Victoria Roberts - To Wed A Wicked Highlander

She was shocked at the impact of his gentle grip. Her response to him was so powerful that for a long moment, she felt as if she were floating.

He slowly pulled back, and something unexplainable passed between them. She had to admit that she was strangely flattered by his interest.

“Wife, ’tis still too early to seek our marriage bed. We must return to the celebration.” His voice was low and alluring.

An unwelcome blush crept onto Sybella’s cheeks as she tried to swallow the lump that lingered in her throat. She was humiliatingly conscious of her husband’s scrutiny. She was perfectly aware that she needed to gain his trust, but surely Alexander must think his new wife some type of harlot for kissing him so wantonly in broad daylight.

She was an idiot.

Sybella donned her nightrail and sat in the chair in her bedchamber. Should she be sitting? Maybe she should be standing. She rose and started to pace. Perhaps she should be still. She folded her hands together and then crossed her arms over her chest. What was she supposed to be doing? She felt like a daft fool. When Alexander did not walk through the adjoining door, she sat down on the bed. She sure wasn’t going to appear as though she was waiting for the man to grace her with his presence.

When her husband finally walked through the door, he was dressed in his tunic and kilt. His warm eyes were full of something she could not quite identify, and although what he expected was not clear, there was something captivating in his look. Since Alexander still wore his clothes, maybe he had decided not to consummate the marriage this eve. If that was true, Sybella felt completely underdressed for the occasion.

He placed a tankard down on the bedside table. “Wife.”

“Alexander.”

His gaze lowered, as did his voice. “Ye have yet to call me husband or Alex.”

“We barely know one another,” she said quietly.

“Now that simply isnae true. We have known each other since the day at the waterfall.” His tone was laced with subtle amusement.

Her mouth dropped open. “The waterfall? We hardly spoke.”

He gave her a roguish grin and Sybella cast her eyes downward. All too quickly, she had run out of diversions. How much longer could she postpone the inevitable? She tried to force her confused emotions into order and couldn’t stand the unwelcome tension. Praise the saints. There was no sense worrying about what could not be changed. One way or another, after tonight, she would no longer be an innocent woman.

She took a deep breath and consciously masked her inner turmoil with deceptive calmness. But when the silence began to grate on her nerves, she decided to address the subject head on.

“Is there something we need to do first?” She waved her hand in a nervous gesture.

Alexander was momentarily speechless in his surprise. “I was going to speak with ye and offer ye a wee bit of ale, but if ye wish to have me in your bed…” When his eyes darkened with an unreadable emotion, Sybella flopped back onto the bed and adjusted her pillow.

“I am nervous enough. This prolonged torture doesnae benefit anyone. Can ye please do what ye need to do?” She bit her lip in a nervous gesture.

A gentle chuckle answered her as her husband stood perfectly still beside the bed. “Do what I need to do?” He dropped down beside her, facing her, while she continued to stare at the ceiling. Draping his arm over her waist, he shook his head. “Ye donna want any wooing words before we—”

“Why would ye need to give me wooing words when I am already your wife?” she asked dryly.

“Look at me.” When she turned her head, she saw a suggestion of annoyance in his eyes. “Ye are far too tense. Ye need to relax and calm yourself. This doesnae have to be unpleasant.”

“Speaks the man with the…” Sybella gestured toward her husband’s manhood and quickly added, “cluigean.” Hanging thing.

Her husband stared at her and then burst out laughing. When she started to grind her teeth, the amusement left his eyes. “Sybella, I only try to speak with ye to calm ye.”

She huffed. “Ye have been doing naught but speaking. I donna think your words will change the end result, unless I am mistaken.”

In one swift movement, he lowered his head and moved his mouth over hers. His kiss was surprisingly gentle. His tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips and then explored her mouth. He shifted and kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat as blood coursed through her veins.

She became instantly awake.

Her husband’s arms encircled her, one hand at the small of her back. She could feel his uneven breathing on her cheek as he held her close. The warmth of his arms was so male, so bracing. His mouth was warm and sweet on hers.

The mere touch of his hand sent a warming shiver through her, and she tingled from the contact. She felt transported on a soft and wispy cloud. Alexander’s demanding lips caressed her, and his slow, drugging kisses were driving her mad.

With his tongue, he ravished her mouth. He released her briefly, only enough to breathe, and then repeated his ritual again.

Raising his mouth from hers, he gazed into her eyes. He slid the nightrail off her shoulders and down her arms, as she lay bare beneath his sultry glance. He tugged off his tunic and hastily tossed it aside.

Sybella gasped as bare skin met bare skin and she felt her breasts crush against the hardness of his chest.

Her husband picked up a lock of her hair and caressed it gently. “Ye are so verra bonny.”

When he lightly kneaded her breasts with his rough fingers and teased her nipples into hard aching points, her mind was robbed of any coherent words. He lowered his head and kissed her taut nipples, rousing a melted sweetness within her. She found it difficult to remain still when he suckled the tips of her breasts.

There was a heated swelling between her legs, a moistness she did not understand.

When he slid his hand over her trembling stomach and then between her legs, she froze. He kissed her again and, with a few skillful strokes of his fingers, pushed back the shock of his personal touch. His finger thrust inside her, imitating the movement of his tongue in her mouth.

He felt so strong against her body that she was completely enthralled by his masculinity. The possessiveness of his touch did not lessen her awareness of the man in her arms. In truth, she sensed a sudden secureness, protectiveness, coming from him. Is this what it meant to be husband and wife? Her mind was so cluttered with thoughts that she wasn’t exactly sure what she was experiencing.

Her husband’s body moved to partially cover hers, his hands lifting her nightrail above her hips. She momentarily stiffened but quickly remembered Mary’s words of wisdom.

* * *

As Alex crouched over his bonny wife, he cursed the dim light. From what he could see, Sybella was exquisite. Her creamy breasts filled his hands and her slender hips ignited his passion. Frankly, she aroused him so swiftly that he was afraid he might not be able to take it slowly. That would be a definite challenge.

He reached down and loosened his kilt while he continued to drug her with passionate kisses. He knew she was more than a little nervous, so he would continue to distract her in pleasant ways.

Praise the saints. The lass was so wet and ready for him.

He eased himself inside her and, with one quick thrust, made her his.

Sybella gasped and he held himself up on his forearms, fighting to remain still. He tried not to breathe. His body shook with strain, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Damn, how he craved to move.

He wanted to give her body time to adjust to him, but the feel of her tight heat was almost his undoing. He placed his head to hers, maddened with need.

“Is that all?” she asked with rounded eyes.

He tried to stay the laugh that wanted to escape from him. “Nay, lass, there is much, much more.” He grasped her by the calves and gently pushed her legs up until her knees were bent.

When he pressed deeper within her, she clamped her eyes shut and cried out, “Yan, Tyan, Tethera, Methera, Pimp, Sethera, Lethera, Hovera, Dovera, Dik—”

“What are ye doing?” he asked through clenched teeth, his chest heaving. When she hesitated, he thought she was about to answer him. But her eyes remained shut and she continued to chant—louder.

“Yanadik, Tyanadik, Tetheradik.”

“God’s teeth, Sybella!”

“I count sheep,” she said, her voice cold and lashing.

His wife’s emotionless words killed his ardor like a bucket of ice-cold water. When Alex pulled back, Sybella swiftly rolled to her side, tugging the blankets away from him. She became as quiet as a mouse, her behavior unsettling.

Momentarily taken aback by her change in attitude, he swallowed hard, trying not to reveal his anger. He’d tried to be patient with her, but when his beloved wife purposely ignored him and did not even stir, he’d had enough. He promptly stood and grabbed his kilt and tunic from the floor. With one last look at the bed, he glowered at the wily female and stormed through the adjoining door. Her actions were as cold and empty as the bed she would sleep in this eve.

When Alex reached his chamber, he contemplated what the hell had happened. His mind turned to their embrace on the parapet. The lass had given in freely to the passion of his kiss. He would love to know what had changed between then and when he’d left her bed only a short moment ago.

He’d never forget the expression on her face. With her eyes clamped shut, Sybella’s look was one of pure torture. He was as gentle and careful as he could’ve been for her first time, but when his wife started to count sheep beneath him, that was the last straw. He would never forget the relief that crossed her face when he rolled onto his side. He wasn’t a total arse. He was going to stay and offer her comfort. But from the look of things, she wanted no part of it—or him.

Whatever his wife’s issues were, she had better get over them soon. He would be visiting her chamber often and would not think about leaving her alone until she became with child. He was disappointed in her. She had seemed so willing to start anew when he kissed her that afternoon, and for a brief time, he was foolish enough to believe they had an understanding.

He refused to dwell on his wife’s odd behavior any longer.

At least the MacKenzies would be leaving in a few short hours. Maybe then, he could finally get everything and everyone around him back to normal. That had not been the case for so long that he needed to remember exactly what normal entailed. Nevertheless, he had one less problem to worry about. His clan would be fed; his union with Sybella taking care of that.

And poor Aunt Iseabail.

Perhaps once all of the commotion had ended and everything settled down, she would have time to rest. The festivities seemed to be taking their toll. Although his aunt obviously favored the companionship of William MacKenzie, the last thing Alex wanted was another of Sybella’s pesky kin under his roof. By this time on the morrow, it would all be over.

* * *

With a long, exhausted sigh, Sybella pulled herself to her feet and then quickly dropped back onto the bed.

Her body ached.

No wonder. But at least the toughest part was over and she now knew what to expect—although it wasn’t nearly as insufferable as Mary had described.

Sybella rose from the bed, wanting to spend some time with Colin before he took his leave. When a feeling of loneliness washed over her, she willed it away. Everything would be all right. She would accept nothing less. Even though the last few days had unsettled her, she would smile and hold her head high when her clan left for home.

She pulled out her day dress and had turned to the bed when she noticed a spot of blood on the covers. Lifting her nightrail, she observed the same underneath.

Mary never mentioned blood.

Dear God.

Why was she bleeding? It was not her time.

There was a knock on the adjoining door. “Wife?”

The door cracked open and Sybella ran to close it, barely missing Alexander’s face. “Please donna come in here,” she said in a rush of words.

Her husband’s large hand gripped the door. “Why? What is amiss?”

She pushed again, but the door would not budge against the huge mass of her husband. “Please, Alexander. There is naught—”