Authors: Highland Fling
Rothwell put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up, making her look into his eyes, much as he had done before, but his expression now was nothing like the other times. “You are beautiful,” he murmured. “I want to see all of you.” But he did not move. He continued to look at her, his gaze searching, hypnotic, as though he would look into her soul, so penetrating in fact that she did not doubt for a moment that he knew she would make no effort to deny him. Softly, his voice like warm velvet, he said, “I don’t want to hurt your arm, sweetheart. Take off your shift for me.”
Fascinated by a sudden, overwhelming urge to submit to him, she obeyed without looking away from that penetrating gaze, and he watched her, not offering to help even when the left sleeve caught on her bandage. She managed to free it, and with a final whispering hush the shift slid down over her hips to fall in a crumpled heap around her ankles.
“Step away from the gown,” he murmured. “Out of the mules, too. I want to see you dressed in nothing but firelight.”
Her body tingling, she did as he asked, stepping a little away from him in the process. The warmth from the fire was like a caress on her naked skin.
“By heaven, you are beautiful,” he murmured. “Now, come here to me.”
His leather waistcoat was open, revealing his white shirt, but he still wore his coat, so she said demurely, “Is it not necessary for both of us to remove our clothes, sir?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, catching both her hands and drawing her gently nearer when she hesitated. “I’ll show you how we go about that part in a moment, but first I want to taste you, little wife. I have wanted to do this again for hours.”
She did not wait this time for him to tilt her chin, but willingly turned her face up for his kiss, and when his lips met hers, she felt the fire down to her toes, but this time it flamed from within her, stirring torrents of heat all along its course, and when his arms went around her, she melted against him. Hearing him moan, she sighed with pleasure. His tongue touched her lips then, parting them, and she welcomed its entrance, teasing it with hers, delighting in each new sensation as he began her lessons.
His kisses deepened, and he caressed her with his hands. For a time she was lost to everything but the feelings he created wherever he touched her. But when he paused, kissing first her lips lightly and then the tip of her nose, his hand on her back reminded her of her nakedness and his own state of being still clothed, and she murmured, “It is not fair, sir, for you to remain guarded against my touch. I want to explore your body as you explore mine.”
“Do you, sweetheart?” He kissed her lips lightly again, a butterfly’s kiss, and she remembered he had used the endearment before. She had paid it little heed then, and did the same now, certain he was merely exercising a husband’s rights, that he felt no more than his physical need for her. For the moment though, that was enough. She wanted to know more about such things.
She stepped back again, and when he made no attempt to prevent her, she tilted her head to one side j and said imperiously, “Your coat is in the way, sir. Take it off.”
He put his hands on his hips instead, looking sternly at her. “Do you dare to give me orders, wife?”
She grinned saucily. “Did you think I would not?”
“Nay, I fear that I shall live under the cat’s paw.” He shook his head and sighed. “I never knew such a stubborn wench.”
Pretending astonishment just as she was sure he had pretended displeasure, she said, “Do you think me more stubborn than Kate MacCain?”
Chuckling, he retorted, “I do not, nor will you be allowed to become so. To that end, I will not agree to take orders from you tonight, sweetheart. I prefer to watch you obey mine. Now, come and remove this coat of mine, and mind you do it carefully. It may be meant only for country wear, but it is a fine garment nonetheless, and I’ll not have you throwing it on the floor in a like manner to the way you treated your shift.”
She glanced down at the puddle of flannel on the floor near her feet and shook her head. “Very untidy.”
“You are dallying, wife. Do as you were bid.”
Approaching him, she felt the fire leap again in her body and wondered that such a sensation could be caused merely by allowing herself to be ordered about like a servant. She was enjoying herself, and she could tell from his expression and the way he stood that he was enjoying her, too. Was this what it was to be wanton? It did feel wicked and was no doubt the sort of thing Puritans carried on about when they spoke of the evils of the flesh, but it was most pleasant, and she did not think God would allow such a pleasurable thing to be true wickedness.
His coat fitted him tightly across the shoulders, and it hurt her arm to tug on it, but she ignored the pain until a heedless motion brought a twinge sharp enough to make her gasp.
Rothwell turned at once with a rueful look in his eyes. “I thought you said your arm no longer hurt. Let that be a lesson to you not to lie to your husband. I will do the rest.”
“No, let me. It was no more than a twinge, and I like doing it. My arm burns, but truly it does not bother me unless I move so that it rubs the bandage. It is only an abrasion.”
“I saw your wound, Maggie. It was more than an abrasion, and James still worries about infection.”
“Well, Papa does not,” she said, smiling at him. “Not after the whisky was poured over it. He really does believe the spirit cures anything that can go amiss with a body, and it is true that few people hereabouts suffer infection, except with truly nasty wounds, the kind that go deep and fester from within.”
He looked skeptical, but when she insisted, he allowed her to continue, helping when he could and clearly delighting in giving her more orders to follow. Soon, he was as naked as she, and Maggie felt suddenly shy. She had seen naked men before, but never one so splendidly constructed. He was magnificent. The muscles of his arms, chest, buttocks, and thighs were large and clearly delineated, and the dark hair on his chest was thick, crisp, and springy to the touch. His stomach was flat and taut, and a line of hair led straight from his navel all the way to—
“Do you like what you see, sweetheart?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts and bringing more fire to her cheeks.
She looked up quickly, flushing more deeply, and said, “You are very large there, sir, surely too large to …”
“To what, little wife? How much do you know about such things? Do you know what I mean to do?”
She nodded, again finding it difficult to breathe properly. “In faith, sir, I know what is supposed to be done, but I cannot think you will succeed. Surely, I am not so … so large inside as to accommodate all … all of you.”
“Not all, Maggie. Only a small part of me.”
“That part,” she said, pointing, “is not small.”
He grinned. “I believe I will keep you.”
“Will you, sir?”
“Aye, and my family calls me Ned, sweetheart. You may do so as well. I would like to hear you say it.”
“My mother called my father her lord till the day she died,” she told him thoughtfully.
“Say my name, Maggie. I want to hear you say it.”
“Very well … Ned.”
“Good lass. Now come and kiss me again.”
She obeyed, and feeling her skin against his brought new sensations that electrified her. She savored every touch, every movement he made, and when she sighed with pleasure, he chuckled again, a sound she was coming to like very much.
“I’d like to take you right here on the floor,” he said.
“Then do so,” she replied. “My body cries out to be touched, sir, so why have you stopped? Touch me some more.”
“Ask me nicely,” he said, and there was laughter in his voice. “I think I would like to hear you beg me, little wife.”
“Would you, sir?” Briefly she considered the notion, then said, “I daresay you
would
like it, but much as I seem to enjoy submitting to most of your whims, I do not believe I can submit to that one. A MacDrumin begs favors from no man.”
“You are a proud woman, Maggie, but you are no longer a MacDrumin. Your proper name now is Margaret Carsley, fourth Countess of Rothwell.”
“Not unless I will it so,” she said, grinning. Since I am the daughter of a chief with no son, it is my right to keep my own name. I need not take my husband’s. In fact,” she added, enjoying herself, “you might take the name MacDrumin. You are allowed to do so, having married me.”
“We can discuss such matters at a more appropriate time,” he said, surprising her. She had expected outrage.
“I fear that inside I shall always be pure MacDrumin, sir.”
“How are you commanded to call me?”
“I think I will call you Edward if I am to use your name. ’Tis unbecoming in me to address you by a nickname.”
“Edward will do. No one else calls me so. Now, to punish you for your impertinence, I will teach you that you can do anything if the motivation presents itself. Get into bed.”
Disappointment surged within her, but she would not give into him so easily. “I will be sorry to end this,” she said sadly, “but I cannot beg, Edward. It is not in my nature.”
He chuckled again. “We are not ending this, Maggie, not for a long while, but if we continue where we are, I
will
take you here on the floor, and although the fire burns well now, by the time we finish, those ashes will be stone cold, and come morning, the servants will find two icicles lying on the hearth. Now do as I bid you, and I will put another log on. I want to watch your reactions for as long as I am able, and I cannot do so if the fire burns low too quickly.
The moment she moved away from the fire’s warmth, the air felt icy cold, and she hurried to get beneath the covers, then lay there and watched him with an increasing sense of pleasure. He seemed unconcerned with his nakedness, not at all shy but sure of himself, moving the same way he did when he was clothed. Watching him fascinated her, and she thought she was not at all nervous, until he straightened and began to walk toward the bed.
He pulled back the covers and stood to one side, letting the firelight play on her body, looking silently down at her.
“Are you getting in?” she asked. Her voice was low, little more than a whisper, and to her, it sounded like a stranger’s. When he did not reply at once, she said softly, “Edward?”
He smiled then. “I do like the sound of my name on your lips, little wife, and I like the glow of firelight when it dances on your skin. You have very smooth skin.”
She was still, watching him, conscious of his gaze, waiting, saying nothing at all.
Slowly he climbed into bed beside her and took her in his arms, being careful of her injury. He felt warm against her body and large, filling her small bed. A candle guttered with a sputtering sound, and a log shifted on the hearth. The light was behind him now, his head like a big shadow, coming nearer.
His lips touched hers, gently, then more possessively, and then his hands began to roam over her body, touching her, caressing her everywhere until her skin was afire again and she felt as breathless and exhilarated as if she had been running uphill toward the sunrise on a winter morning. Slowly at first, then with more assurance, she began to follow his lead, to touch him and caress him the way he was touching her, and when his lips released hers, she tasted other parts of him, satisfying curiosity whenever it stirred.
When his hand moved between her legs, she went still again, all her senses sharply focused on what he was doing. He kissed her gently and said, “I will try not to hurt you, but there will be discomfort the first time. That is only natural.”
When she said nothing, waiting tensely, he began to caress her with his fingers till her body leapt in response and her tension vanished as if it had never been. When he entered her, she cried out, for he had been right and there was pain; but he was as gentle as anyone could be, and the ache was bearable. He began to move faster, and she knew he was rapidly giving in to his own passions. And when he was spent at last, he lay atop her for a few moments before he said, “Am I too heavy?”
She had to swallow before she could speak. Then she said only, “No.” As big as he was, he did not feel heavy, and though her arm ached fiercely again, she did not seem to care. She did not know how to explain how it felt to have him atop her. She knew only that she did not want him to move yet. She liked the sensations he stirred in her body.
He taught her more before they slept, though he seemed to have forgotten his promise to teach her to beg, and she enjoyed every moment. She fell asleep in his arms and awoke there in the morning, attacked instantly by second thoughts, and not by any means sure she had done the right thing by submitting to him.
He bade her good-morning, and got up at once, telling her that they would henceforward sleep in his bed, where there was more room for a man to move; and MacDrumin, returning midmorning to be greeted with the news that Rothwell and Maggie had spent the night together, expressed no qualms about it whatsoever.
“Well done, lad, well done, and about time, too!” He grinned at Maggie, and knowing he was well pleased with her, she wished she might be as sure of the union as he was.
For the rest of the week, it went well. Finding that Rothwell was determined to learn as much about Glen Drumin as any man could who had not been born and raised there bolstered her good opinion of him. He was kind to her, and he taught her much more in bed—his bed now, for it was indeed much larger—delighting and stimulating her, and easing her fear of the future merely by being gentle and kind.
James was clearly as pleased as MacDrumin was about the new arrangement, but Kate seemed more uncertain and, in consequence, her attitude toward James altered yet again. When Rose MacCain and Granny had been properly buried, and Ian was out of bed and healthy again, Kate insisted that she and the boy should move back to the MacCain place.
“Now that Fergus Campbell is no more, and his minions sit in the Tolbooth, we will not be molested again,” she said.
James argued with her, but when word came that a new bailie had already been appointed for the area, and one moreover who intended to see that the excise officers collected every penny due the Crown in whisky duties, Kate tossed her head, announced that she and Ian would be safer at the MacCains’ than at Glen Drumin House, and threatened to depart that very day.