Page 26 of Highland Fire

Moira almost smiled when she heard the sulkiness in his voice. He was behaving honorably, but he was not enjoying it at all. She then frowned, wondering how she could let him know he did not have to be a gentleman any longer. It would require a boldness she was not sure she could muster. There was the lurking fear that by acting boldly, she could make him think poorly of her or, worse, discover she had misjudged the depth of his desire for her.

She took a deep breath to strengthen her resolve and, in a soft, somewhat timid voice, said, “Mayhap ye need not woo me so gently anymore.” A soft cry of surprise escaped her when, in one clean, swift move, he was kneeling in front her.

“What did ye just say? I want to be sure I heard ye correctly, lass.”

Although she could feel a blush burning in her cheeks, she repeated, “I said mayhap ye need not woo me so gently now.”

His hands unsteady, he reached out to draw her thick braid forward over her shoulder and began to unravel it. “There will be no turning back, dearling. I cannae return what I will take from ye if we become lovers.”

“I ken it. I have decided I”—She cleared her throat—“I want ye to have it as I have no wish to die still clutching my purity and, if I wed, I willnae have a choice in whom I give it to.” When he did nothing more than unbraid her hair and comb his fingers through it, she grew uneasy, unsure of herself. “Why do ye hesitate?”

“Ye have so much fear in ye, loving. I need to be verra sure ye ken what ye ask for, because I dinnae wish to move too swiftly or step wrong. Then I would do naught but add to your fears.”

Moira was not sure how much more she could do to convince him that she knew exactly what she wanted. She had said aye. She had confessed to wanting him. She had declared that she did not wish to cling to her purity any longer. What else could she say? Then instinct told her that words would not be enough. She had to act. Astounded at her boldness, she slowly unhitched the blanket, allowing it to fall in a heap around her hips.

Chapter Eight

Tavig groaned softly as he stared at her. The feelings rushing through him were so strong they held him motionless. Moira was freely offering him everything he ached for. Suddenly he was terrified he would do something wrong. She needed to be treated so carefully. Did he have the skills needed?

“Tavig?” she whispered, reaching for the blanket.

“Nay.” He stopped her from covering herself again, smiling at her. “I but suffer from cowardice.”

“Cowardice? I dinnae understand.”

“Ah, lass, ye are so innocent.” He traced the shape of her full mouth with one fingertip. “Ye are so delicate. For years ye have seen only the worst of men. I but fear to step wrong, to fail to please you, and mayhap just add to your own fears.”

“I dinnae fear ye, Tavig. I ken I sometimes flinch or cower, but ’tis more out of habit than fear.” She took a deep breath, slipping her arms around his neck and pressing close to him. “I also have the wit to ken that I have asked for this. If it isnae to my liking, ye need not fear I will blame you. But,” she said with a smile, brushing her lips over his, “I wouldnae ask if I didnae think I would like it just fine.”

A tremor of want tore through Tavig. Wrapping his arms around Moira, he pulled her down onto their meager bed. He cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her, savoring the heated sweetness of her mouth. The way she shyly bandied the strokes of his tongue, the way she pressed against him, told him she was willing. Tavig knew it was going to be hard to go slowly, gently. His desire for her was fierce and greedy.

Moira felt her nervousness and hint of fear smoothed away with each stroke of his tongue, each touch of his hand. This was what she wanted. She had no doubts about it. She also knew she would have no regrets. For ten long years she had known no happiness and no affection. Tavig had made no mention of love, but he was kind, gentle, and he made her blood burn. Moira was certain this would be as close to love as she would ever get, and she intended to enjoy it to the fullest. After facing death in Craigmoordun, she knew any consequences she might face for being so free with her favors would never equal the regret she would suffer for continuing to say no to Tavig.

She blushed as Tavig tugged away the blanket caught around her hips. He crouched over her, staring at her, and she knew some of the color burning in her cheeks was caused by her own desire. It was exciting to be looked at so passionately by a man like Tavig MacAlpin. Moira did not doubt that Tavig wanted her. It was clear to read in the taut lines of his face. But she still found it hard to believe.

“Ah, lass, ye hold a lot of beauty in this tiny body,” Tavig murmured, shedding the last of his clothes.

A man’s body was not unfamiliar to Moira. Sir Bearnard’s men were not modest, and complete privacy was often an unattainable luxury. She had never seen one to match Tavig’s, however. The few glimpses she had caught of other men had never caused her heart to pound so hard it echoed in her ears or stole her breath away. As he lowered his lean, strong, body onto her, she reached out to pull him close, shuddering when their flesh met.

“Loving, ye feel so bonnie. Like warm silk.” Tavig gently traced the shape of her face with soft kisses.

“Ye feel rather bonnie yourself,” she whispered, tentatively running her hands over his broad, smooth back.

“There is still time to stop, sweet Moira.”

“Nay, I dinnae wish to stop.” She could feel the hard proof of his desire for her pressing against her, enticing her. “I want this and for the first time in a verra long time I will do what I want. Is that so wrong?”

“Ye cannae expect a fair answer from me, lassie. Not when we lie naked in each other’s arms. Yet, nay, ’tisnae wrong. From what little I saw and what little ye tell me, ye are deserving of a wee bit of pleasure. I but pray I can give it to ye. I am no green lad, but I have ne’er bedded down with a lass like you, Moira Robertson.”

“If it ends as weel as it starts, I believe I will be verra well pleased, Sir MacAlpin.”

She eagerly welcomed his hungry kiss. He felt so good beneath her hands. His skin was warm and taut over smooth, hard muscle. The hair on his long legs felt rough against her skin, yet that, too, excited her. The light cal-loses on his hands aroused her as he stroked her. When he slid his hands up her sides to cup her breasts, she arched eagerly into his touch. Tangling her hands in his thick hair, she held him close as he covered her breasts with hot kisses. A soft cry of delight escaped her when he lathed the hardened tips with his tongue. She thought she had never felt anything so pleasurable, and then he drew the taut nipple deep into his mouth, suckling greedily. Moira sank beneath waves of pure feeling, the heat of passion flowing rapidly through her body.

Tavig reveled in the passion Moira was revealing. His own desire was running so hot and wild he found control difficult. He caressed her with his hands and body, enflamed by the way she shifted against him, her body clearly expressing her eagerness for him. Slowly he slid his hand upward along her inner thigh and gently stroked the bright curls hiding the treasure he so desperately sought. A moment before he realized she had tensed beneath his intimate touch.

“Be easy, dearling,” he said, brushing his lips over hers. “I do no wrong.”

“Nay?” Moira asked even as she opened to his touch.