Highland Wolf (Highland Brides, #10)(41)
Flushing with embarrassment, Claray launched out of the seat, dragging the plaid off as she did, and immediately wrapped it around her husband’s waist instead.
“Wife,” Conall protested on a laugh as she tried to tuck the material into the waist to keep it in place.
Claray froze at the title. Lifting startled eyes to his face, she breathed with realization, “I am.”
“What?” he asked, concern claiming his expression now.
“Yer wife,” she said weakly, and had to wonder that she still didn’t feel any different. She was married and had been bedded. Her innocence was gone, but she didn’t feel any different than she had the day before, or the day before that. When was she supposed to start feeling different?
“Aye, yer me wife,” Conall agreed, dragging out the words and looking even more concerned. Truthfully, he was eyeing her a little warily now, as if he thought there may be something wrong with her. “Did ye hit yer head while ye were bathing last night or something, lass?”
Understanding the suggestion that she was addled, Claray narrowed her eyes on the big lummox, and then gave a start and whirled to face the men when her father said, “There ’tis. Are one and all satisfied the marriage was consummated?”
Father Cameron and the others grunted and nodded as they stared at the sheet with the watery-looking bloodstain on it, and then Claray was distracted by Conall wrapping the plaid around her again. She immediately lifted her hands to remove it once more and cover him up instead, but this time he held it in place with his hands in front of her, pressing her back against his front to manage the feat. Since that meant he was presently covered, if only by her, she let her hands drop rather than wrestle with him and forced a smile when the men turned their attention to her and Conall.
“I’ll go hang this over the rail,” her father announced, his cheeks flushing a bit pink.
Claray wasn’t sure if the show of color was because he was holding the proof of her innocence, which was also proof that that innocence was gone, or what was causing it, but he was definitely blushing as he rushed out of the room.
Father Cameron was not blushing, however. In fact, he was giving her a rather dour look as he peered at them. It made Claray think perhaps the plaid was gaping open in front or something, but when she glanced down she found that wasn’t the case. She did see though why the prelate was scowling at them. The way Conall was holding the plaid in place made it look like he was cupping her bosoms.
Choking out a sound of embarrassment, Claray reached up to try to pull his hands away, but he wasn’t letting go. After a brief tussle, she simply turned in his arms so that his hands were at her back and scowled up at him. For some reason, that made the man’s lips twitch with amusement, she noted with an irritation that only increased when she heard that amusement echoed in Ross MacKay’s voice as he said, “Annabel and Kenna are up and ready. We’ll wait fer ye in the bailey.”
Claray glanced over her shoulder at those words, wondering what they would be waiting for, but the man was already ushering Aulay and a still dour-faced Father Cameron out of the room and pulling the door closed behind them. Frowning, she turned back to Conall. “What—?”
The question died there, silenced by Conall’s mouth covering hers in a kiss that had her melting against him with a sigh. Her response seemed to please him, and he reached down to clasp her bottom and lift her up until she could feel his erection pressing against her.
Moaning into his mouth, Claray wrapped her legs around his hips and kissed him eagerly back as he now rubbed against her core through the cloth of the plaid and her flimsy shift. The sensation had Claray burning for him, and judging by the groan it elicited from Conall, he was not unaffected either, so she was somewhat startled when he suddenly broke their kiss and dropped her, keeping hold of the plaid as he did.
Claray’s squeal of alarm ended on an “oomph” when she landed on the bed.
“Dress,” Conall growled, and then knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed and began to pleat his plaid . . . completely ignoring her.
Claray stared at him blankly until Squeak came and scrambled up her hip and chest to get on her shoulder. Reaching up, she patted him absently, and then stood and moved over to the chest to collect her dress. She didn’t don it right away, however, but instead moved to the tub and set the gown over the chair beside it. She then set Squeak on top of that while she quickly used the cold water and the now dry strip of linen from the night before to clean herself up.
She washed her face first, and then did a quick standing wash of the rest of her body, paying special attention between her legs to clean up any remaining mess from her breaching. When she finished and turned to rinse out the linen and hang it over the tub, she was embarrassed to see Conall kneeling by his pleated plaid, but watching her rather than donning it.
Blushing with embarrassment, she turned her back to him and set Squeak aside to snatch up the gown to quickly pull it on and do it up. Claray then scooped up the little kit again and set him on her shoulder as she went to find her brush on the fur by the fire. She’d barely started to pull it through her hair when the sound of splashing water made her glance back to the tub.
Conall was now having a quick wash as well, she saw. When he turned the cloth and his attention to the dried blood on his penis, she quickly whirled away and stared at the cold ashes in the fireplace as she finished brushing her hair.