Page 13 of Marry the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #1)

CHAPTER 13

Conall hadn’t intended to kiss Brigid. His only intention had been to attempt to allay her fears. But her eyes were so big, so bright, almost doe-like in her pale face, and her rosebud lips parted just so… he was bending forward before he could think to stop himself, drawn by the shimmer of intelligence and innocence in her eyes, and by the deep-seated desire that burned within him.

Brigid’s mouth was as soft as the rose petals whose hue matched her lips, and she tasted every bit as sweet—like one of Emily’s soothing chamomile teas—and he thought he could even taste the subtle, lingering flavor of the milk she loved so much.

She stiffened, startled by his actions, then melted into him, her mouth opening tentatively to the touch of his tongue and the press of his lips against hers.

She was uncertain of him, he knew that. Fearful of his temper, as so many were, and with good reason. She’d seen him kill two of his clansmen tonight, not to mention the man he’d killed before her on the day she arrived.

She was not used to so much violence, so much bloodshed. And yet she didn’t push him away, despite her understandable reservations. Instead, she was hesitantly welcoming, uncertain but willing to accept his touch and the glide of his tongue across the seam of her lips.

Her acceptance, her soft suppleness, ignited a fire deep in his belly—an ache in his groin that went straight to his shaft. Conall groaned, knowing he needed to stop, but loath to do so.

They broke apart for air, with Brigid leaning back against the wall, her lips reddened from his kiss and her eyes bright with confusion… but not fear. Not disgust, or horror, or the desire to run away that Conall had feared he’d see from her.

He stepped closer, pushing her against the wall until he could feel the heat of her, teasing brushes of the soft fabric of her robe and the simple linen shift underneath it. Her breath ghosted across his skin, sending pleasant tingles across his chest and through his limbs.

“Are ye afraid of me, Brigid?” He bent his head, his lips brushing her ear, and she shivered against him. It was like being brushed by feathers, and Conall felt his manhood stiffen further. “Do ye want me to back away? Do ye want me to stop?”

“I… Nae really…” Her voice was soft, breathy, and uncertain, but there was still no trace of fear.

But of course, she was a maiden still. She might guess at the heat and passion sparking between them, but her actions spoke of an innocence that told him she had no experience in the pleasures that could be had between a man and a woman.

He should back away. He was preparing to do so when Brigid reached out and touched his chest, her caress as soft as silk, and as hot as fire as she traced the lines of water droplets that had fallen from his hair.

Conall growled low in his throat. “What are ye doin’, Brigid?”

“Ye kissed me. I wanted to touch ye.”

He waited for more, but she said nothing else.

Conall felt his muscles quivering under her touch.

Well, if that was the way she wished it to be…

He bent his head to kiss her jaw, then her throat, directly over her pulse, her heart racing like his own. With each kiss, Brigid gasped, leaning further into his touch.

Conall undid the knot of her robe, pushed it off her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. One of the ties flicked against his stiff member as it fell, and he hissed in a sharp breath at the sensation. His arousal burned, his shaft so stiff and heavy that it ached with desire to claim the lass in front of him. But, somehow, he held himself back.

The laces that held the top of the shift closed were loose, and it took only the smallest effort to undo them.

Brigid shivered under his touch. “What are ye…?”

“I want to touch ye.”

He slid his hand over her round, soft shoulder—her skin was as smooth as silk—and teased the collar loose until he could guide his hand beneath it to cup the full, heavy mound of her right breast. It fit in his palm as if she had been made for him, the generous curves a pleasing contrast to his hard angles and rough edges.

He cupped her, teasing her nipple into a taut peak with his thumb and forefinger while his other hand guided the fabric of her shift around her waist so that she was nearly as naked as him. He kissed her shoulder, then her throat again, before nibbling lightly on her earlobe as he moved his hands so that he could caress her other nipple into a hard peak as well.

Brigid moaned against his mouth, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Ye…”

“Shhh.”

He cupped her chin in his free hand, letting the hand on her chest roam lower, down to the soft curves of her belly and her hips. She was full-figured, but not plump or overweight, as some might say. Rather, it was as if nature had gifted her with an exceedingly generous endowment of softness and warmth, to better please a man.

He slid his arm around her, tracing the line of her spine and watching the way she shivered under his touch, the lightest of caresses eliciting a response from her. She gave without inhibition, responding readily to him and inviting more.

Conall knew there were reasons to wait, but the aching, hungry part of him yearned to accept everything she offered and to show her all the pleasure that could be shared between a man and a woman.

Her first kiss with Conall had given her a taste of fire and heat, but kissing him again, having his hands caressing her in such an intimate manner… Brigid felt like a candle, melting under the heat of his passion in the most pleasurable way.

She could feel his manhood, hard and hot, poking her belly, temptingly close to her entrance. As his hand slid down her spine, tracing the line of it to the cleft of her buttocks, she arched into him. Conall made a surprised sound, something like a grunt, and his hands tightened on her hips and pulled her closer, trapping his hardness between them as his hips shifted against hers.

The movement pressed her breasts to his bare chest, and Brigid gasped as her sensitive, taut nipples brushed against warm, firm skin. She had never felt such a thing in her life before—like little darts of lightning, or dancing flames, shooting straight from her breast to her core.

She was so startled, so focused on the sensation, that she almost overbalanced, and only Conall’s strong arm, bracing against the wall, kept them both from falling. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he bent and kissed her again, his other hand wandering across her body.

Fingers twined in her hair, sliding through the dark strands and making her shiver at the feather-light pressure on her scalp. Then down her spine again, leaving a trail of heat as he stroked from shoulder to buttocks and back up again.

Brigid gasped as his hand left her back and slipped between their bodies, strong and sure fingers teasing and tugging gently at her nipples before his callused palm glided over her exposed belly. The touch made her muscles quiver with excitement, with desire, though what it was that she wanted, she could scarcely say.

His hand slid lower, under the bunched fabric of her shift where it pooled around her hips, until his fingers found her navel and traced slow circles around it. Brigid shuddered with delight.

She’d always been somewhat ticklish, but this… this was entirely different. Every inch of her seemed alive with sensation, and with wanting.

Conall’s hand slid lower, brushing the soft, short hair on the mound of her sex.

He paused, his breathing harsh in her ear, and she moaned, her hips shifting to feel more.

“Please…”

“Och… eager lass, arenae ye?” Conall’s voice was hoarse. But his hand slid lower to tease the seam of her sex, before pressing down.

Brigid gasped as pleasure shot through her, along with a delightful heat that had nothing to do with the steam from Conall’s bath, which still filled the room.

Conall slid his hand between her thighs, his strong, callused fingers pressing against her entrance, smoothing over the lips of her sex in a manner that made her feel almost lightheaded.

“Spread yer legs a little for me.” His command was low, hoarse, and went straight through her.

Brigid did as he asked, shuddering as his hand caressed her sex and stroked over her entrance with a smooth, firm touch that sent sparks to her core.

Conall stroked her again, then slid one finger into her slick channel. Brigid shivered again and clung to his shoulders as he thrust his finger inside her, the slight roughness of calluses like a heated brand against her sensitive walls.

His finger pressed slightly deeper and found a small, sensitive nub of flesh. Conall stroked it, and Brigid cried out, her back arching slightly as his finger glided over that spot, releasing a burst of pleasure so intense that it made her knees go weak.

Conall stroked her again, then a second finger slid deeper into her. Brigid gasped at the stretching sensation. “Conall…”

He began to stroke her pleasure center again, a steady, even rhythm that sent wave after wave of pleasure and heat through her. Brigid tried to maintain some semblance of control, but Conall’s touch was almost too much to bear. She lost herself in the sensations, barely aware that his other hand was helping hold her up as she writhed under his touch.

The strokes continued, now and then changing direction, or angle, or speed, or pressure. Each change sent a new wave of sensation through her body, carrying her higher on a spiral of heat and pleasure unlike anything she’d ever experienced, or even imagined.

Her heart was pounding, her knees weak, and all she could focus on was pleasure, heat, and Conall.

His finger slid a little deeper into her channel and then stroked a little harder, just as he dipped his head and laved her already sensitive breast with his tongue and a slight scraping of his teeth.

Brigid gasped, her body stiffening against her betrothed’s as a wave of heat and pleasure caught her up and swept her away, blurring her vision and sending warmth and wonder through every inch of her.

For a moment, there was nothing but warmth and light, and the sensation of flying and falling all at once, tremors rocking her frame as wave after wave flowed over and through her and her body shuddered in release.

Gradually, she became aware of her surroundings again. She was still in Conall’s room. In Conall’s arms. Her body was singing from what he’d done to her, and she felt somewhat dazed.

She also felt his rigid length pressing against her thigh—the sensation teasing her with the promise of more to come.

Conall kissed her, pulling her close against him. Brigid saw red marks on his chest and blushed as she realized she must have scratched him in her release.

His hips shifted, and she parted her legs, anticipating what was to come.

But then he stopped.

Brigid sucked in a breath at the mingled sense of disappointment and relief and bewilderment that flowed through her. “My… Conall?”

He chuckled, the sound dark and rich like smoke and velvet and treacle all at once. “Och, I like that. Yer Conall.”

He kissed her again, this time slow and sweet and gentle, then stepped back and pulled her shift back up to her shoulders.

Brigid stared at him, perplexed. “I dinnae understand…”

“I ken ye dinnae.” He cupped her cheek gently. “What ye’re offerin’ is something I wouldnae mind acceptin’… but nae until we’re wed.”

Brigid blinked. “But… we are betrothed.”

“Aye. But ’tis a matter of honor. I’ll nae tak’ the risk that someone might make any claims against ye.”

Brigid blushed. She knew very well what claims he was talking about—she’d heard the whispers in the village about lasses who were too loose with their favors or ‘couldnae keep their dresses laced’, according to the miller’s wife. She’d simply never thought that anyone would make up such rumors about her . No one at home had ever wanted to bed a Blackwood lass—or at the very least, they’d never wanted to sleep with her.

“I didnae think about that. Would they really make such claims, even though we’re promised to each other and the wedding will take place tomorrow?”

“They might. There are fools enough, and I wouldnae put it past Laird Auchter to tell such tales if he thought it would gain him something.” Conall’s tone was grim.

The thought that her own grandfather might spread lies to paint her as a wanton woman stung, but not as much when she remembered the events of just over seven days ago and the realization that he might have sent her to die at Laird MacKane’s hand.

“I hadnae thought of that.”

“Aye. And I’d rather nae be thinkin’ of it now.” Conall’s voice was a low growl, his eyes dark with an annoyance that Brigid shared. “But even so, I’m nae the sort of man to put desire above the welfare of someone in my care… especially nae my bride-to-be.”

She could still feel the tingles of desire coursing through her, the sensitivity of her breasts, the dull ache in her core, but knowing he was waiting for their wedding night for her sake was more than enough to wrap her in a warmth that offset her disappointment. After all, no one outside her family had ever cared much for her welfare and reputation before.

She nodded. “I understand. And…” She leaned up and kissed him lightly on the cheek, where his scar curled toward the corner of his mouth. “Thank ye. For savin’ me tonight from harm, and for carin’ enough to save my reputation as well. Kennin’ that it matters so much to ye… well, it makes it far easier to wait until tomorrow.”

To her surprise, Conall shook his head. “Nae tomorrow.” He touched her cheek with a gentle hand and tenderly brushed some of her loose hair from her face. “I promised ye, days ago, that if yer sisters hadnae come by the wedding date, that we could discuss delayin’ it. And ye said just now that ye were out walkin’ by the gates because ye were distressed that they hadnae arrived, aye?”

Brigid nodded. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

He cannae be sayin’…

“Then the wedding will wait. Whenever yer sisters arrive, we’ll hold the ceremony the day after. If it is tomorrow, then it will be the day after. If the delay is longer, then so be it.”

Brigid blinked, dumbfounded by the generosity he was showing her. “But ye said… The truce and all the preparations…”

“If I announce the delay at the mornin’ meal, there will be time enough for the cooks to make adjustments. Nothing else is so delicate that it cannae be managed easily, even if the steward will have a fit.” Conall gave a dark grin that seemed both mysterious and just the tiniest bit mischievous. “The man’s had little enough to challenge him since Oliver wed.”

“Och. Well, in that case…” Brigid swallowed hard, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

For once, there was no ready answer on her lips. She felt deeply touched, and it was all she could do to blink back tears at the show of kindness. Kindness she hadn’t expected to receive, for all that she’d begun to see that Conall Barr was not as grim and forbidding as he sometimes seemed.

“Thank ye.”

“Ye’re welcome.” Conall brushed her cheek lightly with his thumb, then kissed her—a quick, light kiss that made her head spin anew. “Now, if ye’ll leave me to it, I have a bath to finish… among other things.”

Before she could stop herself, Brigid glanced down. The towel was still wrapped around his hips, but it did very little to hide the prominent bulge of his manhood.

She blushed so hard that she was sure her cheeks were scarlet. “Of course. I should certainly… I’ll just be…”

Conall chuckled, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine.

Words failed her. Cheeks burning, she bent to grab her robe, then tied it on and darted to the door. As the heavy oak panel closed, she heard the sound of splashing bathwater.

Her cheeks were still hot as she climbed into bed, and when she woke up, it was to the memory of kisses and caresses that had followed her into her dreams.