Page 65 of Highland Fire

“’Twas Mungan’s mother’s nightgown. Una had the maids hunt it down.”

“I shall see that they are all rewarded.”

“When ye reclaim what is rightfully yours.”

“Aye.” He stepped closer to her, reaching out to slide his hand over her thick hair. “Ye sound as if ye begin to believe I will do it.”

“I have always believed ye could do it, just not all on your own.” She smiled when he chuckled. “There were times when it seemed ye intended to march to the gates of Drumdearg alone with naught but a sword and boldly challenge Iver. And, of course, all of Iver’s men as weel.”

“Of course.” He lightly brushed his lips over hers, then sat down on the bed to tug off his boots. “He has but four and twenty hirelings, mayhap a few more by now, but I need not worry about them.”

“Nay, not at all.” She leaned against the bedpost, watching as he undressed to his braies. “They will flee, trembling and wild-eyed with fear, when they see ye striding toward them, sword in hand.”

“Aye, they will unmon themselves and leave naught behind but dust as they flee to the hills.”

“’Twould be verra fine if that would happen,” she murmured as he stood before her.

“’Twould be verra fine, indeed. ’Twould be an almost bloodless battle. Howbeit, sweet Moira, such things are rare.” He slowly began to untie the ribbons on the front of her nightgown. “As rare as a bonnie bright-haired lass with eyes like a summer’s sky and skin as soft as thistledown. No mon ever had a fairer bride,” he said in a soft, husky voice, bending slightly to kiss the hollow at the base of her throat.

Moira could think of no response to his flattery. She met his gaze and was firmly captured, held motionless and speechless by the warmth she read there. Her heart began to beat so fast it ached. She could feel her rapid pulse throughout her body, hear it throbbing inside her head. The look in his eyes told her he was glad she was his wife, promised her far more than passion, and dared her to reach for it. Although the voice of common sense tried to tell her it was foolish to reach for things she could not keep, Moira ignored it. It was selfish, but she intended to grab hold of anything and everything Tavig wished to offer. Soon she would have only memories to cherish and she wanted those memories to be rich and vivid ones.

Tavig held her gaze until her gown slipped from her body to crumple around her feet. She felt a deep blush burn her cheeks as he held her by the shoulders and slowly looked her over. When he met her gaze again, there was so much heat in his look that Moira did not hesitate. She stepped forward until their bodies touched.

She echoed the faint shudder that went through him. A soft, inviting laugh escaped her when he groaned, caught her up in his arms, and placed her on the bed. Moira wrapped her limbs around him when he shed his braies, easing his body over hers. It was strange, even a little silly, but she could not shake the feeling that this time their lovemaking was different. Moira could not believe it was simply because a priest had now sanctioned their union.

Her capacity for thought was soon kissed and stroked away. Emboldened by her own desires and Tavig’s almost reverential lovemaking, Moira began to match him kiss for kiss, touch for touch. She slid her hands down his back to cup his taut backside. The way he groaned, his lovemaking intensifying, encouraged her to further daring. Slowly she moved her hand over his hard stomach then down, gently, warily, curling her fingers around his erection. He bucked, and she started to retract her hand, but he stopped her. With words and actions he showed her his response had been born of pleasure not disgust. Moira quickly discovered that his pleasure fed her own.

He soon moved out of her reach, his rapid breaths heating her abdomen even as his kisses heated her blood. She shifted restlessly, her passions so strong she could not keep still, as he measured the length of her legs with soft, nibbling kisses. Her heart skipped with shock when his caresses moved from her inner thighs to what lay between. It was only a brief check to her desire. Her cry of shock and denial quickly changed to one of blind pleasure with but one intimate stroke of his tongue.

She squirmed beneath his attentions even as she opened to him, urging him on with the arching of her body and entangling her fingers in his thick hair. When she felt her crest draw near, she pulled at him, calling out to him. A guttural cry of relief escaped her when he fiercely joined their bodies. She wrapped herself around him as he took them to the sweet oblivion they both so desperately craved.

Moira lifted her head off Tavig’s chest long enough so she could peek at him through her tousled hair. He was holding her so closely, so tenderly, she knew he felt no shock or distaste over what he had just done or her enjoyment of it. She relaxed, her uncertainty fading. Murmuring with the warm remnants of sated pleasure, she cuddled up to him.

“I suppose there is no chance of forging a treaty with your cousin Iver,” she said quietly, absently toying with the small dark curls encircling his navel.

“Nay. My cousin has been blinded by his greed and envy. In truth, I waited too long to respond to his threat. ’Tis why my friends were murdered and I have lost months in running and hiding. I didnae want to draw a sword on my own kinsmon, didnae want it to come to that between us. He didnae suffer the same qualms. To Iver our blood ties are not binding, they are simply another weapon to use against me. The mon sensed my hesitation, played upon my wish to solve our differences without bloodshed, and used them against me. Those feelings became my weaknesses, and my weaknesses cost the lives of my friends.”

“Nay,” she said against his skin, idly counting his ribs with her fingers as she kissed his chest. “Ye carry no guilt for those murders. ’Tis all Iver’s burden. ’Tis no weakness to expect loyalty from your own kinsmon. ’Tis certainly no weakness not to see that he would kill innocent men just to draw you into a trap.” She tentatively caressed his stomach, felt him tremble faintly as he held her a little tighter, and she grew bolder. “I but pray he doesnae succeed in his treachery.”

“Ah, so ye would care if I fell beneath Iver’s sword.” Tavig threaded his fingers through her hair, murmuring his pleasure as she warmed his stomach with kisses, the touch of her tongue against his skin stirring his desire until it was difficult to think clearly.

“Ye do ask some verra stupid questions at times, Sir Tavig.” She gently nipped at the insides of his thighs and savored his soft moan.

“A mon likes to ken that he will be missed.”

“Ah, ye seek to have your vanity stroked.”

“Aye, amongst other things.” He shivered with pleasure and the strong bite of anticipation when she laughed against the hollow where his leg joined his torso. “Lass, neither Mungan nor I wish to lose our lives and the lives of our men. Dinnae fret o’er the coming battle with Iver. Aye, it willnae be easy or bloodless but we willnae be hurling ourselves into the fray in senseless fury.” He smiled faintly over the thick huskiness in his voice. “The battle facing me isnae of any great interest to me at the moment.”

“Nay?” Resting her arms on his hips, she smiled at him as she lightly stroked his groin with her fingers. “What is of interest to you, my fine knight?”

“My wedding night.” Tavig did not think Moira had ever looked so exciting as she did now, sprawled between his legs, her breath and fingers teasing his loins. “’Tis custom for a newly wed couple to spend the wedding night in frenzied lovemaking until they are all asweat and too exhausted to move.”

“Are ye certain such exertion is good for a mon who must soon go to battle?”

“Aye, ’twill make him stronger.” He grinned when she laughed, closing his eyes with pleasure as she encircled his navel with tiny kisses. “Lass, I dinnae think ye ought to torment a mon so,” he said, his voice a low groan as she touched kisses all around the place he ached to feel her lips.

“Patience is a virtue.”