Highland Wedding by Hannah Howell Page B

nipple. Islaen’s hands jerked up to grasp his shoulders in a natural reaction to the shaft of desire that careened through her. That action pulled them free of the light shift which quickly joined the houppelande at her feet. Diverted for an instant, Iain’s gaze moved over her in pure white hot greed. He was swamped with desire as he noted her tiny waist, slim gently rounded hips, slender well-formed legs and the wine red triangle at the juncture of her beautiful thighs. His hands gripped her small waist and he tugged her closer.
    “M’God, Islaen,” he groaned before his mouth closed over the beckoning tip of one full breast.
    Islaen’s knees buckled as waves of pleasure melted her. She made no sound as he tossed her down on the bed and partly covered her body with his own. He kissed her hungrily, his tongue ravishing her untried mouth. The hair upon his chest further excited her breasts while his hands searched out every curve and hollow. Her hands moved over his back feeling the tensed muscles as she fell beneath the power of his fierce uncontrollable passion. A flicker of sanity came when she felt him probing for entry but it did not gain strength fast enough to stop him. Crying out softly, she gave him her innocence. In payment he gave her ecstasy, swiftly taking her to the heights where he mether in the delirious fall into desire’s abyss.
    For several moments they lay silently entwined, their breathing growing less harsh and their rapid heartbeats slowing to normal. Islaen was surprised to find that the weight of him felt quite nice, not light by any means but nothing she would not gladly bear, even enjoy. A tiny voice in her head murmured something about sin but she easily ignored it. This was the man she would marry in hours or, at least, she hoped so. She wondered if she were being presumptuous by assuming he did not find her odd shape repulsive just because of what had occurred. According to Meg and a good many others, a man was not overly choosey about what he lay with if the urge was strong enough.
    Iain was mortified. He had gone half mad. The problem was, he was feeling so inclined again. Worse, he had spilled his seed into her and he had the feeling that that would be hard to control as well. With that dismal thought he eased their embrace slightly and looked at her unaware of the tortured look in his eyes, a look that made Islaen think all her fears confirmed.
    Islaen stared at him feeling her heart contract. “Ye cannae really abide it, can ye. I had feared as much.”
    Silently cursing herself and fighting tears, Islaen wished she had not come to his room. She had not saved herself anything. He had shown her what they could have together and would now take it away. The very worst of her fears had become reality. Shifting beneath him, she moved to flee but he held her still.
    With a sigh, Iain put aside his own fears. Someone had done a very good job of giving the girl the ridiculous idea that she was ill-formed. It was important to rid her of that yet he was not at all sure how he could.
    “Islaen, ye are not odd and certainly not ugly. Where did ye come by such an idea?”
    “But I am all out of proportion. ’Tis not right to be fat in one place yet so skinny everywhere else.”
    “Ye are small, not skinny.” His hand touched her thigh and lingered. “There is flesh enough to draw a mon’s touch. Who has given ye the idea that ye look odd or ugly?”
    “Meg says I look a cow, all udder and little else,” she replied in a small voice.
    “I wouldnae hurl a cow to the bed and leap upon it. Aye. ’Tis true that ye carry more than t’would be thought right for such a wee lass but ’tis far from ugly.” His hand moved to her breasts.
    “Oh,” she breathed as his touch restoked the banked fires within her. “I dinnae mind them when ye do that, Sir MacLagan.”
    He bit down a laugh. “I think ye can call me Iain now. Little one, every mon here would love to be where I am now, touching