Page 64 of The Rogue's Bride
Alasdair reached out, entwining his fingers with hers. His touch made Caitrin’s breathing quicken. She felt as if she’d only just had a taste of him the night before last. It wasn’t enough. They had not lain together since and already it seemed like an eternity. She ached for him. Caitrin watched Alasdair’s pupils dilate and knew that he’d been affected by the touch the same way.
“I have my faults, Caitrin,” he continued, before his mouth twisted into a self-recriminating smile. “More than I’d like to admit … but I’ll never ignore ye … never frighten ye. I’d do anything in my power to make ye happy.”
Caitrin held his gaze, a lump rising in her throat. Something deep inside her breast—something that had been tightly knotted ever since she’d wedded Baltair—unraveled.
“Ye already have,” she whispered.
Caitrin collapsed upon the bed with Alasdair. There, they lay spooned together, panting and sweat-slicked, his arms fast around her. A soft sigh escaped Caitrin. Her body felt weak and boneless, her senses completely scattered. She enjoyed the sensation, and the abandon that had caused it.
They’d been hungry for each other.
The handfasting feast had seemed to go on for an age, after which there had been dancing. Eventually, they’d been able to take their leave, although not without fanfare.
Much to the delight of onlookers, Alasdair had scooped Caitrin into his arms and carried her from the Great Hall. Face flaming from the men’s bawdy comments and laughter, Caitrin had huddled against Alasdair’s chest.
However, once they’d reached the chamber where they would spend their first night as man and wife, her embarrassment faded.
They’d come together like beasts, tearing off each other’s clothes, before Alasdair pushed her down on all fours on the bed and took her.
“I liked that,” she murmured when her breathing had slowed.
“Me too,” he replied sleepily, placing a kiss on her shoulder.
“The effect ye have on me, Alasdair … ye only have to touch my hand and my whole body answers.”
He kissed her shoulder once more, trailing his lips up to her earlobe. Caitrin’s eyelids fluttered with pleasure as his tongue explored the shell of her ear. “It’s the same for me,” he whispered back.
Alasdair’s arms tightened around her. Caitrin felt his body relax against hers, his leg slung over her hips protectively. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of his body curled against hers. Alasdair’s breathing grew slow and even, and she realized that he’d fallen asleep. A heavy languor pressed down upon her too.
Outside, she could still hear the hiss of the rain. She didn’t care about the gloomy weather though, or that they would have to set off for Duntulm in it the following morning. Soon she would be reunited with Eoghan, but right now she was wrapped in her husband’s arms.
A soft smile curved Caitrin’s lips. At this moment, she was exactly where she wanted to be.
Rhona watched her sister ride out of the bailey. Caitrin sat astride a grey palfrey, a delicate mare with a mincing gait. She rode alongside her husband, Alasdair MacDonald. He towered above her upon a bay courser. A grey wolf hound loped along beside his horse, its gaze keen.
“Isn’t that Adaira’s dog … Dùnglas?” Rhona asked, glancing at where Taran stood beside her.
“Aye,” he replied with a smile.
“Why is he he leaving with MacDonald?”
“Dùnglas took a shine to Alasdair … I thought the hound would be happier elsewhere.”
Rhona favored her husband with an incredulous look, before she shifted her attention back to the departing riders. A light rain fell this morning, and the clouds hung low over Dunvegan. All of the MacDonald party wore woolen traveling cloaks and had pulled up their hoods.
As she descended the incline toward the Sea-gate, Caitrin turned, her gaze catching Rhona’s. She then smiled and raised her hand in farewell. Rhona waved back, her vision misting.
Caitrin turned away, and a moment later she disappeared through the gate. Shortly after, the rest of the party from Duntulm followed, the clip-clop of their horses’ hooves ringing against wet stone.
“Don’t look so worried, love. She will be fine.”
Rhona swallowed before glancing up at Taran. He was watching her, a soft look in his eyes. “Really,” she said huskily. “Can ye be sure of that?”
“No … but ye can’t be certain she’ll be miserable either.”
Rhona huffed. “I thought ye didn’t like him?”
“I hardly know the man,” Taran replied evenly, “but now that he has done right by yer sister, I’m prepared to revise my opinion of him.”
