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Why then, when he left the room, did she feel an enormous pit of emptiness fast developing inside her? Bloody hell, she thought to herself, I really like the man. A lot. And he is a complete nutter.
She heard the front door close quietly downstairs. At least he hadn’t slammed it on the way out, which she had expected. She pulled the sheet up to cover herself and then rested her hand over her eyes while she tried to get a grip on her emotions. Crazy, this was crazy.
Her mind kept working through it, trying to make sense of what had just happened. There had been tension all morning. Because of Cain? Then he’d flown off the handle. There had been conviction in his words, though. He believed what he was saying. And he apologized. But he was so bossy, and they barely knew each other. She sighed loudly, thumping the pillows, her heartbeat regulating.
After a while, the sound of crashing waves and the wind weaving through the boats calmed her down. Gulls swooped over the house, their calls adding their own rhythm. The room was warm and bathed in amber light where the sun shone through the ochre curtains, making it feel tranquil. She was tired, and her body wanted to rest.
Listen, for I must tell you my tale. Let me show you, and then you will understand all of this.
For a moment, Zoë thought the voice had spoken aloud, and she glanced around the room, peering into both mirrors. There was no one there. However, her curiosity had been baited.
Cautiously, she lay back on the bed and listened, giving herself up to it. The sound of the waves coming in grew more intense, completely filling her mind, as if the sea was right there in the room with her, and then it whispered away completely, and as it did, her eyelids lowered….
We will be alone at last, Irvine and I. I am determined. Desire draws me to him, even though I cannot explain why. I have never felt this way before. As I pass another evening alone, molding wax for candles and thinking about him, I decide it is too much. Too many nights spent here sitting by the glow of my peat fire, watching the flames dance and imagining the two of us together, until my desire for him is so desperate that it keeps me awake all night long. Oh, yes, you know how that ache of longing feels, don’t you?
I cannot let another day go by without trying. I have to see him, to speak to him, alone, so I leave my half-made candle and fetch my shawl.
Out in the dark narrow street, I shelter and wait until I see him on his way home from the tavern.
“Who is there?” he asks, when he catches sight of me standing in the shadows.
I step across the cobblestones quietly, and reach out to touch his sleeve. “It is only me, Annabel.” I marvel at the way I can feel his powerful arms even through the rough cloth of his coat.
“Annabel,” he repeats and his voice softens on my name.
Ah, he is pleased that it is me, and not his wife. Would she scold him for spending money in the tavern? Or is there another reason that he is pleased? I cannot thank my magic, for I have not even brought the charm I crafted. I wanted to see whether he would spurn me if I did not have it with me. He does not. In fact, he steps closer to me, as if to take a better look.
I turn my face to the moonlight. “Would that you were on your way home to me, Irvine Maginty” I whisper, and I mean it. The words had risen unbidden inside me as I looked up at him, but it is the truth. Images of him fill my mind, and I toss and turn in my bed at night, my hands running feverishly over my body as I think what it would be like having him there with me.
“Aye,” he agrees, as he nods his head. “You turn my head, Annabel McGraw, even though it should not be so.” He reaches out to touch my hair and his touch is so gentle and curious that I lose my grip on the shawl I have around my shoulders and have to snatch at it lest it falls in the mud.
“It is the same for me. I wish that I could lie with you each night as Hettie does. When I am alone in my bed and I yearn for a man of my own, it is you that I am thinking of.”
He sighs with longing, and the sound of it rumbles deep in his chest. He is there for the taking. Standing on tiptoe, I tip back my head and offer him my mouth.
He pauses but a moment before he grabs me into his arms. He is tender at first, then I push my fingers into his hair, tugging on it and drawing him closer, and he takes me roughly, landing kisses on my face and my throat, before returning to my mouth and plunging his tongue inside. He tastes of ale and tobacco and my hands are shaking as I spread them against the breadth of his chest. His hands are at my breasts, outlining them, and then they move quickly around my waist, easily spanning it and locking me to him.
When I hear voices nearby, I pull away and urge him into the shadows. “Be careful,” I whisper. I press him in against the wall to be sure that he is concealed in a doorway, for my mind is sharper than his. I can be sure of that. His member is stiff in his breeches and presses insistently at my belly as I move close to him. Oh, how I want to feel it where I need it more. I rest my head against his shoulder, my blood racing. Again, he strokes my hair, and a sigh escapes him. There is no doubt in me. We must answer this call between us.
When the voices pass by I look on, up the hill, to where the cobbled street leads to the graveyard at the back of the kirk. He follows my glance, and I take his hand. “Come with me into the graveyard. I want you to kiss me again.”
There was no hesitancy in him. He does want me, he wanted this is much as I! My heart beats fast, triumph bedding in me. We follow the street until we reach the grounds of the graveyard. The gate creaks open and we hurry inside, looking for a good spot to lie. The bushes and trees that run along the inside of the old stone wall seem a likely place, and Irvine nods when he sees me looking that way. He drops to the ground, pulling me down into his arms, his eager grasp just as powerful as I thought it would be, if not more so.
We roll back and forth, each as eager for this as the other, our mouths locked, our hands discovering each other, the flesh that we have thought about for too long, far too long. Yet now we are together and as sure as the tide cannot be held back from the shore, we were always destined to be entwined this way.
I have to have him mount me, and I can easily make it happen, but I want to be sure he will not be angry with me afterward. I could not suffer that. Arresting his progress for a moment, I press my fingers to his lips before he kisses me again. “Irvine, please, I want to part my legs for you, and if you continue to kiss me this way there will be no stopping it.”
“I know,” he says, and his voice is low and gruff. He runs his nose against the side of my face, tenderly, and then his hand is under my skirt and petticoats, stroking my knee through my wool stockings. “I have thought of nothing else, these past weeks. Whenever I saw you, I wished for this.”
Could I be any happier? I move his hand a little higher, around my thigh. It feels so good, and I wriggle closer still. He grips me firmly, and then his thumb strokes the soft skin on the inside of my leg and my cunny is alight for him. I’m lost to the moment. “Touch me, please, I’m longing for you to touch me.”
I open my legs wide. He plants his hand over my cunny, shakes his head. “I have to be in there.”
He reaches for his belt, and the need I sense in him is so immense that my body tightens with anticipation. I feel my way to the spot where he has undone his breeches, and wrap my hand around his rod. It’s hot, silky smooth, and arched skyward, and it makes me shiver because I think about how good it will feel, filling me. When I run my thumb over his tip and feel how large and honey-coated it is, his body shudders.
“Annabel,” he pleads, “let me at you.”
I pull my skirts higher and plant my feet wide, then grasp his collar, drawing him over me as I lay down. His large body looms as he positions himself between my open thighs, and then his member slides easily into my opening, and he stretches me open.
