Chapter Twelve #5
‘Ailsa, the room is cold, the floor damp, hard, uncomfortable. There is no bed here for us. If we aren’t to leave, this is what we’ll have to do. All I can offer is my body to protect you from the ground, and the torch overhead which is giving off heat.’
‘You want me to sit, to straddle you?’
His eyes grew heavy lidded. ‘Your tongue. Your words, they’ll undo me, but, yes, straddle me.’
‘How are we to be together? You’re fully clothed.’
‘I’ll release when I can. I need a few moments.’
She didn’t want a few moments.
‘I am...’ he swallowed ‘...feral with need. I’ll be no more than that rutting beast if I let myself out of my braies now.
You’re not quite ready, not yet, not how you need to be for this first time.
I should be gentle. Maybe if I didn’t want you so much, I could hold you up against the wall to take you.
Maybe I could protect you from this damn ground, but I fear my legs would give. ’
‘Your legs are like tree trunks, Rory.’
‘They are as weak as a foals—’ another curve to his lips ‘—but there are other parts of me that are far too strong.’
Avoiding the parchment, she came to him on shaky legs. One foot on each side of his thighs, she pulled her chemise up and sat down. His need just there where she could touch him. So she did, watching his reaction, feeling hers in response.
‘Can I touch you?’ she asked.
‘I think you already are.’ It was all here, them, together, right here.
She undid his belt and he whipped it away.
Free, she ran her hands under his tunic to feel the corded muscles in his stomach, the strong curves of his chest. She leaned up to gain access to his shoulders, revelling in her breasts brushing against his skin.
Further up until the tunic wouldn’t give any more.
‘The wall’s rough,’ he said.
She released her arms from their trap and gripped his thighs that flexed, so she rubbed harder. ‘I want to see.’
He trailed his fingers along her thighs. Up and down again, then he went to his waist and undid his breeches and braies.
She stared. ‘How can you...fit?’
‘I thought you’d seen the male form before.’
‘Never like this.’
He smiled. ‘I suppose not. We’ll fit. Like this, I won’t be able to move as much. It’ll be you who brings us there.’
She wanted it. Taking him in hand, she raised her legs. He cursed, his hands on her hips stopping her.
Frustrated with need, she growled, ‘I’m ready.’
‘What is done, cannot be undone,’ he said.
Fascinated, she didn’t take her eyes off him, of his response to the brush of her fingers, releasing a droplet that she eagerly spread. ‘We’re married,’ she said.
‘Look at me.’
She did. His breath was deep, his dark eyes filled with warmth, heat and something more than desire. He wanted her.
‘Why are you stopping me?’
‘This doesn’t have to be here, now. We can wait.’
‘No.’ Her limbs trembled, her body shook. She could see what his stopping cost him as well. But more than that, she wanted him. ‘I don’t want to wait. I want this. I want...you.’
He shuddered beneath her. ‘Then take me.’
She did. Her hand on him, his hand now coming to cover hers to hold himself steady. Slowly, she eased down. Rory ripped his hand away and held as still as his harsh breaths allowed. It didn’t hurt like she’d been told. Instead, the pressure, the fullness was only pleasure.
‘How?’ She shifted, adjusting to him bit by bit.
His lips parted, his eyes raking from hers to where they were joined. ‘Because you do this. Because your body knows what it needs.’
She knew so little. ‘But...isn’t...? This isn’t usual.’
A slight curve to mouth, a slight exhalation. ‘Some day I’ll ask about what you know. But know that if we had a bed I’d want you underneath me. I’d want to—’
A pained look crossed his features at the same time as he flexed within her. She gasped at the quick movement.
With iron control, his eyes held hers. ‘Last time, I had you on the bed. I...had control of the laces, of your pleasure. If we do this, if this marriage is true, I want you to have power and control. You have it. You take it.’
This man, who talked of power and planned with determination, relinquished what he most held dear. To her.
She rolled her hips and felt her body give way to him. ‘But how—?’
‘Like this.’ He grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her close and kissed her.
Their lips joining, fusing as their bodies did the same.
A gentle rocking of his hips until hers did the same, until she needed more and she raised on her knees to take more of him.
To take more for her. A clash of breaths, a want, a need.
She wrapped herself around him, just as he flattened his feet on the ground, bent his knees, and surrounded her.
She broke away.
‘Rory.’
‘Please,’ he rasped. He shoved deep and her body tremored, tightened. One more roll of his hips and she’d be undone.
She pushed up from his shoulders; Rory braced against the wall.
‘Let go,’ he said. ‘I’m right there, Ailsa, I’m there.’
She dropped, just as he gave another roll of his hips. Until the pleasure broke for them both and they were there.
‘That was...pleasant.’ Ailsa rested her head on his shoulder.
He hummed. ‘It almost didn’t happen at all. When you pulled your gown up so I could see my hands between...’ He exhaled roughly as if the memory of it was too much. ‘You undo me, Wife. I have no control when it comes to you.’
He clasped her hand so that his fingers played along hers, drumming down her palm and around her wrist, then back up again.
She liked that and he must have realised as he gave a low chuckle and splayed his fingers wide so he could play more.
‘Our marriage is in truth now,’ he said.
She could argue that their marriage had been in truth when they said their vows or earlier yet when they’d made their bargain. But the truth was, their marriage wasn’t genuine until she’d told him of Magnus, of her loss and why she hated Lochmores.
Another play of her fingers against his until she must have hit a sensitive spot, for his hand jerked away and he wiggled it a bit before placing his hand in hers again. His left hand.
‘Why do you insist on using your right hand?’ she asked.
He made a disappointed sound.
‘I told you of Magnus. Telling me that you use your right instead of your left shouldn’t be that significant.’
‘I am truly sorry for Magnus, Ailsa.’
Aware that he avoided her question, but also aware it was important to talk of their past, she said, ‘Have you ever lost someone like that to the McCrieffs?’
‘Paiden is as close as I’ve ever come to that loss and you know how well I’m faring.’
‘You miss him.’
‘Very much. I think he would have had some things in common with your childhood friend. Paiden isn’t very practical either.’
She liked the idea of Paiden and Magnus being similar in character. It eased something more between her and Rory. ‘Will you tell me now about your hand?’
‘Would you let me keep my silence on it?’
‘Never.’
That’s what he thought. His hand was hyperaware from her touch, from her observations.
Rory held it still and thought hard about how to answer her because why he used his left hand instead of his right was significant.
The physical tests and challenges he’d overcome to force himself to use one hand over the other had been an ordeal and often excruciating.
Even so, the why he did it...he didn’t know if he was prepared to say. ‘How did you know?’
‘I’m a healer. I observe. You drum with your left hand, arrange items with your left...you touch me with your left. It comes more natural to you, doesn’t it?’
She’d told him of Magnus; she deserved to be told of his family. ‘My father, who trained me, insisted I use my right.’
‘I can’t imagine you bowing to any man.’
‘You haven’t met my father.’
‘Your mother never stood up for you?’
‘My mother is...’ No, he wasn’t prepared at all. ‘I think we can do something more than talk of my hands.’
Cradling her closer, he revelled that she came willingly. So little time between them, so much more to tell. But this, her tugging her fingers through his hair, her eyes darting from one of his features to the other, as if trying to see his very soul, this was true.
Ailsa let Rory distract her with touches, with kisses.
He’d told her very little, but it was enough.
He must have changed his dominant hand when he was very young or else his body would have rejected such training.
And he must have done it very diligently for he was almost as good with his right as with his left.
But it wasn’t only that. Her heart ached for the little boy who must have questioned if he was lacking somehow that his father wanted him to be so different.
His father, who obviously was not as generous of spirit as she.
What kind of man was he to force a child against his very nature?
To make him feel unworthy even for a moment?
She’d show Rory how worthy she found him. ‘I think,’ she said, giving him a shove on his shoulder so he’d stay still, ‘that it’s...’
Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention.
Rory let out an amused breath. ‘Delaying can sweeten our time, lass, but the floor’s damn cold and—’
‘Wait!’ she cried, pressing her hand against his chest to stop his reaching for her.
‘Ailsa, I meant—’
‘Not that.’ Clumsily, she tried to extricate herself from him. She knew he was too large, too determined to move unless he wanted to. But he let her. Another revelation on the worthiness of this man. Scrambling over him, she swiped a crumbled parchment.
It was here. Right here and she had the answer.
She felt Rory’s eyes on her, but she ignored him for now she was pondering the implications.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘If it’s made into an oil,’ she said out loud. ‘It’s so common the amount could be...then if it’s concentrated enough...’
‘Ailsa!’
She locked gazes with her husband. ‘I know what has harmed Paiden.’