Taming the Highlander. Terri BrisbinЧитать онлайн книгу.
for a moment or risk humiliating himself by not being able to complete this duty, Connor pushed into her as far as he could and then slowly removed himself. Even knowing she was not enjoying this, he could not stop now. Finally after a few minutes, he felt his seed empty inside of her.
Out of breath from his exertions, he leaned over her for another minute or two until he could withdraw from her body. He wiped himself of the spent seed and her blood with the edge of the tunic he still wore and climbed from between her legs and off the bed. Gathering his plaid, he threw it over his shoulder leaving enough to cover the front and back of him, not taking the time needed to get it completely in place. He was only going to his chambers from here and no one would be in the corridor against his orders.
She lay unmoving in the large bed, her legs still spread apart until he touched her thigh while tugging the shift down over her. Her lips were clenched tightly together and her face was nearly as pale as the shift she still wore. All hints of the previous attractive blush were gone. The unexplainable and impossible urge to gather her close and soothe the hurt he had caused her was building within him, so he strode to the door of the room in three steps. Three very hurried steps.
He tried to speak but found his throat clogged with some emotion he chose not to try to identify. Clearing it, he spoke without looking back at her and with one hand on the latch.
“I will send Ailsa to you.”
“Nay,” she cried out, as she sat up, shaking her head at him. “Please send no one.”
“As you wish, my lady.” He nodded, accepting her words without asking any questions. Once in the hallway, he closed the door tightly and leaned his head against it.
Not certain what he was waiting for, Connor turned and left, deciding that he had much of the same strong wine awaiting him in his chambers that sat on the table within. He’d no sooner reached his chambers when the storm hit—bright flashes of lightning followed by loud crashes of thunder and torrents of rain poured from the skies over Lairig Dubh.
Somehow it felt right. He slammed the door behind him and found the jug where he’d ordered it left for him.
The door closed and she fell back on the bed, overwhelmed and exhausted by what had just happened between them. The hurried leave-taking and the grimace on his face told her of her failure without the need for words of recrimination.
Had she spoken Ewan’s name aloud? She thought not, but she’d repeated it over and over in her thoughts and in her heart to block out the identity of the man who truly claimed her body as his. When he ordered her to think on the pleasure, his voice and his face became Ewan in her thoughts. She imagined Ewan’s lips against hers and on her skin, suckling at her breasts, and his hands on her body, making her ache and throb as never before.
Only the piercing, burning pain had ruined the imaginary scene in her mind and the grim expression in her husband’s eyes as he plunged into her confirmed the truth—she belonged to him now and he was not pleased.
The place between her legs both ached and stung now and Jocelyn looked around the room to see what she could use to clean herself. Her robe lay on the floor where he’d dropped it so she picked it up as she made her way to the table near the hearth. As she took another step, wetness gushed down her legs. Without anything to use, she tore off the bottom of her shift and used it to wipe her legs of the blood and seed.
Realizing her shift was beyond saving, Jocelyn pulled it off over her head and dunked it into the jug of cold water on the table. Squeezing out most of the water, she washed herself as best she could, shivering as she did. Once clean, she rolled a piece of the shift up, soaked it in the water and then pressed it between her legs…there. Although a shocking feeling, it soothed the area and she repeated it a few times until the burning disappeared.
Finally, she slipped into the robe, wrapped it tightly around her and tied the belt to keep it in place. Jocelyn approached the bed and knew she could simply not climb back onto it. She would have to face it—and him—soon enough, but for now she wanted to avoid both, so she tugged the top blanket off and threw it aside. Then she pulled off three more blankets and two sheets and made her own pallet in front of the hearth. It would be warm enough for her and she would face the rest in the morning.
It was only later, when the storm raged outside and the sound of the winds and rain and thunder grew louder that she let out the emotions she’d been holding within her. The terror of being given to this man, the heartbreak of leaving her family and her one true love behind, and the hopelessness of her future all poured out of her even as the clouds poured their storming rains on the castle and keep.
Rolled in a cocoon of bed linens and exhausted by the physical and emotional price she’d paid for her brother’s safe release, Jocelyn drifted off to a sleep unbothered by the reality of her life now. And her dreams were filled with the face and the touch of the man she loved.
The darkness and warmth suited her, Jocelyn decided when she heard someone moving around her chambers. Tempted to lift the layers and layers of bed linens she’d wrapped around herself in the deepest, coldest part of the night, she remained still and kept her eyes shut tightly. She knew from the previous attempts to rise that her head would throb and the room would swirl uncontrollably and she would be forced to vomit again.
No, the dark and warmth and keeping her body still suited her just fine. But, the voice softly calling her name became more insistent.
“Lady? Lady Jocelyn? Are ye well?”
It was the old woman who’d assisted her in so many ways, but still, the aches and pain and unease in her belly tempted her to ignore the woman’s call.
“Lady? Should I seek out the laird?”
“Nay!” she called out, pushing the coverings aside. Spying Ailsa leaning her old, crooked frame over to nearly the floor to speak to her, Jocelyn shook her head and then paid the price she feared. She was fortunate that Ailsa was perceptive enough to recognize what was about to happen and grabbed the pot quickly.
It was some minutes before her stomach eased and she could lay back. Ailsa soothed her with soft words and a cool cloth to her brow.
“Lie back, lady. It will pass.”
“’Twas the wine,” she whispered, trying to explain to the servant.
“Spoiled?” The maid picked up the jug from next to her on the floor and sniffed at it suspiciously. Her decision was said with a shake of her head. “Smells fine to me, lady.” The woman turned the jug bottom up and not even a drop trickled out. “Mayhap the amount was the problem and not the quality?”
Jocelyn did not respond—there was no need. With the cloth back in place, the noise of the awakening keep seemed to recede. Ailsa coughed lightly, gaining her reluctant attention. There would be no way to stay here, cocooned away from everything, and everyone, that she wanted to avoid for the rest of her life.
“Lady, I called for a bath and it will arrive shortly. Mayhap I could help ye to the chair to wait for it?”
“I would rather stay where I am, Ailsa.”
The knock at the door told her that would not happen. Sliding the cloth from her face, she met the woman’s gaze for the first time. Old though the woman may be, Jocelyn had recognized Ailsa’s steel will at their initial encounter. Now, too worn out by the night before to resist, she accepted the hand held out to her and climbed to her knees and then to her feet. Her head complained with each move and her stomach felt as though it might rebel as well. Closing her eyes once more, she allowed the maid to guide her a few steps to the chair and sat down there.
As though she knew the effort it had taken her to manage even those few steps, the maid arranged the robe she wore over her lap and stepped away without saying a word. Jocelyn let her head tilt back and rest on the back of the chair. Ailsa’s gasp forced her to look.
The torn and bloodied chemise she’d left in the corner on the floor was now in Ailsa’s hands and a look of horror and piety filled her eyes. Jocelyn’s stomach twisted.
“Lady…”