poised above her, his shaft nudging at her, and looked straight into her eyes. Amber and gold his were, dark with wanting, and seeing her, looking right into her. Almost, she did not need any more than that, and then he entered her, and she realised how wrong she was as he pushed up, inside her, and up, and she clung to him.
He paused. They lay joined. Then she put her arms around him and kissed him fiercely, and they began the final ascent together. He thrust, she clung as he withdrew, opened as he thrust again, tilting up to open more, feeling the clenching tightness of her climax claim her. She tried to hold it but it took her over, and Fergus thrust through it, harder and faster now, making the same guttural noises as she, plunging into her, his shaft and his tongue, harder, riding the waves of her orgasm until he reached his own, pouring himself into her with a wild animal cry, and holding her, tight, tight, tight in every way against him.
Chapter Seven
Susanna bathed in a scullery off the kitchen, for by
the time it would take to carry the hot water up to her chamber, it would be
cold. Mrs MacDonald herself stood guard at the door. Not even Fergus was
permitted through, though she could hear him jokingly remonstrating as she lay
soaking in the scented tub. After he was gone, she heard him still in her head,
that guttural cry, the harshness of his breathing, the memory of it making her
soap-filled hands linger on her breasts and between her thighs.
Dressed for Hogmanay, she wore an evening gown of crimson silk
with jet beadwork around the hem. Her long kid gloves left only the tiniest gap
of flesh between their ending and the little puff sleeves of her gown. She was
putting a simple locket around her neck when Fergus arrived in her dressing room
resplendent in his plaid, his face freshly shaved, his hair tied neatly
back.
‘You look very lairdly,’ she told him, striving for a lightness
of tone she did not feel. She felt sick to her stomach at the very thought of
the pending ordeal. She did not want to deny him. They would hate her for it,
all these people she had come to like and respect. They would see it as a
betrayal. It felt like a betrayal. Her fingers were icy inside her gloves as she
placed them on Fergus’s arm.
‘You look very lovely,’ Fergus said.
He kissed her on the cheek. A cold wee kiss it was, as if he
was afraid to do more. Though more likely, he was simply falling into his role
of spurned lover. She did not want to spurn him. Too late, as they made their
way down the grand staircase, Susanna realised that it was already over. Their
goodbyes had not been said, but there would be no more private moments, no more
sharing of the big four poster bed with the bundling board, once their betrothal
was ended. She panicked. She wasn’t ready. ‘Fergus…’
But he mistook her meaning, and gave her a reassuring and
distant little pat. ‘Don’t fear, you’ll be fine.’
His face was set. Remote. He had already moved on, away, past
this fake betrothal, to the time after. For Fergus, their lovemaking had been
exactly what she had said it was, a farewell present. And for her—for her— What
had it been for her?
The sweeping out of the old year through the huge front door of
the castle was just one of the many things which were part of the Highland
Hogmanay. Susanna watched and smiled a frozen smile and struggled with the
growing conviction that something was horribly, terribly wrong. The faerie pool
had shown her Fergus as her heart’s desire. She thought that making love to him
would put an end to that, but it seemed to have had quite the opposite effect.
She did not, could not possibly want to risk her true heart’s desire, her
freedom, her independence, to take a chance on a man she had known a few short
weeks, but she wasn’t sure she could leave him.
She couldn’t. She couldn’t go through with it. But as the clock
ticked closer to midnight, and Fergus seemed to grow more and more
He paused. They lay joined. Then she put her arms around him and kissed him fiercely, and they began the final ascent together. He thrust, she clung as he withdrew, opened as he thrust again, tilting up to open more, feeling the clenching tightness of her climax claim her. She tried to hold it but it took her over, and Fergus thrust through it, harder and faster now, making the same guttural noises as she, plunging into her, his shaft and his tongue, harder, riding the waves of her orgasm until he reached his own, pouring himself into her with a wild animal cry, and holding her, tight, tight, tight in every way against him.
Chapter Seven
Susanna bathed in a scullery off the kitchen, for by
the time it would take to carry the hot water up to her chamber, it would be
cold. Mrs MacDonald herself stood guard at the door. Not even Fergus was
permitted through, though she could hear him jokingly remonstrating as she lay
soaking in the scented tub. After he was gone, she heard him still in her head,
that guttural cry, the harshness of his breathing, the memory of it making her
soap-filled hands linger on her breasts and between her thighs.
Dressed for Hogmanay, she wore an evening gown of crimson silk
with jet beadwork around the hem. Her long kid gloves left only the tiniest gap
of flesh between their ending and the little puff sleeves of her gown. She was
putting a simple locket around her neck when Fergus arrived in her dressing room
resplendent in his plaid, his face freshly shaved, his hair tied neatly
back.
‘You look very lairdly,’ she told him, striving for a lightness
of tone she did not feel. She felt sick to her stomach at the very thought of
the pending ordeal. She did not want to deny him. They would hate her for it,
all these people she had come to like and respect. They would see it as a
betrayal. It felt like a betrayal. Her fingers were icy inside her gloves as she
placed them on Fergus’s arm.
‘You look very lovely,’ Fergus said.
He kissed her on the cheek. A cold wee kiss it was, as if he
was afraid to do more. Though more likely, he was simply falling into his role
of spurned lover. She did not want to spurn him. Too late, as they made their
way down the grand staircase, Susanna realised that it was already over. Their
goodbyes had not been said, but there would be no more private moments, no more
sharing of the big four poster bed with the bundling board, once their betrothal
was ended. She panicked. She wasn’t ready. ‘Fergus…’
But he mistook her meaning, and gave her a reassuring and
distant little pat. ‘Don’t fear, you’ll be fine.’
His face was set. Remote. He had already moved on, away, past
this fake betrothal, to the time after. For Fergus, their lovemaking had been
exactly what she had said it was, a farewell present. And for her—for her— What
had it been for her?
The sweeping out of the old year through the huge front door of
the castle was just one of the many things which were part of the Highland
Hogmanay. Susanna watched and smiled a frozen smile and struggled with the
growing conviction that something was horribly, terribly wrong. The faerie pool
had shown her Fergus as her heart’s desire. She thought that making love to him
would put an end to that, but it seemed to have had quite the opposite effect.
She did not, could not possibly want to risk her true heart’s desire, her
freedom, her independence, to take a chance on a man she had known a few short
weeks, but she wasn’t sure she could leave him.
She couldn’t. She couldn’t go through with it. But as the clock
ticked closer to midnight, and Fergus seemed to grow more and more
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