Chapter Eight
Tavig groaned softly as he stared at her. The feelings rushing through him were so strong they held him motionless. Moira was freely offering him everything he ached for. Suddenly he was terrified he would do something wrong. She needed to be treated so carefully. Did he have the skills needed?
“Tavig?” she whispered, reaching for the blanket.
“Nay.” He stopped her from covering herself again, smiling at her. “I but suffer from cowardice.”
“Cowardice? I dinnae understand.”
“Ah, lass, ye are so innocent.” He traced the shape of her full mouth with one fingertip. “Ye are so delicate. For years ye have seen only the worst of men. I but fear to step wrong, to fail to please you, and mayhap just add to your own fears.”
“I dinnae fear ye, Tavig. I ken I sometimes flinch or cower, but ’tis more out of habit than fear.
” She took a deep breath, slipping her arms around his neck and pressing close to him.
“I also have the wit to ken that I have asked for this. If it isnae to my liking, ye need not fear I will blame you. But,” she said with a smile, brushing her lips over his, “I wouldnae ask if I didnae think I would like it just fine.”
A tremor of want tore through Tavig. Wrapping his arms around Moira, he pulled her down onto their meager bed.
He cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her, savoring the heated sweetness of her mouth.
The way she shyly bandied the strokes of his tongue, the way she pressed against him, told him she was willing.
Tavig knew it was going to be hard to go slowly, gently.
His desire for her was fierce and greedy.
Moira felt her nervousness and hint of fear smoothed away with each stroke of his tongue, each touch of his hand.
This was what she wanted. She had no doubts about it.
She also knew she would have no regrets.
For ten long years she had known no happiness and no affection.
Tavig had made no mention of love, but he was kind, gentle, and he made her blood burn.
Moira was certain this would be as close to love as she would ever get, and she intended to enjoy it to the fullest. After facing death in Craigmoordun, she knew any consequences she might face for being so free with her favors would never equal the regret she would suffer for continuing to say no to Tavig.
She blushed as Tavig tugged away the blanket caught around her hips.
He crouched over her, staring at her, and she knew some of the color burning in her cheeks was caused by her own desire.
It was exciting to be looked at so passionately by a man like Tavig MacAlpin.
Moira did not doubt that Tavig wanted her.
It was clear to read in the taut lines of his face. But she still found it hard to believe.
“Ah, lass, ye hold a lot of beauty in this tiny body,” Tavig murmured, shedding the last of his clothes.
A man’s body was not unfamiliar to Moira.
Sir Bearnard’s men were not modest, and complete privacy was often an unattainable luxury.
She had never seen one to match Tavig’s, however.
The few glimpses she had caught of other men had never caused her heart to pound so hard it echoed in her ears or stole her breath away.
As he lowered his lean, strong, body onto her, she reached out to pull him close, shuddering when their flesh met.
“Loving, ye feel so bonnie. Like warm silk.” Tavig gently traced the shape of her face with soft kisses.
“Ye feel rather bonnie yourself,” she whispered, tentatively running her hands over his broad, smooth back.
“There is still time to stop, sweet Moira.”
“Nay, I dinnae wish to stop.” She could feel the hard proof of his desire for her pressing against her, enticing her. “I want this and for the first time in a verra long time I will do what I want. Is that so wrong?”
“Ye cannae expect a fair answer from me, lassie. Not when we lie naked in each other’s arms. Yet, nay, ’tisnae wrong.
From what little I saw and what little ye tell me, ye are deserving of a wee bit of pleasure.
I but pray I can give it to ye. I am no green lad, but I have ne’er bedded down with a lass like you, Moira Robertson. ”
“If it ends as weel as it starts, I believe I will be verra well pleased, Sir MacAlpin.”
She eagerly welcomed his hungry kiss. He felt so good beneath her hands.
His skin was warm and taut over smooth, hard muscle.
The hair on his long legs felt rough against her skin, yet that, too, excited her.
The light cal-loses on his hands aroused her as he stroked her.
When he slid his hands up her sides to cup her breasts, she arched eagerly into his touch.
Tangling her hands in his thick hair, she held him close as he covered her breasts with hot kisses.
A soft cry of delight escaped her when he lathed the hardened tips with his tongue.
She thought she had never felt anything so pleasurable, and then he drew the taut nipple deep into his mouth, suckling greedily.
Moira sank beneath waves of pure feeling, the heat of passion flowing rapidly through her body.
Tavig reveled in the passion Moira was revealing.
His own desire was running so hot and wild he found control difficult.
He caressed her with his hands and body, enflamed by the way she shifted against him, her body clearly expressing her eagerness for him.
Slowly he slid his hand upward along her inner thigh and gently stroked the bright curls hiding the treasure he so desperately sought.
A moment before he realized she had tensed beneath his intimate touch.
“Be easy, dearling,” he said, brushing his lips over hers. “I do no wrong.”
“Nay?” Moira asked even as she opened to his touch.
“Aye, give yourself o’er to me, sweeting. Dinnae shy from this or from anything that can bring us pleasure. I but seek to make ye more welcoming.”
“I dinnae think I can be much more welcoming.”
He laughed softly against the side of her neck as he trailed his increasingly feverish kisses back toward her breasts. “Such heat, such sweet fire. How can ye keep denying that we are destined?”
“’Tis the kinder thing to do—for both of us.” She clutched at his broad shoulders, wrapping her legs around him as a tightening in her body urged her to draw him closer. “Tavig,” she called, yet could not think of the words to describe what she was feeling.
“Ye are ready, sweet bonnie Moira. I fear I must hurt ye a wee bit, now.”
“I ken it. That much I do ken.” She grew still as she felt him probe for entry into her body.
“I dinnae wish to hurt ye,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.
“Then mayhap ’tis best to do it quickly.”
Her eyes widening, she held him tightly as she felt him ease into her.
Even in the shadowy light from the moon and the banked fire she could see the tension in his face.
The light glistened off beads of sweat on his upper lip.
Then suddenly he grasped her by the hips and pushed into her.
A sharp tearing pain caused her to gasp and close her eyes, but it quickly became insignificant compared to the feeling of their bodies uniting.
His heavy breaths heated her ear. He moved his hands over her body lightly, gently.
So caught up was she in savoring the feeling of his being inside of her, of their being one, it was a moment before she realized he was not moving.
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her.
“Is something wrong?” she asked barely able to recognize the soft, husky voice as her own.
“I hurt ye. Ye cried out in pain.”
“’Twas but a wee hurt, already forgotten.”
She trailed her fingers down the backs of his thighs.
He jerked and trembled beneath her touch, his body moving inside of her.
Moira gasped, the slight stroking movement causing her desire to flare up so intensely it was almost painful.
Moira knew that the last things she wanted Tavig to be right now were still and gentle.
Watching him closely, she slid her hands up the backs of his thighs until she cupped his taut backside.
She pulled him closer, deeper. She savored his groan, his shudder, for she knew they were born of passion.
“Lass, if ye keep tormenting me so, I willnae be able to go slowly, mayhap not even gently,” he said in a raspy voice, his words broken by his strained breathing.
“I believe I dinnae want ye to be either, Tavig MacAlpin.”
Kissing him lightly, she wrapped her body more tightly around his.
She teased his lips with her tongue, and that was all the added incentive he needed.
He kissed her hungrily and began to move.
Moira quickly learned to parry his increasingly feverish thrusts.
The strokes of his tongue matched the rhythm of his body.
The pleasurable tightening she had felt before her passion had been checked by the loss of her maidenhead returned in full force.
It grew until she groaned beneath the weight of it, then shattered.
Moira cried out as she was engulfed by a pleasure that stole all thought, all sense of where she was.
She clung to Tavig as his movements grew briefly frantic, then he cried out her name, his hands clenching her hips as he pressed deep inside of her.
Still tingling and dazed, she held him close when he collapsed in her arms.
Moira was not sure how long she lay there savoring the feelings that lingered throughout her body, but suddenly she began to be aware of other things.
The hard ground began to impress itself upon her back.
Her neck was growing hot and moist where Tavig was pressing his face against it.
She tried to call back the intoxicating feelings, but they continued to fade.
“I didnae realize it could go away,” she murmured.