“Come,” he said, offering her his hand.
Hugh drew her to the bed and pulled back the covers before laying her down on the soft linen sheets. He soon joined her, rolling over so that they faced one another. She shivered as he reached out and cupped one of her breasts. Her whole world tilted as Hugh bent his head and, drawing a nipple into his mouth, gently nipped at it with his teeth.
“Oh, my sweet . . .” she murmured.
She clutched at the bedclothes as he slipped a finger into her heat and began to stroke. He sucked hard on her nipple, and Mary whimpered. The torture was exquisite.
When he finally released her nipple from his masterful attention, he rose over her, and gave her a kiss that made her toes curl.
She groaned as he slipped a second finger into her, and when his thumb began to rub against her sensitive bud, she sobbed. Her need for release built with every stroke.
“Is that good? Tell me if you want me to change anything. I can go harder or deeper; I am at your command,” he said.
“Don’t stop,” Mary pleaded.
“I love you,” he said.
She was beyond words at this moment, unable to reciprocate his declaration, consumed by the driving need to find her sexual release.
He slowed his strokes and murmured in her ear. “I want you come, but I need to be inside you when you do.”
She opened her eyes as he released her from his touch. He moved between her legs, his hard erection brushing the side of her inner thigh.
“This may sting for a second, but I need you to stay with me. As soon as your body accepts me, I will make it enjoyable again,” he said.
Placing the bulk of his weight on one arm, he lowered himself over her before slowly parting her slick folds with his cock. Mary winced at the sensation of Hugh stretching her and held her breath.
He stilled, patiently waiting for her body to adjust. The discomfort eased and she slowly breathed out.
“Does it still hurt?”
“No,” she replied.
He began to move within her, slowly at first then quickening as his strokes deepened. With her hands gripping either side of his hips, she urged him on. The tension began to build within her once more. Her need to reach the peak came with every one of his thrusts. His groans of pleasure added to her own.
She crashed through on the end of one of his deep and powerful thrusts, sobbing his name as she came. Hugh buried his face into the base of her neck. She felt the nip of his teeth on her skin before he let out a shout. He shuddered, then collapsed on top of her, pressing her into the mattress.
Mary wrapped her arms and legs around him and held him to her, promising to herself that she would never let this man go.
Chapter Eighteen
“Is that everything?”
Hugh looked inside the basket Mary held in her hands, pointing at each of the items. “Bread, blackbun, and salt for food. A bottle of whisky for your host’s good health... Oh, I forgot the coin.” He opened his sporran and pulled out a gold coin. “This is for wealth. This is a pistole; the last of the coins minted for Scotland.”
He dropped it into the basket, stealing a kiss from his wife in the process. “Now you are ready.”
The love she saw shining in his eyes was the same she had beheld on Christmas Eve as she and Hugh had stood facing one another to speak their marriage vows in the castle chapel. Ewan had escorted her down the aisle to the tune of a single bagpipe, beaming as he placed her hand in Hugh’s.
The Radley family had, of course, been delighted when a sheepish Hugh and Mary appeared at breakfast the morning after spending their first night together and announced their betrothal. Master Crowdie had overseen a flurry of activity in the castle and village, which saw Hugh and Mary married that same day.
Aunt Maude gave the bride a family heirloom wedding band, which matched Mary’s engagement ring to perfection. The Duchess and Dowager Duchess of Strathmore presented Mary with a blue woolen gown and a matching Strathmore tartan sash and shawl. Mary Radley was now one of the family.
It was New Year’s Eve, Hogmanay in Scotland, and in a break with tradition, Mary had been chosen to conduct the ancient First Foot ceremony.
Earlier in the evening, she and Hugh had led the castle staff down to the village and shared a hot supper with them. Her welcome into the Strathmore Castle and village family had been so heartfelt that she’d felt close to tears at many moments during the day. Only Hugh’s constant presence—he was never far from her—kept her from dissolving into a weeping mess.
Master Crowdie strode into the village tavern with a large brass bell in his hand. A hush fell over the gathering before he swung the bell high and rang it loudly. He then turned and marched out the door.
Hugh offered Mary his arm and they followed. A happy, chatting group of villagers took up the rear. Flaming torches held on spikes were dotted along the road to light the way back to the castle.
Walking arm in arm with her husband, Mary felt sure of her future, and thanks to her trusty tackety boots, also of her footing. Her Strathmore tartan shawl kept the bitter night wind at bay.
As they crossed over the drawbridge and into the castle bailey, a loud cheer rose from the assembly. Hugh smiled at her. “The cheers are for you, my love.”
They waited until everyone from the village had arrived and gathered around them in the courtyard. Master Crowdie pulled out his pocket watch and checked it. He nodded toward Mary. Hugh let go of her arm and stood back, a huge smile of pride on his face.
She gave him one last nervous look, then
