Moon Craving

Chapter 8

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.

She wanted to urge his hips forward with her hold on his backside, but when she tried, he did not move. His stubborn strength spoke a silent message of control that both frustrated and delighted her.

His possession of her mouth did not abate and his body moved over hers while she writhed under his weight.

But none of it was enough.

And yet, it was almost too much. She wanted more. She wanted to stop. Her mind warred with her body while her heart sang a song she tried to tune out. One thing they all agreed on: she craved deeper connection. And yet the connection she felt already scared her stupid.

She tried not to think as she moved her hands up his body and then traced the lines of his face with her fingertips. It was an intimacy as profound as the feel of his hardened male flesh pressing like a stone against her thigh.

At the first soft brush of her fingertips along his jaw, Talorc’s body went rigid with the need to claim Abigail fully. He did not understand why that simple touch acted as such a siren’s call to his feral nature when a similar caress along his flank had only fed the fire of his sexual need. It had not turned his desire into an inferno he was in danger of not controlling.

However, control it he must.

He would not hurt his sweet wife. Despite his wolf’s nature, he was no beast to take what he wanted without thought or consideration. The Chrechte were not animals, but humans with the enhancement of animal natures. Nevertheless, it was easier to mate in kind. Humans were often too weak to face a Chrechte’s full passion.

Abigail was more gentle than most, definitely too gentle for his wolf, but she responded to him blithely oblivious to her peril. She touched him with wanton carnality he would never have believed a gently bred Englishwoman capable of. While he could not read her thoughts, she broadcast her need with every move of her small, silky body.

And she kissed with the hunger of a Chrechte woman claiming her mate.

As soon as the thought formed, he banished it with an angry growl. For all that she looked like an angel right out of Heaven, she was human. She had been born and raised English. She was not his mate, but she was his wife.

This night their bodies would consummate that truth.

He grabbed both her wrists and placed them by her head. “Keep them there.”

Her soft brown gaze was dark with desire, and she dared shake her head at him.

“Obey me.”

This time it was her eyes that spoke denial, though her lips remained immobile.

“I mean it.” He caressed her wrists with his thumbs. “Your hands are to remain in this exact position.”

Her sensuous, bow-shaped lips twisted in mutiny. “I would touch.”

“Your touch incites my lust, angel.”

“Is that wrong?” She paused, looking at him with an unfathomable expression. “Between a husband and wife?”

“If it is the wife’s first time to hold him within her body, it is dangerous. I would not hurt you.”

“I know you will not.” Again a pause as if she searched for words. “At least not more than necessary. Some pain is inevitable.”

He wished he could deny it, but she spoke truth. Nevertheless, there was a difference between carefully breaking her maidenhead and rutting on her like a beast. Which he was in danger of doing if he did not maintain control. “Obey me,” he repeated.

“What will you do if I do not?”

He could not believe his shy wife had the temerity to ask that question. He glared down at her, his passion making him more ferocious. “I will assure compliance.”

She licked her lips, her eyes dilating with increased arousal, but she did not reply.

There was no need. Her reaction was as clear as his favorite loch. His angel liked the idea!

Without thought, he stretched her hands above her head and grasped both small wrists together with his left hand. His wolf howled in approval while Abigail gasped and then moaned, her eyelids dropping to half-mast.

He spent no time wondering why they should both enjoy him mastering her in this way so much. He was a warrior, not a philosopher. He knew only that the delicate bones of her wrists felt all too right in the grasp of his hand.

He lowered his head and kissed her again. Within seconds she was writhing as before, only with utter abandon. The movement of her pelvis would have thrown him off her body if he was not so strong. And yet he knew that was not her intention.

If the glazed expression on her beautiful heart-shaped face was any indication, she was not thinking at all. Certainly not enough to have conscious intentions.

Her instinctual responses were devastating enough. She spread her legs just enough to make the invitation clear, and yet, he was sure she was unaware of extending the offer. He rolled off her to lie on his side. Keeping grasp of her wrists, the position still left him the freedom he needed to touch her body and make her ready for the physical claiming.

She mewled at the loss of his weight and began to thrash her legs, undulating her body in beautiful, abandoned need. He had to throw one thigh over hers to keep her in place beside him.

Then he set about ensuring her arousal reached a fever pitch through which she would be only marginally aware of the pain that breaching her maidenhead would inevitably cause. He kneaded her breasts, teasing her nipples until she cried out in mindless desire.

He had touched every inch of her silken skin in the hot springs and he wanted to do so again, but both their need called out to him with too much urgency. He allowed his hand to slide down to the juncture of her thighs, sliding his middle finger between her swollen, wet labia.

He had not breached her vaginal opening beyond a fingertip during his nightly explorations of her body in their tent, but now he allowed himself to press deeper. He stopped only when he felt the supple barrier of her virginity.

She made a small, pained sound and he comforted her with small tender kisses on her face and neck. He whispered promises and compliments she did not respond to. The part of his brain that still functioned on a fully human level was grateful she was so lost to her desire she wasn’t making sense of his words.

He would feel like an idiot later for saying them otherwise.

He did not pull his finger out, but massaged the thin barrier inside her body, that which proved she had not played love games as he heard many in the English Court indulged in. He had been told that the English Court actually revered love between parties married or promised to others as some sort of romantic ideal.

Both he and his wolf found the concept utterly distasteful.

And his beautiful, sensual bride was clearly not a practicing participant in such ludicrous games. She was wholly innocent and deserving of all his consideration for their first claiming.

With that thought in mind, he brushed his thumb over the nub of her pleasure. Her body jolted and he smiled to himself. He continued his ministrations, massaging her maidenhead in preparation to breaching it and her clitoris in preparation to her pleasure.

Only when his angel begged for more with both her body and broken little words barely whispered past her parted lips, did he move over her and fit his cock to her opening. He slid inside a mere inch, causing himself untold pleasure and her a level of shock.

“You are inside me.” Awe laced each syllable.

He thrust gently with his hips, both he and his wolf working together to control the urge to take her quickly and without remorse. “I will be so deep inside you—”

“You will touch my soul,” she completed and then tears spilled over her eyes.

Her body did not speak of pain; his wolf senses confirmed she was not in distress. The tears were some women’s reaction to the claiming.

Even so, he asked, “You are well, angel?”

“In this moment, I am complete.”

She wasn’t, not yet, but he did not contradict her. Soon, she would understand. And then she would probably cry some more. Women. But so long as it was not from pain, he would tolerate her feminine emotionalism.

He pushed deeper and his head met the barrier of her innocence.

She stared up at him as if waiting for him to force himself through, but he had a better plan. He arched his hips so that he could get his free hand between their bodies. While he remained in stillness poised at her virgin’s barrier, he caressed her clitoris with his thumb.

She whispered his name as her breathing grew even more ragged. He had not brought her to climax, but he had spent two nights teaching her body to crave the pinnacle of pleasure. It reached for it now, straining against him, and only as he felt the convulsion that signaled her orgasm did he surge forward to embed himself fully in her body.

His own cried out for movement, but he was a Chrechte warrior, not a callow youth to undo the careful preparation for this moment.

He allowed her to ride out both the pain and pleasure before he began to move. He could seek his own completion, and if he allowed himself, probably come with a couple of well-delivered strokes, but he wanted more.

He swiveled his hips on each downward thrust, and she gasped with obvious pleasure. He held himself with rigid control, building her pleasure again until he felt her body once again tightening around him. He allowed himself release as she screamed his name and came a second time.

Abigail woke with a residual soreness between her legs. No doubt it would be much worse if Talorc had not taken such care with her. He had made the consummation of their marriage incredibly special, but he had not stopped his ministrations there.

He had carried her to the bathing pool and washed her body with gentle hands while she dozed in his arms. She had been so exhausted. She did not know how long they soaked in the hot springs, but she could remember snuggling into his arms in sleep at some point.

She had woken alone though. Just as she had each morning of her marriage thus far. Her clothing was folded neatly on the edge of the furs. There was food to break her fast with there as well. She took her time eating, then combing her hair and finally doing her own pleats on her plaid when Talorc did not show up to help her.

When she came out of the cave it was to find Niall, not her husband, waiting for her.

She tamped down her disappointment and the embarrassment she hadn’t been smart enough to feel the night before to ask, “Where is your laird?”

“He is your laird, too, lady.”

“He is my husband.”

Niall smiled, causing the only other soldier nearby to wince. Abigail ignored him and returned the big warrior’s expression.

Niall crossed his arms, making the muscles of his biceps bulge. “Talorc hunts.”

“I thought we would ride to the keep today?”

“He said we are to spend at least one more night here.”

“But . . . why?”

“He is laird. He need not explain why.” Which simply said Niall did not know.

She thought so anyway; maybe the warrior did know and didn’t want to share. “And he’s hunting right now?”

“Aye.”

She looked over the clearing where four horses fed, her husband’s dark stallion, the horse she had seen Niall ride, one she assumed the other soldier rode and the mare she had ridden for part of the journey—when she was not sharing a steed with her new husband. “He is hunting without his horse?”

“Aye.”

“Is that common?”

Niall shrugged, but then surprised her by adding, “Sometimes Talorc prefers to hunt completely alone.”

“What of the other clansmen? They are with him, aren’t they?”

“They are hunting, but not with their laird.”

“Oh.” She didn’t understand it but merely added the instance to the growing list of things these strange Highlanders did and said that made little sense to her. “I see. Why aren’t you hunting?”

“I am guarding you.”

“Oh.” She said again, when nothing more fitting came to her. Then she shrugged. She could not expect Talorc to dance attendance on her. And honestly, the less time she spent in his company, the less chance he would have to learn her secret. “Can you guard me on a walk? We have spent so much time riding, I crave the exercise of stretching my legs.”

“If that is your wish.”

“It is.”

So, they walked and she asked Niall questions about what she should expect once they reached the clan.

He shrugged. “The Sinclairs have little love for the English. I fear your sister did not enjoy her short stay among us.”

“She called Talorc a goat.”

“Aye. It did not endear her to our people.” Though Niall seemed more amused than offended by Emily’s behavior.

“Will they judge me as harshly?”

“Some will, but most will accept you because you are their laird’s wife.”

“Wasn’t Emily his fiancée?”

“He showed no desire or intention to follow through on the marriage. His followers acted accordingly.”

“But he and I are married.”

“Aye. He calls you his. It will make a difference for many.”

But not all. The big warrior might as well have shouted the unspoken caveat.

Niall let out a deep sigh that surprised her, but his words shocked her even more. “I do not want your feelings to be hurt.”

“Um . . . thank you.”

He laughed. She couldn’t hear the sound, but recognized the expression coupled with the movement in his Adam’s apple. “You do not understand my concern for you.”

She shook her head. She didn’t. Her own mother had not cared if Abigail found acceptance in the Highlands, why should this battle-scarred warrior? She asked him as much.

“You are good for Talorc. You two are connected in ways neither of you are ready to acknowledge.”

It was her turn to laugh. “I believe you are a romantic, big, fierce Niall.”

He merely shrugged.

But she grinned, knowing she was right. “So, is there a maiden who awaits your return?”

“Many, but none who have claim to do so.” A strange expression took his features, a mixture of sadness and yearning.

Abigail’s heart twisted at the sight. “There is one you wished did.”

Again, that annoying, enigmatic shrug. But she saw the truth in his eyes. She was right. He was pining. She wished she knew how to help him, but she did not imagine he would welcome the interference of a deaf Englishwoman into his love life.

“So, tell me about your family,” she said.

“There is just me and my brother Barr now. Sean died in the battle that left me this.” He indicated his scar. “And our father in the battle that took our previous laird.”

“What of your mother?”

“She died birthing Barr and I. Two babies at once were too much for her human nature.”

What an odd way to put it. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Growing up without a mother must have been difficult.”

“Easier than growing up with that harpy that gave you birth, I’d say.”

“She was not always so cruel. I . . .” Abigail bit her lip and fought the urge to tell the truth. Despite her years of practice at hiding her affliction, lying did not sit well with her. “I disappointed her.”

“Then she is a fool.”

Abigail wanted to believe that was true. “Talorc’s former second-in-command was your brother?” she asked by way of changing the subject. “Is it a family position or something?”

“Our families have been close for generations. Sean was the eldest, so he was the first to be chosen as beta, I mean second to our laird.”

“And now your brother Barr holds his position.”

“He’s a fine warrior,” Niall said with evident pride.

“I’m sure he is. For Talorc to choose him over you, he must be incredible.”

Niall’s face took on a ruddy hue, and Abigail had to bite back the urge to laugh again. She did not want to offend the man. After all, her praise had already obviously embarrassed him.

“I do not want the responsibility. Being second to our laird requires more than great skills as a warrior; it needs diplomacy.” He said the last word with a distasteful grimace that left no doubt what he thought of that element to his brother’s position. “I would rather knock heads together than help disgruntled clanspeople reach a compromise.”

If he’d said “diplomacy” with a marked lack of enthusiasm, Niall made it clear that the word compromise left a foul taste in his mouth indeed.

This time she did laugh and was happy to see that Niall joined her.

Her laughter dried up as a huge gray wolf stepped into their path. Beside her, Niall jerked as if surprised. Who wouldn’t be, to see a wild predator so close?

The wolf stepped closer and Abigail went rigid with fear.

The beast inhaled as if sniffing her and then raised his head and released a mournful howl. Then he barked. And if it wouldn’t have meant she’d gone mad, she would have said he was trying to talk to her. A wolf.

“You need not fear, he will not hurt you,” Niall spoke from beside her.

Funny, but she would have expected the big warrior to put his body between hers and the danger. Not that one of her father’s soldiers would, but she had a different place in the Sinclair clan. Or at least, she thought she did. Perhaps they would be just as pleased to be rid of her by whatever means as her mother had been.

Abigail’s eyes burned with tears, and no matter that she furiously blinked in an attempt to make them go away, one spilled over, burning a trail down her cheek.

The wolf whined and then barked at Niall, a clear growl of warning issuing from deep in the animal’s chest.

“I am not the one causing her distress,” Niall said, as if talking to a wolf was the most natural thing in the world.

Perhaps for the uncivilized Scottish warriors, it was.

The huge gray wolf barked once more and then turned and ran away, disappearing into the forest as if it had never been there.

Abigail wanted to turn away from Niall, to take time to collect herself. But as was so often the case, she had no choice but to look at him in case he spoke to her.

Eyes a shade lighter than the wolf’s coat studied her. “Are you all right?”

“He didn’t attack,” she observed, rather than answer with a lie. “Why?”

“He had no desire to harm you. In fact, I think you hurt his feelings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She was in no mood for some strange soldier’s jesting.

“I am not.” Indeed, Niall looked all too serious. “Didn’t you hear his sad howl and the way he whined?”

“I suppose he wanted me to pet him.”

“Aye. Most likely.”

“And get my hand bitten off?” Abigail shivered. “I don’t think so.”

“He would not have bitten you.”

“How can you possibly sound so certain?”

“I know that wolf.”

She shook her head but believed him regardless. “You’re serious. That’s why you did not get between me and the animal.”

“If I had tried to touch you or stand between you, then things might have gotten ugly.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Yet it is true.”

“Are you trying to convince me that Scottish wolves are so different from those found in the wilds of England?”

“Some. That wolf, yes.”

“I will take your word for it.”

“So, you do not wish to meet the gray wolf again?”

“No.” But even as she denied the desire, she wasn’t sure she spoke true. “Perhaps, if I could see him and know he would not hurt me. He was beautiful.”

Niall nodded, as if satisfied by her answer, though she couldn’t imagine why it should matter to him.

By the time the hunters who had ridden their horses returned in the early afternoon along with game for the roasting fire, she and Niall had established the beginnings of a true friendship.

Abigail insisted on helping to prepare the rabbits for the spit. Then she implored the soldiers to hunt again, this time for wild vegetables and berries to eat with the game at the evening meal.