Chapter 5
Eventually, time dwindled, and the party was in its dying embers.
People had been feasting for hours. Kirsten hoped the band was being well-compensated for their time, as they had not stopped even though they must have been tired.
The hall had grown emptier as people had crept away.
With every second that passed, Kirsten knew she and Marcas were closer to spending their first night together, and although Kirsten knew something of what she should expect, she had to push those thoughts aside as it was impossible to know what Marcas would do.
She wasn’t sure if he would even touch her let alone let her share his bed.
For all she knew, he might want to wander the moors.
Marcas rose and let out a low whistle, which cut through the gentle chatter and the lilting music.
All eyes turned to him. Max ran up to him with a lolling tongue, eager and ready to obey his master.
Marcas strode towards Kirsten and took her hand.
It was a rough gesture, and he dragged her along more than he walked beside her.
Kirsten blushed as murmurs rose around them, for everyone knew where they were going and what was to happen.
It was an open secret. Kirsten’s stomach curdled.
Speaking and joking about it with Islay was a far different thing than actually walked to her destiny.
The wedding night was cloaked in mystery, something privy to only those who were blessed with marriage.
Kirsten swallowed a lump in her throat as she walked through the hall, catching the eyes of Neil and Ramsay as she left.
Moira was talking with them. Looks of concern were on their faces, and she had no doubt that her brothers were expressing their misgivings; she was sure Moira was reassuring them that her brother would take care of their sister.
The faith and love that Moira had for Marcas was touching.
Kirsten just hoped that it was borne from reality rather than being a hopeful thought.
She left the hall to great cheers, and as soon as she, Marcas, and Max were outside the hall, a huge cheer and raucous applause could be heard, and the band played more music. Soon enough, people would depart now that the married couple had left, but for Kirsten, the night was just beginning.
They strode through the house, walking upstairs to Marcas’s chambers.
Kirsten had noticed that now they were out of the hall, Marcas had relaxed a little.
He still hadn’t said anything and barely looked at her.
Kirsten had to walk briskly to keep up with his long strides.
She clasped her hands in front of her and picked at the skin around her nails.
Max padded along, his tongue lolling out, looking as happy as could be, and no wonder, for he had a belly full of tasty meat, and there was no doubt that he rarely ate as good as on this night.
As they approached the chamber, Kirsten’s eyes widened in horror as she saw a narrow bed made up outside Marcas’s room.
She assumed it was for her and was about to raise her objections that this was too much, that she could put up with some hesitation and accept that she wasn’t the woman Marcas wanted, but she would draw the line at being made to sleep outside.
Before she could speak, though, Max ran up and leaped on the bed, turning around in a circle before he settled down, curling his body into a comfortable position before whimpering with contentment.
Kirsten felt a fool and was glad she had kept silent.
Marcas held the door open for her. As she passed him, she breathed in his musky, masculine scent. He was free of the scent of alcohol. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t recall him drinking at all through the night, although it wasn’t as though she had watched him like a hawk.
The chambers were rustic and simple, which was what she expected from him.
A stick of incense burned, filling the room with the scent of lavender.
A thick candle burned as well, illuminating the room in soft light.
Wax tears dripped down slowly, and the melted pool glistened around the wick.
A desk was set against the wall, and upon it was a book of poetry.
The bed was long and wide, which it had to be to house someone of Marcas’s size.
It was supported by a thick wooden frame.
Kirsten walked to the bed and reached out to touch the blanket.
It was made of the softest Highland cattle fur, and was instantly warm to the touch.
Kirsten turned and looked at Marcas. He stood there, towering before her, framed in candlelight. There was something almost menacing about him, and something wild, as though he personified the untamed, unexplored Highlands.
“Well, how dae ye like yer new home?” Marcas said in a deep, dry voice, seeming to speak just because he felt he had to say something, or at least that’s the impression Kirsten had.
“It’s just fine. It’s been a lovely day.
Yer uncle and sister were happy,” Kirsten offered, trying to get him to say something positive about the marriage or her, or anything that would show her he wanted her there and was proud to have her as his wife.
Instead, he merely smiled and nodded. Silence enveloped them awkwardly.
Kirsten knew what had to happen, but she found herself woefully unprepared for her wedding night.
She knew it would end up with them in bed, but how would they get there?
What was she supposed to do? She felt awful, as though she wasn’t good enough for him or had done something to displease him.
She gnawed at her lower lip and was about to apologize for whatever she had done wrong.
Perhaps she had overstepped her bounds by dancing with Roderick.
Perhaps she had not said the right thing or done something to offend Marcas without knowing about it.
All she wanted was for him to accept her, but before she could speak her regret, he strode towards her and clasped her shoulders, and then he pressed his lips to hers.
The act had taken her by such surprise that she was left breathless.
The feeling of his lips on hers was strange, yet not unpleasant at all.
Her heart quickened, and she lifted her fingers to her lips, amazed that she could feel something as stirring as this.
Suddenly things began to make more sense, like how Islay could so quickly turn from wanting to flee to wanting to stay by her husband’s side.
Ribbons of pleasure unspooled in Kirsten’s mind as she looked up at Marcas and saw the intent in his eyes; it seemed as though he was determined to make her his wife on this night.
She reached behind her neck and unclasped the dress before pulling it away. She felt awkward as she exposed herself to him. It was a big moment for her to make herself vulnerable to a man that, in truth, was little more than a stranger. And yet, they were going to share a life together.
As the dress fell away, and the shapely curves of her body were exposed, a low breath escaped Marcas’s lips.
His hand reached out and rested on her hip.
His touch was warm, his fingers calloused and rough.
His skin was darker than hers; she could see that even in the candlelight that bathed their bodies in an amber glow.
He kissed her again, this time more tenderly, and gently pushed her towards the bed.
She curled her legs underneath her as she waited for him, sinking into the soft blanket.
She placed her hand on her thigh and worried that she would not be able to please him.
However, as he stripped away his tunic and revealed all the hard lines of his masculine body, the doubts were burned away.
His body was a warrior’s body, one that had been forged by a life of hunting and hard work.
He was lean and agile, but packed with taut muscle and broad shoulders.
There was a thick fuzz of hair running down his chest, narrowing into a thin line that pointed to his manhood.
Her eyes drank in every inch of him, and they filled with desire.
She gulped as she let her gaze fall down to the deepest part of him, and her lips parted in wonder.
He stood hard and thick, throbbing with desire for her, and in that moment, all her innocence was swept away.
She reached out to him and took him in her arms, running her hands along the hard angles of his body, taking joy in feeling the heat and the warmth of his burning flesh.
His hardness was in sharp contrast to the soft blanket, which they pulled over themselves, cocooning themselves away from the rest of the world.
Marcas was a man of action rather than words.
Kirsten writhed and moaned as his hands explored her body.
They seemed to reach everywhere, so big and curious.
His fingers were long and deft. They slid over the rise of her breasts, down to her thighs.
Their bodies twisted together, moving in harmony, as though they were being guided by some ethereal force.
His arms slid around her. She was so small compared to him, and she fit snugly into his arms. Their breathing swirled together in a long, deep kiss that reached into the deepest part of her, and the ache that rested in the pit of her stomach pulsed and swelled.
An anguished moan escaped her lips, as it was almost too much to bear.
Within moments, she had fully embraced her womanhood and her duties as a wife.
In Marcas’s kiss, she felt something that had been absent from his words, and it opened her heart to him.
She actually felt hope that somewhere deep within, he might be able to love her.
Marcas rolled over and pinned her on her back.
The curls of Kirsten’s hair fell around her head.
One of his hands rested on her hip, while the other curled around the back of her head.
He kissed her lips and then moved his mouth around to her neck, his hot breath rushing across her collarbone and the hollow of her throat.
There was so much about this she didn’t understand, so many things still yet to explore, but the initial burst of passion surged like wildfire through her body, which was more than enough to push her over the brink of pleasure.
The twitching sensation that flowed through her like a raging river was something she had never experienced before, and once the shuddering chaos had swum through her body, she wanted more, and couldn’t understand how she had lived without these sensations being a part of her life.
She lost herself in the warmth of his body, in the smell and the taste and the touch.
The very air around them seemed to be on fire with his essence, and she was naturally intoxicated by it.
His rough stubble scratched her soft skin, and yet it was a pleasing sensation.
His hands were hard and dug into her skin as he claimed her, and then in one swift, natural motion, their bodies were together.
Pain shot through her in one burst, but it was quickly overwhelmed with a flood of pleasure.
Marcas grunted as his weight pinned her down, cradling the back of her head as he buried himself against the nape of her neck.
Every inch of his huge body was focused on her and her alone.
All of his power and passion drilled into her, as though she was the center of his world.
Is this it? she thought as bliss swept through her. Is this marriage? Is this love?
Their bodies moved to a strong rhythm. Kirsten’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as her toes curled.
She could feel him deep inside her, connecting with her, their two bodies becoming one.
His powerful body trembled. She stretched her hands around him and felt the sinews of his back tightening.
The bed creaked and shook; the world seemed to lurch around them as pleasure twisted and danced in her mind and on her skin.
The world was more vivid and vibrant than it had ever been before suddenly, his body crashed against hers and he seemed to be taken by this primal, savage force that rendered him more beast than man.
With a grunt and a howl and with him clutching her body tightly, the last vestige of her virtue was taken away in a blitz of lust, torn and thrown to the wind as a storm raged.
Left breathless, she had a blissful smile on her face as the sensations faded.
Sweat clung to their skin as they stayed linked together, both in a trance.
Marcas was on her, a look of shock on his face, as though he couldn’t quite believe what had transpired between them.
Kirsten wasn’t sure if she could believe it either, but the echoes throbbed and pulsed underneath her skin and in her heart.
She kissed his cheek tenderly as he rolled off her and gazed up at the ceiling.
The fur blanket was uncomfortably hot, but she kept it draped over her as she shifted her body and rested her head on his shoulder.
She placed a hand on his chest and felt the smooth rise as he gathered himself.
As she closed her eyes, she could feel the thunder of her own heart too, and wondered if it would ever slow again.
As she gazed up at him, she decided that it was alright for him to keep his words to himself if he could show her that much affection while they were alone.
He was certainly a mystery, and she wondered if she would ever truly figure him out, for it was almost impossible to read his emotions.
She kissed him again, happy that she had been able to do her duty.
The fire that burned gradually died as she thought about what would happen next.
She waited for him to say something, to give her some kind of sign that he was happy she was his wife.
The only sound that broke free of his lips was a soft snore, though.
Perhaps she had received all the validation she needed by the pleasure that swam through her body, and his.
Her hand fell to her stomach and she smiled, wondering if she would wake up being with child.
More than anything, she was glad to have done her duty, and she hoped that now they had shared their first night as man and wife, things might change for the better.
Soon enough, she fell into slumber as well, and the wedding day had ended on a happy note.