Dirk muttered a curse and ground his teeth. "Mmm… so tight, Isobel," he breathed against her lips. "Relax…" Halting, he gently kissed her face, then ate at her mouth, his tongue once again seducing her. The pain slid away as her body gradually grew accustomed to the feel and size of his.

Strangely, despite the pain, she craved more from him, more moving, more of his erotic invasion. Her body felt hot, wet and tingly where it joined his. Gradually, the sharpest part of the clenching pain slid away and the tension within her eased. He must have felt this too for he withdrew and pushed in again with a sensuous slide.

"Oh! That's…" She didn't know what, but it felt delicious.

He made the move again, a withdrawal and a thrust, deeper this time. Oh, saints, she craved this and more. She widened her legs, hoping he'd give her more, even though the ache and burning sensation had not left her.

He cradled her derriere in his large hand. With a hip twist, he made another deeper thrust.

"Oh. I can't believe how that feels." The spellbinding tingles of pleasure. The overwhelming need for him to fill her. She bit his lip.

He muttered a curse and pushed deeper. "M'eudail."

My treasure? She melted at the endearment and lifted her hips to meet him. This set him off. With a groan, he drove into her again and again, faster with each lunge. Saints! The forceful way he moved scared her at first, but then she understood it. A quick thrusting rhythm that sent wave after wave of stunning sensation through her body, like a thousand stars bursting. She gasped, unable to believe how his body was moving within hers and the pleasure it triggered. Who could have imagined?

He closed his mouth over hers, catching her gasps and cries. He surged into her, but there was no true pain. Not anymore. With each thrust he shoved her higher until she could no longer breathe. The intensity and the pleasure clasped her in a vice, and he propelled her whole body into a devastating frenzy of pleasure-pain. She clutched at his muscular lower back, his powerful, flexing hips, trying to hold him deep within her. It made no sense. Nor could she think. But the grasping need shook her, refused to release her.

His body bowed upwards and he shoved deep, a passionate roar escaping his throat. Warmth flooded her lower belly as he trembled within her, and her body clutched at his, wanting what he offered. Oh, heavens, that was his seed… within her. That was something her late husband had been unable to give her. And she had been blamed for being infertile.

Dirk slumped on her, his face against hers, whispering a slurred mixture of Gaelic and English, curses, praise and endearments. She kissed his cheek, unable to believe the magnitude of what they'd shared. Although she'd experienced pain, she'd relished the pleasure. She was grateful he was the first, the only one to show her what lovemaking was.

His head dropped to the pillow and within seconds his breathing grew deep. His body became a lead weight upon her.

"Dirk? You're heavy." She pushed at him and with a grunt he rolled over to the side. His deep, even breathing continued.

Isobel slid out of bed. A stain of her virgin's blood remained on the linen sheet and on Dirk too. After pouring clean but cold water from the pitcher into his wash basin, she cleaned herself with the linen cloth and then Dirk. He mumbled words while she bathed his member, now more pliable than it had been. Once she'd cleaned it, it began stirring and shifting upright again. Saints! Surely he wouldn't be ready to perform again so soon.

She moved back, placed the cloth in the basin and watched. He sprawled onto his back and his semi-erect member moved to lie on his lower belly. It was not as hard as it had been but likely it wouldn't take much to make it iron hard again. He was incredibly virile to react this way given his injury and the fever, or whatever was wrong with him. Maybe it was the combination of whisky and medicinal tea.

She grinned, wondering whether she dared to climb back into bed with him this night. Between her legs, she felt sore, and her broken flesh stinging, but satisfied warmth permeated her. When she remembered the extraordinary pleasure, the warmth turned into an intriguing and sizzling tingle.

Unable to resist, she removed her smock, threw it aside and slid back into bed beside him. She kissed his shoulder and his chest. With a moan, he dragged her atop him to lie on his rigid shaft then captured her lips.

"Insatiable wench," he muttered with a grin.

He was right. She couldn't get enough of his kisses or his powerful body. While she flicked her tongue into his mouth, he slid his hands over her backside, then parted her thighs.

"Ride me," he whispered.

She wasn't sure what he meant. But his hand moved down between their bodies and he positioned himself at her entrance. Slowly, he pushed in.

Pain stabbed through her tender, torn flesh. She sucked in a hissing breath and forced herself not to let him know of her discomfort.

"You do it, lass."

She sat on her knees and drew him inside. He growled with each inch he slid deeper.

"Aye, that's it. Ride me."

Leveraging herself upward she moved so that he slid out a bit, then pushed down on him again. He easily matched her rhythm and his hips rose to meet her. She was afraid this would hurt worse, but it didn't. With each moment that passed, each withdrawal and thrust, her pleasure increased and she could easily see how someone could become addicted to this.

He ate at her mouth, flicking his tongue in the same rhythm. His hands framed her hips, and then he slid his hand over her mound. With his wet thumb, he rubbed an especially sensitive spot that drove her mad. He covered her mouth with his, catching her cries as the pleasure again magnified and became larger than life, causing her body to latch onto his and squeeze. He thrust harder, driving up into her depths, then held himself there, growling deep in his throat.

"Damnation," he muttered and, after a moment, lay back, breathing hard. "You trying to kill me?"

She giggled. "I think you know better than that."

"Hmm." The sound was between a laugh and a happy hum. "Sleepy," he mumbled.

"Aye. Go to sleep."

He grunted and lay still.

***

"What the hell happened last night, Isobel?" the yell startled her awake.

She jumped and opened her eyes to find Dirk standing before the bed glaring at her. Naked. Heavens, he was magnificently naked. Her gaze dropped to his erect shaft, but he quickly grabbed his plaid to cover himself. She giggled. Too late, she'd already seen his delightful appendage and felt what it could do.

"You were rather frisky last night," she said.

"Me?" he blasted.

"Stop yelling at me!"

"Damnation, Isobel," he growled, but kept his voice low. "Did we… hell, I know we did."

"Do you not remember?" Her stomach sank.

"I thought it was a dream." He muttered several shocking curses in Gaelic. "Why did you allow me to… do this?"

Because it was what she'd wanted too. But, as a woman, was she allowed to say that? Or would he see her as scandalous? He deserved the truth. "I wanted it as much as you did. I thought you were aware of what you were doing."

"How many times?" he questioned.

"Two."

His eyes rolled back in his head as if he were killed on the spot.

The plaid enticingly low around his hips, he paced back and forth before the bed. "Are you mad? What if I… what if you…?" Shaking his head, he muttered more curses.