The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) (24 page)

“Well, we did not want to leave ye for too long without the proper celebration, children,” Uncle Peter said with a straight face.

Brother Timothy held a sack out to Iseabail, who quickly scrambled off the bed to accept it.

“This was Brother Peter’s wife’s wedding gown. She was never able to wear it.” He looked sheepishly up at Peter. “He wants
you to wear it when you say your vows with Seumas.”

Seumas stood beside Iseabail as she removed the gown. Her face lit up with pleasure at the gold-trimmed dress of deep blue.

She held it to her face and smiled. “It is lovely. I will be happy to wear it. Thank you so much.” She hugged him, the shine of her tears seen only by Seumas.

“Now, we must return to the celebration of yer engagement, but I wonder when should we say the wedding is to take place?”

Iseabail and Seumas turned to each other. “Did I accept yet?” she asked with a sparkle in her eye.

“I believe ye did.”

She laughed.

This is how happy she should always be
.

Seumas would work to make it happen. He was entranced by the way she caressed the satiny dress. He wanted those hands on his body. To wait would be sheer torture, though it would be worth it.

He steeled himself for an appropriate answer, but before he could give it, she spoke up. “As soon as it can happen.”

Brother Matthew erupted in laughter, slapping Seumas on the back. “That, my boy, is what I like to hear. A monk, indeed.”

The three left the way they had come, their laughter fading as they continued down the stairs.

Alone again, Iseabail turned slightly away, seeming suddenly shy and asked, “Was I too forward?”

“My love, yer passion will only be surpassed by my own, I promise ye.” He put her hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes never leaving her face. When she stepped into the circle of his arms, he longed to bury his face in her hair and hear her moans of ecstasy right then and there.

“Ahem.” Brother Matthew poked his head around the door, which had been left open. “That will have to wait until
after
the ceremony.” Iseabail blushed and Seumas, too, felt heat creep up his neck at being caught again. “Seumas, you need to come with me so that she can change.”

Seumas clasped her chin and looked deep into her beautiful eyes. Slowly pulling her
mouth to his, he brushed a light, tantalizing kiss over her lips before deepening it. He tried to convey all that he felt for her so that she would hurry. He pulled back at last and left her standing there, wedding dress in her arms.

The full moon brightened the sky as the Brothers chanted, their low voices carrying across the large group of guests that walked along the path leading from the courtyard to the outdoor chapel. The Brothers had decided that the only way for the two of them to be married was under the canopy of stars.

Iseabail held a bouquet of roses and wore a halo of baby’s breath atop the long hair flowing down her back. Seumas’s breath caught at the sight of her walking toward him. A bright light cast a golden hue around her, and she was again his nymph. She would soon be his, and that fact set his heart to thundering.

Uncle Peter stood behind him,
cross in hand, and squeezed Seumas’s shoulder. When Seumas turned to him, he winked, as if sensing his condition.

Seumas swallowed hard.

The ceremony was not overly long. There were a lot of cheers and jests from the villagers when Uncle Peter pronounced them married, but the sealing kiss was received with absolute silence. At least this crowd would not be joining them in the bedroom. He moved in closer and kissed her gently. This immediately brought jeers.

“I love ye,” he whispered against her lips.

Her answering smile spoke volumes.

He crushed her to him, kissing her soundly. The crowd erupted with cheers, but Seumas only heard them faintly. His attention was on the woman in his arms. His wife. Iseabail’s lips parted, and he explored the warm recesses of her mouth with his tongue. Her body responded, melting into him, eager to become one. That knowledge nearly sent him over the edge.

He reluctantly pulled away, his breathing labored, and looked into her eyes. “Oh, my love, I feel as if I am walking on a cloud.”

The guests noisily returned to the hall, eager to make the most of generosity of the monks.

Iseabail smiled as they followed behind more slowly. “They act as if we were only a small interruption in their own celebrations.”

Seumas held her hand in his and grinned. “Methinks that is just as well. We shall not be worried about offending them when we are ready to be alone.”

He watched carefully for any sign of fear at his mention of the consummation. What a distant word that was. He could not wait to make love to this woman, to explore everything about her, and bring her to the brink of ecstasy. A spark of concern ignited. Was he truly healed? Was he ready to pleasure her? He glanced at her petite figure beside him. She would certainly be pleasuring to him. He grinned at his fears. It would be a wonderful night.

They returned to dancing and feasting, and confirmed that the villagers had no care about their plans, barely giving them another thought. That suited Seumas just fine.

He pulled Iseabail into the hall and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Shall we make our escape?”

She looked up at him through lowered lashes.

Brother Timothy sidled up to them, interrupting their quiet moment. “Do you remember the room on the top floor?”

Seumas scowled but tried to clear his thoughts enough to understand what Brother Timothy was saying. In his mind’s eye, he imagined the open space on the top floor. “Aye.”

“We all thought it would be the perfect place for you to consummate—I mean spend your wedding night.” Seumas did not remember it being all that comfortable. Brother Timothy’s cheeks flamed and the words came tumbling out. “We have made some improvements, assuring your privacy.”

And he was gone.

“I guess that is where we shall go then, my lady,” Seumas said, bestowing a soft kiss on the palm of her hand.

Iseabail glanced down but not before he saw the excitement in her widened eyes. He clasped her hand and led her up the winding stone staircase, past the floor their rooms were on, until they reached the very highest level of the stone edifice. In the long hall, a table was placed against the wall and held a bouquet of wild flowers.

Iseabail squeaked in delight. “Oh, look what they have done, Seumas.” She brought them to her face and breathed in the scent. “They are beautiful.”

She offered them for him to smell. He gave them the obligatory sniff, returned them to the table then smiled at her and swept her into his arms. The flowers did not compare to her inviting scent mixed with heather and sea air.

“I have waited too long for ye.” He pressed his face into the fall of her hair and inhaled more of her unique fragrance. “How I have ached for ye.” His voice was husky with desire. He dragged his hands along her curves, cupping her bottom, pressing her against his need. “Ye are so lovely, my wife.” He nipped her ear and whispered, “I will surely die if I cannot take ye soon.”

Her small gasp made his loins tighten. He shoved open the only door on the floor and lifted her into his arms.

“Oh, this is beautiful, Seumas.” She looked around, her mouth open in awe.

He gave his surroundings a cursory glance—more flowers, three windows facing the open sea—then returned his full attention to the exquisite beauty he held in his arms. “No, ye are.” When she glanced back at him, he took her mouth hungrily, sucking her lip. He set her down on her feet, sliding her body along his length. “Mmm, Iseabail, I need ye. Now.”

She stiffened in his arms.

“No woman could make me feel like ye do.” His breathing was ragged as he fought for control. She shivered against him. “Am I going too fast?”

“I do not know.” She shrugged and turned slightly. “I am afraid.”

Relief filled him at her words, and he immediately stepped away, giving her space. If she would share with him how she felt, he could be an attentive lover. Pleasuring her was foremost in his mind, despite the aching rod tapping against his rough kilt.

He took her hands lightly between his own and led her toward the wooden coffer that sat beside the big bed. “Let me hold ye then.”

Her gaze darted to the bed, but she went willingly to sit beside him, her husband.

He smiled, his brows raised in question. “Does this feel better?”

She returned his smile. “Aye.”

He placed a bent knee between them, giving her distance, and made small circles against the palms of her hands. “Ye have lovely hands, wife. I have always thought so.”

When he looked at her again, her eyes met his, and she burst out laughing. “Th
at is very kind, husband, and you have a very soft face.” She stroked his cheek, and pressed into him, forcing him to move in closer, knees turning forward.

“Mmm, ye smell so good,” he said.

His eyes flew open at how desperate he sounded, but she did not appear to mind his eagerness. She slid her fingers from his cheek to his neck, nails skimming along the column. His cock lifted in response. Her thigh pressed against him as she leaned into his arms and against his chest. Surely he would learn right now if one could die from lack of release. He exhaled, hoping to ease the tension.

“Caress me.” She whispered encouragement he hardly needed. “I will not break.”

He smoothed her hair along her back, feeling her body relax slightly. That was an encouraging sign.

She turned her face into his chest, her voice muffled. “
You smell very good as well.”

She trailed kisses to his neck. Her warmth breath on his sensitive skin heightened his arousal. His grip tightened, massaging her backside. That lovely rump that had settled onto his lap. A low moan came from deep inside him. Iseabail stiffened instantly, and he grappled with his desire.

She stood abruptly and walked to the window. “This is a beautiful view.”

He clamped his mouth shut, breathing heavily through his nose. Frustration coursed through every vein as he undressed her with his eyes. Her delicate figure was clearly visible beneath the loose-fitting gown, and he needed her more than his next breath. His hands ached to touch her, to caress her. He wanted to bring her to arousal and to finally make love to her, but she was scared. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he joined her at the window. He needed to woo his lady wife.

“It really is.” He stepped in a little closer, his eyes closed, and ran his fingers up the ties along the back of the gown. “Do ye see the light out there?”

She moved to the opening. He adjusted his hand to caress her side, dipping along the curves at her waist.

“Aye! I see the light! What is it?”

He pressed his mouth against her ear as he moved his hand to the front of her gown, brushing his open palm over her breasts. “It is an island. There are only five people living on it,” he whispered. He pulled back, though he wanted to push his advantage.

Her lips were slightly parted, freshly moistened by her darting tongue. “Do you know them?” Her voice was just as quiet, and she had her eyes closed.

He drew his hand more firmly along her breast, the nipple hardening against his touch. “I used to—”

He turned her into his arms and kissed her deeply. He skimmed his hand down her spine, molding her to his length, encouraging her to meld into him, to know his body the way he wanted to know hers.

“Now I just want to know ye.” He whispered the words against her mouth, and her lips parted, welcoming his kiss.

They stayed like that, exploring and caressing, until Seumas broke the kiss. His breathing was heavy, and Iseabail’s eyes fluttered open at his withdrawal.

“What is wrong?” Her voice was husky with a passion she did not yet understand.

“I need a minute.” He took a step away from her, and she frowned in confusion.

“I want you
to love me, Seumas.” Her innocent look gave him the control he needed.

“I will make love to ye so ye will never forget this night, not even when we are old and gray. I may not ever stop.” He ran his hands up the lengths of her sides. “My need for ye is strong, and I do not wish to scare ye with my passion.”

Iseabail bit her lip. Taking his hand, she led him to the bed and urged him to sit. “Help me with my gown.” She turned her back to him and stood waiting.

He untied the bow then started to pull one side and then the other, anticipation mounting as the material slowly loosened, exposing milky white skin. He stood and slipped the dress forward, over her shoulders then suckled her skin. Her gasp of pleasure urged him on.

He was aware that she jumped slightly when his mouth touched her bare skin, but she relaxed again. She tasted like cold water on a hot day, quenching his thirst. The gown drifted lower down her arms, baring her breasts for his touch. He pulled her against him. Her bottom pressed against his erection, and he did not hold back the moan.

He kneaded her sweet breasts, holding her tightly to him, and rubbed himself against her firm bottom. It wasn’t enough. “Ye are exquisite.”

Her breath quickened when he slid his hand along her thigh, dragging both gown and chemise over her hips to pool on the ground. Her naked skin was like satin beneath his fingertips. He stopped at her breasts and could go no further.

“If I cannot taste ye, I will die.” His voice was tight.

She moved his hands with her own in answer, urging him to continue his exploration. He turned her toward him, and his breath caught at the vision. Her breasts hung like ripe fruit, begging to be picked. Unable to resist, he grasped each one. He wet his lips in anticipation, but when he saw her watching him with hooded lids, he accepted what she unknowingly offered, plunging his tongue into her mouth. When she moaned, he thought he would burst.

He licked his way down to one round globe then the other. She rolled her shoulders back, pushing into his mouth, her nipple tempting his tongue as he sucked her in. He slid his hand along her inner thigh until he found her secret place already damp. He groaned. Something inside him still waited for her to tense.

He dragged his mouth away from her. “Do ye still feel frightened?”

She made some sound but he could not make out over the noise of his own harsh breathing.

“Should I stop?” He needed to know now or he would be lost. His fingers were drenched with her moisture.

She worked her hands into his hair and dragged him back to her lips. She opened her mouth for him, sucking in his tongue.

“Do not stop,” she murmured, rubbing against his hand.

He slipped his fingers into her. So warm and wet. She moaned. He could not breathe.

“Please.” She sounded desperate.

She was so ready for him. His cock stood at attention, pressing against her leg. He urged her to lie on the bed and followed her down, blanketing her body with his. He lowered himself between her parted thighs.

“I want to be inside ye.” He rubbed against her. “Tell me ye want me inside ye, Iseabail.”

She moaned. “I do. I want
you to finish this, Seumas. Make me your wife in truth.”

He pulled the kilt out of the way and glided along her ready seam. His breath caught in his throat. The head of his
shaft entered her warm, wet folds. She tensed slightly, but he skimmed his lips along her neck, tasting her.

“Easy, my love,” he whispered. “I need to fill ye.”

She nodded, still gripping his waist. He pressed against her tight sheath and thought for a moment this had all been a terrible nightmare, and he would not be able to enter her. He froze. She spread her thighs wider in invitation, a moan low in her throat.