Chapter Eighteen
The forest was alive with music and laughter. Her heart thundered with excitement, but she could still only see the bonfires belonging to the revelers flashing through the trees.
“I want ye to have the freedom to enjoy yerself. All I ask is that ye don’t go where I can’t see ye,” Ian said quietly, his arm encircling her waist from behind.
Rocking in the saddle while they wended their way through the wood, she strained to see through the shadowy leaves.
Ahead of them, Godfrey reined in his horse and brought a horn to his lips.
A mournful wail rent the night, contrasting with the lively pipes and whistles.
Moments later, another horn sounded in reply, and then like a curtain being drawn, the thick barrier of leafy branches lifted away, revealing a bustling hamlet.
In the center of the glade blazed a massive bonfire, around which men, women, and children skipped, holding hands in a reel.
Off to one side, musicians had gathered, pipers and lute players, and surrounding the festivities were several small huts of peat and thatch.
“Come, my new friends,” Godfrey said as he leapt to the ground. Extending his arms wide, he continued, “help yerselves to food and drink.”
Grasping Ruby’s leash in one hand, Ian placed an arm around Jo’s slim waist and set her feet on the ground.
“Dance with me,” said a voice behind her.
She whirled around, meeting Godfrey’s gaze.
“To show there’s no hard feelings,” he said to Ian.
“’Tis not for me to decide,” Ian replied. “She speaks for herself.”
Jo’s heart swelled at Ian’s words. His confidence in her fueled her own to greater heights. She accepted Godfrey’s hand. “Just once or twice around the fire then.”
Her host was trim and light on his feet.
His beaming smile matched those of everyone around them, the smile of free men and women who did not live under the yoke of another.
The fire raged. Her heart raced. She skipped along to the music, circling the fire again and again.
Breathless, she released Godfrey’s hand and thanked him before crossing the glade to where several rustic trestle tables were set up, their surfaces laden with wooden platters of game, breads, and cakes.
Ian stood, Ruby at his side, speaking with an older man whose face was mostly hidden behind a grizzly beard.
When she approached, Ian poured her a tankard of mead.
“Thank you,” she said and downed the lot.
“Ye’ve danced up quite a thirst,” he laughed, refilling her cup. Then he offered her a pheasant leg, which she heartily sank her teeth into, ripping off the succulent meat.
“Ye’re wife has a good appetite. Ye know what that could mean,” the old man said, nudging Ian.
“Oh, we’re not—” Jo started to say, but Ian interrupted her.
“Expecting,” he blurted, wrapping his arm around her waist. “But my wife and I are hoping to be blessed with a wee bairn in the coming year.”
Her brows drew together. “But we’re not—”
“Picky about what we have. Just as long as the good Lord blesses us with a wee bairn to love, we are happy with a son or a daughter.”
“To many sons and daughters,” the old man toasted, raising his cups.
Ian dipped his head. “Thank ye, Clyde. Now, if ye’ll excuse us, I suddenly crave a dance with my wife.”
Holding tightly to Ruby’s leash, Ian swung Jo around and led her in a reel, circling the fire. Her mismatched eyes burned through him, her smile making his body crave her touch, her kiss.
At length, when they stopped to eat and drink some more, she asked him. “Why did you tell that old man that we were married?”
“I claimed ye for myself before someone else tried.”
“Claimed me? You speak as if I am a horse or a sword which someone might barter or trade.”
“I do not doubt that there are many decent souls gathered here this eventide. Still, these people govern themselves and my guess is that what Godfrey says goes. And he’s had his eye on ye since he first came upon us in the woods.”
Scanning the revelers, she spied Godfrey looking her way.
He raised his cup to her. Instinctively, she planted her feet apart and put her hands on her hips as he walked toward them.
“Clyde just told me that ye’re man and wife.
” His gaze shifted to Jo. “It would be a lie if I claimed not to be disappointed.” Then he turned and directed their gazes to a hut across the way.
“That one is empty. If ye’re married, then ‘tis yers for the night.”
“Ye’re gracious, indeed,” Ian said, stepping slightly in front of Jo.
Godfrey smiled. “And ye’re lucky ye’re so big or else I might challenge ye for her hand, married or not.”
There was tension in the men’s gazes, but then Godfrey smiled again. “More ale,” he said, raising his cup high. “After all, ’tis my saint’s day,” he called out, and everyone cheered in response.
Ian pulled her into his arms. “I would like to kiss my wife.”
Jo’s heart leapt. She was breathless and hazy from the ale and the pleasure of being enclosed in Ian’s strong embrace.
She laughed. “Your wife would like nothing more.”
He kissed her long and hard. Then scooping her up, he carried her to one of the fallen logs that had been rolled near the fire. He sat down, cradling her in his arms, their kiss only breaking when Ruby nudged her head between them.
“Feeling left out, girl?” Jo laughed, nuzzling Ruby’s neck.
A loud guffaw drew Jo’s gaze. Clyde was staring at them with a big grin on his face.
“Ye must be newly weds,” he observed.
Ian winked at her before he called, “Aye, we are that.”
The old man’s smile faltered, a concerned expression pinching his brow. “Be sure to enjoy the passion, lad.” Then he gestured to an older woman with gray streaked curls and plump pink cheeks at his side and rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t last.”
The woman narrowed her eyes on him, but then to Jo’s surprise, she stood up, seized her husband by the tunic and pulled him to his feet before planting a kiss on his lips.
Jo laughed as the older man overcame his shock and wrapped his arm around his wife, bending her back as he deepened their kiss.
Then he pulled away and strained to lift her into his arms, walking toward a small hut.
“It will be a night to remember,” he called out, teetering beneath her weight on his bowed, aged legs.
Jo turned and locked eyes with Ian. “Shall we also retire?”
Ian crooked his thumb beneath her chin and softly kissed her lips. Then he stood, cradling her in his arms. Tugging Ruby behind them, he carried her to their hut.
Once inside, he set her feet on the ground and released Ruby, who padded over to a corner and plopped on the ground, curling into a circle.
Jo gazed with unabashed longing at Ian. “Husband,” she purred and stood on her tiptoes, circling her arms around his neck. A sensual smile curved her lips. “This will be a night to remember,” she said softly.
Groaning, his intense eyes bore into hers. He crushed her against his chest. “I want ye, wife.”
“I can barely draw breath,” she blurted, gripping his tunic in her hands. “That is how much I want ye.”
Slowly, he eased the fabric of her tunic over her head.
She arched her back into his hand as he cupped her breast, teasing her nipple through the sheer fabric of her kirtle.
Then he slid his thumbs beneath the straps of her undergarment and eased it off her shoulders and over her slim hips.
She stepped free and stood in front of him, naked and vulnerable.
A smile curved her lips—she had never felt stronger.
She seized his tunic, pushing the fabric high up his chest before he yanked it over his head. Then he eased his hose down so that he, too, was free to be loved by her hands—and how she had craved to touch him.
She swept her hands across his broad, muscular chest and down the hard ridges of his stomach. Gasping, she took in the sight of his thick, hard length and reached out, daring to touch his manhood.
“Ye’re amazing,” he groaned and pulled her close. Their lips and tongues clashed in a frenzy of passion. Kneeling together, she lay back on the pallet and reached for him.
He grabbed her hands and pinned them over her head with one hand while he swept his other hand over her breast. With his palm he gently caressed her nipple.
Then he lowered his mouth, his hot breath, teasing her hard peak.
He stroked her sensitive nub with his tongue, forcing a gasp from her lips.
Then he seized it gently between his teeth.
She cried out and writhed beneath him, soft moans escaping her lips.
Sensation, wicked and carnal danced slowly, languidly throughout her whole body.
Slowly, his lips and tongue trailed lower while his hand caressed her hip and smoothed over the dip of her stomach.
She gasped as his fingers brushed the soft curls between her thighs.
“Open for me,” he rasped.
She spread her thighs apart. An ache, agonizing and sweet all at once, filled her. He trailed his fingers slowly from her knee, up the inside of her thigh, his touch soft as a whisper.
“Oh, Ian,” she groaned when he stroked the very heat of her.
IAN WATCHED HER DESIRE heighten as his touch softly grazed her flesh.
She bucked her hips against his hand, her body demanding more.
“Please, Ian!”
Groaning, he shifted his weight and slowly, he entered her.
Her tight sheath constricted around him.
He held his breath as he stretched her wider until he filled her.
She wound her arms firmly around him, her face buried against his neck, and slowly he started to thrust. Her hips met his, her body slick with sweat.
She clung to him as he thrust harder and faster.
Her breath filled his ears. She wrapped her legs around his waist, meeting his hard passion with a furious demand all her own.
And then she seized up in his arms and cried out.
Shuddering and quaking, she clung to him.
He drove deeper, her rapture tearing through him.
Higher he climbed and higher. Then he cried out as wave after wave of pleasure shot through him.