They lay quiet for several minutes, his arms strong around her, containing the odd rhythmic quality of her tremors. Warm and protected, she snuggled deeper into his embrace. After a time she slept.
It was dark as pitch when she woke. The coals in the brazier had burned out. She felt him, his arms snug around her, his body pressed warm all along her back. But he no longer administered comfort. He sensed herwakefulness and rubbed his jaw gently against her hair. His biceps flexed beneath her cheek.
Gillian tensed, comprehending what he was about. She could feel his arousal behind her, pressed into her bottom. Fear of the unknown nearly paralyzed her, and for a brief moment she hoped he would think she still slept. But that was cowardly. This must happen if their marriage was to be a true one. Before she could think any more about it, she turned her face toward him, her skin brushing the shadow of whiskers on his chin. The hand that clasped her waist came up, cupping the side of her face as he set his mouth on hers. The kiss was long, and slow, and lascivious—with firm intent that had been absent from his previous kisses. His fingers trailed over her temple, cheek, and jaw. He stopped kissing her, his thumb on her bottom lip, the backs of his fingers beneath her chin, resting against the wild pulse beating in her neck.
His absolute stillness disquieted her. “My lord?” she whispered, her voice muffled against his thumb. Then, “Nicholas?”
His thumb moved away and his mouth was there again, at the corner of hers with kisses soft as butterfly wings, murmuring her name. His hand slid under her, lifting her so he could move his other arm from beneath her, then she was on her back. His hands slid up her waist to her ribs, pausing when it encountered the knife hole from earlier.
Instantly his kiss grew forceful, his fingers making short work of the hooks at the side of her gown. This particular bodice was a bit complicated to remove, asthe sleeves laced on at the shoulder and it hooked down the side, but he managed it and her stays with unnerving skill, leaving her in naught but her shift and skirts.
One hand closed over her linen-covered breast. Gillian drew in a ragged breath. Though he’d touched her breast, she’d felt it elsewhere, lower. He made a deep sound in his chest, breaking their kiss to trail his lips, feather soft, down her neck. Gillian’s lashes fluttered shut. Fear and excitement filled her, making it impossible for her to breathe evenly. She gripped his shoulders, thick and solid beneath his shirt.
The tip of his tongue touched her breast through the linen of her shift, and his breath, warm and urgent, blew against the dampness. Gillian writhed, the sensation gripping her low, deep in her belly. He moved to her other breast, one hand shaping and kneading while the other slid beneath her skirts, his palm open and hot. Wicked fingers stroked her thighs until she whimpered. Coherent thought dissolved as her world shrunk to his hands and mouth and the furious thrumming of her heart. Then he touched her center, pushing deeply until she raised her hips to beg for more.
He moved over her, one knee pushing her thighs wide. She wished it weren’t so dark, that she could see his face, know his thoughts. But it was all blackness and quiet, except for their ragged breathing. Gillian reached for him, finding the silken fall of his hair. She took his face in her hands and brought him close. His mouth took hers again, and down below, he pushed into her.
Gillian gripped his arms in shock. Rose had warned her it would hurt, but this was not at all what she’dexpected. Intense pressure skated the border of pain. He stretched her too much—he was too big—it wouldn’t work. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip to contain her moans of distress. His muscles quivered beneath her hands. He pushed harder, until it hurt and she cried out and then he was in so far and deep she couldn’t catch her breath. His body pressed hard against hers, enveloping her. Gillian sucked in air, her fingers digging into him with such rigid tension that they began to ache.
He held very still, buried deep inside her body. His muscles still quivered slightly, as if it were an effort not to move. He brushed at the stray hairs clinging to her forehead and pressed his lips there.
“I know, I know,” he murmured against her skin.
Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes, more from his show of tenderness than from the pain.
“It’s fine,” she said, but her voice was thin and weak. It wasn’t fine. It hurt and burned, but she’d been prepared for pain and could bear it.
His mouth moved lower, pressing tiny kisses to her eyelids and nose, soothing the pain. Until he moved again. Gillian inhaled harshly. His fingers quickly manipulated the lacing of her shift, baring her breasts. Then his mouth was there, hot and urgent against her skin, tugging deep at the nipple, causing that profound pleasure in her loins to mingle with the pain so that she arched against him, moaning, hands flexing in his hair. She gasped his name. He answered with a deep muffled sound. His hands slid beneath her, lifting her to his thrusts, pushing so deeply that he touched something inside. The pain transformed with every stroke, drowningher in mindless bliss. It splintered, and her body bowed hard against him, her breathing arrested.
He drove hard into her, his body shuddering and an agonized groan resonating through her. He clutched her tightly, his shuddering bone-deep, his face buried in her neck. Gillian held him, faintly surprised to hear him cursing as if in pain. Her body was heavy-limbed and liquid, a rather pleasant sensation, as if she’d just imbibed of strong spirits.
They lay quiescent for a long while, until their breathing returned to normal and the new aches in her body made themselves known. She blinked into the darkness, wishing again she could see his face.
When he rose off of her, she asked, “Did it hurt you, too?”
He lay beside her, his hand on her waist. “I’m sorry it hurt you. It usually does, the first time. And no, it didn’t hurt me.”
“Oh,” she said, thinking about that. Her own cries might have sounded as if she’d still been in pain, when what he’d been doing had felt unspeakably wonderful. And at times the pleasure had been so intense she thought she might break from it. But she burned now, deep between her legs, and she only wanted to curl into herself.
She turned away from him, pushing her skirts down and pulling her shift closed. She heard him relace his breeks. It would have been unwise to remove much clothing, with the danger of further attacks imminent. For some reason Gillian’s eyes burned and her nose went stuffy. She fought the tears, curling herself uptightly. A blanket was draped over her. It smelled of wool and Nicholas—his plaid. He lay behind her again.
“Lay your head, lass,” he said softly.
She lifted her head and rested it on his biceps again. His other arm slid under the plaid, gathering her close, and then covering her hands. She closed her eyes, trying hard not to cry. She sniffled quietly.
“I’m sorry, Gillian.” There was real regret in his voice.
“No, I pray you, do not apologize. I’m glad it’s done. Rose said it would not hurt again . . . unless we go a long time between couplings.”
A thoughtful pause. “How does Rose know so much about it?”
Gillian lifted one shoulder in a shrug, wiping her face with the corner of his plaid. “She’s a healer. She knows a lot of things.” Talking to him in the dark eased her and kept the tears at bay.
He sighed, deep and heartfelt. “I should have waited. I meant to. I didn’t want our first time to be on the ground, fully dressed with men all around us . . . but . . .” He didn’t say anything for a long time.
“Aye?” Gillian prompted.
“Well . . . I wanted to, and you’re my wife now . . . and, well . . . I suppose I just didn’t think.” Despite his justifications, he sounded troubled by his own behavior. And likely he was. The love philter was hard at work.
