As the hour approached supper, Marsaili’s nerves grew; she had to tell him about the earl. She would not be missed in the great hall, as her father had instructed her not to come once the earl had departed, but Callum would need to make an appearance. She forced herself to swallow her fear.
“Callum,” she began, “I want to wed ye, but ye need to ken that my father wishes to make me the Earl of Ulster’s mistress, and when the man’s wife dies, my father intends to wed me to him.”
Callum’s jaw tensed visibly, and his thick, corded arms tightened around her. “What gain is there for yer father?”
She told him quickly of the earl’s brother possibly being named king of Scotland. When she finished, silence stretched between them, and the sickening feeling that he had decided she was too much trouble swept through her entire body.
He pressed his lips to her forehead and then said, “Dunnae fash yerself. My mother and father are cunning. More so than I have ever cared for, but in this, it may serve well. Surely, some sort of alliance between our two clans can be formed.”
“Nae unless yer father has something of great value to offer my father,” she said bitterly. “I fear if ye wish to marry me, we may need to do so without my father’s consent, and ye must accept that it may well bring his ire to yer clan’s doorstep.”
“I accept it,” Callum vowed. “I will see what can be done and return to ye as quickly as I am able. Whether I take ye away in the dark of night or by the light of day remains to be seen, but ye will depart here with me. This I vow.”
The tenderness of his gaze released her of all fear. “Callum,” she said, her voice husky with love and desire. “I wish to consummate our commitment.”
Possession flared in his gaze. “Are ye certain?”
“Aye,” she said. “Nae ever have I been more certain of anything in my life.”
His hands slid up her arms, bringing her closer, and he whispered his love for her in her ear. His hot breath sent gooseflesh racing across her sensitive skin. He lifted her on top of him so she was straddling his thighs, and then, ever so gently, he explored her stomach, her back, her breasts, making them instantly heavy and tight. They both shed their clothes, all the while touching and kissing. Her heart raced with eager anticipation, and at one point, he pressed her palm to his own racing heart.
He laid her back on his plaid, spread her hair around her, and worshipped her in a way she had not believed was possible. With strokes of his tongue and his fingers, he made her cry in pleasure and pain, and then beg for him to enter her and make her his. She could see the effort prolonging his own pleasure was requiring. His jaw was locked, his brow damp, and the corded muscles of his arms strained. He slid into her slowly to make them one.
He paused for a moment and looked in her eyes questioningly. “Are ye hurt?”
She smiled at his concern, his kindness, and his tendre for her. There was a small pinch of pain, but it was easing already. “Please, Callum. Truly make me yers.”
He began to move within her, and the pain was replaced by a slow-building pressure that grew until she felt she would be undone at the seams. She screamed out her pleasure, clinging to him, and his entire body tensed atop her as he cried out with his own release, his warm seed filling her.
They were bound by this night, this act, and their love. Nothing would part them now.
