Page 13 of To Winter at Wildsyde

She realised she’d kept on touching him while her mind had wandered and now found her hands stroking over his powerful shoulders, over his arms. He was incredibly warm, hot to the touch, far hotter than she, and desire stirred in her belly again as she explored him, revelling in him, in his heat and muscle and raw masculine physique. Her body tightened around him and she whimpered with frustration. Ruth turned her head back to face him, and then stilled as she discovered those extraordinary whisky drowned eyes fixed upon her. He didn’t look the least bit sleepy.

He made a sound, somewhere between amusement and surprise and then his mouth was on her neck, kissing and biting softly. He nipped at her ear and she shivered, almost purring as his warm hands returned to her breasts, kneading and caressing as her heart began racing all over again. As he moved inside her, her breath caught, her head tilting back as a soft sigh of content escaped her.

“More?” he asked, the question gruff and yet somehow gentle.

“Oh, yes,” she said, wrapping herself about him once more. “Yes, please.”

He snorted and lifted himself on his elbows, gazing down at her, his expression unreadable. “Worth the wait?”

Ruth laughed at that, she couldn’t help it. The dreadful man. “Certainly. Yet I think I should remind you that it was you who suffered us to wait, not me. We can do this anytime you like, as far as I’m concerned.”

He made a sound which she could not interpret, though it seemed a little desperate and not entirely happy. She ignored it and kissed him instead, putting her hands to his face and pulling his head down to hers insistently. Not that he appeared unwilling. His mouth was hot and urgent, taking everything she gave and still demanding more, and more, and suddenly the exhilarating gathering sensation he’d coaxed from her with his hand was upon her again.

“Oh.” She sighed, clutching at his body, wanting him nearer, deeper. “More, please… more.” He made a harsh sound that had all the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickling to life as he moved harder and faster.

“Yes,” she cried, digging her fingers into his shoulders as bright lights flickered behind her eyelids.

The pleasure was intense, rolling through her and teasing her with the promise of more. It was beyond her to repress the sounds he drew from her, cries and moans and exclamations of joy until she crested some impossible peak and felt herself break apart. It was like flying, like a firework bursting upon a velvet night sky and lighting her up for a long shimmering moment, and then she was falling. He was falling too, and she held on tight as his big frame shuddered, his shouts drowning out her own, though they rang in her ears well after the room had grown quiet.

This time he moved off her, thudding onto his back, his broad chest heaving as he gasped for breath. He flung one heavy arm over his eyes.

“Holy God,” he murmured with feeling.

Ruth could hardly see straight, but she smiled, knowing she’d surprised him. Heavens, she’d surprised herself. He’d surprised her, too. She hadn’t known what to expect from him, especially not after the cool, mocking tone he’d used earlier to assure her he’d see to her needs and that she’d have nae complaints. She’d expected him to be a deal colder towards her, but she’d been wrong. After the initial shock of seeing him glowering down at her, he’d treated her gently, tenderly even. He’d said she was bonny. Her mind turned the word over, examining it from all angles, just in case there was some sly meaning she’d overlooked that would make it a jibe. There was none that she could find. Bonny. She felt she held the word in her heart, keeping it safe there, hidden out of sight, to be brought out and marvelled over when she was alone, like a billet doux from a lover. Foolish, perhaps, but no one had ever said such a thing to her before, and she’d never thought to hear it from the lips of the gruff Scot who had carted her off to the Highlands and barely spoken a word to her since.

His breathing had steadied now, and she knew he’d be asleep any second. Before her courage could fail her, she took advantage of his drowsy state and wriggled closer to him, tucking herself into the side of his big body and resting her head on his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment but then sighed, giving in without protest. Ruth knew he was just too lethargic to do otherwise; she was not about to fool herself into thinking herself that he was the kind of man who invited cuddling. Still, when the arm that had been flung over his eyes came back down and settled across her waist, she was not above a smile of triumph. As wedding nights went, she was well pleased with her own, and all her hopes that she had at last found the home she’d been seeking rose to impossible heights.

With a contented little sigh, Ruth closed her eyes and rested her hand upon his chest, falling asleep to the steady thud of his heart.

Chapter 7

Whatever you do, don’t give him an inch. Don’t let him ignore you, don’t back away from a fight but don’t start one. Do give him every reason to stay. Find reasons to take a pride in the fellow and then tell him that you’re proud. There’s nothing guaranteed to take the starch from an obstinate man quicker than stroking his pride… that or taking him to bed.

Thinking about it… take him to bed anyway. If he’s too tired to argue your life will be a deal easier.

― Excerpt of a letter from Mrs Ethel Stephens to Mrs Ruth Anderson.

8th November 1814. Wildsyde Castle, Scotland.

Ruth stretched luxuriously, yawning and sighing, finding her mouth curve into a smile as she remembered last night. Her body ached, and she was very aware of parts of herself that she’d not particularly noticed before. As she came fully awake, she realised she was sore and tender, things that had not occurred to her at all last night. Oh, well, no doubt that was normal the first time. She’d get used to it.

She almost laughed at that. The very idea of getting used to such a thing was beyond her imagination. Ruth turned onto her side, intending to cosy up to the man who’d made the night so unexpectedly wonderful and let out an exclamation of dismay to discover him gone.

“Drat,” she said, irritated.

Oh, well. It was hardly a surprise that he’d shun any further intimacy with her if he could, and no doubt he had many calls on his time. Still, he could have told her he was leaving. Perhaps he’d not wanted to disturb her sleep, she thought, with more hope than belief. Muttering and wincing a little as she climbed from the bed and pulled on her robe, she moved to pull back the thick curtains. To her astonishment, the day outside was bright and well underway. Good Lord, she’d overslept by hours. She supposed she could not fault Sheenagh for not waking her; she’d not instructed the girl to do so and, if Gordy hadn’t taken himself off, Ruth would not have thanked her for the interruption.

Gordy. Well, he was her husband and, when she wasn’t calling him her adorable mooncalf, she didn’t see why she couldn’t address him with the familiar version of his name.

She gave the bell a swift tug, hoping Sheenagh wouldn’t keep her waiting too long for her hot water and breakfast, and sat down at her dressing table with paper and pen. There were more things that needed doing in the castle than she could address in one go and, as she’d hardly investigated the whole place, probably a great many more of which she was so far unaware.

Still, one had to start somewhere. Ruth began her list, covering one full sheet of paper and making it a good third of the way down the next before she realised she’d been so occupied that an hour must have passed with no sign of Sheenagh.

It was not entirely surprising. Ruth was well aware that the staff did not want her here and, whilst they might stop short of outright disobedience, they’d not go out of their way to do as she asked.

“Fine,” she muttered, securing her dressing gown a little tighter about herself and putting on her slippers.

She saw no point at all in ringing the bell again. Mrs MacLeod was as snug in her kitchen as a winkle in a shell, and just as reluctant to leave it. She’d certainly have heard the bloody bell even if no one else had. So, they were just waiting to see what Ruth would do about it.