Page 62 of Tangled in a Highland Conspiracy
The feast continued, but Ailsa and Ramsay had no appetite for the food. They could only look at each other, and although they made a good show of trying to entertain their guests, neither had any interest in the festivities. This might not have been obvious to anyone else, but it was to Lady Davina, who glanced over to the newlyweds and saw them trying not to show how much they wanted to be alone.
She whispered to her husband, who looked at them and caught his daughter’s eye, then raised his eyebrows in a question. Ailsa nodded and whispered to Ramsay, who smiled delightedly before standing up and calling for everyone’s attention.
“To all the Ormonds here and all the McBains, thank you for coming to our wedding. May it be the beginning of many such gatherings, and may peace reign over all of us. Now, my wife and I must go. Thank you all again.”
There was a hearty round of applause and a few ribald suggestions as they left. Ailsa looked over her shoulder and smiled at her mother as she left, and received a rather anxious one in return.
“She is worried about me,” Ailsa told her husband.
“She has no cause to be,” Ramsay replied firmly. “You are safer now than you have ever been in your life, my love.”
They were both mounted on Ramsay’s horse again and once more Ailsa was sitting in front of him so that she could lean her head on his shoulder, and she realised that he was right. She had never felt so safe. The only thing bothering her now was the thought of the night ahead; would it hurt? Would she make an utter fool of herself and cry like a baby? Would Ramsay be disappointed in her?
Somehow she thought that he would do none of these things, but it did nothing to calm the flock of butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach.
When they arrived at Balmuir Castle, Ramsay dismounted, but instead of letting Ailsa do the same, he lifted her into his arms and began to carry her upstairs to the bedroom they would be sharing for the first time that night.
Ailsa said nothing as Ramsay carried her upstairs, then kicked open the door of the bedroom before setting her down on the silk rug.
“This is not my chamber,” Ramsay hastened to explain. “My father had it especially prepared for us. I hope you like it.” He looked anxious.
“It is beautiful,” Ailsa breathed as she looked around. The four-poster bed was made of carved oak, with a cream satin quilt and pillows, and the heavy curtains at the tall windows were woven of cream and gold brocade.
Two cosy armchairs upholstered in the same fabric stood before the fireplace which was flanked on each side by intricately carved Corinthian columns. The paintings that adorned the walls were scenes from the local area, including one of the Braeburn seen from one of the topmost turrets of Balmuir castle.
Crystal bowls of flowers stood on the occasional tables that were placed randomly all over the room, filling the air with their fresh floral scent. Ailsa looked up to see carved flowers and cherubs in the cornices of the ceiling and a central rose from the middle of which dangled a crystal chandelier with dozens of candles.
“It is so beautiful,” she breathed. “I love it, Ramsay.”
“And I love you,” he murmured. “If I didn’t know better, Ailsa, I would think I was dreaming. All my life I have been an outcast, but now I love the best and most beautiful woman in the world—and she loves me!” The last few words were spoken in tones of disbelief.
Ailsa took his hands and lifted them to her lips, then she stepped into his arms. Immediately she felt the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her, and she rubbed her hips sideways against him before he moaned in pleasure and pulled her closer. When he cupped her breast with his big hand and ran his thumb over her hard nipple, Ailsa whimpered with delight.
She moved her hands down to his backside and squeezed, feeling the hardness of his firm, muscular buttocks under her palms. What a perfect example of pure masculinity he was!
Ramsay felt as though he would never be able to get close enough to Ailsa. Everything about her aroused him, particularly her warm, womanly scent. When she pulled away to look up into his eyes he felt bereft, but not for long. “Are you ready, my love?” he whispered.
Ailsa summoned up a smile, although her lips were trembling. She had thought she was prepared for her first duty as a wife, but she had not expected to feel this confusing mixture of desire, anticipation, and fear.
Ramsay picked Ailsa up, then led her to the bed and laid her down tenderly on top of the silken coverlet. “What do you need?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Ailsa replied, frowning in puzzlement.
“Do you ever touch yourself in a special way? Here?” he asked, indicating the most private part of her body.
Ailsa nodded.
“And does it feel good?” Ramsay asked.
“Yes,” Ailsa replied. “Very good. Why?”
He smiled at her mischievously. “Wait and see,” he replied, as he pushed her skirt from her ankles up to her thighs, then he parted her legs and bent to place soft kisses on her inner thigh, starting at her knees and working upwards.
By the time Ramsay had reached her centre, Ailsa was trembling, but then Ramsay did something strange and wonderful, something her mother had not discussed with her, perhaps because it had never happened to her. He swept his tongue through her warm wet folds from the front to the back, then returned to do it again, making her almost weep with pleasure.
Presently she felt Ramsay’s tongue once more, but this time he was doing something stranger still as he plunged it in and out of her again and again, and then moved on to the sensitive nub of her clitoris. He began to nibble and lick it, all the while hearing Ailsa’s quick gasps and desperate whimpers of passion. She had threaded her fingers into his hair and clenched her fists so tightly that it was painful, but nothing was going to stop him now; he was determined that her first time should be glorious.
Ramsay looked up once to see that Ailsa’s expression was one of anguish, but he knew that it was not the anguish of pain, but of pleasure so sweet it was torture. He felt his erection become so stiff that it was beginning to hurt, but he did not care. Giving satisfaction to the person he loved most in the world was the sweetest form of arousal he had ever experienced.
