Page 68 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
She shook her head, and tears welled in her eyes.
“Aye,” he whispered. “I’ll wager the men ye tended to only thought of their pleasure.”
“The men I’vewhat?”
But he shifted position, and she caught her breath as she felt his hardness against her thigh.
“Ye’reminenow, lass.”
He thrust forward, and she cried out at a deep pinch of pain.
“That’s it, lass. Take all of me.”
She clung to him, trembling while the pain subsided. Then he withdrew, slowly, and pushed himself in again. A spark of pleasure flared as he withdrew once more, then slipped inside her again, forming a slow rhythm, his breath caressingher cheek. Pleasure replaced the pain as he seemed to swell inside her, filling and stretching her body with an unfathomable deliciousness.
“Oh, lass…” he said, his breath coming in short, sharp puffs, “the way yer body grips mine… How did ye learn to dothat? Ye’re a glorious creature—so tight, so sweet—I could die from it!”
He quickened the pace, and the pleasure swelled, then Clara tilted her head back and cried out as a wave of ecstasy tore through her.
He continued to thrust, the pace growing frenzied, until he gave a shout and fell forward, drawing her into his arms while her body flooded with heat. He continued to thrust weakly, then grew still, his heartbeat pulsing thickly against her bare skin.
“My wife…” he murmured. His body rose and fell in a deep sigh, then his breathing grew even, settling into the rhythm of sleep.
Her body still pulsed faintly where the inferno settled into a delicious heat.
Was this what it was like, what a man and woman did together? Was that why men and women cast themselves into ruination for a taste of such pleasure, why women such as her mother were exploited to satisfy the men who purchased her for a coin?
Men such as Murdo’s father?
Had she surrendered her freedom merely to satisfy her base needs?
A wave of shame engulfed her. She tried to move, but his huge body pinned her to the bed. She lay back, fighting her self-loathing at how much her body relished the feel of him on top of her—still inside her. At length, she surrendered to the comfort and safety of his arms, and sleep claimed her.
When Clara woke,the warm glow of the fireplace had gone, replaced by the cool light of the dawn.
She lay cocooned in a fur, her husband beside her, his chest rising and falling with each breath. In his sleep he looked younger, carefree, an expression of serenity on his face. She sat up and stretched, and he stirred.
“Mmm, Clara…” he murmured, then he rolled onto his back and gave a deep sigh, before his breathing steadied once more.
She slipped out of bed and tried to take the fur with her, but it was trapped beneath her husband’s body. Abandoning it, she padded across the floor, wincing at the cold stone against her bare feet. A dull ache throbbed between her legs, and her thighs were sticky and slick.
She reached down and grimaced as she saw a smear of red on her fingertips. Her monthly flow must have come early.
But whom could she ask to tend to her? Certainly not her husband. Mama said such a subject was not for a man’s ears.
A breeze rippled through the air and she shivered. None of her shawls would be warm enough. But a blanket was draped over the back of a chair, in the colors to match her husband’s plaid—scarlet and blue, contrasting against dark brown. She draped it over her shoulders and tiptoed out of the chamber.
The castle was quiet, hardly a sound apart from snoring coming from behind one door. She made her way to the staircase and descended, her footsteps echoing against the stone floor.
As she reached the ground floor, she heard sobbing, then caught sight of one of the maidservants—Marsaili, was it?—limping along the hallway. Another woman approached her and Clara recognized the housekeeper. She shushed the girl, then steered her away. When their voices faded, Clara slipped outsidethrough the main doors, flinching as they creaked open, and made her way around the side of the building, seeking cover, where none of the windows—great black eyes embedded in the walls—could stare at her with disapproval.
The rush of the wind in the trees filled the air, together with the distant cry of birds—and an irregular thudding.
Perhaps the footsteps of far-off giants.
Then she shook her head. What nonsense! She was no longer a fanciful child. She was a wife, subservient to the man who owned her, and his family who despised her.
What the devil was she doing here?
