"Ye are my mistress," he replied, bending to place a warm kiss in the place where her round neckline revealed her skin.
Fiona laughed in spite of herself. "What does a mistress do, my lord?" she queried mischievously.
"Why she… she-" He stopped, confused by her question.
"Exactly," Fiona told him. "If I were yer wife, 1 would have the care of this castle and its people, but I am not yer wife. What is it that I am, then? I am not a toy to be put in the corner when ye don't want me, my lord."
The laird was astounded. By Fiona, by their very conversation. What did she want of him? "Una and Aulay have charge of the castle," he began, but he realized that had he a wife, they would defer to her.
"Una and Aulay have their proper place, as do all those here at Brae. They know what is expected of them each day. I do not." Fiona's backbone seemed to stiffen as she spoke. Why on earth had she even begun this conversation? He would think she wanted to be his wife.
"Yer place is in my arms, in my bed," he told her. "That is the duty of a man's mistress, lassie."
"I canna spend all my time in yer arms, in yer bed," Fiona said desperately. "I need something to do. I am not used to being idle!"
His mother had died when he was relatively young. He scarcely could remember what she did with her days, if he'd ever known. He'd been out and about as much as possible from the earliest age, a male absorbed in male pursuits. As far back as he could recall, Una and Aulay had run the castle. "What do ye want to do?"
Fiona thought a moment. "I want to learn to read and write," she said. "Can ye read and write, my lord? My father could not, although my mother said she could write her name. Nothing more, mind. Just her name. I never saw her do it, though."
"I learned to read and write when I was a boy in England with the king," the laird said slowly. "My brother, Robert, has learned these skills at Glenkirk Abbey, but neither Jamie-boy nor my sisters nor Hamish Stewart, for that matter, can read or write. If it is what ye want, lassie, I shall teach ye," he promised her.
Fiona nodded, satisfied.
"The moon is bright tonight, is it not?" he said finally.
"Aye."
His fingers began to undo the ribbon tie at her neck. Her camisia opened to the navel. His hand slipped inside to capture a breast. It nestled like a small round apple, just filling his palm. Her skin was very soft and warm with pulsing life. He began to rub the nipple with his thumb, his lips again finding the almost invisible hollow where her shoulder met her neck. His mouth lingered for a long moment.
"I left ye alone these past days not because I don't desire ye, but so ye might have time with Jeannie and Morag," he murmured against her ear. His tongue delicately explored the pink whorl of it.
"I know, and I am grateful," Fiona replied, shivering at the warm wetness in her ear. This love play of his was exciting, but at the same time it was a little frightening. She shifted nervously, trying to fix her attention upon a bright star just above the bens on the other side of the dark loch, but it was impossible. She wanted to snatch his hands away. Instead her arms lay by her sides, her fingers clenching and unclenching nervously.
Angus Gordon could feel the tenseness in the lassie, and it was no wonder. An enthusiastic student when her initial fears were overcome, she was still greatly inexperienced. Gently he drew her camisia off her shoulders. It slid down her torso to puddle about her ankles. Slipping his hands beneath her arms, he reached up to cup both her breasts in his hands. He fondled the delicate flesh.
Fiona's breath caught achingly in her throat. Unable to help herself, she shuddered hard.
"No, no, hinny lamb," his voice caressed her. "Don't be afeared. Do ye not remember how sweet it was between us the last time?"
"Aye!" She forced the word out. It had been sweet between them that only time he had made love to her, taking her virginity in a blaze of hot passion.
"It will be sweeter this time, lassie, I swear it!" He turned her about to brush her lips with his.
She was surprised to find he was naked. She had been so concerned with herself that she hadn't even noticed the feel of his skin against hers. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. His big hands enclosed her buttocks and pulled her close against him. Fiona could feel the hard length of the rampant manhood against her thigh, and her cheeks burned again.
"My Gordie has missed ye, lassie," he murmured suggestively.
"He's a bold fellow," she said softly, and reaching down with a hand, she stroked him softly. "Ah, yer so hard, my lord!"
"I want to be inside of ye, Fiona Hay," he told her harshly. "Ye canna know how I burn for ye, lassie. 'Twas not easy to resist grabbing ye every time I saw ye these past few days, but I kept to the proprieties for the sake of yer sisters." His mouth took hers again, but this time the kiss was fierce and demanding.
Fiona responded, sliding her arms about his neck, her breasts pressed hard against his chest, her fear melting away in a rush of desire. He lifted her, palms beneath her bottom, sheathing himself within her, and instinctively her legs wrapped about him. She was astounded by what he had done, by what they were doing. He pressed her back, and she felt the sill against her spine as he groaned into her mouth, his lower torso pushing and thrusting against her. She matched his rhythm, amazing herself, but finally she pulled her head from his, gasping. "Ye’ll cripple me, Angus Gordon, if ye dinna stop pushing me into the stone of the window!"
He replied by ceasing the action of his loins. His arms tightly about her, he walked across the chamber, then placed her on the edge of the bed. Standing over her, he continued the savage meter once again, driving himself hard and deep within her ripe body.
Fiona raked her nails down his back, her passion burning so brightly, she was surprised it did not light up the whole room. She felt as if he were devouring her whole, yet at no time was she afraid, even when he grasped her wrists and, pinioning her to the mattress, growled, "Don't claw me, lassie," just as he ground into her as far as he could. Ecstasy washed over her, catching her up in a rapture so intense that she felt as if she were being transported to the heavens and back. Then the great throbbing within her burst. With a cry he fell across her breasts, half sobbing. Fiona stroked his dark hair, well satisfied with his efforts. There had been no pain this time. Indeed, there had been nothing but utter pleasure. Did all women feel this way after such a bout of passion? Did wives? Or was it only a man's mistress who enjoyed this special delight?
Angus Gordon breathed slowly and deeply, working to recover his equilibrium. He was somewhat surprised at himself. He hadn't realized his lust was so great that he would take her in such a primitive fashion, but Fiona had not seemed to mind, except for reminding him that he was bruising her back against the windowsill. Her legs fell away from him, and she sighed deeply. Raising himself up on his elbows, he stared into her face. "I'm pleased to see yer every bit as brazen as ever, lassie," he said by way of a compliment.
"Get off me, ye great oaf," she replied, and when he had raised himself just a bit more, she rolled away from him, getting off the bed and hurrying across the chamber to gather up the basin, which she filled with water. She then cleansed herself and looking to him, she said, "Come and let me wash yer Gordie, my lord. Ye'll not want to sleep with him dirty."
He complied, coming across to her, asking, “Where did ye ever learn such a thing, lassie?"
"My old Flora said I was to do it. She says a manhood can become diseased if it is not kept clean." Pushing back his foreskin, she washed him most competently, dried him, and then, drawing the flesh down back over the knob, she smiled up at him even as she gave it a pat. "There now, 'tis done, and ye'll be all the better for it."
He laughed, charmed by her ingenuousness, but then he teased her, "Yer tender ministrations will but encourage my Gordie, lassie."