He lost his mind.
Frantic for the feel of her bare skin against his, Malcolm tugged and pulled the clothes from her body, laying her bare beneath him. In wonder, he could only stare, mesmerized by the sight of her beauty. “You are more lovely than the dawn, Alethia.”
Tracing a single finger from her collarbone, through the valley between her breasts, to her navel and lower to the sable curls protecting her sex, he watched transfixed as goose bumps rose on her skin in the wake of his touch. Following the path his finger had traced with his mouth, he pressed kisses onto her warm, soft skin. The way she felt, her scent, her taste and the way she responded to him made him forget all of his self-control.
Today he would make her his, here amongst the cedars under the sky in this sacred place. Together they had partaken from the spring. Even after he told her of its significance, she drank with him. Their hearts were bound, their fates sealed as if they’d already said their vows before God. Mine. Mine, now and forever.
“I cannot wait until spring, True.” He came up to kiss her, his voice raspy and hoarse with need. “I want you now. All of you.” Crushing her to him, he moaned the words into her ear. “Do you understand what I am asking, love?” He leaned back to look into her face, needing to be certain she understood.
“Spring?” Her eyes, dilated and unfocused, looked at him in confusion. “What happens in the spring?”
“It matters not.” He nuzzled her neck. “Do you know what I am asking?”
Her brow furrowed, and she raised herself onto her elbows. Her breasts, nipples like the buds of the loveliest roses, thrust out at him, as if chiding him for the interruption. “Something to do with…spring?” She canted her head and gazed at him.
Chuckling, he drew her back into his arms and pressed his forehead against hers. “Nay, lass. I’m asking to make love to you.”
“Yes, Malcolm.” Her voice came out a throaty whisper. “Yes.” She drew his mouth back to hers and kissed him as she lay back down on the blanket, bringing him down with her.
He brought his hand up between her thighs and pressed against her mons. She tensed in his arms and moaned. Swearing he would be gentle, take things slow, Malcolm parted the folds of her femininity to find the bud of her sex. Stroking her gently with his thumb, he pushed a single finger inside her. She was hot, tight and slick with passion for him. Malcolm’s heart pounded so hard he feared it would jump right out of his chest.
He increased the pressure of his strokes, and her hips moved against him as she sought release. He bent to suckle her breast as he brought her to a frenzy of heated need. True came apart in a rush, calling out his name as her body trembled in his arms. He whispered words of encouragement and praise, holding her until the shudders ceased.
Covering her body with his, Malcolm positioned himself between her thighs, the tip of his manhood pressed slightly against her opening as he struggled for control. He needed to go slow and to be gentle. This first time would cause her pain, and she would need time to adjust.
Two blasts from the village horn sounded in the distance. Malcolm froze, his body tense as he listened. Two tones. Who could be returning to Moigh Hall? Only his father’s party had left, and they would not return until spring. Several seconds passed, and still he remained tense, listening.
“Two blasts means one of our own returns.” True wiggled beneath him and tried to draw him back to her. “Three means danger. You said so yourself. Don’t—”
In that instant, three warning blasts sounded from the village horn.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Before Alethia’s eyes, Malcolm changed from gentle lover to seasoned warrior. It took mere seconds for him to dress and gather their things. Her own mind refused to function. Hovering between fear of what the horn meant and passion, she couldn’t seem to move.
Malcolm lifted her to her feet, snatched her chemise from the ground, and tugged it over her head, repeating the process with her gown. “Quick, lass. Do your laces.”
She complied, feeling near tears.
“Can you stay your horse at a full gallop?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“You’ll ride with me then. The mare will follow.” He took her hand and led her down the path. Hoisting her onto his gelding’s back, he freed her mare and swung up behind her.
“I’m sorry, Alethia,” he murmured in her ear, his arm coming around her waist.
She couldn’t speak and didn’t want to think. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she gripped the gelding’s mane as they cleared the forest. Malcolm spurred his horse into a dead run. Her mare matched the gelding’s pace, galloping beside them.