Page 77 of The Dark Wolf's Deliverance

‘Oh, Conall, I want you so much,’ she breathed, raking his back with her nails and wrapping her legs about him. ‘I can’t wait. Please just do it.’

He didn’t need convincing. Having only seen her by the light of the fire, he was stunned at how lovely she was in the afternoon light, all creamy skin, slender legs, nipples peachy and tight atop pert breasts and oh, that soft, pale triangle between her legs which begged to be stroked. But it was the light in her glorious blue eyes that tipped him over the edge. There was love there and a burning passion too, and so he pushed her down and spread her legs. When he entered her steadily, she gave a little moan and clung to him, so he hesitated.

‘I’m hurting you.’

‘No, no,’ she gasped. ‘Don’t you dare stop, Conall Campbell. I will die if I don’t have you.’

He slid further into her, and she was so warm and tight, and it felt so right and so wrong all at the same time that he had an ache in his heart and his loins. As he moved against her, Kenna matched him, every kiss, every caress, every surge of passion. She was wilder, more lovely than he’d ever dreamed she would be, and Conall wanted to cry with joy. And that was when he said it.

‘I love you, Kenna. I love you.’

‘Oh, oh,’ she cried, and her body stiffened, and her nails dug into him, head thrown back, mouth open and panting. Conall grabbed her bottom, holding her hard against him, devouring her mouth, his tongue and his cock deep inside her. As he reached his peak and cried out, she pressed herself against his cock greedily, still feeling the aftermath of her ecstasy.

When their breathing slowed, and he raised his head to look at her, Kenna smiled up at him, face flushed, eyes glowing and said, ‘That was lovely. Please can we spend the rest of our lives doing that over and over and over again.’

***

Kenna woke to the dawn and the glorious sight to Conall, flat on his back, hand above his head, clutching the pillow in a tight fist. Did he never relax, even in sleep?

She raised herself up on her elbow and gently leaned over to place a kiss just where she imagined his heart beating. It was so fast it startled her, but suddenly Conall rolled on top of her, crushing her into the bed, his leg between hers, laying her open for him. He traced his finger over her full bottom lip, so slowly, and the way he looked at her, that deep glaring look of his, black eyes penetrating, it was as if he was entering her, violating her. His thumb entered her mouth, brushing against her teeth and her tongue found it.

Conall moaned, deep and rough. ‘You really shouldn’t have done that.’ Then he was in her, taking her with no restraint, quickly, savagely, wonderfully. He hadn’t been like this with her last night, this savage passion, this desperate ecstasy. It frightened and aroused her, for she had no defence against him anymore. Not reason, nor pride, nor birthright. Would they tear each other apart with the ferocity of their need for each other and this love, this passion? Would it all glow too hot and burn out as quickly as it had come? Perhaps she was a fool, and she was his ruin, and he was hers. But what did all that matter, for she had him, this glorious man, in the prime of his youth and beauty, and she would steal what happiness she could? She had no defence because she loved Conall Campbell with all her heart, come ruin or damnation, and all she could do was gasp his name and let the mad futility of her feelings carry her away.

‘You have a devil in your soul, Conall,’ she said a good deal later, as she lay on his chest, with the sun well up and warming her naked back.

‘Aye, but that’s the part of me you like the most.’ He kissed her hard and grabbed her bottom in a hot hand. ‘Kenna, you’ve the juiciest little arse in the whole of the Highlands.’ He leant over and sank his teeth into it.

Kenna squealed and hit him hard in the face with a pillow. He grabbed it and sat up against the wall at the top of the bed.

‘It’s funny, Kenna.’

‘What is?’

‘You have a devil in you, Conall,’ he said in the shrill voice of a fishwife. ‘My mother is fond of saying that to me, though I have deserved it over the years, for I’ve given her no end of trouble. And that old windbag Father Boyle, he says the same, that I am like my grandfather Fergus and believe me, he was not the best of men. What is that saying? Bad blood will out. Father Boyle is overly fond of telling me that one too. Those that don’t say it, they think it, I am sure.’

‘What was your grandfather like?’

‘Bad Kenna, so very bad. They say he was handsome in his youth, the younger son of two. But unlike my dear departed great-uncle Hugh, who was a vicious bastard, but clever, able to cover his tracks, Fergus tended to be more direct. By the time he was thirteen, he had blinded a boy in a fight, punched so hard that he buried the eyeball in the skull. At my age, he had already killed several men in drunken brawls that got out of hand, and there wasn’t a lowborn girl for miles who he hadn’t interfered with. If he got in an argument, he would take a knife and end a man. It happened so often it got to the point where my great-grandfather refused to buy off his victims’ families anymore.’

Kenna frowned at Conall’s revelations.

‘Fergus liked to fight and gamble and whore,’ continued Conall. ‘He sought only his own gratification out of life, willing to sell a friend to an enemy if it lined his pockets and suited his purpose. His father issued him with an ultimatum - mend your ways or lose the estate you should inherit. It will go to your brother instead. So a worthy bride was sought in an effort to help him settle down.’

‘And did he find one?’

‘Not exactly. His bride, Eithne, was to be his beautiful enticement into a life free of sin. Her clan was impoverished, and so she was sold into marriage to Fergus, like a slave. It seemed Fergus had found some luck, for he was utterly smitten with her. She could have been the making of him. But she did not want his love nor the marriage, and after she gave him an heir, my father, that is, she began to reject him. I think it was at that point, or so Rory says, that his real nature took hold and refused to let go, and he descended into darkness.’

‘What happened?’

‘His marriage was all but over. It had become a swamp of bitterness and mistrust. Fergus turned from Eithne’s coldness to the comfort of whores and whisky, and she, in turn, took her indifference and dislike and let it grow into hate. Anger took hold after she refused to lie with him, and he would get drunk and violent and force her, then shame would send him to the bottom of a whisky glass and on and on it went. By the time she found salvation, running off with another man, leaving behind my father, who was but a lad, Fergus was already dying of drink and disappointment. It had affected his mind, and his family had washed their hands of him. They say that, at the end, he would round up dogs and amuse himself by throwing them from the castle walls.’

‘Oh God, that’s awful. Why are you telling me this?’

‘I feel I should be honest with you, Kenna. I have fell blood pumping around my veins. If I am like him, if blood will out, then I am a bad lot. So Kenna, now you know that us Campbells are not as grand or worthy as you think.’

‘What I think, Conall, is that our actions define our character, not our ancestors.’

‘So my father would say, as he urges me to be honourable and worthy. I feel as though my whole life is already decided for me. I feel the weight of his expectations pressing on me every day. He thinks me wild and foolish, without honour. But I am more than people think I am, Kenna.’

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