Chapter Eighteen #2
A gasp of delight escaped Moira when she saw the nightgown spread out on the bed. She hurried over to pick up the white lace-trimmed gown. Afraid it would not be the right size, she warily held it up against herself. She gave a sigh of relief and pleasure when she found it was only a little large.
“Oh, Una, where did ye get it?”
“Weel, once I kenned we were to be wedded to our chosen men, I spoke to the women here. I was certain there had to have been other weelborn ladies who had lived here. Even Mungan had to have had a mother.” She briefly grinned when Moira giggled.
“Just before I came to help ye tie the ribbons in your hair, one of the maids brought this to me. It was Mungan’s mother’s. ”
Moira could not resist one long wide-eyed look at the small nightgown. “Did she die in childbirth?” She smiled a little crookedly when Una giggled. “’Tis just hard to imagine a woman nearly as tiny as I am bearing a child who could reach Mungan’s impressive size.”
“She bore five sons and one daughter ere she died. All are still alive. I havenae met them, but Mungan insists that his brothers are akin in size to him and that his sister is a big, healthy lass.”
“How odd. He willnae mind me wearing this?”
“Nay. His mother’s things were put aside for one of the son’s wives to use if they wished to or had a need.
I tried to find ye a gown, but most of them have disappeared.
Mayhap they were taken to be made into other things.
This was still there, though. Weel, I had best hurry to my own chambers. I want to be ready for Mungan.”
“Una, do ye truly love the mon?”
“Aye, I thought ye kenned it.”
“I did, but then I realized I had never heard ye say it. For a brief moment I feared ye were marrying him for—weel—simply because he doesnae beat you.”
“Oh, there is that, and ’tis what first made me soften toward him.
It took me some time to ken what I was doing, but one day I realized that I had been pushing the mon, testing him.
Since the moment he grabbed me, I tried to make him hit me.
I did everything I kenned would have made my father strike me or punish me, and Mungan ne’er touched me.
He bellowed a lot, but if I even looked as if I expected him to hit me, he was insulted, even hurt. ”
“Aye, Tavig is the same.”
“That is when I started to fall in love with the man. Now, I must go. I wish to be prepared before he comes to our chambers.”
The moment Una was gone, Moira began to get undressed.
Despite having had a bath earlier, she thoroughly washed herself before carefully donning the nightgown.
She smoothed her hands over the soft material and lightly fingered the delicate lace.
She had never worn anything so finely made or so beautiful.
It was odd, she mused, how a piece of clothing could make such a difference.
She and Tavig had been lovers for over a week, yet simply by donning the beautiful nightgown, she felt as if this night would now be special.
Tavig subtly straightened his shoulders before entering his bedchamber.
He hated the feeling that Moira did not consider their marriage final, their vows binding.
He had detested promising her he would let her go if and when she decided it was necessary.
But, worst of all, he had hated speaking that promise knowing he did not intend to keep it.
He had lied to Moira and that pained him.
It also made him feel uncomfortably guilty.
Tavig wanted to be certain none of those feelings would be revealed in his face when he spoke to Moira.
He caught his breath as he stepped into the room and saw Moira standing by their bed.
She looked beautiful, he decided, as he shut and secured the door.
Her smile was a shy one, a light blush tinting her cheeks.
Her thick, bright hair hung in long ribbon-decorated waves almost to her hips.
The white lacy nightgown was a little big for her, pooling slightly around her tiny feet and slipping down to reveal one pale shoulder.
The light from the fire and the candles shone through the thin material, revealing each slim, tempting curve.
He inwardly grinned, certain that Moira was unaware of that.
“Ye look verra bonnie, Moira. So bonnie I cannae think of anything clever and flattering to say.” He smiled when she blushed even more, nervously plucking at the lace on her sleeves.
“’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.