“You’re no English lord,” Marcus retorted. “What is your excuse then?”
The younger man hooted. “I ’spect I am an arrogant bastard . . . but no one in these parts save my Nana is so bold tae say so.”
Marcus shook his head. “Glad to introduce you to new experiences.”
Why did it feel as though he was conversing with a man still stuck in the Dark Ages? A Highland laird, ready to wield his battle-ax with anyone who dared cross his land.
The man rather reminded him of Mackenzie. Perhaps it was just the brogue . . . or the size of the lad. He certainly was big for one of tender years. “How old are you?” he asked abruptly.
“I will be one and twenty in a fortnight.”
As he had guessed. Still. Marcus scoffed.
“Aye, young tae one as ancient as ye.” MacLarin flashed a grin.
Chuckling, Marcus shook his head, thinking of himself at the age of twenty. He certainly wasn’t as intense as this young man. He was all about staying out all night and bedding actresses and lonely widows. He realized with a start that he wouldn’t have liked himself were he to meet the young man he had been today.
Hell. He didn’t even like the version of himself he had been a few weeks ago. He’d been a spoiled privileged snot, nursing wounds that he now realized were flimsy grievances. He stared into the fire’s licking flames, wondering what had prompted this change in attitude.
And then he knew the answer.
Alyse, of course.
Alyse was the reason. A humble farm girl was the reason he went from a shallow individual to someone who wanted a life of meaning.
She had humbled him . . . and he was desperate for her.
“And wot does yer wife think of yer plans? Is she content tae be a duchess stuck in the wilds of Scotland?”
The question gave him pause, of course, because he didn’t know. He didn’t know what Alyse felt at all about staying at Kilmarkie House.
He didn’t know what she felt about him.
He returned to their chamber after finishing a second drink with MacLarin. He stood at the side of the big bed and studied her by the light of the fire.
Her eyelids flickered and he wondered at her dreams. Hopefully, they were peaceful. Stripping off his clothes, he pulled back the covers and slid in beside her.
Sleep, however, remained elusive. He dozed in and out through the waning night, staying close to her, loath to peel himself from her side. One of his hands lingered on her body at all times. As though he needed that contact . . . that assurance that she was still near him.
Watching her curled up on her side, the bedding wrapped enticingly around her naked body, his mind skirted around tricky thoughts. Such as were they really married? He’d convinced himself that their transaction in the village square did not constitute a binding marriage. That being the case, they would need to rectify that.
She murmured incoherently and fidgeted. He rubbed her arm soothingly and she relaxed as though his touch calmed her.
She was the sweetest thing he had ever touched. She was good and pure and deserved better than him, but she was his. Their lives had collided and tangled together that day in Collie-Ben and it was too late for anything else. There would be no untangling of them.
He brought his hand up in the small space between them, trailing his fingers up and down the exposed ladder of her spine, relishing the feel of her skin, the bump of every vertebra.
She shivered and stirred and he slid down deeper into the bed against her, burrowing under the covers. He curled alongside her body, her back to his chest, spooning her with his longer length. He wanted to learn everything about her . . . know her shape and scent as well as he knew himself.
“How are you awake?” she whispered into the thick space around them, letting him know she was awake without turning around to face him.
Her breath fanned against the pillow, rasping the cotton. He was so attuned to her. Every little sound and movement. He’d never felt this connected with another person. It was rather alarming. His fingers brushed the silk of her hair off her nape. He couldn’t stop touching her.
“Hard to sleep next to you.”
She turned her head to look back at him, a ghost of a smile tracing her lips. “You’re going to be exhausted tomorrow.”
“I won’t complain. It will be a good kind of exhaustion.”
He slid farther down on the bed, until they were face-to-face, nose to nose. Her lids were still heavy. She sighed sleepily. She was tired. He’d worn her out.
She rolled over and brought her smooth palm to his face. She held his cheek. “You’re starting to bruise,” she tsked. “Does your face hurt?”
“No.” He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her lush curves more firmly against him. She was deliciously warm wrapped around him. His hand slid down her back and cupped the swell of one cheek, using his grip to haul her even more firmly against him. He gave it a firm squeeze and her breath caught on a whimper. She was so soft with her sweet-smelling hair and rounded ass.
His body knew her now. Wanted her. His desire for her hadn’t even been whetted. It wasn’t close to being quenched.
Without calculation, he rolled her so that her back was flush against his chest. He curled a hand around her hip and dipped down her navel to her beckoning quim. Her thighs parted sweetly at the first foray of his fingers. He eased inside her clenching heat. She was wet. Soaking for him. He thrust his fingers, pumping into her contracting channel.
She cried out and moaned his name, rubbing her backside against his cock. With a growl, he removed his hand from inside her and seized hold of her hips, lifting her to her knees on the bed so that she was on all fours before him.
He admired the swells of her ass, smoothing both hands over the firm cheeks. She trembled and sent him a heavy-lidded glance over her shoulder. Hot want gleamed in her eyes . . . along with a fair amount of uncertainty. She wasn’t sure about this position.
His lips curved in a knowing smile. “You’re going to like this,” he promised. He parted her thighs for him and touched her again, stroking the entrance to her core. He eased a finger inside her again, reveling at her low, keening moan. He couldn’t wait. He removed his hand and slid inside her, pushing his cock deep.
Tight heat surrounded him and he ground down against her, pumping faster, sliding through her slick wetness. Nothing had ever felt this good. So perfect.
“Marcus!” she cried, her hands fisting the bedding, her knuckles whitening.
“I told you,” he panted. “You would like it.”
“I love it!” she gasped and he felt a flood of wetness come over his cock. Her core tightened and pulsed all around him. “You’re . . . Oh. My! What’s happening?”
Her sharp cries filled his ears and his hands slid around her rib cage, found her breasts, molding the plump mounds as he rolled her over, pinning her under him and working in and out of her body in a fast frenzy.
“Lord, help me! Marcus! Yes, yes, yes . . .”
The sound of his name drove him into a frenzy. As her quim grew ever tighter around him, closing and squeezing him like a fist, he pumped in and out of her, crashing into her. He pushed and pulled and erupted with a groan, spilling himself deep inside her sweet, milking heat.
He collapsed on the pliant body under him, feeling as warm and satiated as he had ever felt. It had never before been like this with a woman and the sudden thought shook him. Left him desperate and as vulnerable as a newborn. That was how he felt then. Newly born in this moment.
She cleared her throat from under him. “Uh, you’re a little heavy.”
“My apologies.” He lifted himself up into a sitting position.
He fixed his eyes on her as she lifted into a sitting position beside him. She pushed her long tangle of hair from her face and looked at him rather reticently.