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 verra 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,
