My Brave Highlander (31 page)

With the surge of his hips, stabbing pain struck her but she forced herself not to cry out. Though tears flooded her eyes, she didn't want him to know she was an untried virgin. He might stop. Besides, most everyone who knew her assumed she had experienced the bedding. Now, it was true. Despite any pain, she was thankful Dirk was the one bringing her fully into womanhood and not her former husband.

Dirk muttered a curse and ground his teeth. "Mmm… so tight, Isobel," he breathed against her lips. "Relax…" Halting, he gently kissed her face, then ate at her mouth, his tongue once again seducing her. The pain slid away as her body gradually grew accustomed to the feel and size of his.

Strangely, despite the pain, she craved more from him, more moving, more of his erotic invasion. Her body felt hot, wet and tingly where it joined his. Gradually, the sharpest part of the clenching pain slid away and the tension within her eased. He must have felt this too for he withdrew and pushed in again with a sensuous slide.

"Oh! That's…" She didn't know what, but it felt delicious.

He made the move again, a withdrawal and a thrust, deeper this time.
Oh, saints
, she craved this and more. She widened her legs, hoping he'd give her more, even though the ache and burning sensation had not left her.

He cradled her derriere in his large hand. With a hip twist, he made another deeper thrust.

"Oh. I can't believe how that feels." The spellbinding tingles of pleasure. The overwhelming need for him to fill her. She bit his lip.

He muttered a curse and pushed deeper.
"M'eudail."

My treasure?
She melted at the endearment and lifted her hips to meet him. This set him off. With a groan, he drove into her again and again, faster with each lunge.
Saints!
The forceful way he moved scared her at first, but then she understood it. A quick thrusting rhythm that sent wave after wave of stunning sensation through her body, like a thousand stars bursting. She gasped, unable to believe how his body was moving within hers and the pleasure it triggered. Who could have imagined?

He closed his mouth over hers, catching her gasps and cries. He surged into her, but there was no true pain. Not anymore. With each thrust he shoved her higher until she could no longer breathe. The intensity and the pleasure clasped her in a vice, and he propelled her whole body into a devastating frenzy of pleasure-pain. She clutched at his muscular lower back, his powerful, flexing hips, trying to hold him deep within her. It made no sense. Nor could she think. But the grasping need shook her, refused to release her.

His body bowed upwards and he shoved deep, a passionate roar escaping his throat. Warmth flooded her lower belly as he trembled within her, and her body clutched at his, wanting what he offered.
Oh, heavens
, that was his seed… within her. That was something her late husband had been unable to give her. And she had been blamed for being infertile.

Dirk slumped on her, his face against hers, whispering a slurred mixture of Gaelic and English, curses, praise and endearments. She kissed his cheek, unable to believe the magnitude of what they'd shared. Although she'd experienced pain, she'd relished the pleasure. She was grateful he was the first, the only one to show her what lovemaking was.

His head dropped to the pillow and within seconds his breathing grew deep. His body became a lead weight upon her.

"Dirk? You're heavy." She pushed at him and with a grunt he rolled over to the side. His deep, even breathing continued.

Isobel slid out of bed. A stain of her virgin's blood remained on the linen sheet and on Dirk too. After pouring clean but cold water from the pitcher into his wash basin, she cleaned herself with the linen cloth and then Dirk. He mumbled words while she bathed his member, now more pliable than it had been. Once she'd cleaned it, it began stirring and shifting upright again.
Saints!
Surely he wouldn't be ready to perform again so soon.

She moved back, placed the cloth in the basin and watched. He sprawled onto his back and his semi-erect member moved to lie on his lower belly. It was not as hard as it had been but likely it wouldn't take much to make it iron hard again. He was incredibly virile to react this way given his injury and the fever, or whatever was wrong with him. Maybe it was the combination of whisky and medicinal tea.

She grinned, wondering whether she dared to climb back into bed with him this night. Between her legs, she felt sore, and her broken flesh stinging, but satisfied warmth permeated her. When she remembered the extraordinary pleasure, the warmth turned into an intriguing and sizzling tingle.

Unable to resist, she removed her smock, threw it aside and slid back into bed beside him. She kissed his shoulder and his chest. With a moan, he dragged her atop him to lie on his rigid shaft then captured her lips.

"Insatiable wench," he muttered with a grin.

He was right. She couldn't get enough of his kisses or his powerful body. While she flicked her tongue into his mouth, he slid his hands over her backside, then parted her thighs.

"Ride me," he whispered.

She wasn't sure what he meant. But his hand moved down between their bodies and he positioned himself at her entrance. Slowly, he pushed in.

Pain stabbed through her tender, torn flesh. She sucked in a hissing breath and forced herself not to let him know of her discomfort.

"You do it, lass."

She sat on her knees and drew him inside. He growled with each inch he slid deeper.

"Aye, that's it. Ride me."

Leveraging herself upward she moved so that he slid out a bit, then pushed down on him again. He easily matched her rhythm and his hips rose to meet her. She was afraid this would hurt worse, but it didn't. With each moment that passed, each withdrawal and thrust, her pleasure increased and she could easily see how someone could become addicted to this.

He ate at her mouth, flicking his tongue in the same rhythm. His hands framed her hips, and then he slid his hand over her mound. With his wet thumb, he rubbed an especially sensitive spot that drove her mad. He covered her mouth with his, catching her cries as the pleasure again magnified and became larger than life, causing her body to latch onto his and squeeze. He thrust harder, driving up into her depths, then held himself there, growling deep in his throat.

"Damnation," he muttered and, after a moment, lay back, breathing hard. "You trying to kill me?"

She giggled. "I think you know better than that."

"Hmm." The sound was between a laugh and a happy hum. "Sleepy," he mumbled.

"Aye. Go to sleep."

He grunted and lay still.

***

"What the hell happened last night, Isobel?" the yell startled her awake.

She jumped and opened her eyes to find Dirk standing before the bed glaring at her. Naked. Heavens, he was magnificently naked. Her gaze dropped to his erect shaft, but he quickly grabbed his plaid to cover himself. She giggled. Too late, she'd already seen his delightful appendage and felt what it could do.

"You were rather frisky last night," she said.

"Me?" he blasted.

"Stop yelling at me!"

"Damnation, Isobel," he growled, but kept his voice low. "Did we… hell, I know we did."

"Do you not remember?" Her stomach sank.

"I thought it was a dream." He muttered several shocking curses in Gaelic. "Why did you allow me to… do this?"

Because it was what she'd wanted too. But, as a woman, was she allowed to say that? Or would he see her as scandalous? He deserved the truth. "I wanted it as much as you did. I thought you were aware of what you were doing."

"How many times?" he questioned.

"Two."

His eyes rolled back in his head as if he were killed on the spot.

The plaid enticingly low around his hips, he paced back and forth before the bed. "Are you mad? What if I… what if you…?" Shaking his head, he muttered more curses.

She recalled the explosive joy of what they'd done. The unbelievable pleasure. How could he possibly not remember it? Certainly it had been ill advised and reckless, but she had been unable to resist. 'Haps she was an immoral wanton, but it had been one of the best experiences of her life. For him not to feel the same humiliated her. She knew his honor was at stake, but to her, what they shared was far greater than honor. She wanted him to be the center of her life.

I love him.
Oh, saints!
She did; she loved him. She couldn't have given herself to him so completely otherwise. Their lovemaking had nothing to do with duty and everything to do with the emotions growing between them.

"I don't understand," he said, frowning as if greatly troubled. "You were not a virgin, yet there's a blood stain on the sheets." He pointed to the middle of the bed. "Did I hurt you? Tell me I didn't force you."

"You didn't. I wanted to do it."

"Why is there a blood stain?"

"The truth is… I was a virgin."

Chapter Seventeen

A virgin?

What the devil? Standing beside the bed, Dirk stared down at Isobel, wearing only a sheet and still lying temptingly in his bed. He struggled to wrap his mind around this bit of information that didn't fit with anything else.

"You said you were married! A widow! Is that a lie?"

"Stop yelling! I did not lie." Her glare remained on him but her voice softened. "My husband was unable to perform in the bedchamber. He was ill most of the time I knew him."

Dirk frowned. With so many conflicting emotions spiraling inside him, he was unsure what he truly felt. "Your husband never bedded you?"

She shook her head. "Everyone thought he did. He begged me not to tell anyone because he was ashamed. The clan would view him as weak. So, everyone thought I was barren."

Though it might be wicked of him, some part of him was glad the old earl had been unable to perform his husbandly duty. Dirk's primal side was overjoyed to have been her first. But his rational side knew this meant trouble. An honorable man didn't deflower a virgin and walk away.

How had an innocent seduced him? Or had he seduced an innocent? How the hell could he lose control like that and bed a woman he'd never intended to bed? Certainly, he'd wanted to, but he was confident he could resist. Was he mad? Nay, the medicinal herbs, he suddenly remembered. Had Isobel drugged him with the help of the healer?

"But how did
this
happen?" He pointed between himself, her and the bed.

She lay on her side, looking beyond seductive, whether she meant to or not, wearing only the sheet and a plaid blanket. Her dark gaze moved over his chest. "I thought you were experienced."

He let out an exasperated breath. "I am. But how precisely did we end up in bed together? I remember I was very cold and you lay on top of me to warm me." How heavenly that had been.

"Aye. You were near frozen solid from where you fell into the water in the cave, then the long trek here in the cold wind."

"I appreciated your help. I remember the pain in my head… then the healer gave me an herbal tea to drink. What was in it?"

"She said it was something for pain. I'm not a healer and know only a little about herbs."

He could detect no deceit in her eyes. Maybe she was being honest and had no part in trying to drug him. "How did that lead to this?" He motioned at the bed.

"Well… I kissed your forehead and you grabbed me."

"I did? Saints," he muttered, his face heating. He'd never been one to get aggressive with women, unless they wanted it.

"You started kissing me and… heavens… it got hot in here. And then you rubbed your mouth over my breasts, and suckled at them. It felt amazing, and—"

"Enough!" Damnation, he already ached for her. He didn't need more fuel on the fire. She aroused him like no other woman ever had, and now the wall he'd built around his desire had been smashed.

"I thought you wished me to explain it to you," Isobel said.

"There is no need for such great detail. It… brings it all back, what little I can remember. And you could be…" An odd mixture of fear and hope stole his words. What was he thinking? He feared naught. But it was all so overwhelming and sudden.

"What?" she asked.

He released a pent-up breath. "You could be with child. Damnation. Are you mad, woman?"

"'Twas not my fault. You seduced me with your irresistible kisses."

Kisses. Aye, he loved kissing her and wanted to now. He forced himself to turn his back and pace away from her.

"Most chiefs want offspring, you know," she said. "Will you not need an heir when you're chief?"

He turned on his heel. "You are betrothed to another chief!" If she carried Dirk's bairn, the only way for that child—if it was male—to be his heir was if he married her.

She shrugged. "It matters not."

"It should. This could spur a clan war." Hell, he couldn't become chief one day and then lead his own clansmen into battle the next, all because he couldn't control his lusts with the virgin fiancée of his neighbor. 'Twas beyond irresponsible. He'd never been irresponsible before.