Isle of Skye (Closed Thread)

[mack_the_knife]

This is a closed roleplaying thread for McKenna and Mack_the_Knife...

Okay, well, maybe it's more of a Shared Story thread...

 

[mack_the_knife]

Ten miles south and east of Drynoch the valley opens like a gateway to the sea. A stream runs down the low point of the valley, bubbling over rocks and miniature cliffs until it reaches the shore and plummets over the edge, ten fathoms to the crashing waves, upon the breakers, below.

The walls of the valley, east and west, are steep, nearly cliffs, with bare dun granite which has split and fissured over aeons into tumbles of stones and boulders among the many trees that hug the cliffs for protection.

The farmstead, at first, is almost invisible among the tumble of stones and trees that fill that half of the narrow valley in the Cuillin hills and upon the southern coast. It is builded of those stones, and blends into them quite a lot. However, it's red-brown roof of fired clay tiles reveals it to the observer.

It is surrounded by a number of smaller buildings, sheds, really. Most seem to be home to sheep, though there is a chicken coop among them as well, and a couple of indeterminate use.

Though the sun shines brightly, giving the impression of a warm little valley. A chill breeze blows in off the water, channeled by the valley walls into directions alien to its normal east-west flow. This gusty breeze causes the trees of the valley to flex and sway erratically and sings a sad song amid the ancient and broken cliff faces.

 

[McKenna]

Mairead MacTeighe was not a happy woman. Betrothed since her birth to a distant McLeod cousin, she had been resolved most of her life to become his bride. But upon her seventeenth year when no McLeod deigned to come and claim his bride, Mairead began to wonder when and if her fate would indeed to be tied to one Ewan McLeod.

Upon her nineteenth birthday, after countless messages sent between her father and his, Mairead was finally to learn her betrothed was too busy fighting wars that were not his to come and claim his bride. Mairead was not pleased. It was the lot of women to acquiesce to the will of the men in her life, first her father and now her betrothed, but Mairead was not happy with that lot. While he was off living his life (or dying while trying) she was cooling her heals in her father’s house waiting to get on with her own life.

By her twentieth birthday, she gave up all pretense of patience. When Aindreas Brodie danced with her at the Samhain celebration in her twenty-first year, Mairead lost her heart to the gentle fisherman with his sky-blue eyes. She pleaded with her father to be let free from the betrothal of her birth, but her father –ever the honorable man– would not hear of it.

Mairead did not stop meeting with Aindreas, and the feelings between them deepened and intensified. By Beltane and her twenty-second birthday, Mairead was ready to run away with Aindreas, her betrothal and family honor be damned. She’d waited five years for a man she’d never met; in her mind, her duty was fulfilled.

But that’s when the messenger arrived from McLeod. He had returned to the Drynoch area. He had fulfilled his required service to the King of Scotland, and was now ready to start his family; he was requesting the presence of his betrothed at the small chapel in Drynoch a week from today.

Mairead was dumbfounded. Upon hearing the news she ran from her father’s cottage as fast as her legs would carry her. She ran to the hills that had always comforted her, her eyes searching northward for the peak of Black Cuillin and her future home. Damn him, she thought. Damn Ewan McLeod and his return!

Mairead walked the hills for hours, her feet taking her over paths that were familiar and worn. As the sun dipped lower in the sky and the gloaming hour approached, Mairead turned her steps towards the sea, determined to find Aindreas and run away with him this night.

When she found him he was busily stowing his nets in preparation for another day of fishing on the morrow. She let her green gaze wash over him as he worked, her presence as yet undetected. He was wiry and tall and built like a fisherman. He clenched a pipe between his teeth which he pulled upon at regular intervals while he worked. The breeze lifted the tendrils of his hair and blew it over his forehead. Mairead stepped forward then, making her presence known.

A smile split Aindreas’ face as soon as he recognized her. Taking the pipe from his lips he spoke, “Mairead, lass, it’s good to see you,” and he opened his arms wide to receive her. Mairead rushed into his outstretched arms and buried her face in his chest.

“Och, now. What is it lass?” Aindreas asked, sensing the immediacy of her touch.

Mairead leaned back in his arms and reached up to brush the lock of hair from his forehead she had noticed earlier. “I want to run away with you Aindreas Brodie,” she whispered.

“Mairead,” Aindreas began, but Mairead stopped him with a finger to the lips.

“I have waited these five years. Surely that is enough to fulfill my family’s honor.”

Aindreas sighed deeply. “It’s not as easy as that. Where would we live? How would we live?”

“It doesn’t matter Aindreas, we will find a way.”

“Mairead, we cannae do that. We must have your father’s permission.”

Mairead’s face crumpled then as fear and uncertainty overwhelmed her. “But Aindreas, he will never give it. Not now. Not after today.”

Aindreas’ features registered curiosity. “What happened today, lass?”

Mairead met his questioning gaze while myriad emotions played across her face. “The McLeod has sent for me, Aindreas. He means to make me his bride Saturday next.” Mairead could feel Aindreas’ body stiffen. She watched the shock of this news spread over his features as he stepped away from her. He was quiet then, his gaze looking out to sea as he came to terms with the news Mairead had shared with him. He began to clean out his pipe though Mairead knew his mind was preoccupied. One he stored his pipe away, he turned to her.

Mairead sensed something then, something that made her take a step back from him and look at him questioningly. “Mairead, love,” he began, and from his tone of voice Mairead became very frightened. “We cannae run away. You must honor your family, I cannae ask you to run away with me.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her close, even as Mairead fought to push him away.

“You cannae mean this Aindreas!” she whispered, her face crestfallen and her heart beating painfully in her chest.

Aindreas closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. “I do, Mairead, I do. I cannae allow you to be other than what you are. I willnae allow you to forsake your family or your own honor to be with me.”

“Aindreas, doonae do-“

He stopped her then with a finger to her lips. He looked deeply into her fathomless green eyes and shook his head. “’Tis the way it must be, Mairead,” he whispered, then bowed his head to place a chaste kiss on her forehead. Mairead threw herself at him then, wanting to bury herself within his body so as never to be without him. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and sobbed out her frustration and anger.

Aindreas held her, soothing her with softly spoken Gaelic while he stroked the dark reddish-brown of her hair. They stayed like that for long moments before he gently pushed her apart and told her to go. Mairead ran then, ran until she could no longer run for the pain in her side. She never saw how Aindreas stood on the wharf with his fists clenched at his side, using all the willpower he possessed to keep from running after her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By Thursday Mairead was lost in the emotional upheaval of her life. She barely spoke, she barely ate, she did what was required of her and little else. It was as if the joy in her had disappeared and left a brooding banshee in its wake. Her family gave her as much of a wide berth as possible, but in a small Scottish cottage with a large Scottish family, that was nigh impossible.

By Friday when the family left to travel to Drynoch, Mairead’s disposition had not improved. Her face was pallid, her eyes spiritless; she resigned herself to a fate given her at her birth and a betrothal to a man seven years her senior. It was this pale and spiritless version of her former self that Ewan McLeod would meet, and Mairead couldn’t force herself to be more jovial for his sake. In her mind, she’d already given the man more than enough; she’d not give him one scrap more.

 

[mack_the_knife]

Ewen threw pulled upon the tabard of the fallen highlander. "Now, ya dog, ya take back what ye've said!" he growled through clenched teeth. He pulled back one powerful arm, clenching his fist tight, ready to punch the man again.

Through bloodied lips, the other man, another footman in the disbanding regiment said, "Aye, then, she's not diddling other lads, is she? I'm sure of it!"

"Yer damn right," said Ewen, releasing the man's tunic and letting him bounce on the floor. The huge McLoed looked around the little hut and at the other unconscious form. "There's things ya just don't yank a man's cod about, boyos."

The man whom he'd just released sat up. "Why'n you got to be so touchy about the lass anyhow, Ewen?" He rubbed his chin. "You used to have a sense of humor, you did."

Ewen stood up one of the fallen chairs. "Them women were different, Neil, they were just sport." He helped his friend to his feet. "When Ross comes to, give him my beer and tell him I apologize, as I do to you, too. I just loose my head when I think about something happening to my betrothed."

"Little harm done," said Neil. "I've been hit harder by lovers, you know."

The McLoed looked at him askance. "I thought Big Angus had an eye for you, boyo," he said.

Neil chuckled and pointed at Ewen. "Watch your tongue there lad," he said, smiling. "I'm still your superior officer."

"You've more rank then me, aye," said Ewen, "but only because of that incident with that dandy Frenchman the captain said to follow orders from."

"Well you didnae need to do what you did to the fancy man!" said Neil. "It'll be months afore his hairs grow back, and he may not walk right, ever."

Ewen sat down heavily in the chair. "I don't like Frenchmen," he said. "Especially Frenchmen who go about lairding it over a man."

Neil sat opposite him and hefted a beer. "And for that, I always will respect ya."

The next morning, the regiments was dissolved, and each man was handed a calligraphied and sealed release from the King's Army. A week later, he was back in his home town of Drynoch. His clansmen welcomed him home with a night of heavy drinking and eating.

"And my bride?" asked Ewen of his father over a long haunch of roast boar.

An uncomfortable look pinched his father's features. "Aye, lad, the arrangement's not been changed," he said. "Though, I daresay her own will may well have."

Ewen sat back. "What's that mean, then?"

"I've heard tell she's none too happy about your long listing in the army, son," he said. "It's a sore trial for a young woman to wait about after her godsent date of adulthood."

"It's not like I had a choice?" said Ewen, looking down at his drink, clutched in two powerful hands. His sea-green eyes unfocussed. "They simply told us one day we had to serve another year, then they did it again, and yet again."

"I know it, son, but young hearts don't take comfort in duty," said the elder McLoed. "She's a healthy maighdaen, and her body's telling her things that no amount of councel will turn about. Her father says she's foul moody about the whole matter. Though she's sticking by her clan, which does her honor. I've sent word that you've returned, and the wedding is set for eight days hence."

Ewen blinked. "Eight days," he said in a low voice. "You could let a lad get used to home. . . ."

"That girl has been put off too long, already, son," interrupted his father. "You make her wait much longer and I'll have to release her father from the agreement. He's none too happy about the delay, his own self. She's a fine lass, boy, and she'll be a fine wife."

"I wish I had met her," said Ewen, his voice waxing wistful.

The old Mcloed looked on him with sympathy. "And if you'd not been pulled off to war, ya would've, nigh five years ago. You'd have even had time for a bit of right good courting." He stared over toward the huge fireplace. "But it's now too late for that, the wedding is in eight days. I suggest you make good use of those days to get your home ready for her." A smile peeked through his thick beard. "Your nuptual night is bound to be a bit rocky as is, don't take her into a ramshackle home and expect it to be smoothed by the holes in the roof."

The following days were spent well by Ewen. He and his clansmen, along with Neil, who had come to Drynoch to stand as best man, repaired on his farmstead. Most of them stopped at sunset, but Ewen kept working, cleaning and repairing the home and the outbuildings until they were all in at least as good a shape as they had been when new.

"It's a damn fine home, if you ask me?" said Neil, patting Ewen's shoulder.

Ewen turned to him, shaking some plaster dust from his thick golden hair. "Well, it's damn well not you I'll be carrying over that threshold in three days, now is it?"

Neil laughed at him. "By God, I hope not," he said. "I've seen your bloody tackle and want no part of you."

The next day they spent driving the sheep from the main McLoed holdings to his own pens. A hundred head: his fifty from before the war and fifty more as a gift from some clansmen.

Ewens dogs took a couple of days to get used to him again, but were soon taking orders like he'd never been gone. "Damn, I love dogs, they're so loyal," he observed to Neil as the dogs rounded the sheep up and drove them into the pens.

"If people were that loyal, Ewen, they'd be no fun in it, would there?" said Neil.

The next morn, they set off for Drynoch to prepare for the wedding. The weather was fair and their moods were high as they rode.

"So, what's this lass look like anyway?" asked Neil. "You've never said, now that I think on it."

"Well, I've nae seen her with my own eyes, but I've been told, by some who have, that she's a damn lovely woman," said Ewen. "She's got auburn hair, which is right fitting for a highland woman, and her eyes are deep green." He smiled as he thought about the image forming in his mind. "They also say she's got skin as smooth as a marble statue, and twice as flawless as alabaster."

"Sounds like a fine woman to me, then," said Neil.

"Aye," said Ewen, "I'm sure she's even prettier than they can say."

"Why's that?" asked Neil.

A wicked grin spread across Ewen's broad features. "Most folk are afraid to speak too generously of her to me. I suppose its that I get a mite jealous to ken they were looking so hard."

They fell into silence, Neil letting Ewen have his time to think. Tomorrow he was to wed and he knew that many thoughts would be flowing through his friend's head.

Ewen, for his part, was afraid. What if his new wife didn't warm to him? Had he made her wait too long? He sighed massively. Too late to worry yourself over that now, boyo, he thought to himself. Most of all he feared the change that marriage might wreak upon him.

 

[McKenna]

“Canna you try to look a little livelier, lass?” her father asked, exasperated.

Mairead lifted her soulless eyes to his and shook her head. “’Tis enough I’m here, Da,” she argued. “Don’t ask me to be happy about it, too.”

Her father sighed and turned away, smiling as their host offered them all a dram of uisge beatha “to chase away the chill”.

A dram? Mairead thought. You’d best pass over the whole damned bottle! Instead of voicing her thoughts, however, she accepted the dram and tossed it down her throat before a toast could be made in honor of the future Mrs. Ewan McLeod. When she held her glass out and voiced a breathy “More, please,” the McLeod patriarch lifted his brow askance, but poured her another dram anyway.

Mairead’s father cleared his throat and asked, “Your son, he should be here soon you say?”

“Aye,” replied the McLeod patriarch as a slight flush darkened his neck and cheeks. “I expected him here earlier this morning. I think, perhaps, something must have happened with his sheep. He only just moved them out to the farmstead. ‘Tis the only thing I can think that would keep him,” he finished, his eyes straying meaningfully to Mairead.

Mairead harrumphed and looked away. Obviously Ewan McLeod was used to making her wait; he’d made her wait five long years. What were a few hours more?

“Might I be excused?” she asked suddenly and stood. “I’ve a need for some fresh air,” she said, even though they’d been riding in an abundance of fresh air all day to get there.

Her father and McLeod glanced at each other, a look of understanding and commiseration passing between them. “Of course, lass,” her father replied while McLeod nodded his head.

Mairead quit the room so fast her head spun. Actually it was the whisky that made her head spin and her cheeks flush; she could still feel its warm burn down the length of her throat and into the pit of her stomach. Mairead wrapped her earasaid around herself and pulled it tight to fight off the chill that had enveloped her where the whisky could not burn her. She walked away from the McLeod’s house toward the Cuillins, seeking the solace of the hills as she had done since she was old enough to walk.

She’d not gone far when she found a smooth stone on which to sit while she watched the homestead from below. The whisky coupled with her short walk had done what she had hoped it would: She felt less like she was suffocating and more like she was alive. She was so lost in her thoughts and her contemplation of the cottage below her, she did not hear the sound of approaching horsemen until they were upon her.

Mairead hastily stood and drew her earasaid carefully around her head before she raised her eyes to the two horsemen waiting beside her. At first her gaze was mildly curious as she studied the duo before her.

One was large and powerfully-built in his own right, but the man next to him was even larger and more muscular. He commanded her attention, and Mairead gave free reign to her curiosity as she let her gaze slide over him.

His thighs were thick where they grasped the horse’s flanks, tapering up to a trim but thick waist and even thicker chest. Mairead’s eyes opened wide as she noticed his arms: huge, the size of small tree limbs. She watched as a shaft of sunlight suddenly caught his thick, golden hair as if lighting it especially for her benefit. Last, but not least, her gaze met his; she gasped then, as recognition finally donned. The color of his eyes gave him away: His eyes were the same color she had noticed in the McLeod down in the cottage, only this man’s eyes were a deeper, purer hue, so beautiful she had trouble meeting his gaze. She glanced away while a faint flush crawled up her neck and flooded her cheeks.

This was him! This was the man she was betrothed to marry! A river of feeling erupted painfully in her chest then, anger and frustration being at the forefront. She wanted to open her mouth and vent her emotion, but before she could do so, McLeod opened his and spoke, “You must be Mairead MacTeighe –soon to be McLeod.”

Mairead tried not to think of Aindreas, she tried not to think of his blue eyes and his warm embrace but his image rose to her mind swiftly and painfully at the McLeod’s words. Mairead lifted mutinous green eyes to his. “Soon to be?” she scoffed. “Soon?!” She narrowed her eyes as she spit her anger at him, giving vent to the emotions churning inside her. “Och, aye, and here I thought you’d be granting me another five years reprieve!” sarcasm dripped from her every word. “Perhaps by then, McLeod, I’d have a belly full of bairns and a life with a man of my choosing!” And with that, Mairead MacTeighe turned on her heel and stomped away from her husband-to-be.

 

[mack_the_knife]

Ewen blinked and watched Mairead as she stormed off until she disappeared into the clan's manor house with a resounding crash of the door. He turned at the sound of Neil chuckling to regard his friend and confidante.

"Well, it's as you said, Ewen," said Neil. "She is very pretty."

"Aye," responded McLoed, his eyes moving back to the house and the dazed expression lingering on his face, "she is that."

Neil gave hims a sympathetic look. "Well, friend, you've got nae to fear about her being cold, I think," he said. "She's got fire in her veins."

Ewen urged his mount forward. "Aye, I only pray that it willnae leave me overdone." Neil followed and they stabled their horses.

A few minutes later, they crossed the courtyard toward the manor. Moving toward them like a warship was the McLoed, Ewen's father. He moved with a purpose that Ewen quickly realized meant an impending tongue-lashing.

"Where in bloody hell have ye been, boy?" screamed the old man as he tacked toward the two young men.

"I was doing as I was bid by a wise man, and making a home worthy of such a wondrous and mannered woman," said Ewen, forcing himself to speak calmly. "Tell me, father, when you arranged this marriage, lo those many years afore. Did the MacTaighe leave out the part about her being half wolf?"

His father stood for a moment. "What?" he finally said.

"I'll be dressing, assuming my pants fit now that I've had my sack ripped off," said Ewen. "May come the time I can retrieve it and feel a man again."

Neil again chuckled. "I did see it, sir," he said, "the lady has fangs long enough to emasculate a man at ten paces, it was a sore fright to see."

The elder McLoed spared his son's friend a brief glare, but gave his boy a withering glower that caused the young man to look away. "If you two are done making light of a girl's heartache and upset, we've matters to tend before you wed that she-wolf as you call her."

He spun about and led them toward the house. "Ya damn well better learn a bit of contrition, else your bound for a lifetime of hell, son."

He led them upstairs where there was furious activity throughout the upper floor. Preparations were moving fast toward the ceremony and the reception to follow. As the two companions walked over the entry foyer of the home, Ewen caught sight of Maireid as she was being ushered toward her own dressing room.

He stopped walking and Neil very nearly ran into his broad back. He regarded the lovely and chilly woman. Her auburn hair was as he had been told, only it was silkier looking and shone like spun copper. Her skin was as fair as he had been told, as well, but he had never though about how badly he would want to touch it.

His massive hands clenched and unclenched as he took in her loveliness. Then he was obliged to look away. Her emerald eyes turned toward him, and impaled him on their pointed disdain for him. Make me wait? they seemed to say, we'll see how long you wait to be a happy man again.

Then she was gone, gently urged through the doorway into her fitting room. He immediately wanted to see her again, even if it meant basking in her frigid gaze. He took a step toward that closed door.

"Woah, there, Ewen," said Neil, gripping the huge man's shoulder. "I think you better do what you can to prevent any further delays," he said. "Or else your new bride might sadly find herself widowed on her wedding night."

Ewen nodded and they prodeeded to their dressing rooms. "I know I was gone a long spell, but it wasn't as if it was my choice, was it?"

His friend gave him a deeply meaningful shrug. "Don't ask for argument from me, If I were her, I'd count my blessings to have put this day off five years, knowing what a lout you are."

They dressed as quickly as they could in their finest. Neil coughed as they completed their dressing and moved off to another room to consult with any convenient body.

Ewen looked the very soul of the clan, now. His new kilt, brightly died and gleaming in its colors of yellow and black, with piping of red and green. His shirt, bleached startlingly white, and his ribbons and awards from the service to the king. "Well, at least you're half presentable," commented Neil as he appraised his friend.

They stepped from the near closet they had been forced into and came into the larger chamber beyond. The two of them were engrossed in quiet conversation when a soft cough caught their attention.

McLoed looked up to regard the stern, petite form of a woman with her arms crossed over her chest. Her golden hair and sea-green eyes revealed her close kinship to the large man. She smiled sweetly as she caught his eye. “Emogene,” he said, suddenly very afraid.

“Brother,” she said, her voice dripping almost as much vitriol as his to be bride. “That gel in there is nigh ready to throw away all she’s got, her dowery, her family, her clan, and her honor.” She shook her head slowly.

Ewen stood to his full height and looked down at Emogene. “And it’s what to you, then?” he asked.

A small hand, blurred with speed, smacked his cheek. “You listen to me, you great ass!” she shouted. Eyes around the chamber turned to the pair for a half a heartbeat, then quickly turned away.

“All right, damn, Emogene,” he said, rubbing his cheek. “You’ve got my attention.”

“Her sister told me she’s half ready to throw everything away to be rid of you,” she hissed through her teeth. “From what I saw outside, I’d say it’s a damn site more than half. I know you couldn’t just up and leave the war, on the king’s command, but ya might have thought to write the gel a damn letter or two!”

She reached into a small pouch on her hip, pulling forth several pieces of vellum, well-worn and obviously read many, many times. “I’m waiting for a soldier, too, and I begrudge his part in it not. Why? You might ask,” she said, brandishing them at her big brother like a dagger. “Because he’s said a few words on paper at me, he tells me what he’s about, and the whys and wherefores.”

Ewen blinked at the tirade from his junior sibling. “I was to write a woman I’d never met?” he said, his face turning slightly red.

“Ya mayna have met her yet, aye,” said Emogene, “but ya damn well intended to meet the hell out of her when ya got back.” She waved the letters at him one last time. “If Gregory tried to come home, only after three years, mark you, without even a single word of comfort, he’d be lucky to escape the honey-moon night with his soft bits still attached.”

“Bloody hell, woman,” said Ewen. “I was in a war! Every day or two I had small Frenchmen with long spears trying to cut my days short.”

“I know it brother,” she said, sighing. “The problem is that you might have said it to the woman you intended to come home to. She wasn’t exactly privy to the correspondence you sent here to the Big House.”

“I don’t know her from Jack!” exclaimed Ewen. “All I had was rumor and sparse words.” He glowered at his sister, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “And ya damn well know I cannae write.”

“And I damn well know you’ve got a man of letters for a mate, there,” she jerked her head toward Neil. “Or did you think we here thought you suddenly found your quill in the war? It was his hand what penned them letters, and he’s a good mate, from what you’ve put in them. He’d of happily scribbled a few more for you, I wager.”

Across the room, Neil tried to hide behind a small knot of women talking, not very well.

“Well, your in for it now, in any case,” said Emogene. “Here comes da.”

Cutting a course through the crowd was their clan’s flagship member. He was trying to present a happy and effusive face, but his eyes were lined with worry. People began to migrate toward the great hall, settling into their assigned places.

The old McLoed manhandled Ewen and pushed him like a figurehead before him. He set him into position before the altar, set upon a low platform and before the whole of the audience. Ewen nervously moved from foot to foot, and let his eyes roam the crowd. The difference between the two halves of the gathering was startling.

On one side of the hall, where yellow and golden hair predominated, he saw happy, smiling faces with much murmuring among the folk. On the other, there was near silence and the expressions were far from warm. Unconsciously, he moved a further step toward the people who seemed to desire his continued life.

Neil, standing to his right, chuckled. “Lad, you’ve annoyed more than just the one gel, I see,” he said. “You may just start yourself a war.”

“Aye,” said Ewen, sighing. “The bloody Five Years war, I wager.”

Somewhere in the back of the great room, the pipes skirled into life. The room fell, more or less, into silence, and Ewen stiffened. “It’s time,” he whispered, almost too low to even be heard by Neil. “Bloody hell.”

Neil’s eyes widened in realization for his friend. Ewen was more afeared than he had ever seen him. Even facing down superior numbers of enemy, Ewen had not displayed this sort of overt panic.

“Lad, it looks like yer facing down a hundred Englishmen all at once,” said Neil.

The quaver in Ewen’s voice was unmistakable as he sighed back, “I damn well wish I were. Least it’d be over quickly.”

 

[McKenna]

Mairead’s mother helped her to dress in her wedding finery, tsking occasionally over her daughter’s continued silence. Mairead felt she had nothing to say. In the past week her heart had been dealt a deathblow and her life had turned topsy-turvy. The life she had expected she’d start living five years ago had suddenly and irrevocably been demanded of her, whether or not she was ready for it.

Meeting McLeod had not helped matters. The smug smile on his face as he’d eyed her over had prickled that anger and frustration in her heart. She was more than a piece of meat bargained for at a pretty price; she was human, a woman with feelings, needs and desires of her own. And right now, her desire was not to wed the handsome stranger she’d been betrothed to since birth.

Oh aye, he was handsome. Mairead would have to be dead not to have noticed. In fact, the feeling of instant and irrevocable attraction she felt for him had added fuel to the fire of fury she’d felt at their meeting; she was angry at herself as well as at him, for how could she, a woman who loved another, so easily be attracted to a handsome face and compelling eyes? Mairead refused to believe she was fickle; much easier to give vent to the frustration and anger inside at his tardy arrival.

Though when he’d caught her in the hall just before she stepped into the bedchamber to change clothing, she’d been afraid he’d seen past her anger to the confusing emotions his presence elicited. She’d felt trapped by his gaze and the look of masculine appreciation in his eyes. If not for the gentle nudge at her back, she knew not what would have occurred. She had felt the current between them though she didn’t know its source; perhaps he, too, was angry, angry at her outburst, angry at her lack of meekness in his oh-so-powerful presence.

At that thought Mairead gave an unladylike snort. Ha! It wasn’t that Mairead couldn’t be meek, in fact at one time she was very meek; but five years of waiting and growing up had led her down a path towards becoming comfortable with her life without a husband, a life that had made her strong and stubborn –and very set in her ways. It was then and there that Mairead decided that there’d be some respect earned and given before she’d allow the man his “husbandly rights”. Mairead wasn’t about to let him continue with this pattern of behavior where his woman would be overlooked and forgotten whilst he chased after whatever dream his heart –or King- desired of him. Mairead wasn’t about to be taken for granted.

“You’ve got that look in your eye, daughter,” Mairead’s mother, Isobel, scolded.

“What look?” Mairead quickly attempted to school her features.

“Och, lass, you’re face is like an open book. You couldnae lie if you wanted to! Your face reveals your thoughts. You’re planning something, I can just tell it.”

“What could I possibly be planning now, moments before I am to pledge my life to another? I’m well and truly trapped, and well you know it.”

Isobel stopped before her daughter and placed a motherly hand to her cheek. Mairead saw the softness in her mother’s eyes and quickly looked away; her mother had a knack for inducing guilt with the tiniest of gestures. “Mairead, mo chroí, do not make the mistake of starting this marriage off on the wrong foot.”

Heat suffused Mairead’s cheeks and she refused to look at her mother.

Isobel continued, “Love will come, and if not love, respect. But it takes time to build these things between a man and a woman.”

Mairead snorted. “Time. It always comes back to that, Mum. Have I not given the man enough time?”

Isobel sighed. “Mairead, five years is but a drop in the bucket compared to a lifetime of years. Doonae make it harder on yourself than you must. Allow yourself to be open to him, to the possibility that you may find the happiness you seek.”

It was on the tip of Mairead’s tongue to deny her mother, but as she glanced into her dark, pleading eyes, Mairead knew she couldn’t do it. She saw the worry etched in the fine lines on her face and knew that she could not and would not add to that worry any more than she had to. She drew a deep breath and offered her mother a tremulous smile. “I promise I’ll not kill the man, Mum,” she smiled and winked gregariously. “At least not on the first night.”

Mairead’s light-heartedness eased the worry in her mother’s features so that the two smiled at each other briefly before hugging each other tight. “’Tis time, Mairead,” her mother said after a moment or two.

“Aye,” agreed Mairead quietly. “It’s past time.”


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Mairead waited outside the small chapel for the piping to begin, her cue to enter the chapel. A breeze from the not-so-distant sea skittered over the landscape to play with the tendrils of hair falling about her face. Isobel had lovingly crafted Mairead’s auburn hair into an intricate braid, weaving bits of heather and wildflower into it. Mairead wore her very best dress, a dress that was made for her some five years previous. It might have been better had she tried it on again before today so that alterations could be made to accommodate her changing body; at seventeen, Mairead wasn’t quite so well-endowed in the chest and hip area. The dress pulled tautly across her bosom before narrowing to her waist where she had belted a length of her family’s plaid. The dress was mostly ivory-colored; the clan tartan at her waist and shoulder were a stark and becoming contrast to the white. It also helped to lend some color to Mairead’s pale face.

When the pipes began Mairead drew a deep breath and walked slowly into the chapel. Immediately she was hit by the presence of the large, handsome man at the front of a chapel. His presence overpowered every other in the room so that it felt to Mairead as if she and he were the only ones in the room. Her eyes skittered up to his, then quickly darted away as she saw a heat and depth in his eyes at whose meaning she could only guess. Twin orbs of color appeared on her cheeks as she continued her walk towards the front of the chapel. Again her eyes darted to his as if compelled to do so from some secret force he was exerting. Again Mairead felt that strange butterfly sensation in her stomach, and again her glance skittered away. By then she had reached the front of the chapel and stood demurely by his side. She noticed then how tall he was, how her head barely reached his shoulder. His presence was overpowering and it felt to Mairead as though she were little more than a child standing next to him. She felt very small and vulnerable, indeed.

And as she slipped her pale, soft hand into his much larger one –a signal that the ceremony could begin– she looked up at him with her soul in her eyes. What she did not know was that the emotion she displayed on her expressive features, the emotion she was incapable of hiding, seemed to ask of him “Go gently down this path; I am not as unbreakable as I seem.”

 

[mack_the_knife]

Ewen was utterly flummuxed. He had expected her to move down the aisle like a someone going to an urgent meeting with the privy. But, no, she moved tentatively, and the looks he caught from her emerald eyes were furtive, shy and arousingly demure.

He had, of course, watched her move down the aisle and had seen, quite clearly, her look of hostility toward him as she entered. However, as she moved in a slow, graceful procession down the aisle, amid the watching eyes of both clans, that hostility seemed to evaporate. Her entire carriage changed. Mairead had borne a stance of challenge as she entered and when she moved to his side, by the time which he had turned to face the ancient granite hewn altar, she seemed to have almost become a different woman.

This may not turn out so badly, after all, he thought as she placed her tiny hand in his. Damn, but she’s lovely, he thought, as well, then another part of his mind said, aye, and a falcon looks quite pretty flying over the glens, does it not, right before it rips the guts from a rabbit.

That disturbing imagery ruined the impending erection he was starting to get from the feel of the small hand and the scent of flowers and perfume coming from the vision of true Scottish loveliness that stood beside him.

Ewen had known a few women on his campaigns, but he could not now recall their faces. They just became ‘other women’ in his mind, lesser women, really. This beauty, beside him, was his woman. His woman.

He glanced aside and caught her giving him a brief look as well, her eyes seemed almost to beg something, but she only turned away, her mouth toying with a tiny smile, but not quite arriving at one. You made her wait for you? his mind asked, by God, you should have waited for her!

The ruined warmth in his loins returned, and with more enthusiasm this time. The lovely woman beside him was to be his wife. He would not only be allowed to make love to her, he would be damn well expected to do so. Ewen decided this was a chore he was happy to be obliged to.

The priest moved before them and began speaking words in latin. The sermon portion of the ceremony was blessedly short, and soon over. It struck him as odd that they gave the sermons in latin, and not one man in ten could understand them. Just how in God’s own name was Ewen supposed to behave in a Godly manner when he did not even know what God sought of him? He shook this triviality from his head and once again stole a look at the maiden beside him.

Like before, she was looking at him, and the hate that had marked their initial meeting was still missing from her gaze. If he did not know better, he thought there might be worry there now, less so than hostility. When their eyes met for a brief moment, he squeezed her hand gently, trying to pass some measure of reassurance to her, if she would have it. Those emerald eyes glittered with supressed tears and he still saw lurking, in the proud bearing of her head, a slight hint of the strong, and frankly thrilling, creature that had very nearly spit in his face out on the downs.

The priest began the ceremony proper. He called for anyone who wished to speak against this marriage to speak his word now. Ewen caught a slight look of expectation on Mairead’s features for the briefest of moments, but it was quickly replaced by her once again mildly worried expression.

He then made a short speech regarding the sanctity of marriage and the importance of what they were committing to. As if we don’t have that bit drilled into our bloody skulls every living day, thought Ewen. A small smile spread on his broad features when he saw Mairead roll her eyes at the same portion of the speech. Poor lass has probably been just as browbeat as I with it. Then a horrible thought dawned in his mind. Or worse.

The priest turned to Ewen, and asked him if he would swear himself to stand by Mairead’s side, to be her protector and provider, to love her and cherish her, and lastly to serve her needs as his own, no matter the obstacles the world put in their paths.

“I swear it,” said Ewen.

He felt Neil nudge his elbow, and thought to swat the annoying little man back when he realized that he was to place the ring upon Mairead's hand. Neil held out the gold ring, glittering with a large emerald amid a cluster of smaller diamonds, and Ewen gave him a smile of gratitude. He now knew full well what best men were there for, for the groom would forget his arse, should it not be securely fastened.

He turned toward the lovely, petite woman before him and lifted her slender hand, noting the long, sharp nails and the softness of her fair skin. He repeated the vows as he slipped the ring onto her finger. "I am Ewen Mcleod, and I swear to protect you, to provide for you, to love you, to cherish you, and to serve your needs as my own. Mairead MacTeighe, will you have me?" Their eyes locked over their joined hands and he saw for himself a glorious future with this magnificent woman as his wife.

 

[McKenna]

Mairead inhaled deeply as she gazed into Ewan’s eyes. He spoke his words with a sense of sincerity. Did he truly mean them? Mairead had no time to discern his intent; the congregation waited impatiently for her answer.

Mairead ducked her head and briefly studied the band on her finger. “Aye,” she murmured softly, though the entire church was quiet enough it was easily heard. “Aye Ewan McLeod, I’ll accept you.” An audible sigh could be heard coming from the general direction of her family’s pew. Mairead was oblivious to her father’s obvious relief as she raised her gaze again to Ewan’s, her eyes lit strangely from within. “I promise to care for you, to ease your pain and offer you comfort, to serve your needs as my own.” She paused slightly before finishing, “And I promise should you earn my trust and love, you shall have it all your live-long days.”

The priest lifted his eyebrow at her oddly-phrased vow, but said nothing when Ewan did not object. Instead he wrapped the binding cloth that sealed them as man and wife around their hands, and then blessed them in the way of the Church. The pipes started up again and before Mairead could even remember it was expected, she felt Ewan’s lips on her own. They were warm and though not hard, not soft either. Mairead gasped at the contact of his firm flesh against her own; she felt Ewan take advantage of the aperture her gasp created to slide his tongue ever-so-swiftly against her bottom lip in a kiss that held the promise of something far more carnal.

Mairead reared back as if branded. Ewan had snaked his arm around her back, however, preventing her from retreating as far as she had wanted. Her green eyes spit shock and displeasure at him as her lips straightened into a thin line.

“Och, Sweet,” he said, a smile playing about his lips at his brief but obvious conquest, “You did promise to ‘serve my needs as your own’ …and I feel right now I need another kiss...”

Mairead grit her teeth as her palm itched to slap the smug smile off his too-handsome face. “Aye, but I’m not feeling the need myself, so I figure until we both do, I’ll hold off on the bestowing of kisses.”

She wasn’t sure but she thought she saw a spark of admiration in his eyes just seconds before his lips took hers once again. His second kiss was far less gentle as he tugged her body to him, pressing her breasts into the solid wall of his chest. He ground his mouth against hers in a kiss that spoke of possession and hunger and primitive conquest. Mairead felt as though he attempted to suck the very life and spirit out of her; and the harder she fought to be free of him, the tighter he held her and ground his mouth against her.

Belatedly Mairead became aware of the whoops and hollers from the congregation as they witnessed what looked like an overly-zealous husband kissing his all-too-pliant wife into submission. Only Mairead and Ewan were aware of the struggle between them as Ewan’s body and strength hid much of what was truly happening.

When at last the kiss ended Mairead lifted the back of her hand to her mouth and wiped it angrily. “How dare you?!” she spat.

Ewan’s eyes darkened dangerously, a fact that Mairead was only mildly aware of. “Oh I dare lass. I dare because you’re my wife now. Mine. It’s best you get used to that idea.”

“And it’s best you get used to the idea that---”

“Wo ho there, Ewan! Save something for the wedding night!” Neil interrupted, slapping Ewan on the back while winking suggestively. “’Course if she were mine, I’d be wishing for sundown right about now,” he said, and smiled at Mairead.

Mairead blushed and looked away, uncomfortable and unsure how to respond in her naivety. By then the group gathered tightly around them, ushering them out the door while the pipes played on, ushering them to a new life, a new beginning, and the beauty of a Scottish summer evening.

It was only belatedly as they walked toward the manor house that Mairead saw a figure in the distance, a figure that was achingly familiar with his wind-swept hair and tall frame as he walked away from the crowd. Aindreas, she thought, and her eyes grew wistful as the pain in her chest burgeoned to over-flowing.

 

[mack_the_knife]

Ewan thought hard about what had just happened. Why the bloody hell did you just do that? His mind asked, directing the question to nether places. Once he put his lips to the beautiful maiden, his mind ceased all higher function, at least the reasoning portions of it. You’ll suffer for it, mark that, Ewan.

The bald distaste she wore from the kiss bothered him far more than he let show. He wanted nothing more, right now, than her acceptance. That she had not given.

She spoke the vows, aye, but she didn’t give everything with them. That last bit, a bothersome appendix to her words rather wore on Ewan’s mind. Should I earn them? He pondered, and just how the hell am I supposed to do that?

The tension, as often was between Ewan and other folk, was broken by the smooth interruption of Neil. A good mate, he was, and ne’er was a better man to have behind you as a second. Whether it be war or, apparently, love.

Her fire was going to be a source of much in his coming days, he was sure. As clansmen from both houses, as they were now all kin by yet another bond, circled about he and his new bride, bestowing hearty pats on the back and cheerful advice regarding the nights of the honey-moon. He smilingly accepted the words of wisdom as they came, knowing full well most of them were blarney.

His sister stood before him. “Ya best learn when enough is enough, laddie,” she said smiling as if giving him a jovial bit of sisterly advice on women, “else you’ll find your wedding bower a wee bit chilly.” She hugged him warmly. “I know you’ll do the right thing by her, brother of mine.”

Ewan stood up from the hug and watched his sister move back into the crowd. Smiling faces and happy words, it was good, but he only sought one face right now, and wished to hear her say happy words, as well.

He glanced toward where Mairead had slowly migrated with the press of folk about her. Five paces separated them now. Wonder how long I’ll be chasing a ever-retreating foe, he thought.

She caught his look and her eyes flashed with that fire again. It wasn’t hatred, and that relieved him. It was more akin to the general disdain one received from the folk of a conquered village. They did not hate you personally, they just knew you were the enemy and hoped you would be gone soon.

They were being ushered back into the main house of the manor and Ewan, still surrounded by well-wishers, followed behind his bride, with her own fleet of escorts. He watched her walk, and noted a certain slowness of her gait, she was hesitant and seemed rather to be simply going somewhere, rather than wanting to get there.

Then her head moved suddenly, the fastest motion, save that after the kiss, she turned and looked toward a hill on the seaward side of the manor. Ewan followed that hasty look, though no others seemed to take note of it.

Walking about that hill, away from the wedding party, having obviously been in attendance, was a tall man, his hair flowing in the wind. Her eyes lingered on the form as he moved around the rise and was gone before they shifted ahead again. Who’s this then? wondered Ewan, still regarding the cleft into which the man had disappeared. The words of his friends echoed in his ears that five years was a long while for a young woman to wait without anyone to comfort her lonely nights.

A short burst of anger welled in him before his will could reassert itself, Neil, standing behind him, saw it. “Calm down,” he said quietly. “You know if he was a possible suitor, then doing something rash would do nae but push her away.”

Ewan nodded slowly, but still his eyes smouldered at the small valley, as if willing it to burst into fire. “Aye,” he muttered, turning for the manor just to watch Mairead’s advance party of women enter.

The men lingered a while outside, and a wagon was hauled out with a barrel of beer. Inside the women would be changing into dresses more suited for dancing. Mairead’s father, a man nearly as massive as Ewan himself approached the younger man. “Lad, you don’t know how close you came to missing out on my daughter’s hand,” he said, sounding a bit drunk already, possibly with relief. “I love my girl and be damned if it didn’t break my heart to see her fretting.”

“I apologize, sir,” said Ewan, looking truly abashed. “I had nae intent to be away so long.”

“I know it, son!” said her father, now his father-in-law, “but it’s not me what needs apologies on the matter, I’ve not waited five years for ya.” He jerked his chin toward the manor. “Best you share words like that with your wife.”

Those words sunk into his mind. ‘Your wife’, he had said. Ewan finally fully realized that she was now his wife, and would be for their remaining lives. The rather stunned look he adopted while thinking seemed to amuse the elder MacTeighe. “I see you have still things to think on, lad,” he said, smiling. “I’ll leave you to it.” With that, he moved off to greet Ewan’s own father.

Ewan felt very alone, even amid the reveling men of both clans. He felt somehow, even though he had just earned of quite likely the prettiest woman on the isle, if not Scotland, that he had somehow just drawn the short straw.

The men had just finished their first round of beers when Neil thrust a mug into Ewan’s hand. “Here, laddy, drink up, it’ll keep you calmer when you’re having that first dance,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to finish before you’ve begun, and all.”

There was a loud row of guffaws from the gathered men, and another round of jovial back-slapping. As Ewan brought down the mug, he saw his sister poking her head out the door, waving the men in. “And bring that keg of beer with ya, you louts, or you reckon we women folk aren’t thirsty?” she shouted, waving at the handcart with the beer on its back.

Another good-natured roar came from the gathered men as they manhandled the cart through the wide door and all of them began pouring into the great hall of the manor. “Best you not be last through that door, lad,” said Ewan’s father. “She’ll not like that, I think.”

Ewan sighed. can’t a lad even think a bloody moment? he wondered, I’m supposing not he replied to himself. The band, a group of five, was readying their instruments, preparing to play the first song. Ewan came in, setting down his mug on a handy table and looking about for Mairead. She stood in the center of the opposite wall, surrounded by women on all sides.

As he walked onto the open dance floor, the women seemed to evaporate back, leaving poor Mairead the obvious target of his advance. Her face blushed slightly as she realized that just as much as had been in the chapel, she was now the absolute center of all attention.

Hard as she tried, her eyes would not focus upon his, they glanced aside, as if he wore a shield. She cursed under her breath, trying to summon the courage to meet his intense gaze as he walked nearer and held out a massive hand to her.

Her emerald gaze locked upon that proffered hand. You’re going to take it, Mairead, why pretend you’re not? part of her mind asked as she hesitated. As always, you will do what is expected of you, why stop now?

With a sigh of resentment she put her hand in his, almost threw it into his and they met with a loud clap. Ewan’s thick fingers closed over hers and he pulled her toward him, as if he were reeling in a caught fish. Passively, her body followed the tug and she found herself against his chest again.

Her own heart betrayed her by pounding so hard in her chest that she knew the big McLeod could feel it. His huge arm went around her slim waist, pulling her tight against him. Whether he could feel her heartbeat, she could feel his, she thought. It was like the beating of a signal drum. Might that brute be as nervous as I she wondered.

The band struck up and the music settled into the slow, swaying chords of a traditional courting dance.

With surprising grace, Ewan led her and she felt the floor move beneath her feet as she followed, almost instinctively, his lead. It did not occur to her that she was following his lead, without any hesitation, until well into the dance. When that fact did dawn upon her, she nearly stumbled and felt his huge, booted foot come down atop her own slipper-clad one. With a touch no more damaging than a kiss, his foot lifted and he helped her regain her step, and her misstep was utterly absorbed by his smooth interception.

The gathered members of both clans seemed to sigh as one as they moved across the floor, spinning with slow ease. Mairead rather enjoyed dancing, as she had all her life, and she felt some of the tension leave her. Unconsciously, she leaned into her partner, and her head rested against his muscular chest where she heard the heartbeat she had felt now, booming in one ear. Your heart, a tiny portion of her brain offered.

She blinked and lifted her head to regard that face she refused to accept. “Damn you,” she whispered so quietly that she knew he would not hear over the music and the crowd beginning to dance along with them.

Ewan was once again adrift and alone, even with his new bride in his arms. She all but slapped him when he kissed her. Now she was laying into him in the dance, and following perfectly. He sighed, but not in contentment, his mind remained awhirl at the confusion she was putting there.

 

[McKenna]

“Damn you,” Mairead whispered, though she could not name specifically why she damned him. Was she damning him for his good humor in the midst of what was to her, a very emotional and confusing day? Was she damning him for dancing so gracefully, for leading her so subtly she followed him without conscious thought? Was she damning him for making her forget herself and this day and her honor …and Aindreas?

Mairead glanced away from his face and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. He had called her his, he had claimed her possessively though he knew nothing about her other than her name. Is that what a marriage is, then? Claiming and taking? Not giving and sharing? Am I to lay claim to him as he laid claim to me? she wondered silently.

The thought so shook her that she again missed a step. Ewan carefully covered her lapse and guided her gracefully while she regained her composure. Already he fills the gaps where I lack… the thought came unbidden as she once again raised her eyes to the man she would henceforth call “husband”.

Soon the dance ended amidst the applause of those gathered. The musicians hastily started a jig, the dance of courting complete so that now the livelier, more energetic music could begin. Mairead’s father grabbed her hand and claimed her as his partner. “I’d like one last chance to dance with my lass, Ewan, before you take her away from me!” he laughed as he said this but Mairead laughed not at all.

Take me away? All at once it dawned on her that she would not be returning with her family. As she concentrated on the dance she let her thoughts tumble willy nilly one over the other: She would not go back to the crowded home she’d grown up in, she’d not ever again share a bed with her younger sisters. Instead, she thought as panic welled up inside her, I’ll share a bed with him! Her eyes strayed across the room to where Ewan stood in a crowd of men, laughing and smiling at whatever ribald joke was being told. At that precise moment he looked up and caught her looking at him. Mairead blushed, feeling as though she were a small child caught snitching cookies from the kitchen. She glanced away at her father as the dance continued and they completed a few intricate steps; her thoughts, however, did not stray far away from Ewan.

Again she glanced at him beneath her lashes. She studied his warrior’s body and wondered how very different it would be to lie next to him every night rather than the small, delicate frame of her sister. Will he hold me? she wondered. Will it feel the same as when Aindreas held me?

His body was much different than Aindreas’. Where Aindreas was lanky, Ewan was solid. He was built like the trunk of a tree: thick, strong, sturdy and very tall. Mairead studied his hands as he held tumbler of whisky, noticing how large they seemed in comparison to the glass. His hands looked very capable of downing a man with just one blow; would they also be hands gentle enough to offer comfort? To hold a newborn babe with care? To touch me kindly while he endeavors to make me his woman?

Again Ewan glanced up and caught Mairead’s stare. Damn him! Mairead cursed him silently a second time as she hastily looked away. The man had a knack for discerning when she studied him. Had she managed to keep her features from expressing her thoughts?

The jig ended and on its heels another started. Again Mairead was asked to dance, and again she accepted. If she didn’t dance, would she be expected to stand next to her husband? Mairead wasn’t ready yet to explore the myriad of feelings Ewan triggered by his very presence. Did she like the man, or loathe him?

When someone pressed a glass of fine Scotch whisky into her hand, Mairead downed it in a gulp in order to keep dancing. Another, and then another were given her, and Mairead swallowed them with just as much haste as the first. After half an hour of dancing and drinking, Mairead was more than ready for the wedding feast to begin and willingly allowed Neil to lead her to her seat right next to Ewan.

“Well hello, husband,” Mairead said, only slightly slurring her words. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a fine looking man, Ewan McLeod?” Mairead’s cheeks colored then and her eyes grew wide as she realized the thought she’d meant to keep silent had actually been voiced. She sat hastily then, and stared straight forward while praying that Ewan would let her remark go unnoticed.

 

[mack_the_knife]

Ewan blinked while trying to concentrate upon the people about the table. Had Mairead just come onto him? The deep purple coloration of her cheeks showed that she may have just overshot her mark of relaxing inebriation. Her hands fumbled with her two-tined fork and the knife beside her plate. Ewan reached over and patted one hand. "Good to see you enjoying the evening, even if you don't care much for me," he said.

Mairead turned with marvelous slowness to face him. "I cared enough to say aye, didn't I?" she asked in the tone of a drunken person being confidential, which is to say very nearly yelling.

"Aye, that you did, my lovely bride," said Ewan.

The firebrand of a girl thought hard about his words. By God, I am his bride, she thought. As this sank into her mind, food was hauled out and set on massive platters on the long tables of the banquet. However, the toasts would come first, and Mairead feared these intensely. All those good people wishing her and her new husband well.

Neil, as best man to the groom had first rights and soon took them. He stood from Ewan's left and held aloft a massive mug of ale. "Clansmen!" he called out over the hubub, silencing them as effectively as a cannon shot. "This night reunifies our two clans once again, and for that we are all stronger." There was a series of quiet agreements and a few mugs were clunked. "However, let us always remember the two people who are the source of that stregnth, Ewan and Mairead Mcloed. It is their dedication to one another that will weld the two clans and hold the love of many hearts between theirs." He looked at the couple with a studious eye. "Mairead has shown amazing patience in waiting for the return of this worn soldier from the fields of Normandy and Ewan has proven his worthiness by being able to return hale and whole from such dangers. Between the two of them are the makings of a marriage that will be legend, whose passions and envents will outlive us all. Mark my words, clansmen, there will be tales told of these two for centuries."

Mairead looked over at Ewan as Neil spoke. He had spent those days apart from her in war, not relaxing and enjoying his time as a 'free' man. She never had given that much thought before, that he may well have rather come home, if given a choice. Her gaze softened as she looked on him while he watched Neil.

A reddish mark caught her eye on his bare forearm. It was a deep scar, she had not noticed it, tucked amid corded muscles of his powerful forearm. It was nearly a foot long and was frighteningly deep. Her fingertips went out and touched it, softly tracing its line down his arm from just below his wrist most of the way to his elbow.

"Rouen, two years ago," said Ewan, startling her, his voice was soft. He wasn't bragging, just informing her. "A very large French lad with a meat cleaver that they call an axe came at me. My shield shattered and he damn near hand my hand." He was talking quietly, but she heard him perfectly, even with Neil's continuing toast as a backdrop.

Her fingers left his arm. "It must have hurt greatly," she said.

Ewan nodded. "Almost as much as my wife wiping my kiss from her lips," he said. When her eyes moved to his, he was wearing a bittersweet smile. "I'd suffer a dozen of those to avoid another moment like that."

Tears welled in her eyes at those words. Damn you, she thought silently, don't you go making me feel guilty.

Allright lad, enough of that, you're hurting her now, his mind whispered. Give her a bit of iron for her spine. "I deserved it, though, Mairead. I've little reason to expect warmer welcome to you."

Mairead sniffed and touched his hand again. "You surprised me is all," she said, then offered a defense that she knew would only work for a short while longer, yet. "It's not like I've much experience in being touched, much less kissed, by a man."

Ewan nodded soberly at those words. "I suppose not," he said.

There was a thunderous applause as Neil finally stopped speaking and sat down. He leaned toward Ewan and said, "Pray for me, you're sister just winked at me."

"Lad, you're doomed, then," said Ewan. "Just be glad she's spoken for."

The food was being tore into with gusto by the crowd. Mairead and Ewan, on the other hand, were barely eating, both lost in their thoughts. No one took notice of this, as it would both be rude and be calling attention to something which was, after all, rather common in newlyweds.

At least a dozen sheep had given their all for this dinner, and two large boars. Additionally, at least five acres of vegetables had been felled to finish out the platters. The feast was grand, and most folk were having a good time of it. Around the couple the maelstrom swirled, people still passing them and wishing them well and patting backs and arms.

The kind words rather blurred together for both of them, becoming a general susuration of bodies. Oddly, they were amazingly aware of one another's presence, if no one else's. Without much thought, their hands drifted closer together until they touched, then Ewan opened his, palm upward, and Mairead laid her within it, echoing the motion of the ceremony earlier.

Of course, both smiled at the wellwishers, and uttered banalities as response to their kind words. "Thank you, we shall try. We sure are. Of course. You're too kind."

The dancing in the great hall had picked up again, mostly just short jigs and such, for the entertainment of the younger clan members who wished to burn off some energy from the exciting day. Neil excused himself at the crooked finger of Emogene, moving to take her arm and lead her to the great hall.

Finally, they were alone, for the most part. A few people still straggled at the tables, locked in intense conversations on whatever subjects they found to hold their attention.

"I don't know what to do," admitted Ewan.

Mairead looked at him askance. "About what?" she asked.

"Everything." A look of worry was upon his face. "This night."

The young woman smiled at him. "Surely, off at the wars, you learned a bi. . . ."

"That's not what I meant," interrupted Ewan. "If it were just a matter like that, I would know the path."

Mairead saw the confusion in his green eyes. "What is the difference, then?"

"You're my wife," said Ewan. "Not some chance tryst that can be taken or left, and ultimately means nothing. You I fear."

Mairead barked out a laugh and it emerged harsher than she meant. "You're afraid of me?" she asked, her tone rising enough to garner a few turned heads from the other remaining diners. "At least you know what you're in for."

"If you were a French whore or English trollop, I would," said Ewan. "You're not either. You're my bride, a beautiful woman who has been waiting long years for me, and only me."

A giggle broke free of her lips. "Would it 'elp if I were a 'ore?" she asked, doing her best to imitate the accent of an Englishwoman. She blushed at the implications of that statement, again cursing the alcohol for loosening her tongue so much.

A wry smile formed on Ewan's lips. "Aye, it might at that," he said. "Though, I could never see but a lady where you stand." His frightfully intense eyes turned and locked onto hers. "I've never even kissed a lady before this day."

The crowd had continued thinning throughout the evening and was now down to a handful in the banquet hall and a scant dozen in the great room. One of the footmen of the house moved up to Ewan and whispered into his ear.

His face blanched a little and he turned toward Mairead. "He says the guest house is ready," he said quietly.

Mairead blinked a few times, then remembered that they would be staying in the guest house for a day or two before returning to his own home. It was a touch too far to travel on their wedding night, if she remembered where his propterty was correctly. As she had known since an early age where she would be living out her adult life, she knew the location as well as any other on the Isle of Skye.

With a complaint of wood on granite, Ewan slid back his chair and stood up.

 

[McKenna]

Mairead’s heart fluttered in her chest as Ewan stood up beside her. Fear kept her rooted to the spot as she glanced hastily about the room for a distraction to cause a moment’s reprieve. She wasn’t ready to face this man alone, not on this their wedding night. She knew what was required of brides on their wedding nights, and she wasn’t certain she was ready to face that with this stranger –albeit handsome stranger and husband- he was still a man unknown to her.

“Come Mairead, mo chroí,” her mother called, and Mairead realized she’d not even noticed her mother walk up to the table where she sat. “’Tis time the women helped you undr- er, dress for the night.”

Mairead rose on wooden legs and searched for Ewan. She felt confused and frightened, and more than a little nervous with each passing moment. Ewan, meanwhile, had been encircled by a group of men who were attempting to ply him with alcohol which he kept pushing gently, but firmly away. His eyes met hers across the distance that separated them. He studied her with an expression that was for Mairead, unreadable.

Soon the group of women surrounded Mairead and led her out the door of the manor house to the nearby guesthouse. When Mairead stepped into the bedchamber she felt a momentary sense of panic. Somehow sensing her emotion, Imogene sidled up to her and whispered, “He’s not the brute you think he is, you know.”

Mairead looked at her, confused. “What?”

“Ewan, lass. Ewan. Though he looks like a veritable giant, he’s very conscious of his size. He’ll do naught to harm you this night.”

Mairead swallowed hard and nodded, not knowing what to say. Her thoughts scattered this way and that as she tried not to contemplate what was to come. Women pulled at her clothing and the intricate braid in her hair. Mairead let them undress her, though she felt like a doll in the midst of a pack of overzealous children. Meanwhile her thoughts turned to Ewan and that last, unreadable expression she’d seen on his face.

She’d gotten to know him more tonight while they’d feasted together. She’d had no idea her unconscious action of wiping his kiss from her mouth would wound him so, but she had no doubts that it had. For that, she felt true remorse. She’d also not realized before now that he’d wanted to come home, that he’d had no choice in the matter –still, it might have been nice to have a kind word from him via letter in the years of his absence. And that scar…. the deep, wicked scar on his forearm would forever remind her that in those years away he’d been fighting, not gallivanting about the countryside. She wondered if there were more scars that covered his body.

At the thought of his body she felt a curious warmth spread upwards through her belly. She had admired the broadness of his shoulders and the thickness of his thighs. She knew well from touching his forearm that underneath that layer of skin lay thick and corded muscle. And his kisses had definitely brought her into intimate contact with his chest; and the way it felt to be in his arms felt quite different than it had ever felt between her and Aindreas.

Aindreas! she scolded herself mentally, alarmed that she could forget him so easily while her mind was occupied with thoughts of Ewan McLeod. The thought of Aindreas brought a painful tightness to her chest, and though Mairead did not want to probe the thought, she did so gingerly, as one would probe the soreness of a tooth.

How could she help but compare the differences between how the two men made her feel? With Aindreas, it was comfortable, solid. He felt as much a part of her as the hills of Skye. He had soothed her ego where it had been bruised; he had treated her with respect and honor, never asking for more than she was willing to give. Their kisses had been tender, and brief. Aindreas was ever careful with her, always setting her aside before their kisses became too passionate to be denied.

But Ewan, on the other hand, his kisses seemed to elicit passion at the very start! They were not the same chaste kisses Aindreas had bestowed upon her; Ewan’s kisses started a fire in the pit of her stomach that burned quickly, causing her confusion and excitement and fear of the unknown all at once.

“Spéirbhean,” Mairead’s thoughts were interrupted by the sudden stillness of the women around her.

“Aye, Mairead, you are truly a beautiful woman,” Imogene echoed the sentiment expressed just moments ago.

Mairead smiled shyly and would have commented except that the bedroom door suddenly burst open and in trampled half a dozen men, Ewan among them.

“Here he is lass, and just in the nick of time!” Neil said. Mairead could tell he was a bit sauced. “He was chasing down a ewe in the pasture calling out ‘Mairead! Mairead! I promise lass, it won’t hurt a bit!’” Loud laughter echoed in the chamber as Ewan was suddenly pushed forward to stand not three feet from Mairead.

Mairead stood perfectly still with her hands clasped before her. She was unaware that this position pushed her breasts together and further up on her chest, creating a tempting display that was far from coquettish, but arousing in its innocence nonetheless. She wore a long, white nightgown that was embroidered delicately at the neck and cuffs. The women had unbound her auburn hair so that it swirled around her in waves that reached her hips. Her eyes glittered like two green gems as they studied Ewan across from her.

Just then one of the women who was deep in her cups exclaimed from behind Maired, “Och, aye! Have ye seen this size of his wrists! Ye know what they say, the thickness of a mon’s wrists is akin to the thickness of his ---“

“Morag, whisht! Ye donnae want to frighten the lass,” another voice quickly shushed her, followed by more snickers and quiet laughter about the room.

Mairead’s eyes immediately fastened on Ewan’s wrists. Ewan, as if suddenly self-conscious for the first time in his life, quickly folded his arms over his chest in an attempt to hide his wrists. If anything, it brought them more prominently into view. Mairead’s eyes grew round in shock and her face paled noticeably. She blinked half a dozen times before her eyes dropped tellingly to the juncture between Ewan’s thighs as if she were trying to see through his kilt to ascertain his size for herself. This brought more laughter from the crowd, which jolted Mairead out of her stunned perusal and suffused her cheeks with heat. Her eyes darted furtively to Ewan’s, but his expression remained unreadable.

“Enough now,” Neil called to the gathered crowd, “Methinks it’s time for the married couple to ‘work out their differences’.” More laughter followed his remark as people began to file out of the bedchamber. Mairead suddenly wished they would stay, for as each person left the room it seemed to grow more crowded, filled by Ewan’s commanding presence.

Neil was the last to leave, but before he did he placed his hand on Ewan’s shoulder, his glance sliding between his friend and Mairead. Finally he spoke but one word, and Mairead couldn’t tell if it was sincere or in jest: “Godspeed.” And with that, he exited the room.

Throughout the entire exchange Ewan’s eyes never left Mairead’s. And when the door closed behind Neil and the chamber suddenly seemed to feel too small to contain the both of them, Mairead found herself taking a tentative step backward. Ewan, hands still folded across his chest, legs spread and set, simply quirked an eyebrow, then followed with one large step that put him even closer to her than he was before.

Mairead swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes darting nervously between his eyes and his wrists as if she couldn’t keep her gaze from straying. When her tongue darted out to moisten suddenly dry lips, she was unprepared for the reaction this would cause in her mate: With a low growl deep in his throat as the only warning, Ewan advanced to claim his bride.

 

[mack_the_knife]

A fit of panic overtook the poor maiden, and she stepped back again, bumping the backs of her knees on the edge of their nuptual bed. Her balance now gone, she began to fall back.

Ewan made as if to strike and shot forward, his arms about her shoulder and waist. She felt her petite body lifted, and stood upright again.

"We can work around to they lying down bit, dear," he whispered playfully into her ear, "there's no rush."

She forced back a giggle at his rather base joke and contrived to seem shocked. "I fell you great ox," she said, in a matching breathless whisper to his.

A low sound emerged from his throat, a deep chuckle. "Aye, that I am," he said. "Been bulling my way through life and all she throws at me." He loosened his hold on her and stepped back a half-pace. "But I think I've come to a place where being large isn't going to help me much."

Mairead's eyes darted again to his wrists and the other woman's words echoed in her mind. A slight blush filled her cheeks again, recently whitened by her fear of his apparent feint.

"As I hear it, being large will not be a disservice come the long years," she murmured, trying valliantly to keep her eyes upon his face.

Again, Ewan lifted one eyebrow, a trick he seemed quite adept at. "Oh?" he asked. He took another step back and recrossed his arms, trying vainly to hide those incriminating wrists.

The young woman's eyes naturally moved toward the motion and her lips quirked up slightly in a hint of a smile. "They say that it might be worse for beginning, but will be a blessing later." She flicked her gaze to his eyes to see how he would react to such tempting words.

He had already surprised her by not pouncing on her when she fell. Ewan now surprised her again, turning and walking away from her to the far corner of the room. "I suppose it may be just so," he said. "Though us menfolk are oft told otherwise, that our endowment means little to women."

Again, she had to supress a girlish giggle, and took a moment to regain composure. "I believe people on both sides of that discussion probably tell the truth they wish others to hear," she said, turning to keep facing directly toward the pacing Ewan.

It took a moment to realize what the pacing meant. She knew men paced in two circumstances, when they were angry and when they were worried. Ewan did not seem angry.

"What worries you, husband?" she said, trying the word out again, now that she was regaining sobriety. It did not hurt coming out as she though it might.

Ewan stopped pacing and turned his head toward her. "I should think it obvious," he said in a quiet voice. "You worry me, Mairead."

She stood and blankly stared toward him, not focusing on anything.

"I didn't know what you would think of me, and still less so after the words people spoke to me of your anger at my long absence," he gave his great head a shake, pulling his pony tail back over his shoulder. "Then I finally met you and you very neatly confirmed those rumors."

She looked away from him, now embarrassed at their rather ignoble first greetings.

"I'm not a gentle man of letters, Mairead, and I'll not be able to ply you with sweet, kind words," said Ewan. "I've spent my adult life killing men, since I could wield a blade." A wide smile formed on his face, his cheeks flushing red as it did so. "I am now faced with a foe I cannot best by strength, nor guile."

"You think me a foe?" asked Mairead.

"Aren't you?" Ewan retorted.

The woman stood silently for a long moment. "I don't wish to be," she whispered, though too quietly for the man across the room to hear.

Ewan once more raised that questioning eyebrow. He walked toward her and stood directly before her, towering over a foot taller and almost as much broader across the shoulders. "I could take you, you know?" he asked, looking down at her and trying to put callousness into his eyes. She immediately saw it was a thin veneer, and was layed atop a deep pool of concern.

"It would be within your rights, as my husband," said Mairead, instantly wishing she had not. Was that an invitation? she wondered.

His body shifted slightly and she drew back again.

"See?" he asked. "Ya give me anger when we meet, and fear now? Doye think I would force meself upon ya?" She noted his brogue deepening as he grew agitated. His face grew toward anger, and this was not a facade. "What sort of damned animal do you take me for?"

"You're no animal," said Mairead reflexively. Only afterward had she realized she had just defended him, albeit against himself.

"Nay, lass, I most surely am an animal," he growled. "And that animal is telling me to do things I'd rather not speak of." He moved toward her a half step. It was only by force of will that she did not try to step back again.

He reached toward her with one great hand, touching her shoulder. The touch was soft, almost not there at all. The palm was hot on her flesh where he moved beneath her thick hair. The heat moved to her neck and upward, caressing her cheek. "You've nothing to fear from me, Mairead," said Ewan, "my bride."

The hot touch on her cheek felt good, but it also made her quite afraid, as he was saying. Resentment at disrupting her comfortable life also still simmered within her and that would not be assuaged so easily. The softening of the fear gave space for her upset to come through, piercing the surface with sharp anger.

"Why did you never write me?" she asked, her face flashing to red and contorting into anger and sadness. "Why did you forget me and leave me to wonder?" Her hands came up and pushed on his chest. To her amazement, he moved back, as if she had moved him.

She had moved him.

A small part of her mind knew she had done it. Her anger had forced this hulking man away from her, and it could push more. She stepped forward, pushing again and he yielded, stepping back again. "You care all so much now, do you?" she screamed, shoving him back more. "But then you couldn't be bothered to even put word to paper?"

They had crossed half the room, her pushing him back and Ewan yielded with each shove. You're only moving him because he's letting you, lass, slow down, a part of her mind spoke reasonably. That is your role now, dear, he will yield to you, it said, not because you're stronger, but because he is being strong, to earn your affection.

"DAMN YOU!" Mairead screamed, giving him one last shove before folding on herself and sitting on the floor. "I was happy enough," she whispered into her palms, hiding her face and the tears thaf flowed over her fingers and down the backs of her wrists.

She felt something on her back, then two warm spots on her shoulders, kneading gently. "Aye, damn me if you will," said Ewan from directly behind her. His voice was soft, and the kneading hands felt soothing. She half turned toward him lifting her face from her own hands.

"I don't know what to do," she said in an almost little-girl voice, quiet, soft, and very plaintif. Aindreas' image flashed before her eyes. Many a time, he had kneaded her shoulders just as Ewan was now doing and she felt s shock of betrayal that she was taking comfort from the touch. The wrenching pain clutched her chest again, and the only source of comfort available to her now was the cause of the upset.

With a sob, she leaned into Ewan's broad chest, turning toward him. His hands shifted to her shoulders again, trading places. It felt surprisingly proper to cry upon this man's chest, it was her man's chest. The irony bit deeply into her that she was now crying upon him and he was hers now, and it was over another, as well. A sour laugh erupted from her chest.

His arms closed about her shoulders, and she liked the feeling of protection that they offered her. They left her wanting, though, protection from the source of the hot breath upon the top of her head.

What do I do with all this, then? asked Ewan into his thoughts. Her tears soaked through the thin linen of his shirt and he stroked her spine through her thin night gown. Her sobs reduced in intensity with each stroke. He poured what he hoped was comfort through his hands.

The scent of flowers lingered in her hair, and he sniffed deeply the aroma. "I'm sorry, Mairead," he whispered into her thick mane. "I shoulda died down there and left you to that tall man, he was here for you."

Shock at such a cold thought ran through her. "No," she hissed into his chest. "Don't you will such." A part of her mind, still trying to cling loyally to Aindreas' memory spoke up. Aye, ya damn well should have, you bastard, it said. Another part of her mind, the part that was loyal to clan and now husband turned on her and shouted down the dissenting voice.

"No, Ewan -husband-," she said, "we are wed now, and he is my past."

The married portion of her thoughts stood over her feelings for things lost and past and slowly shook its head at them. Put them away now, lass, its over. They're the dreams of a a girl, you're a woman now.

To Ewan's confusion, she said, "No, I'm not a woman yet." Her hands moved to take his from her shoulders. Her expression was determined, and not altogether comforting to Ewan as she unfolded herself, pulling him to his feet. "Not, yet," she repeated, a smile forming on her lips, "but soon, no?" she asked, her eyes meeting and locking onto his.

She realized for the first time that they had almost the same color of eyes, something she'd not wanted to do before. Admitting any similarities would have weakened her. She looked upward at him from a few inches away. "I was wrong to hold the days against you, and I ask you to forgive my anger, husband."

"I do," said Ewan, blinking and bearing some measure of worry that amused, rather than upset Mairead.

"And I forgive you for not including me in your trying life at the wars," she said. "If you seek it."

"I do," repeated Ewan. His confused expression deepened. This actually did make Mairead giggle. That lad outweighs you by five stone, lass, and you control him now, her mind said.

Her hands moved toward his and diverted themselves at the last moment to his wrists, gripping them. "No, I'm not a woman yet, Ewan, but given what I've been told, I'll be more woman soon than most gels." Her grip tightened around those wrists and she pulled back, pulling him toward the bed.

Ewan's expression grew somewhat alarmed at how forward Mairead had suddenly become. This just drew another giggle from her, not a little girl's giggle, either, it was, perhaps, the first of many womanly giggles. At the last moment, she turned, as if dancing, and he found his knees backed against the bed.

With another almost dance-like motion, she sat him down, like she were finishing a dance and preparing to move on to others. Nay, lass, this dance is just beginning, her thoughts told her.

Ewan blinked up at her as she bent at the waist and kissed his brow. "My great hulking husband," she said softly. "This night will be remembered."

He began to allow a smile to come to his lips but quickly erased it when she turned about on him again. "Don't go getting comfortable, Ewan McLeod," said Mairead. "You'll be doing most the work in this."

She stood before him, his head nearly level with hers, even as he sat. "I give you this chance upon our first night," she said, her voice growing deeper than her normal lilting soprano. "Make me want you."

Ewan moved as if speared in his backside. His hands moved out with startling speed and aim, gripping the slimmest part of Mairead's waist. He pulled her toward him, and she allowed herself to be pulled, not that she could much stop him.

When their lips met, she inhaled sharply, then relaxed as the kiss did not increase quickly in intensity. They simply pressed gently, the pressure slowly buidling up as he moved those massive hands around her sides, then up her back, pulling her more tightly against him as they relocated.

His tongue again slipped between his lips, and brushed over her lips slickly. She had never kissed a man like this before, and was unsure of how to respond. Finally, however, it was clear he meant her to part hers and she did, his tongue dipping into her mouth to stroke her tongue. It seemed to reach alarmingly far inside before pulling back out, though a long lingering stroke at the end seemed to invite something.

Bolstering her will, she let her tongue move out of her own mouth, and into his, he seemed to quite welcome it, his lips closing slightly to suckle upon her offered tongue. It was very pleasant, the closeness and intimacy of the kiss. Her breath was coming in short gasps as she pulled back, her face now flush with unabashed excitement, rather than ebarrassment.

Her hands were upon his chest, touching the rough homespun cloth. "Somehow, I though you would just come at me naked," she said.

"Would you prefer that?" he asked, pretending he was trying to rise to his feet.

Another of the newfound womanly giggles escaped her lips. "Not just yet, you," she said, easing him back down with a gentle touch of her hands on his shoudlers. "Just the shirt for now, I think."

Her small, clever hands moved down his torso to the lower hem of the shirt and lifted it, very slowly. He raised his limbs for her to pull it over her head. She found as she lifted she had to lean into him as she tried to get it over his hands and felt his warm breath over her breasts as they hanged just before his face.

Mairead let the shirt fall to the floor and stepped back a half-pace to regard what she had uncovered. "My lord, you're huge," she said, appraising him. His broad chest was tightly knotted with muscles, forming a broad wall that hardly narrowed to his waist, which was almost as thick as his chest. The dark color of his skin further added to the wood-like effect.

"Where did you earn this one?" she asked, noting a scar that ran from just above his navel to directly beneath his left nipple. Her slender fingers traced the scar. "You must either be a great warrior, or a truly sorry one," she said, noting many other, smaller scars.

"I'll leave that for others to decide," said Ewan, humbly. She liked that he seemed to not be an idle braggart, and seemed to honestly acknowledge his limitations. "I worry more of your thoughts."

She appraised the chest, her fingertips now wandering freely over the chest and abdomen. She blinked. "Eh? My thoughts?" asked Mairead. "I don't believe I was actually having any just then." The smile she gave him was brilliant, and unlike any he had seen her don thus far. "I will simply say: Acceptable."

"Good enough," grunted Ewan.

She stood now, her hands falling to her sides. It took Ewan a moment to realize she was offering him a chance to uncover something of his own. With more hesitation and care than she had seen thus far, he reached out and pulled at the knot at the neck of her night gown. It came undone and the satiny string that ran down, back and forth, holding it shut, slid smoothly through the sewn eyelets and she watched as it flipped back and forth downard at his gentle tug then began its zig-zagging path back upwards, the gown opening in its wake.

 

[McKenna]

Though Mairead was nervous, she hid it admirably. In actual fact, her natural curiosity began to supersede her nervousness to the point where she felt almost brazen in her boldness. Her nerves tautened perceptibly, however, as Ewan began unlacing her gown.

To Mairead it seemed as though time moved in infinite slowness as she watched the satin cord slither through its eyelets and break free. Her gown gaped openly at the neckline and halfway down her chest. The coolness of the air caressed the recently bared skin at the inner side of her breast, causing her nipples to pucker tellingly. All was quiet in the chamber; Mairead risked a glance at Ewan and saw him concentrating completely on the skin he’d just exposed. Mairead shivered.

“Are you cold, lass?” Ewan asked, glancing up at her with concern.

Mairead shook her head and bit her lip, waiting for his next move. When he continued to remain still, his eyes feasting on her bared skin, Mairead again gave in to her curiosity and ran the tip of one finger down the scar that ran from just under his nipple to just above his navel. She watched in fascination as Ewan drew a hasty breath and grabbed her hand.

“Is that unpleasant when I do that, Ewan?” she asked, eyeing him innocently.

“Nay, Mairead, ‘tis very pleasant,” he replied.

Although Mairead looked at him questioningly, he did not elaborate. Mairead’s attention was then captured by the wrist on the hand wrapped around her own. With her opposite hand she encircled his wrist as much as she could –which was not far given the smallness of her hands and the thickness of his wrists.

“Ewan?” she asked, her eyes wide once again as she eyed her hand wrapped round his wrist, “Perhaps it will take more than one try, aye?”

 

[mack_the_knife]

Ewan smiled and took her hand from his wrist. "You donae need to wrorry about that, my wife. We'll take however long you need." He let a chuckle loose from his throat. "It's not like you've not earned patience on my part by the wagonload."

She grinned. "I have, haven't I?" she asked, finally able to speak openly without anger in her voice.

He nodded, kissing her hands, especially her pointed fingertips, then stood from the bed, standing right before her. His hands moved to her shoulders as his lips came down and kissed her bared neck. She could feel his warm breath over her thoat and his seemingly scalding hands moveing over her shoulders, under her gown.

The massive hands moved apart and back, the shoulders of the gown sliding smoothly over her flawless fair skin. his lips followed the path of one hand, planting tiny, moist kisses in its wake. The tiniest of moans, really little more than a sigh, escaped Mairead's lips as his kisses tracked over her collarbone.

She felt the cool air of the room on her spine as the gown slid down her arms and to the floor behind her, pooling in a white puddle around her ankles. The touch of the woolen cloth of his kilt on her thighs reminded her of her own nudity before this man, though he was right now far to engrossed with her neck and shoulders to look at her.

Ewans hands moved down her back, over the smooth skin and gentle curve inward to the small of it. His tongue began tickling on her throat, then up to her tiny ear, nested deep in her thick hair. The smell of the wildflowers again filled his nose as he nuzzled into the thick mass of silken strands.

Mairead was unsure what to do with her own hands, but soon found them on his sides, sliding over the tensed muscles of his waist, then over the textured contours of his powerful back. Her fingertips explored irregularities as they found them, scars of his fights in days past.

"Aye, I must be a sore fright of scars to one so fair as you," he said as her fingers lingered over one longer, jagged scar near his shoulder.

 

[McKenna]

"Aye, I must be a sore fright of scars to one so fair as you..."

Mairead stopped her curious perusal of his body, her hands stilling against his flesh. "Does it bother you, then, when I touch them?" she asked, trying to push away from his body to see his eyes.

Ewan allowed himself to be momentarily distracted from her neck, leaning back to gaze at her troubled expression. "Nay, in truth it doesnae."

Mairead relaxed visibly. She reached up and cupped his cheek, marveling at the texture of his whiskered flesh beneath her palm. "I have learned that oft-times the most painful scars are those that lay within the heart and soul, not those that are visibly healed on the surface of the skin." So intent was she on reassuring him, she forgot her own nakedness. She was quickly reminded of it, however, as Ewan leaned in to claim her lips with his own and pressed his bare chest to hers. Mairead gasped, her body alive with the sensation of her feminine form pressed so intimately to his masculine one. The differences in their bodies cause a warmth to spread over her entire body, a warmth that made her pant and press her body to his, if only to feel the differences between them once again.

Ewan trailed kisses across her cheek and jawbone, again intent on devouring the pale skin at her neck. Mairead again slid her hands over his body, tracing every contour available to her. Her curiosity was far from sated, however, and soon she grew more curious about what lay beneath his kilt. Mairead let her fingertips slide gracefully over the woolen material, attempting to find a way to extricate Ewan from the garment. When no easy opening could be found, Mairead tugged at it impatiently, an action that brought a chuckle from Ewan.

The tug on his kilt produce the desired effect as it, too, pooled on the ground in a similar fashion as her nightgown. Ewan hesitated at her neck, his breathing very shallow as he waited for Mairead to sate her curiosity -or run from it. Mairead closed her eyes and bit her lip as she let her hands slide downwards over Ewan's abdomen. She felt the muscles beneath her fingertips bunch and release, a movement very telling of his present state of mind.

Mairead continued to trail her fingers downward until she felt a bump against her tummy. She opened her eyes and looked down, wondering what had touched her. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed pink as she saw Ewan's evident and obvious arousal at her touch bobbing gently against her stomach. She gasped, and Ewan again chuckled.

At that moment Mairead no longer felt shy or nervous --her curiosity was too great. She reached out with both hands and touched his shaft, one encircling the base as much as her small hands would allow, while the other traced the curious bumps and veins and bulbous head. It was as if some instinctual part of her took over, guiding her to sate her curiosity and continue to arouse her husband with her soft touch.

Ewan groaned then, a sound more like pain than pleasure. Mairead's hands stilled, though she kept them wrapped snugly around his girth. Understanding suddenly dawned and Mairead flushed with embarrassment. Of course! In her innocence she was doing something wrong, her touch bringing him pain rather than pleasure. "Oh Ewan," she whispered, ducking her head. "I'm so sorry. I didnae wish to bring you pain." And it was true, she did not, even for all her earlier anger. "Perhaps you'd best teach me how to touch you, so that I might bring you pleasure," she whispered, and let her hands fall to her sides.

 

[mack_the_knife]

Ewan's eyes went wide and his smile became huge and guileless. "Pain?" he asked. "Ya thought that I just felt pain?" He looked down at his now fully erect pole, spanning the gap between his body and hers. It suddenly dawned on him that she was, in truth, naked before him, and he had been so distraced with other matters, he had not even taken the opportunity to look upon her.

That opportunity came now, and he made much of it. Inhaling deeply he said, "Dia sabhail mi," in a voice low and reverential, almost as if he were praying. "I've never seen the like," he sighed out his breath in a long, hot flow.

It was all perfect, the skin, the curves, the tones, shadows, and movements. Her chest rose and fell with her own heavy breathing as she realized he was truly looking upon her nudity for the first time.

Her nipples hardened more under his gaze, as if he chilled her by simply looking upon them. They swelled gently from the underside, forming a rounded lower half, then sharply angled back at the nipple to form an almost straight line toward her shoulders. The nipples proudly stood forward, tiny, puckered rings of slightly darker skin than the rest of her body.

His eyes desired to linger on those hand-sized lobes, but more places demanded his attention, and his poor eyes were sorely pressed to absorb so much in one viewing. The slightly protruding ribs beneath her breasts invited his fingertips to explore their ridged surfaces and below that the slightly curving expanse of her stomach, indented in its center by a deep, narrow navel that also seemed to scream out that his lips needed to pass by at some point.

He would have happily moved to those breasts, or that stomach, or traced her ribs with his fingertips, only he could not move. It was as if he had never seen a woman nude before, which he knew was not correct. This was different, this was his wife and this body was one which he would be seeing every day for his remaining days on earth.

It was magnificent for all that, more than magnificent, but his poor brain could not accomodate a word to encompass what his eyes were feeding back into him.

Her nervousness only added the erotic appeal of innocence to the visual appeal of her feminine form. Try as he might, his eyes would not rise, they continued down from her navel toward the darker patch of reddish-brown hairs below that. A fine nest of curls nearly hid the ultimately tender folds of her entrance, peeking from below the slight elevation of her pubic mound.

As if that were not enough, the stimulation continued and his darting eyes, as if trying to suck every detail from the very air around her flicked to her waist, slender and narrow, and another place his hands itched to be then over the swelling curves of her hips, moving out from that narrow waist to move down in a smooth arc to become her thighs.

Those were, as all other places on her body, mind-numbingly desirable to him. Almost perfectly round and very long looking, with a gentle twitch of muscle beneath the skin which flexed and went taut and relaxed as she maintained her balance and watched him examining her.

Still, as a moment stretched into a minute, his eyes would not leave their long trek toward her feet. The gentle, gradual taper of her thighs came to her slim calves and the strong, ridged muscles of them which further tapered to slender, well formed ankles holding, at last, her narrow, long feet.

"Are you okay?" asked, noting his flagging erection, and his sight-line down her body.

Ewan blinked, his intense, palpable concentration on her body broken. "Oh, aye, I'm more than finy, Mairead," he said, almost guiltily. "Only I've never seen such a wondrous body in my days."

She flicked her gaze down to his now-drooping prick, then glanced up at him as if to say 'you could show it more convincingly'.

He visibly shook his head, clearing his mind. "Nay, not in the least did you hurt me, unless you can count pleasing me beyond dreams as pain. You'll find, in time, and with any luck on my side, at all, that you will be hard pressed to do things that will hurt me there. Save my sack, mind you," he added quickly at her upraised eyebrows.

"So this does not hurt?" she asked, once again taking his organ in both hands. Even limp, it felt heavy and swollen, like it was a massive snake simply biding its time to tense for the strike.

It very nearly did strike. With a twitch which made her nearly pull back her hands, she watched it begin to swell again and felt it grow heavier in her grip. It wasn't so large as she feared, but was larger than she had secretly hoped.

It was, however, as thick as the girls had predicted with their words of wrists and men's girths. The tips of her middle fingers only brushed the tips of her thumbs as she gripped it and squeezed.

"Nay, it doesnae," said Ewan, his voice sounding strained.

"Well, lad," she said, looking at his closed eyes. "You sound pained, but I'll take your word for it. Now, what is it I should do with it?"

Stroke it, very very slowly," said Ewan, taking a moment to glance down at his organ protruding from his own nest of tight curls.

Her tiny hands moved over the smooth, satiny skin of his shaft, pulling the loose skin over the surface. Just beneatht the surprisingly soft skin was something that felt huge and solid, like it was carved of wood.

"I wager this is no normal man's blade," she whispered, her innocent eyes locked upon the phallus that would end her virginity and bring her into the world of women.

So interested in what she was doing, touching him and stroking his thick stem. She failed to notice his hands moving over her soft, firm breasts and teasing her small nipples into tiny points. A shuddering groan emerged from him as she gave the rod another squeeze. She looked up at him and watched his face as she squeezed harder and rubbed the smooth sides of his organ.

 

[McKenna]

It’s fascinating! Mairead thought as she adjusted her grip on his shaft. Fascinating that I can do this to him, that I can reduce this giant of a man to a man almost meek in the throes of pleasure. This newly discovered power she possessed caused Mairead to feel very proud of her womanhood and her ability to please a man such as Ewan.

She gave a few more tentative caresses while she experimented with the tension of her hands and the speed of her strokes. She watched in fascinating as the muscles in Ewan’s thighs tightened and he thrust his pelvis forward, effectively thrusting himself into her hands. Mairead gasped and watched, enthralled, as a drop of moisture rose to the surface of his cock.

“Och, Ewan!” she said soothingly, “’Tis of no matter, I’m sure. I’ve seen the bullocks in the field miss their mark and ten minutes later they’re mating again.”

Ewan stilled immediately in her hands. Because he stilled so quickly, Mairead suddenly became aware of how much and just where he’d previously been touching her; she suddenly felt bare without his hands upon her body.

“What in bloody blue blazes are you talking about, wife?” he asked, his eyebrow lifted in curiosity while his face registered bewilderment.

“This,” Mairead said, and dipped the tip of one finger across the pool of moisture that had accrued at the tip of his penis.

Ewan guffawed in understanding and subsequent mirth. He bent his head to Mairead’s and kissed her forehead with affection. “Sweet Mairead,” he began, “That is not the end, lass. That’s just the beginning.”

Mairead’s eyes registered surprise. “It is?”

“It is.” Ewan’s eyes met hers and he smiled indulgently. “’Tis not my seed, Mairead, though heaven knows that if were you to continue pulling on my shaft like that, I very nearly could have spilled it into your hands. It’s naught but moisture used to ease my entrance here,” he said while cupping one hand possessively over her pubic mound and deftly inserting one finger between her moistened nether lips.

“Ewan!” Mairead gasped, electrified by his touch now that she was achingly aware of it.

“I plan to do more than just touch ye here, lass,” Ewan said, his brogue thickening as his finger drew lazy circles around her swollen clitoris. “I plan to do much, much more.”

Mairead forgot all about the thick, heavy length of him resting in her palm as Ewan continued to touch her so intimately. She felt her knees start to shake and her thighs weaken as Ewan continued his onslaught. With is thumb he circled the curious, hard nub at the apex of her thighs while he slid his finger between her lips there, again and again. Mairead leaned into him, resting her forehead against his shoulder as he supported her weight. A small moan of exquisite pleasure escaped her lips. Never before had Mairead made such a sound; As it echoed in the chamber she hid her flushed and embarrassed face in the crook of Ewan’s neck, then mewled softly again in pleasure as her hands clung to his arms in support.

 

[mack_the_knife]

The sounds of Mairead's pleasure at his touch inflamed Ewan and he thought, briefly, of moving things along quickly. However, wise words spoken by his father, several years before, came back to him: "Lad, if ya bring a woman to her pleasure afore you get yourself started, she'll come back, more eager for ya the next time."

He'd not paid heed to those words with the casual flings that had marked a few nights of his days abroad. Those women were not this woman, they were camp followers and whores, adept at getting what they desired up front, usually a few coins.

The words, now, felt like law, and rested heavily in his mind. Nay, this lass will know pleasure before pain, else I'll be recreant, he thought. His finger, moistly buried in her, and his palm, pressed to the heated nexus of her groin reminded him of how excited Mairead already was. He reveled in the contrast between her soft hands and sharp nails as the clutched at his arm, trying to support herself as her knees seemed to grow weak.

He was none too sure of his own footing, however, just the sounds of wanton arousal from his wife were causing his own breath to shorten and his cock to strain forward, as if seeking for something to touch it, to relieve it.

A shudder ran through her slight body and her teeth sank into the knot of muscle at his shoulder. A sound half a groan and half a whimper fled through her teeth and her knees finally gave way.

The slight woman was now resting most of her weight on the cupping hand at her middle, driving the thick finger that Ewan had slipped into her deeper and increasing the pressure of the palm on her tiny nub. His other hand came about to support her at the small of her back, and he lifted, even as she tried to regain her footing.

Her breasts slid over sweat-slick skin as she writhed against him, her body attempting to achieve something which her mind had yet to divine.

Her long legs, uselessly dangling toward the floor moved apart invitingly, and her hands dug for purchase on his smooth arm, finding places to get a grip in the taut muscles there. Mairead was unsure what to do with the useless appendages below her now, and moved them up and apart, to wrap them about his thick waist, to aid in supporting her weight, though Ewan showed little sign of weakening in his lifting of her.

Ewan's hand slid from her back over her rump, squeezing one lobe like a melon, and kneading the muscle beneath the smooth flesh. She responded by pressing into him to escape the hot hand's attentions. The hand didn't relent, his fingertips explored the crease in the middle of her backside and delved inward, seeming to singe the very flesh as they moved.

Her teeth came down again, this time on a tight tendon in his neck, biting it gently as she played her tongue over the sensative skin beneath his ear. Ewan grunted with the sensation of her teeth and lips and tongue. My, but that worked well, thought Mairead as Ewan grunted again and she felt his organ bump her nethers when it twitched.

The next thought she had came about two minutes later, as she felt something deep inside her swell, then explode throughout her body. Her head flew back from him, her arms gripping his thick neck and she screamed out in release. Ewen felt some small pain as her strong, slim legs squeezed his waist and her feet locked together to pull her tight to him.

Ewan almost fell as her climax ended and she pulled herself toward him, slamming her body into his and forcing him to step back a pace to regain his balance.

Her warm lips were moving over the stubble of his cheek, depositing dozens of tiny pecks as her fingers writhed through his golden hair like stalking snakes. "Ewan," she said, then repeated it, after a handful of tiny kisses. Her body wriggled back and forth, the tight pebbles of her nipples pressing into his skin and marking their passage. "It's high time for that lying down bit, no?" she asked, pulling back from the series of kisses and her face rosy with a blush which was far from embarrassment.

 

[McKenna]

Ewan chuckled at Mairead’s enthusiasm. He swore silently he’d do all he could to preserve that enthusiasm in the years to come. "Do ye know ye howl like a wee banshee when ye--"

“Whisht!” Mairead grinned, then pressed her lips to his to silence him. She used Ewan’s own tactics on him, sliding her tongue across his bottom lip until he opened his mouth to accept the probing of her small tongue. She tasted and explored while their sweat-soaked bodies slid against each other. When Mairead finally leaned back, her eyes were dark and hooded.

Ewan squeezed her rump in his big hands, effectively reminding her of their position and her recent release. Mairead wiggled against him, pressing her pelvis into him as if to rekindle the sensation he had just given her with his palm and probing finger. Ewan grinned at the inquisitive lift of her hips. “Are ye ready for more, then, wee Mairead?”

Mairead ducked her head to his neck, her attention caught by a bead of sweat glistening on his skin. She licked his damp skin while she continued to gyrate instinctively against him. “Oh aye, Ewan. Aye,” she whispered between kisses.

Ewan turned then, and carefully deposited his writhing wife upon the bed. He stood a moment over her, taking in the sight of her lovely, womanly body. Mairead took advantage of his stance to study him at her leisure. Her attention was immediately drawn to his shaft which protruded proudly from his body. Her curiosity about his body made her fingers itch to touch him, to continue to explore him; by touching his masculine body, she felt more womanly and feminine than she’d ever felt in her life. It was a heady feeling, indeed.

Mairead shivered without the added warmth of Ewan’s body next to her. Ewan saw this and carefully lay down on the bed beside her, cradling her head beneath one arm as he took her lips in his once again. Mairead could feel his turgid arousal against her thigh. She lifted her hips and shifted towards him instinctively, searching out his length in a primal quest for fulfillment.

Ewan again let his hand trail down her gently curving abdomen to the nest of dark auburn curls between her thighs. He slipped his hand between her legs to ascertain her readiness for what was to come. Mairead moaned softly and bit at his lip impatiently.

Ewan chuckled. “You’ve no idea what is to come, do ye lass?”

Mairead kissed a line from his lips to his jaw before answering. “I’ve an idea.”

“There will be a wee bit of pain, Mairead,” Ewan said, his voice catching as Mairead’s small hand sought and found his shaft unerringly. She wrapped her hand around it and tugged experimentally.

“So I’ve been told,” Mairead replied, unconcerned. “But if what is to follow the pain feels anything like what ye've just given me,” she continued kissing his neck and drawing on his hardened shaft, “Then I think I’ll be able to bear it.”

That was all the invitation Ewan needed. With a swiftness that left Mairead breathless and gaping, he turned her until she lay fully on her back while he rose up above and on top of her, hands on either side of her head. Mairead could feel the tip of his shaft bumping up against her moist, warm opening. She bit her bottom lip in a gesture that was becoming familiar to Ewan before sliding her hands up over his chest to hold tightly to his shoulders. She nodded once while gazing directly into Ewan’s eyes, then lifted her hips in a gesture that was both request and invitation.

 

[mack_the_knife]

It took all of Ewan's concentration to not bury himself into the welcoming young woman beneath him. His prick literally throbbed as he reached down and performed the last bit of aiming needed.

Mairead gasped as the hot, round head of his organ probed around her entrance, spreading the soft folds apart. Easy, lad, please, she thought to him, hoping he could see that thought in her eyes.

It may have been a subtle reading of her expression of mixed expectation and fear, or perhaps a small part of Ewan was still capable of rational thought, but he pushed inward and upward gently, only a tiny bit.

Her expression grew alarmed for a brief moment as his cock slipped past her very entry along with a sharp, quick pain that told her it was the real thing.

Mairead's hands gripped Ewan's upper arms, squeezing the biceps and digging in her nails. He seemed to either not notice or not care. The expression on his broad face was fascinating to her when she opened her eyes from the initial shock of pain. He seemed to be deep in thought, though his eyes were locked onto her face, watching for every change of expression, for any sign of pain beyond what the situation must grant.

Another bit slipped in, this by Mairead's own doing, it was something she hadn't intended, but her body seemed to demand it, planting her heels beside his knees, and bracing them against the thick legs of her man, she pushed upward. A sharp pain lanced through her, and her eyes went wide.

The warm, slick sweat that she had been perspiring changed in an instant to cold sweat as her maidenhood left her forever. A tiny smile of irony tried to form on her face as she realized after all that dread, she had taken her own virginity. Though she had taken it with a quite helpful and willing accomplice.

"I'd say that was done neat as neat," said Ewan, grinning down at her.

She smiled sweetly, her body trembling with the receeding pain of her opening. "That's it then?" she asked. "The pain is over?"

Ewan's eyes became rather alarmed, though they also squinted with a smile. "I fear not, lovely Mairead," he said, trying to make his voice soft and understanding. "Ya've only taken the fourth of it, this far."

The whites of her eyes showed clearly in the lamplit room as she lifted her head and looked down, with theatrical slowness. "Dear lord, man," she whispered, seeing the majority of his prick still rising from between her legs like a thick tail.

He let some of his weight move down again, pushing another portion of his wide pole into her, savoring the warm, moist feeling that engulfed his organ. Her eyes closed again as some slight pain moved through her. The worst, she found, was over, and this was simply being stretched a bit to accommodate his girth and length. In a manner, it was a pleasant sensation, like being slowly filled.

The natural reaction to the motion of his entry caused her to tilt her pelvis to aid the entry, and she now understood why female animals backed toward their mates. If it felt like this to them, she'd back as well, if it were needed.

With delicious and deliberate slowness he pushed into her, not pausing as he had with the initial entry. She glanced down a couple of times to see the gap between their pelvises narrow, then finally, disappear as she felt the wiry hair which was nest to his prick push against the sparse hairs on her own mound.

When she felt his belly resting on hers, and the slippery and satiny touch of his scrotum on her rump, she knew he was fully within her and resting there, letting her adjust to the new sensation of hosting a man's lust.

It hadn't hurt any more than she had thought, and felt a damn sight better than she had hoped. She was unsure if it was the sensation of fullness that felt good or the knowledge that someone was, at long last, loving her fully. She was now a woman, and had taken her husband into her as the Bible instructed her to do, she had not only tolerated his entry, but welcomed it openly and eagerly. She let a tiny giggle loose and let loose his arms, touching his face and neck with her fingertips. "My husband," she whispered, her eyes flicking over the features of his face, trying to memorize it, and this moment, forever.

Ewan was possibly in as much shock as she that the act was began. She had stoically bore the pain of being opened and her expression now bordered fully on the pleased. He thanked his father silently for his advice, those years ago, which he was sure served to ease this moment. "Now," said Ewan, "that is all of it."

She giggled, and the spasms of her belly caused her entry to clamp down upon him in a staccato rhythem. His balls squeezed and at his base, below his scrotum, the muscles tightened, preparing to release him into her. "Oh, damn, don't be doin that just yet," he begged, a look of embarrassment coming to him. "I may be a wee bit overexcited."

Another giggle and he pulled back, trying to reduce the thrilling sensation that her giggles brought to his tender and ready cock.

That silenced her giggles. When the thick pole began to slide back out of her, she groaned, her back arching upward and her heels digging into his knees. "Oh, bloody. . . ," she said, gasping for air, interrupting herself when he realized his own effect on her and pushed back into her again. She cried out, not loudly, but enough that he knew that she approved of his reentry.

"I'm afeared I won't last long this go round, dear," said Ewan. "I hope you understand."

Her nod was both emphatic and eager. "I do, you do what you must, dear," she said, trying to be serious as such wondrous sensations were scattering over her body and wreaking untold havoc on her muscles and nerves.

 

[McKenna]

Mairead had never felt so complete before. It was as if something was missing from her life that she’d never even recognized until now; Having Ewan inside her, filling her to the brim and then some made her realize that this was the very thing that was missing: Him.

When Ewan drew back again, sliding his cock the length of her tender, tight sheathe, Mairead clung to his biceps and bit her lip as a moan of sheer pleasure erupted from deep within her chest. She glanced down between their bodies and watched in fascination as Ewan withdrew his shaft, only to plunge balls-deep again into the core of her femininity.

Mairead’s curiosity knew no bounds and when Ewan slid his glistening length yet again from her moist opening, Mairead reached down and encircled him with finger and thumb.

“Och, Mairead!” Ewan exclaimed, his features twisted into that mask she once mistook for pain; she now understood the look was pleasure akin to pain, so intense was the feeling. “I cannae hold out when ye do that, woman!” he growled, and bent to nip her neck.

Mairead squeezed his rod slightly in response and felt him quiver, then drive himself deep. “Ye’d best use both hands to hold on, dear,” Ewan barked, then picked up the intensity of his rhythm.

Mairead was unprepared for his passion, but took it all in stride as he slid her hands possessively down his back. She was exhilarated by the feel of him thrusting into her though she sensed he held some portion of himself back so as not to hurt her. She could feel it in the tension of his arms and buttocks. His tempo increased exponentially to her curiosity until a deep rumbling started in the depth of Ewan’s chest and he exploded with hearty “Mo Dhia!”

Mairead felt his manhood twitch once, twice, thrice while it spurted hot, thick streams of his seed within her womb. She felt well and truly branded as his woman, and the feeling pleased her immensely. Ewan continued to groan his release, murmuring her name over and over again while emptying himself into her. He filled until Mairead felt the hot, sticky fluid of his ejaculate seep out of her opening to dampen her inner thighs.

Ewan buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply of her scent: lavender and heather, and something even more elusive that reminded him of freshly turned earth and all things natural. His release was more powerful than any he’d ever felt before, and he knew it was because of this woman, this beautiful, fiery woman …his wife.

Once again Mairead felt the tell-tale twitch of his cock within; she clenched her muscled experimentally and was rewarded with another throaty groan from Ewan. “Do that much more, Sweet, and we’ll be at it again before ye’ve had a proper rest.”

Her hands stilled on his back as Mairead took this in. “Again? We can do it again?”

Ewan smiled at the obvious interest and enthusiasm in her tone. He slid his hand down her side to lightly cup her bottom. He lifted up on one elbow to gaze down at her. “Aye, we can. But I think ye must first rest. A woman’s first time … it makes for a sore morning,” he said, and Mairead was surprised to see his skin flush pink. "Especiall with a mon of my size."

She chuckled, and ran her hands over his reddened cheeks. “I’m honored to have your regard, husband,” she said. Silence filled the chamber as they drank from each others’ gaze, words between them pointless as they basked in the newfound intimacy between them.

Soon Ewan rolled his body from hers and tucked her into his side. Mairead slid her thigh up over his and laid her head on his chest as if it were the most natural position for her to take. Ewan reached down and drew the bedding up over their entwined bodies, then slid his arms around Mairead and held her close.

A few moments later, her voice thick with sleep, Mairead questioned drowsily, “If we must rest now, Ewan, does that mean we can do it again come the morn?”

Ewan smiled and tugged her body closer. “Aye, wife. And that’s a certainty.”

 

[mack_the_knife]

Morning crept into the heavily curtained room of the guest house slowly, unable to make it's normally bold entrance. With unhurried slowness, the room lightened, revealing the two slumbering figures.

Ewan was first to awaken, his eyes slowly blinking open at the dim room. He inhaled a vast amount of air and lifted his arm over his head. Unconsciously, he left the other arm rest, where Mairead had claimed it as her pillow. Her head rested on his shoulder, with her back to him and both arms wrapped about his bicep.

His eyes moved downward and left, regarding the top of the auburn hair that fell, cascading over his shoulder and chest. His massive head lifted and he inhaled another lungful of air, over those silken locks, the heady scent of heather filling his nose.

Damn, lad, you've lived the first night as a married man, he thought, a smile slowly forming on his lips. And a glorious night it was, boyo.

His mind idly wandered as he lay there, just being for a moment. Mairead shifted, turning over to face toward him, her thigh once again laying atop his and her hands shifting from his arm to his chest, where one curled against his side and the other rested, fingers splayed over his heart.

Ewan now gazed upon the lovely, heart-shaped face of his bride, her slim jawline and her long, dark lashes that made her eyes look larger, still, than they already were. Her nose was slightly turned up, and slender, like a finely honed blade. A dangerous lass, that, he thought, she can hurt me with but words, should she want.

A sweet smile played across her generous mouth in her sleep. She seemed so innocent and harmless right now. Little or none of the woman whom had invited him into bed last night could be seen by this morning light. More of the girl that had stood beside him at the altar, her hand trembling in his was here. Was she truly ready for this? He supposed she was well past waiting longer, ready or no.

He smelled the scent of fresh bread on the air. Someone had entered the guest house's sitting room and deposited food. It wouldn't do for the newly-wed couple to need to waste time cooking or other such mundanities. The aroma was not nearly as alluring to him as the scent of the woman beside him, though, and the heather and earthen scent of her soon eclipsed the bread again.

What was he to think of that man on the hill, though? This though tore, unbidden, through his mind, like memories of an old scar. Had that man taken liberties with Mairead? He knew he had not taken her innocence, a small amount of blood on the coverlet attested to that. A tiny kernel of resentment took root in his mind, though, planting itself in the fertile lining of his self doubt.

Long moments passed as he brandished the thoughts of the man through his mind, letting it go hither and yonder. Most often it came to rest, uneventfully, upon the notion that he was her husband now, and some former beau was not to be worried over. On the other hand, there were moments it would land on spots much sorer, places that did not take kindly to even that tiny motion outside of their betrothal.

His own mind hated those, even as they thought over his indescretions with loose-moraled women in France and England. They had not been numerous, but they had happened. A sense of fair play, despite his natural tendency to see men and women as different, tried to suppress those unwanted thoughts about that man, his hair blowing, unbound, in the wind. And the infinitely sad look Mairead had given to that man, almost as if in mourning for the dead, or dying.

He shoved all such dark and unpleasant thoughts to the back of his mind, to be dealt with another hour. For now, he lay beside Mairead, who seemed to love him, or at least desire him, and was happy.

A change in her breathing, a deeping and sharpening of her chest's rise and fall, told him she was waking.

Her eyes opened rather quickly, almost snapping upward to reveal the emerald beauty beneath feathery shutters. She stared ahead, directly at her hand on his chest for a brief moment, and then at the chest. Her eyes moving slowly upward. When they came to his face, they widened, then she, with equally deliberate slowness, spread her lips into a toothy smile.

"Good morrow, Mairead," said Ewan, stroking her naked spine with his fingertips. "Our first day as married folk, and the sun rises on me twice."

The smile, already broad, broadened moreso, revealing teeth all the way back to her molars.

 

[McKenna]

The softness in Ewan’s eyes as he gazed at her made Mairead feel decidedly warm. She basked in the approving look he gave her as she stretched her arms over her head then slid back down to cuddle against his side. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to do.

“Will we go to your farmstead today, Ewan?” she asked while tracing circles on his bare chest with her finger.

“Aye, we can. Or we can stay here abed for another day,” he answered and squeezed her rump possessively. Mairead smiled at his playful gesture and decided to try one out of her own.

“Did you sleep well, husband?” she asked as she began to trail her hand down over his torso.

“Aye,” Ewan answered, a note of curiosity in his voice at her actions.

Mairead ignored the tone and continued to trail her fingers down over his abdomen, stopping only to circle his belly button before descending lower still.

“What game are you about, wife?’ Ewan asked, liking the sound of the word on his tongue.

Mairead only smiled in reply as she lowered her hand to his thigh, completely jumping over that part of him that both intrigued and thrilled her. Ewan drew a hasty breath as he felt her warm palm hover over his wakening shaft, then groaned softly as she refrained from touching it.

“Mairead, Sweet, ye’d best be careful what ye are about,” he growled low in his chest.

Mairead giggled and slid her leg up over his while her hand traversed the thick, corded muscles of his thigh. “I am being most careful, I assure you,” she said, and looked up at him with mischief in her eyes.

“Och, Mairead, methinks you could charm the very devil out of his soul,” Ewan said while studying her too-expressive features and her mesmerizing eyes.

“I’ve not tried it,” she said distractedly as she slid her palm toward the apex of his thighs. Her mouth formed a perfect “o” as her palm bumped up against the turgid length of him. Ewan chuckled at her response, so Mairead reacted by wrapping her hand around his shaft. Ewan quieted after a quickly indrawn breath.

“Does it ne’er sleep?” Mairead asked, and squeeze his cock gently.

Ewan laughed, “I’ve a feeling he won’t be sleeping much when you’re about, Mairead.”

“Does this mean we can …” Mairead didn’t know how to finish her sentence, so she ducked her head instead.

“Aye, lass, it means we can,” Ewan understood, and smiled at her indulgently. “But first, there’s something I’ve been wanting to taste.”

Mairead released his cock immediately, “Oh aye, I heard them bring something into the other room. Shall we go see--”

Her words were cut off by the quick and precise action of Ewan flipping her on her back. With his face hovering over hers and his eyes darkening in a way that made a flurry of butterflies erupt in her tummy, he spoke softly, “’Tis not quite what I had in mind, Sweet.”

Mairead looked confused. “Well, what then?” she asked, her brown wrinkling in consternation.

Ewan answered by cupping her sex possessively. “I mean to taste you, Mairead. All of you.”

“Ewan!” Mairead gasped, scandalized. “Surely you can’t... surely we can’t … Ewan!” she gasped as he began to trail kisses down her body in an unerring line to her sex. She tried to push him away with her hands on his shoulders, but Ewan would not be deterred. When she lifted her legs to scramble away from him, he simply grabbed them and positioned them over his shoulders, clamping down on them with his hands as he lowered his face to the nest of curls between her legs.

Mairead’s face flushed hot and she looked away, too embarrassed to watch what Ewan was about to do. Surely this isn’t natur- She stopped mid-thought as Ewan flicked his tongue out experimentally over the small nub of her clitoris. Mairead turned her head in surprise to watch his tongue come out a second time, this time to lap at the soft lips of her nether region. She closed her eyes then, as the now-familiar tingling sensation began in the pit of her stomach. Sweet Jesu! she thought as Ewan’s tongue slid along her opening, There is much I have to learn about this act between a man and a woman…”