Lucy Monroe - Moon Craving

She was not sure why he thought her comment so amusing. She found it much more worrying.

He shook his head. “I willna hurt you, lass.”

“You’re so sure? You said you don’t have much experience.”

“I am sure.” And that clearly was supposed to be that.

And truthfully? Right now, she was less concerned with what was to come than the fact he had given her permission, nay instruction, to “wash” him.

She moved her hands along the large prick and Talorc’s eyes fell closed as a fierce expression took over his features. She let her hands learn him in a way she had not the previous nights in their tent. She explored the softness of the skin, pressing into the flesh to feel just how hard he was. It was like holding heated stone.

The massive warrior’s body shuddered at her touch, and she could not help feeling as if she had accomplished something special.

Suddenly he lifted her from the water, breaking her hold on his manhood. “That is enough.”

“You are clean?” she teased, shocking herself.

He gave her a heavy-lidded look that promised pleasure and something else . . . claiming. “It is time.”

She could not respond. She would not deny her own desire. For that would be a lie, but she could not force agreement from her tight throat either.

For the longest time, he simply looked at her. His eyes seemed to glow yellow in the torchlight. “You are so beautiful.”

“Not like you,” she choked out.

He jerked as if surprised by her words. But how could he be? The Sinclair laird was a study in male perfection.

Long black hair gleamed darker than the night around handsomely chiseled features that bespoke relentless strength and fierce pride. His big, well-honed warrior’s body was only the physical manifestation of that strength. Eyes that continued to astonish her with their bright blue depths revealed an inner power she had seen in no other man. They said Talorc could be nothing less than laird of his people; no other position would do for the man so clearly born to lead.

Right now those eyes glowed with striations of gold that sent pinpricks of sensation down her spine.

Strangely, she found that incredibly alluring rather than frightening. This man had authority over her life as only her parents had before him. He was so much stronger than either her mother or stepfather. His personality and form should intimidate, but she felt inexplicable safety. In this moment, Abigail did not worry Talorc would use either his mental or physical power to hurt her.

No, his intent to give her pleasure was undeniable. Baffled by the truth but unable to deny it, she craved the experience. Of all the scenarios she had entertained in her worried imaginings before leaving her stepfather’s keep, none had included her being attracted to her Scottish husband. Even in her most closely held dreams, she had not let herself imagine desiring Talorc, wanting to be claimed by him—much less needing to claim him, too.

But he was everything desirable.

Each of his muscles was sculpted as if honed by the most talented of artists. And had they not been? Surely God had given her husband more than his share of masculine beauty as well as inner power only a select few in history would ever know.

“You are amazing to me,” she admitted, not sure her voice was working.

He said something she could not understand.

Fear that she did not want in this place washed over her. “Please. I don’t . . .”

Please don’t talk. Please don’t expose her secret before revealing the full mysteries of the marriage bed. Could she not have one time of normalcy in her life? One thing not marred or ruined entirely by her affliction?

“It is Chrechte.”

Relief did not cancel out the fear that had become too much a part of her, but it was still welcome. “I do not understand Chrechte.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“What did you say?”

“I called you an angel.”

“An angel?”

“Aye. When Cait and I were children, my mother told us angels were beings with hair the color of spun gold and beauty to rival our own blessed Highlands.”

“You see me that way?”

“’Tis the only way to see you.”

“Oh.”

“I also said you are mine. My angel.”

“Oh.” She would not . . . could not . . . deny that.

He lowered her until they were eye level. “Now you say it.”

“I am yours.” Though she would not call herself an angel.

He spoke again in the ancient tongue. Then in Gaelic, “I belong to you.”

She didn’t wait for him to instruct her to repeat the phrase. “You belong to me.” At least until he knew her damning truth.

“I promised to protect you during our marriage ceremony and you promised to accept my protection. Now I promise to keep you as my mate for our lives forward.”

Why did it seem he spoke the word mate with a finality not even wife could embody? Could the lifetime promise be real? Or were even Chrechte vows subject to her defect? “I promise to protect you to the best of my abilities and to be your mate for as long as you want me.”

He frowned at her addition, or was it her caveat? “Now it is time for the Chrechte blessing. I will speak it as both pack leader and your husband.”

“That sounds nice.” Better than the priest’s hasty blessing as Talorc strode with her from the chapel.

He carried her from the pool and stood her on the furs. Then he dropped to his knees and tugged her down in front of him. Kneeling, they faced each other. His expression was so intent she could barely breathe. He tipped his head back slightly and said something, as if issuing a command. She did not understand, but he did not look at her expectantly, as if she should.

Then she thought she knew who he had spoken to as two warriors came into her sight. They took a stance behind Talorc as she realized they had not come into the cavern alone. All of his soldiers now stood in a circle around her and Talorc. None of them wore their plaid, or anything else.

She should be mortified—both by their nudity and hers, but she wasn’t. It felt inexplicably fitting—as if she had been born to this obviously ancient Chrechte rite. It helped that none of the men were looking at her. They had their backs to her and Talorc, their heads tilted as if looking toward the heavens.

Each of the soldiers had a simplistic indigo marking of a wolf on his left shoulder blade. Talorc had that tattoo as well. Was that their Chrechte marking?

Her gaze slid from the big soldiers to her husband. He was looking at her with a patience she had not expected from a man who had declared it was time for them to consummate their marriage. He put his hands out and she laid hers in them.

He nodded and then began speaking.

The blessing went on for long moments in the language she had no hope of deciphering. Nevertheless, a sense of well-being grew inside her with each word he uttered. She did not know what the blessing entailed, but she could tell from the serious expression in Talorc’s glowing eyes that it was important to him.

He stopped speaking, but neither of them moved. The air around them was completely still, indicating the soldiers had not moved either. They were all waiting for something. She could feel it. But she could not guess what it was.

He tilted his head back like his soldiers, drawing her attention entirely to him. His expression had turned feral, his eyes glowing once again with that strange light. Talorc opened his mouth and she thought he howled.

Unable to hear it, she could not be sure. Whatever it was, she felt a mystifying need to share the experience. Without conscious thought, she reached out with one hand and laid it on his chest so she could feel the vibration of sound through her fingertips. He was howling.

Truly. Just like a wolf.

And she thought the others were as well, their heads thrown back, their arms reaching high, palms out. The air shimmered with the sound she could not hear, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up and goose bumps rise on her exposed limbs.

Then, as suddenly as he had begun, he stopped. The other men lowered their arms, and she could feel that they had stopped howling as well. One by one, they came to her and Talorc. Each man dropped to one knee beside them, speaking some Chrechte pledge before bowing their heads and then leaving the cavern.

When she and Talorc were once again alone, he released her hand and cupped her face with both of his. “You are no longer English.”

“I’m not?” She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it hadn’t been that.

“You are my wife, mated to the Chrechte pack leader by ancient and true rite.”

She didn’t understand why he referred to his clan as a pack. No doubt it was one of the many new Highlander ways she would have to grow accustomed to. Regardless, if this rite had given her a place other than unwanted English bride, for however long, she was grateful.

“I will do my best to live up to the honor you have done me.” She wasn’t sure why she said that, only that she knew they were the right words to say.

His genuine, approving smile affirmed her choice.

Then he kissed her. At first the caress of his lips was like the brush of butterfly wings, the soft touch at odds with the power of her warrior husband. Her reaction was not gentle, however. The barely there caress of his lips lit the fire of passion that had banked during the Chrechte marriage ceremony.

It made her want the things he had promised. It made her crave the pleasure he had already shown her the past two nights in their tent.

This oddly gentle touch was like a benediction on the wanton woman clamoring inside her soul for release.

Placing both her hands on his chest, she felt the rigidity of his muscles beneath her fingers, his increased breathing and quickened but strong heartbeat. Each small detail evidence that he liked kissing her as much as she enjoyed him doing so.

The knowledge filled her with a fierce and unique pleasure.

Right here, right now, she could and would be a normal woman. A whole woman. His angel. Her lack of hearing did not matter when their lips were too busy connecting to speak.

She did not know how long they kissed, but little by little, his lips grew more demanding. Until there was no question that they required her total surrender. And she gave it, wanting nothing more than to know the reality of being a true wife to this powerful laird—at least for this one night.

Her own breathing became shallow and she saw the pinprick of stars behind her closed eyelids.

Somehow he managed to maneuver her onto her back though his hands never moved from their tenderly possessive hold on her face.

His mouth moved over hers, deepening the kiss with his tongue as their bodies aligned in instinctive need. Growls vibrated in his chest as he claimed her mouth with wild strength, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth and carefully nipping it. He did not draw blood, but she knew instinctively not to pull back, not to attempt to assert independence in any form in this moment.

Her spirit rejoiced in the sensations. She had no desire to separate herself from him at all. She kissed him back just as fiercely, if not more so, nipping at his lips and dueling with his tongue to enhance the intensity of the kiss. For once, the cocoon of silence caused by her deafness only intensified sensations she more than craved.

The wildness she sensed in him called to a part of her she had not even known existed—animalistic desires and untamed cravings beyond her ability to comprehend.

Blanketing her, his big body pressed hers into the soft furs. Their skin touched intimately, and yet it was not enough. She hungered for more. More of his touch, more of the sensations swirling through her. She needed a deeper connection. She wanted what he had promised her on the morning of their wedding.

To join their bodies so perfectly that she would feel him inside her soul.

She did not know what to do to encourage him toward that pinnacle, but he had taught her one thing thus far. He enjoyed her touch with unabashed pleasure.

So, she touched him. Everywhere she could reach. Over bulging shoulders and biceps, along a back corded with muscles that felt like rock under his satin-smooth skin. Her hands glided down over his buttocks, cupping the hard, round globes. Yet rather than satisfying her, the movement of her hands over his body only increased her need.