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“A MacDonald son served a king in a place called Byzantium. When his term of service was over, he told his master that if he would safely transport two of these mirrors home to Scotland for him, the mercenary MacDonald would take them in lieu of coin for his ten years of service. The other of the mirrors is in the lord's apartments.” He held out his hand to her. “Come, sweeting, and see how beautiful ye are. The glass will not lie to ye.”
Slowly Fiona came to stand before it. For the first time in her entire life she saw all of herself as others saw her. She stared hard at the reflection in the mirror. The warm light from the fire in the hearth and the flickering candles gave her milky skin a pale golden glow. Fascinated, she gazed upon her body, shivering slightly as Colin stepped behind her, his big hands sliding around to cup the globes of her breasts. They nestled in his palms like two doves. She watched, spellbound, as the thumb and forefinger of each hand played with her nipples, pinching them slightly, pulling them out so that they stood hard and pointed. Her head spun slightly, and she realized that she was not breathing. Fiona slowly drew in a deep draught of air to clear her brain. What was happening to her?
“This is our wedding night,” he murmured in her ear, “and I would have it be a night ye will not forget.” His breath was hot in her ear as his tongue tickled the shell of it.
He turned her about so that their bodies touched. Instinctively Fiona pressed her palms flat against his chest in an effort to hold him off. The heat from the pressure of her hands made him almost dizzy with desire. The contact between their two bodies was heady. He groaned with the pure pleasure.
“Ah!” The sound escaped her before she mightstop it. Dear Holy Mother! She must surely have the heart of a whore to be so aroused by this man. Suddenly she wanted to weep, but she forced back her tears. Tears were a luxury she couldn't afford. Then all the anger she had been bottling up these past weeks overcame her, and she began to beat him on his chest and shoulders with her small fists.
“Nah, han, hinny lamb,” he murmured, catching those little hands, kissing them, and then pinioning them behind her back with one great paw. With his other hand he began to caress her, stroking her like a pet cat, knowing he could have gone on all night simply touching her, but realizing that until he possessed her completely, she would continue to fight him. “Don't struggle against me, Fiona mine, for you know I mean to have you. You are my wife, sweeting, and I love you.”
Damn him! How easily he said those words to her, and he did not have to simply to take her.Damn him!Why couldn't Angus Gordon have said those words to her? She struggled against Colin MacDonald, swearing at him most colorfully in their native Gaelic tongue, a language that made her maledictions even more threatening.
Another man might have hit her, but The MacDonald of Nairn put a gentle hand over her mouth, admonishing her, “Do you want the entire castle to hear ye, sweeting?”
Fiona bit the hand that covered her mouth. Now it was he who swore, slapping her lightly, his blue eyes finally darkening with anger, and seeing it, she grew still at last. This big man could kill her if he chose, and then where would she be? Certainly no help to the king.
“Hush now, Fiona mine,” he said softly, his anger easing. “Listen to me, sweeting, for I don't want to harm you. You see I am a big man in every aspect. I do notwant to injure you. You must be still. Let me love you. You will find that I can give you great pleasure, even as you will give me pleasure.”
He turned her about again, wrapping a single arm about her torso, drawing her back against his hard body. His hands pushed the mass of her hair aside so he might place kisses upon her neck. The fragrant scent of her newly washed hair excited him further. His hand wandered the length of her, caressing and fondling the soft skin. A single finger insinuated itself between her nether lips, finding with unerring aim the tiny jewel of her sex.
Fiona couldn't look away from the great mirror. She was mesmerized by the sight of this man making love to her. Unable to help herself, she let her head fall back against his shoulder. She sighed as he elicited sweet pleasure from her. She could feel his manhood raging against the flesh of her buttocks, but she could not contain the grinding of her hips into his hot loins.
“You belong to me now, sweeting,” he murmured thickly in her ear.
“I belong to no man,” she managed to gasp. “I will be owned by neither you nor Angus Gordon. I will not be owned byany manl”
Laughing softly, he kissed her angry mouth.
“I hate you!” she raged.
“Hush, lambkin,” he said low.
He turned her once again to face him, and cupping her buttocks in his palms, he lifted her up to impale her upon his throbbing love rod. Then to her amazement he turned them both about so she might see as he pistoned her.
The sensation of him within her was overwhelming, almost too much for her to bear. He filled her so full that her body felt stretched beyond all bearing.Completely sheathed, he leaned forward to kiss her lips, to brush kisses across her face and throat, to whisper of how much he adored her. Then her body seemed to widen to accommodate him.
Colin Macdonald knew how to give a woman pleasure, and he gave her extreme delight despite her resistance to him. The subtlety of his movement reached out to Fiona, cajoling her to cease her opposition to his tender blandishments; in spite of herself her body responded to his. His big manhood delved deeper and deeper within her softness. She felt as if she were melting layer by layer. The hard thrusts of his loins grew sharper and quicker. Her eyelids felt heavy and threatened to close. She let her gaze stray to the large mirror in which they were reflected. Had it not been so intriguing, she would have swooned at this sight of their bodies locked together in amorous combat.
Fiona clung to him, her legs wrapped about his waist, her hands clutching his thick neck as he brought her to a pleasure peak. He withdrew from her, still hard, still eager, and dragged a small table before the mirror. He had her bend, her palms flat upon the oaken surface of the table. Then, grasping her hips to steady them, he slowly slid into her sheath again. She was unable to look away as he thrust back and forth within her; she felt bewitched and almost detached from her body as she watched the alluring tableau they made in the mellifluous glass. Honeyed fire was pouring through her, over her, and then she shuddered as his pulsing manhood saluted her with its love juices.
Her body was wet with perspiration. Her heart was pounding wildly. Enchanted, she watched as his manhood retired from the field of battle. Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her passionately over and over again until finally her knees gave way, and he lifted herup to lay her on their bed. He pulled the table away from the cabinet and closed the doors, hiding the mirror from their view.
“’Tis a wicked thing, that glass,” Fiona managed to say as the bed sagged with his weight. “I could not take my eyes from it.”
She was half-stunned, half-shocked, not simply by the erotic tableau she had just observed, but by the fact she had actually felt pleasure, keen pleasure, with this man. He was her kidnapper. A virtual stranger, despite the fact he was now her handfasted husband. Angus had been right. She was brazen. She wanted to cry, but she didn't. She would show Colin MacDonald no weakness.
He looked at her with curious eyes. “Did ye enjoy what ye saw, sweeting? Did ye like seeing our bodies locked together in a tender bout of passion?”
“Aye,” she told him, realizing that it had but added excitement to their lustful combat. “To see us was … was … intoxicating, like a rich wine. I don't think I should want to drink such wine all the time, would ye, my lord stallion?”
“Ye were quite drunk with yer lust,” he teased her, bending to kiss her lips. “Ye were like a bitch in heat, sweeting, and I really felt ye were mine, for ye held back nothing.”
She was shocked by his words, but she quickly realized that he was right. She had been so fascinated by the sight of them coupling, reflected in the mirror, that she had not resisted him even subtly. “I was not aware I resisted ye, my lord. How could I possibly resist ye, for ye are bigger and stronger than I am,” she said, feigning innocence.
He laughed. “I have known too many women,sweeting, not to know when one withdraws into herself while I'm laboring over her.”
She sat up, glaring at him. “Did ye expect me to declare undying love to a man who kidnapped me from my love? When the year is up, Colin MacDonald, don't expect me to stand before the priest with ye! I’ll not do it!”
