Just Beyond Tomorrow Page 6

  “I am nae a woman yet,” she quickly countered, her fingers threading themselves into his dark head and pulling it up.

  He laughed. “I canna resist yer most bountiful charms, lassie,” he informed her. “Ye’re much too delicious.”

  “We dinna know one another,” she protested. “Until this day I never laid eyes upon ye, Patrick Leslie. When I shot my arrows at ye, I but meant to drive ye off. I dinna think we should end the day man and wife.”

  “Nor did I, Flanna,” he replied quietly, “but we are man and wife, and I canna think of a better way to know one another than by making love. Many a lass hae been wed wi’ a stranger and found herself none the worse for it. I will be a good husband to ye, lassie.”

  “I never thought to be a wife,” she said low.

  “But ye are. Ye are my wife.” He held her close. “I am trying to go slowly wi’ ye,” he said to her.

  “I know,” she acknowledged, thinking he smelled of soap and leather, horse and man. There was something comforting about it. One arm enfolded her tenderly. A hand caressed her silken hair. She realized she could feel his heart! It was beating steadily beneath his breastbone. Thrum. Thrum. Thrum. Drawing away from him slightly, she undid the laces of his linen shirt. Boldly she kissed his broad chest. It was smooth and warm. Daringly she touched one of his nipples with the very tip of her tongue; then unable to help herself, she began to lick it. How she had thought of such a thing astounded her, but he stood very, very still beneath the wet warmth of her tongue, enchanted by her boldness. Then suddenly she ceased her actions and pressed a hot cheek against his chest, confused.

  “That was nice, lassie,” he told her. He wanted to encourage her. “I think now,” he said, “we might remove the last of our garments,” and before she could protest, he drew her shift over her head and dropped it to the floor. “ ’Tis yer turn,” he told her.

  “I’ve never seen a naked man,” she told him.

  “I hope ye’ll nae be disappointed,” he answered as she pushed back his shirt, allowing it to fall to the floor.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as her hands pressed the fabric off him. She couldn’t breathe. Patrick Leslie bit his lip hard, forcing back the chuckle that threatened to break forth from his throat. He stood perfectly still and silent as Flanna slowly opened first one eye and then the other to stare directly at his nose even as she drew a deep gulp of air. Reaching out, he gently drew her into his embrace.

  “Do ye like my nose?” he teased her.

  “Wh-what?” She had actually found her voice despite the fact she was standing stark naked and breast to chest with an equally naked man. “Yer nose?” She looked puzzled.

  “Ye are staring quite hard at it, Flanna,” he said.

  “I dinna know where else to look, my lord,” she replied candidly.

  Unable to help himself, he burst out laughing.

  “It is nae amusing, my lord,” Flanna protested, attempting to draw away from him, but he would not allow it.

  “Ah, lassie, I am only astounded to learn that ye are shy,” he told her. “The wench who shot her arrows at me this afternoon and then went after me wi’ her dirk is both bashful and reluctant. I am surprised and charmed by the knowledge.” He took one of her thick curls between his thumb and his forefinger, rubbing it, marveling at the soft texture, then putting it to his lips a moment. “To make love is the most natural event between a man and a woman. Every maiden of good reputation must rely upon her bridegroom to show her the way. If yer da were nae so insistent that this marriage be consummated tonight, I would gie ye all the time ye wanted to learn to know me better; but he is emphatic in his demand. He fears I might leave ye a virgin and then claim nonconsummation as an excuse to hae the marriage annulled. If that happened, I would be allowed under the law to retain yer dowry. Brae.”

  “Oh,” she said, and looked anxiously into his eyes.

  He brushed her cheek lightly with the back of his hand and continued. “I would nae do such a thing, Flanna. I am nae a dishonorable man, nor is my family dishonest. ’Tis truth that I took ye for yer lands at Brae, but every woman is chosen for the attractiveness of her dower. I am a rich man and hae no need of gold, or cattle, but I wanted Brae. The more lands I hold, the better my clan is protected. I should hae refused a king’s daughter wi’out Brae. Do ye understand, lassie?” His knuckles grazed her cheekbone.

  “Am I a fool, then, to want to be desired for myself and nae my lands, my lord?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head. “Nay, Flanna, ye’re not foolish. My own mother disobeyed a direct order from King James to wed wi’ my father because the king’s decision was based upon other factors than if they would suit, or if they loved one another. My father had to woo my mother before she would hae him.”

  “Did he win her heart, then, my lord?” she queried.

  “Aye,” Patrick Leslie replied, smiling. “He did, indeed, win her heart, so much so that when he was killed at Dunbar she left Glenkirk.”

  She was silent a moment, and then she said, “Do ye think we shall love one another one day, my lord?”

  The question startled him. Love, it had been his observation, was a complex emotion. Many-sided, it offered both bitter and sweet. He had always been afraid of love, he now realized, in light of her innocent query. Passion was something he understood well, and lust, aye, but love? “I dinna know, Flanna,” he told her honestly, “but ye’re my wife now. I will honor ye wi’ my body and respect ye, lassie. More, however, I canna, in truth, promise ye. Only time will tell.”

  She nodded, grateful for his candor and the integrity of his answer. It was more, she realized, knowing her brothers and father, than most men would have given her. “Well, then, my lord,” she said, “we hae best get to this consummation that is so important to my da. What would ye hae me do? Remember, I am really quite ignorant. I apologize for my lack of knowledge; but my brother’s wife dinna believe lassies should hae any learning in these matters until they went to their marriage beds. Most lasses, of course, know who they will wed. They walk out and cuddle in the corners wi’ their man, but I wanted nae man. I wanted to be free.”

  “I will nae enslave ye, lassie,” he promised her. “Keep my home well. Gie me heirs, dinna become involved in any scandal, and ye’re free to go yer own way. Ye’ll learn when ye meet my female relations that they are all independent women of spirit.” His arm tightened about her waist. “We will hae nae love this night, Flanna, my wife, but I will teach ye passion, and pleasure, which will suffice for now, ye will find.” Then, picking her up, he immediately set her in their bed and lay beside her. Side by side he noted how long her legs were next to his.

  She struggled with herself to remain calm, but she could not hold back the tremor that shook her body. She was filled with a mixture of emotions. Fear. Curiosity. Excitement. She had still not looked upon his body. Now, though, she raised herself up upon an elbow, her gaze slowly moving down his great length. He watched her covertly so as not to intimidate or embarrass her in her careful inspection. Broad shoulders. A broad chest just lightly covered with a dark down that narrowed into a slim waist. His belly looked hard and was quite flat. Reaching out, she touched it. The skin was muscled, and warm beneath her fingers.

  He had very long legs, and both his calves and thighs were corded with muscle. This was an active man, not one who sat by the fire all day long. And his feet! She had never seen such big feet. Long and narrow, quite unlike her father’s and brothers’, whose feet were broad and far shorter than longer. While she had perused his limbs, her hand had not left his belly. Turning back to that area of his body, she brushed the thick, dark thatch of curls covering the juncture between his stomach and his thighs from which his manhood sprang. It lay but half roused upon its bed of curls.

  “This is yer manhood?” she asked matter-of-factly.

  “Aye,” he answered her, swallowing hard as she took it in her hand. “Ye must treat it gently, lassie.”

  “ ’Tis nae verr
a big,” she noted.

  “It needs to be filled wi’ lust to be big,” he replied, his ego surprisingly bruised. Little did this untamed virgin comprehend how once his lust had risen, his manhood would grow not just in breadth, but length as well. She would more than likely be terrified.

  “How do I engage yer lust?” she inquired bluntly, releasing him.

  “Like this,” he responded, rising up suddenly to roll her beneath him. Then his mouth found hers in a deep and fiery kiss as his arms wrapped tightly about her. To his surprise her lips parted easily beneath his, her tongue leaping forth to engage his in amorous combat. Her lithe, yet amazingly lush body molded itself against him. “Dinna be afraid, Flanna,” he murmured against her lips.

  “I’m nae,” she half lied, but her heart was pounding madly.

  “Ye hae such sweet breasts,” he told her, his hand going to caress them. “They are like ripe apples at autumn’s zenith. His head lowered, and he kissed her nipple. It had grown tight like a frosted flower bud. His mouth opened, and his tongue began to gently lick at the nipple, slowly encircling it again and again. Just when she thought she would scream, his lips closed over the nipple, and he began to suckle hard on her sensitive flesh.

  “Ohhhh, Jesu!” she gasped. His insistent mouth was raising a corresponding tug somewhere deep between her legs. She squirmed slightly in her attempt to escape this new torture. His mouth continued to draw strongly upon her nipple, wreaking havoc with her unsuspecting body. “Oh, cease, my lord, I beg ye,” she cried softly, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

  “Sweet! Sweet!” he murmured as his head raised, and he moved quickly to her other nipple, teasing it with the very tip of his tongue, licking it until she was afire, and then nursing upon it as he had the other breast.

  Flanna watched him through half-closed eyes. Inside she was afire. Her belly felt tight and knotted with the tension of unfamiliar sensations. She reached out to touch his dark hair, which he kept closely cropped. It was soft for a man, and very thick. Her fingers tentatively touched the graceful back of his neck, and he sighed deeply, lifting his head to look into her eyes.

  “Ye’re beginning to catch my attention now, lassie,” he said softly, a small smile touching his lips.

  “Is this what they call making love?” she asked, a blush staining her cheeks.

  “ ’Tis a beginning, Flanna,” he replied; then lowering his dark head again, he ran his tongue between her plump breasts. God’s boots, she was delicious. He was hard already; but his virgin wife needed more time, and he had to give it to her. Go rough with her, and she would hate him. They had to live together till death parted them. He certainly didn’t want her hating him. She was distressed enough about Brae as it was. He began to kiss her again. Her lips, her face, her eyelids, her slim throat. His mouth moved across her body, pressing warm kisses on her navel, her torso.

  Flanna reveled in his kisses, although her breasts now felt quite deserted. They had grown rounded and tight, it seemed, with his kisses. Her nipples were tingling. They almost hurt. She jumped, startled, as resting upon an elbow he began to stroke her thighs, which were tightly clenched together. Looking down, she saw his manhood, no longer small and helpless in appearance, but long and thick. Her mouth made a small O of surprise. His fingers caressed her subtly, the long digits trailing down her thighs and then up again. Her legs began to open slightly, seemingly of their own accord. She shivered with anticipation.

  Patrick Leslie smiled slowly. She was untried, but she was brave, he thought approvingly. He tenderly brushed over her Venus mons. It was covered in red curls, just slightly darker than her glorious red-gold hair. Leaning forward, he began to kiss her again, all the while stroking her. Her nether lips grew plump, and he was finally able to slide a single finger along her deep slit. She was already wet with her innocent arousal. His finger pushed a small ways between the folds of warm, moist flesh. She gasped, but he quickly reassured her with soothing sounds and little kisses.

  Flanna’s heart was beating wildly. He was awakening feelings in her that she had never known even existed. He bestirred her senses recklessly. She felt like a cauldron being brought to a fierce boil. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him, but somehow it didn’t seem like the right time. But there were things she needed to know! Dear God, his finger was pressing forward to touch her so intimately that Flanna thought she would do the unthinkable and swoon. Instead she gasped again, drawing in a lungful of air to clear her head. The finger began to push within her. “What are ye doing?” she half sobbed, now a little frightened.

  “ ’Tis all right, lambkin,” he attempted to reassure her. “I need to know how tightly yer maidenhead is lodged. I would hurt ye nae more than I must, Flanna. Lay quiet, sweeting.” He kissed her lips, distracting her while his finger sought the answers to his questions. Finding them, he frowned. It would be no easy passage, for her maidenhead was tightly lodged, and she winced as he pressed his finger lightly against it. He had thought she might be easy to breach as she was used to riding, and that frequently loosened a maid’s virginity.

  Oh, God, Flanna thought, what is going to happen? Do I want this? No matter! He will take me anyways, and all for Brae. Tears began to slip from the corners of her eyes and down the sides of her head. His body was pinioning hers now as he covered her. She trembled and turned her head from him, biting her lip to keep from crying out in protest.

  He saw the tears, and it almost broke his resolve. He wasn’t a brute who forced women to his will. Passion brought pleasure, and he wanted to give that pleasure to his bride. Sitting back on his heels, he called to her, “Flanna, lassie, dinna fear me. Look at me now, and tell me what troubles ye. I dinna want to take ye yet fearing me.”

  She turned her head and looked up at him, her young bosom rising and falling with her emotions. “It means naught, my lord. I dinna want it to mean naught. I never thought to wed, but this shouldna be for naught. I know I make no sense!” And she began to sob.

  “Ah, Flanna, my fierce wife,” Patrick Leslie said gently, “ ’tis nae for naught. Do ye nae know how I cherish and esteem the gift ye are about to gie me? Ye hae guarded yer prize yer whole life, and I am honored that I shall be the sole recipient of it. ’Tis nae for naught, lassie. No bride could bring her husband, be he shepherd or king, a more precious gift than that of her virginity. ’Tis nae for naught. I honor ye for it, Flanna Leslie.”

  “And Brae?” she demanded softly.

  “Brae is yer dower, Flanna,” he replied.

  “Ye want it more than me,” she said. “Ye would hae had it for gold but that my father wouldna sell it to ye.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, “but I wanted it enough to want ye as well, lassie, and ye are about to gie me a bonus that is worth more gold than there is in the entire world.”

  “Oh!” His words touched her.

  “I want ye, Flanna Leslie,” he whispered, leaning over to nibble on her earlobe. “I want to join my body wi’ yers and gie us pleasure. Ye hae never known the kind of pleasure I will gie ye.” The tip of his tongue swept around the whorl of her ear.

  “Ye’re sly as a fox, and yer words are as smooth as the waters of the loch,” she told him, regaining her courage as she spoke, a frisson of excitement running down her spine

  “We must stay in this chamber until the deed is done, lassie,” he told her. “Surely ye dinna want to remain here the rest of our lives. Ye’ll love Glenkirk, Flanna. And, ye’ll be free of yer da and brothers.”

  “Will ye let me refurbish yer castle so I may make it my own?” she boldly asked him.

  He chuckled, a warm and rich sound. “’Tis ye, madame, I think, who is the sly one. Aye, ye may hae yer way wi’ my coffers,” he answered her. His manhood was hard as iron, and if he didn’t plunge it into the hot velvet of her sheath soon, he would burst. She had, indeed, engaged his lust to the point where rapine was a possibility.

  “Kiss me, then, my lord, in token of yer pledge,” she whispered to him, sliding
her arms about his neck and drawing him forward so that her full breasts were crushed against his chest. “I will try nae to be afraid, and ye will go gently wi’ me.”

  His lips met hers in a scorching kiss, his mouth pressing hard against hers in an effort to divert her as his knee levered her thighs wide apart. They were both panting; he with desire, Flanna with her nervousness. She was not so deterred that she did not feel him position his manhood and push slowly, gently into her body. Her breath came faster as he filled her, and she remembered Una’s words.

  Lie quietly, and let him do all the work.

  But she couldn’t lie quietly. Her untutored body wanted to find his rhythm and move with him. When he stopped his forward movement, she was puzzled. “What is it?” she whispered to him.

  “’Twill hurt,” he said, and then before she might question him further, he drew back and then plunged deeply into her.

  Flanna cried out. Una’s voice rang in her head.

  It will hurt ye a bit when he goes into ye the first time, but ’tis a momentary discomfort.

  But this was no mere discomfort. She cried out again as he thrust once more, but this time he managed to break through whatever had been impeding his progress. Hot pain radiated up into her chest, making it almost impossible to draw a breath, and down into her thighs, making them seem leaden. He lay quietly now upon her, and gradually the hurt began to ease.

  “Ye’re a brave lass,” he murmured into her ear, and then he began to move upon her.

  She stiffened, bracing herself for further punishment, but to her surprise and relief there was none. Only the strong drive of his loins as he propelled his manhood within her hot sheath. She was suddenly caught up in the cadence of his rhythm. She began to move with him, and after a moment or two an odd heat began to infuse her body with such a honeyed sweetness she didn’t think she could bear it. “Ohh! Ahhh! Ahhhh, ’tis lovely,” she half sobbed.

  He groaned so loudly that she thought him injured, but he ceased his movement, stiffening, then shuddering. She felt the hardness within her dissolve and cried out softly with the loss. There had been some small pleasure after the pain. Una had been right. He rolled off of her, parting, and lay silent upon his back for a time. Flanna lay beside him, a sudden feeling of loss overwhelming her. She began to weep softly, and Patrick Leslie, astounded by the passionate lust she had aroused in him, gathered his bride into his arms.