Page 40 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
He grinned to himself. The women he’d enjoyed before had always moaned and sobbed beneath him—but most played a part to please him, or to earn themselves an extra coin.
Never before had a woman he’d pleasured utter with such frankness that his lovemaking waswonderful. And never before had he wanted a woman so badly to the exclusion of all others.
He lowered her skirts and wiped his hand on his plaid. Her eyes shimmered with disappointment. She curled her legs beneath her then stared out to the landscape outside, framed by the entrance of the hollow.
“D-didyounot like it?” she asked.
He pulled her against his chest, where he felt her heartbeat pulsing against his frame.
“On the contrary, lass,” he whispered. “Ye’re a goddess. I want nothing more than to worship ye with my body—on the floor of this cave, against the granite rocks of my homeland, and every night in my bed. But I cannot take ye now. I must wait and honor ye as ye deserve to be honored.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said, “the honorable thing. My clan places honor above all else.” He caressed her hair. “Vi et honore,” he whispered.
“What’s that?”
“Strength and honor. It’s our clan motto. Our mountain is called Beinn Urraim.”
“Beinn Urraim?”
“It means Mountain of Honor, lass,” he said. “Honor is the principle that’s guided me all my life. Loyalty to my clan is my reason to live—loyalty, and the woman I love.” He grinned. “Besides, yer mother and stepfather would never forgive me if I dishonored ye. They’d have my…”
“Your ballocks?” she said, with a giggle.
“Aye. And my ballocks don’t belong to yer parents. My ballocks—and every other part of me—are yours. If ye’ll take them.”
She stiffened.
“You mean…”
“Will ye consent to be my wife?”
Her eyes flared with joy, then clouded over with fear.
“Do ye not want me for a husband, Clara?”
“Oh, Ido,” she said. “B-but my past. It’s…”
“Yer past is of no consequence,” he said. “Whether ye’re the daughter of a king, the child of a pauper, or a changeling left on the moors by the faeries, it matters not. It’syeI want, Clara. I knew it from the moment I saw ye.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’m certain, lass. Nothing could stop me from wanting ye with every fiber of my soul. Will ye end my torment, and say that ye’ll return to my homeland and become my wife?”
For a moment she stared at him and his soul stilled in anticipation—and fear—of her answer.
Then she gave a shy smile, and nodded.
“Yes, Murdo Alastair James McTavish,” she said. “I’ll gladly be your wife.”
Chapter Eight
The sun hadslipped behind the horizon as Clara’s home came into view, a dark silhouette against the peach-colored sky.
She glanced at the man beside her—the huge Highlander who’d captured her heart. He squeezed her hand and ran his finger along the knot of grass he’d fashioned into a ring, a symbol of their union. Despite his huge hands, he possessed the dexterity to plait the blades of grass before securing the ring around her finger while kneeling before her.
He was a dexterous man indeed—her body still pulsed with pleasure at his ministrations.
