Page 11 of Highlander’s Sloth

6

Discoveries

The ceremony and wedding feast passed in a blur. Kirsty was too anxious about what the night held for her to relax and truly enjoy the festivities, and no matter how hard she tried, her husband could only appear as a stranger to her eyes. Her only consolation was that there would be no family members at the beddan. Gilbert had ridden forth the moment Callum had slid the gold band over her finger, saying he wanted to make all haste back to Mac an Goill. Kirsty had overheard her brother make a joke to some of Callum’s layabout friends who had attended the ceremony, telling them he was overjoyed to finally have the castle all to himself and wanted nothing to do with young maidens again until his own daughters reached a marriageable age.

Callum seemed to take more pleasure in drinking and making merry with his boyhood companions than he did with his new wife. They were the sons and nephews of neighboring chieftains and merchants and so obviously brought up to live a life of pleasurable pursuits that some of them did not even bother riding horses anymore, preferring to be transported from the chapel to the feast in a cart.

And then, all too soon, Callum was telling his friends and family members it was time for him to leave them for the wedding night bed, and he held his hand out towards Kirsty for her to follow him. She pretended to make light of it, her spirits fortified by more than a few drams of the famous Macanroy whisky, but once the bedchamber door closed behind them, Kirsty’s cheerful demeanor dissipated.

“We brushed through all that silliness with aplomb, d’ye no’ agree, lass?” Callum said nonchalantly, moving to the bed and sitting down on it as though trying to test its spring and bounce. “Me mither likes to keep early hours and will no doubt want to tell the guests to go about their business in a short time. So, let’s get this over and done with so they can hit the road with news of the beddan before the supper bell rings, shall we?”

Kirsty’s hands were shaking so much she could hardly untie her bodice. Instead of offering to help her, Callum rang for a maid.

“Good luck finding a servant to answer yer summons,” Kirsty muttered under her breath, but out loud said, “If it’s all the same to ye, sir, I would prefer ye to bolt the door instead of calling people to knock on it.”

“Call me Cal; most people do,” her husband replied, but he saw the sense of her argument and, after shooting the bolt, went to help Kirsty out of her clothes. As layer by layer her curves and white skin were revealed, the smile on Callum’s face got wider.

Her limbs were slender and perfectly toned from all the activities with which she loved to occupy her days. Whereas Callum was used to the pale, dimpled flesh of high society ladies, Kirsty’s smooth skin, burnished slightly in the places where she refused to cover from the sun, was at once taut and felt incredibly youthful to his touch. Parts of her body showed signs of her girlish vigor: the pointed elbows, sharp hip bones protruding on either side of her flat stomach, and coltish legs. But her rounded shoulders, high molded breasts, and plump behind indicated a certain sensual maturity—even the promise of greater delights.

Callum could not help himself; he whistled softly through his teeth.

“Well, well, well, they grow maidens of the finest quality over in Mac an Goill.”

Kirsty bristled. “Don’ talk about me as though I cannae hear ye, Cal, or describe me as though I was some well-bred mare.”

He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing her palm and then each one of her fingers, saying, “Forgive me, milady, but yer beauty quite takes me breath away.”

Kirsty found nothing to complain about with these words. She was also enjoying the sensation of how his lips and the stubble of his beard were pricking and warming her skin as his mouth moved higher up her wrist and arm. When his mouth reached her elbow, she gasped.

He raised his head. “What is it? D’ye no’ like it?”

Kirsty, always incurably honest, shook her head. “No, quite the opposite. What ye’re doing makes me legs wobble and me skin shiver in the strangest way. It’s as though a fire’s lit inside me.”

This innocent summary of his seduction made Callum smile. He patted the bed invitingly, saying, “Divest yerself of yer chemise, milady, and I can treat the rest of yer body the same way.”

Kirsty did what he asked, lifting the sheets and sliding underneath them. After pulling the blankets modestly over her chest, she untied her chemise ribbons and allowed the garment to drop around her waist. Then she wriggled out of it, still holding the sheets up to hide her nakedness.

Callum watched these signs of maidenly chasteness and then began removing his plaid and belt after carelessly pulling off his boots and kicking them into the corner. Kirsty could not help watching. It was as though his strong, muscular body had the ability to mesmerize her. His shirt was made of such fine cambric that she could see right through it. She was granted a glimpse of his powerful thigh muscles, wide chest, and lean hips before, the next thing she knew, he was lying in bed beside her.

Kirsty was not so maidenly as to have no notion as to what happened at a beddan. Christine had sat her down and told her what to expect.

“The man will become inflamed with desire, and it’s this that strengthens his resolve. When his blood runs so hot, it may seem a little frightening and rough at first, but ‘tis always so the first time.”

Her sister-in-law had paused and then continued, “If yer brither were no’ so angry with yer roguish behavior, Kirsty, ye would have been able to visit yer betrothed in order to become better acquainted with him first—this is said to make the beddan easier. But Gil is so eager to see ye off his hands that...”

Kirsty had shrugged and sighed. “I have no doubt ‘tis the same as when I watch Laird Buccleuch’s mares with our stallion.”

Christine had looked horrified. “Not at all, Sister! As beastly as the act can first seem, a woman’s feelings are far more complex before, during, and after than ye can ever believe. But he’s French, or at least he must have picked up some of their tricks whilst he lived there. Ye have nothing to fear in that regard, believe me!”

Kirsty had no chance to dwell on Christine’s words. Callum was looking over at her and saw she still had the sheets pulled up to her chin. He pulled off his chemise and threw it on the ground, saying, “Would ye like me to light the fire? Are ye cold?” It was midsummer, and the sun had not yet sunk behind the hills. The air in the bedchamber was warm and made fragrant from the jug of herbs placed by the window.

She shook her head and allowed him to push her hands down to the covers, exposing her breasts to him. He did nothing at first, simply turned onto his side to get a better look at her.

“Ye really are as fair as a summer rose, Kirsty Macanroy,” he murmured. Her stomach gave a jump when he said this.

That’s me. I’m Kirsty Macanroy now. And I belong to him.

There was still a small part of Kirsty that remained her own, but as she watched Callum’s interest rise, she knew even that small part would soon be torn away, and she would become his completely.