wings and was carrying her away. Would her brother ever approve? It was too late now. Her body shivered with happy afterthoughts, memories of how her husband’s body had felt upon hers, within hers, how reverent his hands had been, how sweet his tongue had been, whispering encouragement to her all through the night and into the wee hours of morn, together entwined in warm bliss beneath his tartan in that byre.

She approached his door, wrapped in her robe, and was lifting her fist to knock when she noticed his solar door beside it ajar, flickering light coming from within. Soft talking could be heard through the crevice. Was he conducting business so late?

“But, brother, why have ye no’ written the abbot yet?”

Brighde? The festivities in the hall had long since died down, and yet the lady wasnae abed?

Jamie sounded as if he’d sighed. “I will, in time. The festivities and the MacLeods have taken much of my attention. I’ll send an emissary to Laird Grant on the morrow, informing him of…” His voice murmured inaudibly, and compelled by curiosity, Aileana moved closer. “And I’ll ask him to put his mark upon the formal agreements of the marriage date, which I’ll need as proof for the abbot to approve.”

“But why did ye nay sign the formal agreement when ye married?” Brighde pressed. “Ye knew ye would need it.”

More silence. Another inaudible utterance from Jamie.

“This is all such good news. I’m so fond of Aileana. She’s strong, like Marjorie couldnae be. She gives me a sister again. I trust in time she’ll truly accept me as one.”

Aileana smiled. Brighde had been nothing short of kind. What a blessing it was to find such companionship at Tioram.

“But I cannae understand why ye didnae write to Fearn Abbey the moment ye brought her home as yer bride.”

“As I said, I’ve been busy,” James replied, an air of annoyance accompanying it.

“Too busy to claim yer money? Sakes, brother, but it’s near four hundred pound.”

Aileana’s smile fell. What did Brighde mean?

“Is that nay what ye intended when ye took a Grant to wife?”

He sighed with exasperation. “Aye, in the beginning, but… Shite.”

The latter sentiment was nearly spat from his mouth, like the taste of rancid meat. Aileana could picture him, raking his hand through his hair in frustration.

“Who would have thought marriage to a Grant would work so well? It was a brilliant plan,” Brighde said.

“I sense Faither tried to achieve a similar union with Marjorie’s marriage,” James replied, and Aileana peered through the crevice in the door to see James swig a dram of whiskybae in nothing but his sleeping braies slouched around his hips, as if he’d been prepared for bed and Brighde had interrupted him.

The long, toned planes of his muscles, bronzed in the firelight, sent reminders skittering through Aileana’s belly as she remembered the strength and stability they’d exuded as he’d held her and enveloped her in his warmth while his body made love to hers. But wariness prickled now as she took in his agitated state, as he paced and took uncomfortable swigs from his dram.

“Aye, but our mither never put such conditions upon Marjorie, that she must gain the submission of an enemy’s lands and be married to them by a certain age,” his sister replied. “She did that to ye out of spite at Faither. And it’s done nothing but delegitimize ye and cause incessant competition for yer earldom and inheritance.”

“Brighde, nay now.” He pinched the bridge of his nose the way Seamus often did when he was burdened. “I need no reminders of the past.”

What on earth are they talking of?