Page 39 of Saving the Broken Highlander

“You are everything to me. You are the rock that I lean on, you are my shelter from the storm, but most of all you are my home, where I can live, love, and be safe. I love you, Alastair, more than my life. Will you be my husband?”

“Oh, yes!” he said fervently. They both laughed with joy and Alastair hugged her, then they took Holy Communion, and after a final blessing, they walked out into the spring sunshine as husband and wife.

It was there, in the shadow of the castle, that he kissed her for the first time as Lady Caitlyn Duncan, Mistress of Mullach. It was a sweet kiss, not a passionate one, but Caitlyn heard him moaning with delight as he held her in his arms, and her heart quickened as she felt his body’s reaction to her.

There was a round of applause as they drew apart, then he whispered in her ear, “The best is yet to come, Milady Duncan.”

When she looked up into the dark eyes, they were full of desire. She felt a delicious shiver go through her, a feeling of anticipation mixed with a little fear of the unknown.

He must have seen it in her eyes. “Don’t be afraid, Caitie, I will look after you.” He kissed her hair and they turned to their guests, then led the way into the great hall for the wedding feast.

They did not enjoy the wedding feast; they endured it. It was especially stressful for Alastair, who did not relish being the center of attention. As soon as they decently could, they slipped upstairs unseen, and when they were out of sight, he swept her up into his arms and carried her along to his bedroom, a place she had only seen once from outside the door. Then it had been severe and defiantly masculine with panels of dark wood and stark white painted walls without pictures, but it had been transformed.

Now the walls above the dark wood paneling were a warm cream, and there were paintings in gold gesso frames of the beautiful land, sea, and skyscapes all around the castle. Copper bowls of hothouse and wildflowers sat on every surface, and the room was fragrant with the scent of roses, carnations, and lavender. The plain white counterpane on the bed had been replaced by a glowing purple silk one, and the bare floors now sported bright Turkish rugs in exotic patterns.

“It’s lovely,” she breathed, looking around in wonder.

“You are lovely,” he murmured, handing her a glass of wine. He wanted to take her to heaven right there and then, but he did not want to scare her. She had to be relaxed, eager, and ready, but he hoped it would not take too long.

He held his glass up to her. “Slàinte Mhath, my darling wife,” he said tenderly. “May we always be as happy as we are today.”

She smiled and clinked her glass against his. “Slàinte Mhath, my love.” She took a sip of her wine and tilted her face to his. He kissed her, licking the sweet spirit from her lips.

“Love me, Alastair,” she whispered.

He said nothing more, but his heart was beating wildly as he unlaced her dress and let it fall to the floor, letting it pool around her feet. She showed no shyness as he stood back and gazed at her, letting his eyes wander slowly over every glorious inch of her. From her lovely face to her full breasts with their rose-tinted nipples, to her tiny waist, flaring hips, and the long shapely columns of her legs, she was perfect. His eyes dwelt last on the little triangle of auburn hair above her thighs, and at the sight of it, he felt his manhood stiffen and become aroused.

He laid her on the bed with infinite gentleness and began to undress slowly so that she should not be startled by his body that was so unlike hers. He paused after he peeled off his shirt, then unbuckled his belt and let his kilt drop to the floor. He saw her eyes widen as she took in the shape and size of this male creature who was a human being too, but whose shape and size was so different to her.

He had broad shoulders, and his chest was muscular and dusted with dark hair. His abdomen was lined with two ridges of tiny muscles that ran almost all the way down to his navel, and his thighs and calves looked sturdy and powerful, as did his bulging biceps. She tried not to look at his arousal, because it terrified her, but he must have discerned it somehow.

“I will be very gentle, Caitie,” he whispered as he drew her into his arms. “You have no need to be afraid. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, then she gave a small moan as his lips began a slow exploration of her body, from behind her ear to the hollow of her throat, onto her breasts where he teased her nipples into little hard nubs, then to the pit of her navel. He paused there, then she felt a jet of sheer ecstasy shoot through her body as his tongue touched her intimately. She cried out in delight and he stopped, thinking he had hurt her.

“Caitie?” he asked anxiously. “Did I—”

“No, don’t stop!” Her voice was agonized. The pleasure he was giving her was an exquisite torture and she wanted him to go on doing what he was doing. But she also wanted to taste the ultimate pleasure, which was supposed to be almost unbearably delightful. “Go on, please!” she said, then lay back, instinctively arching her hips up to him, and suddenly he could wait no longer.

“I claim you as my own, Lady Duncan!” he growled as he eased inside her.

She grasped his shoulders, digging her fingertips into them as she felt a spasm of intense pain inside her. She cried out, but as soon as it had come, it went, and she was left looking into his warm, concerned eyes. She kissed him to let him know that she was fine, and they began to move together in a rhythm as old as time itself.

And then it began. It started like a tickle, then went away, then came back and retreated again, but every time more forceful and more delightful than before. She was striving towards something that was almost out of reach, but finally it washed over her, a wave of ecstasy so strong that her body bucked and shuddered on the bed, and she screamed with the force of it. She had felt it before in her dreams, and when he had touched her, but never with such loving intensity.

As soon as he saw her face, eyes wide with rapture, Alastair found his release too. He had never felt such love, and he had no idea he was capable of it.

They drew apart, but he held on to her, not wanting to let go of this precious woman who was now his in every way possible.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked anxiously.

She stroked his cheek with her thumb and kissed his mouth softly. “Yes, but it was only for a second, and my mother told me to expect it,” she replied, smiling. “It was...astonishing! When you touched me before I thought that nothing could possibly feel so exquisite, but I was wrong.”

“Good,” he whispered. “It was for me too. I have never felt like this before, Caitie.”

“Not even with Kirstine?” she asked. She still felt a little insecure about his former love.

His face darkened. “This is our marriage bed and you are my wife. I never lay with her and I never want to hear her name again, Caitie. It is Caitie and Alastair now; Lady Caitlyn Duncan and Laird Alastair Duncan, now and forever.” Then he smiled. “You are mine now, and I am yours.”

She gazed at him and smiled, then ran her fingers through his thick wavy hair, because she knew he loved to feel her fingers there. “Now and forever, my love,” she whispered, echoing his words. “Forever and always.”