Even so, he asked, “You are well, angel?”
“In this moment, I am complete.”
She wasn’t, not yet, but he did not contradict her. Soon, she would understand. And then she would probably cry some more. Women. But so long as it was not from pain, he would tolerate her feminine emotionalism.
He pushed deeper and his head met the barrier of her innocence.
She stared up at him as if waiting for him to force himself through, but he had a better plan. He arched his hips so that he could get his free hand between their bodies. While he remained in stillness poised at her virgin’s barrier, he caressed her clitoris with his thumb.
She whispered his name as her breathing grew even more ragged. He had not brought her to climax, but he had spent two nights teaching her body to crave the pinnacle of pleasure. It reached for it now, straining against him, and only as he felt the convulsion that signaled her orgasm did he surge forward to embed himself fully in her body.
His own cried out for movement, but he was a Chrechte warrior, not a callow youth to undo the careful preparation for this moment.
He allowed her to ride out both the pain and pleasure before he began to move. He could seek his own completion, and if he allowed himself, probably come with a couple of well-delivered strokes, but he wanted more.
He swiveled his hips on each downward thrust, and she gasped with obvious pleasure. He held himself with rigid control, building her pleasure again until he felt her body once again tightening around him. He allowed himself release as she screamed his name and came a second time.
Abigail woke with a residual soreness between her legs. No doubt it would be much worse if Talorc had not taken such care with her. He had made the consummation of their marriage incredibly special, but he had not stopped his ministrations there.
He had carried her to the bathing pool and washed her body with gentle hands while she dozed in his arms. She had been so exhausted. She did not know how long they soaked in the hot springs, but she could remember snuggling into his arms in sleep at some point.
She had woken alone though. Just as she had each morning of her marriage thus far. Her clothing was folded neatly on the edge of the furs. There was food to break her fast with there as well. She took her time eating, then combing her hair and finally doing her own pleats on her plaid when Talorc did not show up to help her.
When she came out of the cave it was to find Niall, not her husband, waiting for her.
She tamped down her disappointment and the embarrassment she hadn’t been smart enough to feel the night before to ask, “Where is your laird?”
“He is your laird, too, lady.”
“He is my husband.”
Niall smiled, causing the only other soldier nearby to wince. Abigail ignored him and returned the big warrior’s expression.
Niall crossed his arms, making the muscles of his biceps bulge. “Talorc hunts.”
“I thought we would ride to the keep today?”
“He said we are to spend at least one more night here.”
“But . . . why?”
“He is laird. He need not explain why.” Which simply said Niall did not know.
She thought so anyway; maybe the warrior did know and didn’t want to share. “And he’s hunting right now?”
“Aye.”
She looked over the clearing where four horses fed, her husband’s dark stallion, the horse she had seen Niall ride, one she assumed the other soldier rode and the mare she had ridden for part of the journey—when she was not sharing a steed with her new husband. “He is hunting without his horse?”
“Aye.”
“Is that common?”
Niall shrugged, but then surprised her by adding, “Sometimes Talorc prefers to hunt completely alone.”
“What of the other clansmen? They are with him, aren’t they?”
“They are hunting, but not with their laird.”
“Oh.” She didn’t understand it but merely added the instance to the growing list of things these strange Highlanders did and said that made little sense to her. “I see. Why aren’t you hunting?”
“I am guarding you.”
“Oh.” She said again, when nothing more fitting came to her. Then she shrugged. She could not expect Talorc to dance attendance on her. And honestly, the less time she spent in his company, the less chance he would have to learn her secret. “Can you guard me on a walk? We have spent so much time riding, I crave the exercise of stretching my legs.”
“If that is your wish.”
“It is.”
So, they walked and she asked Niall questions about what she should expect once they reached the clan.
He shrugged. “The Sinclairs have little love for the English. I fear your sister did not enjoy her short stay among us.”
“She called Talorc a goat.”
“Aye. It did not endear her to our people.” Though Niall seemed more amused than offended by Emily’s behavior.
“Will they judge me as harshly?”
“Some will, but most will accept you because you are their laird’s wife.”
“Wasn’t Emily his fiancée?”
“He showed no desire or intention to follow through on the marriage. His followers acted accordingly.”
“But he and I are married.”
“Aye. He calls you his. It will make a difference for many.”
But not all. The big warrior might as well have shouted the unspoken caveat.
Niall let out a deep sigh that surprised her, but his words shocked her even more. “I do not want your feelings to be hurt.”
“Um . . . thank you.”
He laughed. She couldn’t hear the sound, but recognized the expression coupled with the movement in his Adam’s apple. “You do not understand my concern for you.”
She shook her head. She didn’t. Her own mother had not cared if Abigail found acceptance in the Highlands, why should this battle-scarred warrior? She asked him as much.
“You are good for Talorc. You two are connected in ways neither of you are ready to acknowledge.”
It was her turn to laugh. “I believe you are a romantic, big, fierce Niall.”
He merely shrugged.
But she grinned, knowing she was right. “So, is there a maiden who awaits your return?”
“Many, but none who have claim to do so.” A strange expression took his features, a mixture of sadness and yearning.
Abigail’s heart twisted at the sight. “There is one you wished did.”
Again, that annoying, enigmatic shrug. But she saw the truth in his eyes. She was right. He was pining. She wished she knew how to help him, but she did not imagine he would welcome the interference of a deaf Englishwoman into his love life.
“So, tell me about your family,” she said.
“There is just me and my brother Barr now. Sean died in the battle that left me this.” He indicated his scar. “And our father in the battle that took our previous laird.”
“What of your mother?”
“She died birthing Barr and I. Two babies at once were too much for her human nature.”
What an odd way to put it. “I’m sorry.”
