Joanna knew she should jump out of bed that very instant, race to the door, and tear down the stairs in her borrowed shift and bare feet, calling for help all the way to the ground floor. But the knowledge that MacLean hadn’t a stitch of clothing on his large, long-legged body sent a tingling sensation from the top of her head right down to her curling toes.
Oh, she fully intended to run from the room.
But not quite yet.
Later this morning, she’d inform her gentle hostess that until she left for Kinlochleven, she intended to sleep in her own private bedchamber or sit up all night, wide-awake, in their hall.
So since she’d never again lie beside MacLean, bare-arsed and splendid beneath the covers, this was Joanna’s last chance to discover if what she’d been told as a bairn was indeed fact, or could be relegated to the realm of childhood fantasy. She had no intention of leaving the bed until she found out.
She met his heavy-lidded gaze and placed her hand on his arm in a gesture of friendship. “I didn’t really intend to shoot you with that crossbow,” she said sincerely. “I only wanted to learn the truth.”
“I know.”
Leaning on one elbow, he bent over her, and the ferocious, three-headed dragon on his upper arm seemed to stir menacingly as his bicep flexed. But a fetching smile curved Rory’s mouth. His indolent gaze drifted over her hair and face as he pulled on the narrow blue ribbon at her throat, releasing the top bow of her nightshift.
Joanna studied his strong features, sharp as the blade of a Lochaber ax. He’d removed the thong from his hair and the smooth golden waves brushed against his shoulders. She reached up and traced her fingers over his straight eyebrows, touched the precious jewel that glittered on his earlobe, then buried her fingertips in his thick hair.
“I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me,” she whispered.
“You’re already forgiven.”
She smiled tentatively, abashed that she’d dared to point a loaded weapon at her formidable bridegroom. “Did I frighten you terribly?”
His dazzling smile widened. He tugged on the ribbon of the second bow, and Joanna frowned as her gaze dropped to his long, capable fingers. She’d have to make her discovery soon or retreat without the answer she sought. And God knew, she didn’t want to do that!
“You certainly caught me by surprise, lass,” he said in a low, husky voice. “I had my thoughts on other things at the time. I didn’t hear you get out of bed, much less pick up a weapon.”
“What other things?”
“Things like this,” he murmured, releasing the third bow.
He leaned closer and covered her mouth with his. He followed the line of her closed lips with the tip of his tongue, coaxing her to open for him. When Joanna complied his tongue plunged into her mouth, teasing and instructing, and she greeted his cajoling thrusts with eagerness.
Setting aside her secret quest for the moment, Joanna slid her arms around his neck and returned his kiss. His lips were firm and purposeful, his tongue tantalizingly bold. Shy and hesitant, she entered his mouth and found him avidly awaiting her caresses. Slowly she explored his welcoming warmth, learning to give as well as to take.
Her husband broke the kiss to slide his parted lips along the curve of her neck, marking a path of flame with his tongue. She released a soft, quivery sigh as the heat spread beneath the lacy collar of her voluminous sleeping gown.
Taken unawares, Joanna opened her eyes, belatedly realizing that her nightshift gaped open from her throat all the way to her navel.
Godsakes, when had he untied the other three bows?
“Oh, my,” she breathed. “I’m coming undone.” She reached down to retie the ribbons, and he caught her hands in his.
Interlacing their fingers, Rory brought Joanna’s hands up to the pillow and held them lightly on either side of her head. He scattered a shower of kisses down one edge of her gaping bodice and up the other.
Joanna’s heart pattered to the beat of the rain on the window. “Rory,” she said, unaccountably short of breath.
“Mm,” he answered.
“I…I think we should wait and get better acquainted.”
He chuckled softly as he nuzzled the embroidered material aside to reveal her pink crests. “We are getting better acquainted, lass.”
Her breasts swayed gently beneath his kisses. Joanna released a long, drawn-out sigh at the marvelous feel of his warm, moist tongue sliding over first one nipple and then the other. As he licked the sensitive peaks into tight, wee buds, she fought to keep her mind on her goal.
She needed to learn the truth about the chief of Clan MacLean as quickly as possible, and then get her prying, inquisitive mind out of his bed, and her fascinated body along with it.
“You’re becoming better acquainted with me,” she pointed out in a shaky voice, “but I’m not becoming better acquainted with you.”
“We’ll take turns,” he said huskily. “I’ll go first.”
He suckled her, and the exquisite pleasure caught Joanna by surprise. Her indrawn breath hissing between her teeth, she arched her back, lifting her breasts higher in glorious response. A sensation of warmth spread through her belly, and with it came an urgency to draw closer to him. She felt an unaccountable frustration that the bedclothes still lay between their lower bodies, and she shifted her legs restlessly.
Rory released her hands to cup her breasts. “I intend to get intimately acquainted with every inch of your sweet little body, lass,” he said, “and then I’ll let you explore my big, hairy carcass to your heart’s content.” He flicked the callused pads of his thumbs over her taut peaks as he kissed her deeply.
Joanna knew she couldn’t wait for her turn to explore—not if she wanted to leave the bed with her virginity intact.
Getting an annulment would depend on it.
And her clan was depending upon her.
Timidly, she ran her hands across his sun-bronzed arms and wide shoulders. The bulging muscles beneath her fingers had been cast in iron. There was nothing soft or yielding about him.
“Let’s explore together,” she whispered.
As he suckled her, Joanna slid her hands across his broad shoulder blades and down, down beneath the bedcovers, following the hard ridge of his spine to the curve of his lower back. Her heart pounding wildly, she smoothed her palms downward to the base of his tailbone, glided her fingers over his compact buttocks, and traced the cleft between with her exploring fingertips. She traced it once more, just to make certain.
Her feathering touch on his naked loins seemed to have a riveting effect on her husband, for he tensed and grew absolutely still beneath her curious inspection. Lifting his head from her breasts, he met her gaze in wonder.
“Joanna…darling…” he said with a surprised little laugh. He brushed his mouth lightly across her lips. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, lass.”
Joanna giggled softly in relief and thanksgiving.
No dragon’s tail—not the teeniest, tiniest trace of one!
“I’m learning about you,” she told him happily as she clasped his lean flanks. Once again, she ran her palms across his bare bottom and smiled in satisfaction.
Too late, she realized that Rory had already flung off the coverlet. He caught the hem of her nightshift in his fingers and drew the loose, flowing gown over her head with practiced ease. Before she could attempt to cover herself, he captured her hands and leaned back on his haunches.
“My God, lass, you’re bonny,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper as his gaze moved over her with leisurely, deliberate thoroughness.
“Holy heavens,” she rasped.
At the sight of her husband’s massive erection, Joanna knew she’d committed a major blunder. Her foolish, irrepressible curiosity had led her straight into the boiling caldron of unbridled male lust. She leaned on her elbows and tried to scoot away from him. She’d made some huge mistakes in the past, but this time Joanna Màiri Macdonald was really in trouble.
“If we don’t get out of bed right this minute,” she announced with a jaunty smile, “we’re liable to miss breakfast.” She jerked her fingers from his grasp and started to roll off the high mattress. “And ’tis starving I am.”
“So am I,” he said with a smothered laugh. He caught her by the waist and brought her up on her knees in front of him.
“Fine,” she said, croaking like a frog. “Then we’re both hungry.” She braced her palms on his solid chest and leaned as far away from him as possible. “Let’s go downstairs and get something to eat.”
He imprisoned her hips in his strong hands. “There’s nothing to be frightened of, Joanna,” he said, his words low and silky smooth. “All we’re going to do is get very well acquainted.”
Unable to meet his gaze, Joanna lowered her lids and stared at the holy medal adorning his scarred, hairy chest. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She’d seen Tam and Mary in the stables, so she knew what her husband had in mind—he didn’t mean a lengthy conversation about their favorite childhood games or the color of their first pony.
Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed with a noisy gulp. Tam wasn’t as big as Rory, and the buxom dairymaid outweighed Joanna by a good three stone.
The words came out of her parched throat in a raspy whisper. “My cousin Ewen wants me to get an annulment.”
“There’ll be no annulment, Joanna,” he said placidly.
Resting on his flanks, Rory leaned closer and laved her nipples. Shafts of pleasure shot through her, and she bit her bottom lip to smother a soft cry of delight. In spite of her determination to resist his erotic onslaught, her breasts grew firm and full beneath the persuasion of his adept, experienced mouth.
Joanna cleared her throat and tried again. “Ewen says I’m supposed to marry Andrew.”
“Forget about Andrew,” he told her with a growl. “I’m the only husband you’ll ever have, lass.”
He slid his hand between her bare thighs, and his fingers delved into her triangle of reddish-brown curls with seductive expertise. He played with her gently as he suckled her. A tremor ran through Joanna’s tense limbs, awakening within her an unbelievable need to get closer, and closer still, to this powerful warrior who touched her with such heart-wrenching tenderness.
“Oh, my,” she murmured.
He smiled and continued to taste and caress the most sensitive parts of her quivering body.
Joanna tried to recite the Macdonald clan motto in her head, but she could feel herself become moist and slick beneath his skillful manipulations. She moaned as the incredible pleasure pulsed through her secret places, trying desperately to concentrate on what she needed to tell MacLean before things went too far.
God’s truth, she didn’t want Rory to think her a wanton tease who’d give him license to fondle and then demand that he stop. The possibility that she might have gone too far already set her heart hammering.
“Ewen sent to Rome asking permission for me to marry my cousin,” she said on a breathless sigh. “Maybe we should wait and see if it comes.”
“We’re not waiting,” he told her. He slipped his finger inside her, and the feeling of fullness made her sob in pleasure.
“Rory…” she said in confusion. “I’m not sure…”
“Kiss me, Joanna.” He covered her mouth with his in fierce possession. She slid her splayed fingers across his scarred chest, touching his tightened nipples as he had touched hers.
“God above, you’re sweet,” he murmured in her ear, continuing to stroke and fondle her.
Joanna lowered her head, burying her face in the curve of his throat. She breathed in the earthy male scent of him as she nuzzled his bare skin. Her fingers caught on the gold chain, and she clutched the holy medallion in a silent prayer to St. Columba.
Her whispered words were scarcely audible. “I think I’m too small.”
She could feel his chuckle vibrate deep in his chest. “You let me worry about that,” he said softly. “That’s the bridegroom’s responsibility.”
“What’s the bride’s?”
“All you need do is enjoy it.”
“Will I?”
“You will, Joanna. I promise.”
Rory eased his wife down to the soft mattress and knelt between her slender legs. He crouched over her and kissed the swollen tips of her breasts. Her long russet lashes floated downward to rest on her silken cheeks. With consummate care, he opened her velvety petals, gently teasing the fragile tissues till Joanna writhed with pleasure.
The beauty of her, lying there before him, pale and slim, with the mass of coppery silk strands spread across the pillow and the nest of auburn curls at the juncture of her white thighs, struck a chord of tenderness within him that he’d never known existed. She belonged to him. To touch, and fondle, and caress. No man but Rory would ever know the loveliness of her naked body or the sensual passion glowing in her marvelous eyes.
“Touch me, Joanna,” he urged.
Her lids fluttered open. When she shyly reached toward him, he took her hand and taught her how to stroke him. The sight of her dainty fingers on his turgid flesh rocked him with the full, primitive force of pagan lust. Rory clenched his teeth, the pleasure so great his need nearly overcame his will. His lungs constricted, and he grew embarrassingly short of breath—a hardened soldier of twenty-eight years brought to the point of surrender by his inexperienced wife’s silken touch.
Rory bent over her, kissing Joanna with the unfettered joy of total possession. “I’m going to come into you now,” he told her softly. “I’ll be very gentle, darling.” But despite his confident words, Rory’s heart thundered in his chest. God, she was small.
Bit by bit, Rory edged his rigid sex into Joanna’s honeyed warmth. He entered her as slowly and carefully as he could, but her tight sheath resisted his efforts to be gentle. Covered with a fine sheen of sweat, his great body shook with the effort to maintain control. He could sense her apprehension building.
He kissed her, his tongue stroking hers in silent encouragement. “’Twill hurt a wee bit,” he said thickly, “but only the first time, lass.”
Holding her in place, he thrust deep inside her, tearing the virgin’s membrane. Her surprised cry slashed across his heart. Her slender form grew tense and stiff beneath him.
He kissed her lowered lids, tasting the salty tears. “Ah, darling,” he crooned, “’tis sorry I am that I can’t take the pain for you.”
“Are we through?” she asked hopefully.
He smiled at her innocent candor. Considering his shortness of breath and his pounding heart, he felt as if he’d engaged in hand-to-hand combat wearing a full suit of armor. “Not yet, lass,” he said. “’Twas the difficult part, though, and ’tis over. Now the fine, fair, bonny part begins.”
Rory pleasured his bride, worshipping her soft femininity with his hard male body. He built a slow, steady rhythm, watching the wondrous emotions play across her expressive features, as her curving lashes drifted downward to feather her cheeks. He lifted his engorged sex up inside her, increasing and sustaining her enjoyment. Knowing the uninhibited response she was capable of giving, he would settle for nothing less.
Tears started to trickle down Joanna’s face, and Rory stopped in dread. His heart lurched and skidded against his breastbone. “Are you in pain, lass?” he asked, prepared to withdraw.
She opened her eyes and gazed up at him. a look of awe on her face. “There’s no pain, Rory,” she said in her husky contralto. “None at all. ’Tis only that it feels so…so…”
He renewed his rhythmic strokes. Smiling tenderly down at her, he urged thickly, “Tell me, darling. Tell me how it feels to have me deep inside you.”
“’Tis so very…very…wonderful…” She sighed as she smoothed her fingers across his chest, burying her nails in the thick mat of hair. “’Tis so…very…marvelous…I couldn’t keep the tears back.”
He scooped her long hair aside and braced his forearms on either side of her head. “Wrap your legs around me, Joanna.”
She followed his directions without hesitation. Her supple limbs clung to him as her vibrant muscles clenched around his male member, driving him wild with sexual excitement.
“We have as long as you need, lass,” he assured her, keeping the cadence unhurried and constant. “Take all the time you want. Enjoy every movement, every tiny flicker of pleasure. There’s more after that, and more again still.”
Joanna brushed her open mouth over his shoulder and upper arm, then nipped him with her sharp little teeth. Her breathing grew heavy and ragged. She tightened her arms and legs around him, trying to get closer and tighter, squeezing him in her uncontrollable passion.
“God in heaven, lass,” he breathed, pure joy spearing through him. “You take my breath away.”
“Oh, Rory…oh, Rory…oh, Rory…” she cried softly. Her slim body quivered and tightened in her fulfillment. He could feel the delicate tissues fluttering around his hard staff as she convulsed reflexively, once, twice, and then once again, before collapsing back on the pillow.
The thrill of her eager response ignited blazing sparks of sexual excitement within him. The seductive perfume of her female body assailed his battered senses, and Rory knew he could hold back no longer. He thrust into her tight passage, exploding in a climax so powerful that his large frame jerked and shuddered.
His heart thundering, his breath coming in great, raw gasps, Rory rolled onto his back, taking Joanna with him. She pushed up, her knees bent on either side of him, her forearms braced on his chest, and gazed at him with eyes filled with awe and wonder. Clearly dazed by what had just happened between them, she stared at him, speechless.
He bracketed her head in his hands, his fingers buried deep in her marvelous hair. “You are mine, Joanna,” he said, his voice harsh with suppressed emotion. “Mine, and mine alone. I swear by God, I’ll kill any man who tries to take you from me.”
“’Tis kind of you to join us in the kitchen, Lady MacLean,” the black-haired lassie said politely. She stood beside the table, watching Joanna knead the floury dough. “Mama lets Cook make the cobblers and tarts, but only I get to help her with the gooseberry pies.”
“Making gooseberry pie is one of my favorite pastimes,” Joanna assured the thirteen-year-old. “And ’twas kind of you to loan me your gown.” Joanna glanced down at the pale yellow wool to discover a green stain on the sleeve. “And look what I’ve done! I’ve ruined it!”
Lady Nina laughed as she moved the iron kettle from the smaller of the kitchen’s two fireplaces, where the fruit mixture had been cooking, to the trestle table. “Don’t fret about the gown,” she said, her lovely face glowing rosily from the heat of the fire. “’Tis one of Raine’s oldest. She’s growing so quickly, she won’t be able to wear it much longer anyway. She’ll soon be taller than I.”
At the mention of her height, the girl’s jet eyes grew serious. “Aunt Isabel said I’ll be taller than Papa before I’m sixteen,” she commented gravely.
Joanna glanced over at the lass, who stood across the table stirring the bubbling sauce with a large wooden spoon.
Raine was tall for her age, with a gangly frame that made her seem all thin arms and long legs. Unsure just where to put her hands and feet, she reminded Joanna of a newborn filly.
Lady Nina paused in her work momentarily to study her daughter from the corner of her eye. Then humming softly, she began to ladle the steaming fruit into the waiting pie shells as Joanna rolled out the pastry for the top crusts.
A huge white apron belonging to a kitchen maid had been wrapped twice around Joanna’s small frame, and all their aprons were now liberally splattered with flour and gooseberry sauce.
Outside, the rain had turned to a light mist, and the warmth and cheeriness of the large kitchen lent a special camaraderie to their task.
Joanna had slept through the morning meal, coming downstairs only after everyone else had gone about his business. She’d learned that Laird Alex had asked Rory to look at a mare about to foal. The men had left for the stables immediately after breakfast.
Joanna’s pulse quickened at the thought of her husband. After their impassioned joining when she’d first awakened at daybreak, Rory had held her in his arms, his nude body hard and unyielding beneath her softness. He’d taken her again and yet again, in a slow, lingering fashion, building up the wondrous excitement within her, till her response to his caresses had become wild and uncontrollable. She’d lost all sense of decorum and modesty, following his every whispered suggestion with a willingness that brought a flush to her cheeks. God’s truth, she’d even scoured his back with her nails in the throes of her ecstasy.
What he thought about her uninhibited behavior, she didn’t know. She’d fallen asleep atop him, spent and sated. When she’d awakened for the second time that morning, she’d been tucked snugly beneath the coverlet, her husband gone.
“So this is Somerled Macdonald’s granddaughter,” a cheerful soprano voice said from the doorway.
Pulled from her reverie, Joanna looked up from the flour-covered table to find a lady in a purple velvet gown and old-fashioned horned headdress regarding her merrily. Bits of oatmeal rested on her shoulders, sprinkled there to ward off the faeries, no doubt. A small pair of steel scissors, the greatest protection possible from the entire elfin race, dangled from a chain round her neck.
Joanna had been told at supper the previous evening that the laird’s older sister was supping in her private parlor with her niece; and she assumed the newcomer was Lady Isabel.
In her late forties, fair-haired, average in height and squarely built, the woman favored Laird Alex to a striking degree, though an aura of otherworldliness seemed to hover about her. ’Twas possible the lady practiced white witchcraft.
“Come in, Isabel, and meet Laird MacLean’s new bride,” Nina said, continuing to spoon the bubbling mixture into the pie shells. “Joanna, this is my late husband’s sister, Isabel.”
Not waiting for Joanna to acknowledge the introduction, Isabel crossed the kitchen’s stone floor to stand beside her niece at the table. “I can see the resemblance to Somerled,” she said pleasantly. “The extraordinary marigold hair and plum-colored eyes. ’Twould be hard to mistake you, even in a room full of redheaded Macdonalds.”
Joanna set the pastry roller down. “You knew my grandfather, then,” she said curiously.
Smiling benignly, Isabel paused to drop a kiss on her niece’s temple, then met Joanna’s intrigued gaze. Her hazel eyes glimmered with some unexplained mystery. “So they haven’t told you yet.”
Nina stopped her work and wiped her hands on the skirt of her apron. “This isn’t the time, Isabel, or the place—”
Isabel leaned forward and stated without a hint of rancor, “Your grandfather was executed for murdering my brother.”