The Sinclair Jewels Books One-Three: A Scottish Medieval Romance Series Bundle Read online

  He pushed open the door and set her down inside, and Pearl sucked in a delighted breath. Her new home was…perfect.

  “’Tis exactly how I’d hoped,” she breathed, turning in a circle in the middle of the space.

  The main room contained the kitchen area with a cream-colored cloth embroidered with the Sinclair blue and green thrown over the large table, and an earthen pot of wildflowers. Another pot adorned the small table between the two chairs set in front of the hearth. Open windows allowed the breeze in through the embroidered curtains, obviously more of her sisters’ work, and a tall screen blocked off one corner of the room.

  She hurried to duck behind it, not surprised to see a huge bed with green blankets taking up most of the space. It had to be newly made, to accommodate her husband’s height and broad shoulders. Her more serviceable gowns were already hanging from hooks on the walls, and another small table held an ewer and basin as well as her hairbrush.

  When she turned back to Gregor, who stood alone in the center of the room, she allowed all her love to show in her smile.

  “Thank ye for this.”

  “Ye like it?” he whispered.

  The uncertainty in his eyes made her smile grow. “How could I not?” she asked as she crossed to him. “This is everything I ever wanted from life. I’m home, and I have a good man to share it with.”

  She took his hand in hers. “Ye’ve made me verra happy.”

  His face was his usual mask when he pulled her closer. “No’ as happy as ye’ve made me, wife.”

  Wife. It was still hard to believe it was true.

  “Are ye sure?” she teased. “Ye donae look happy.”

  Wrapping one arm around her, he placed her other hand palm-down against his chest. “I’m happy here,” he rasped. “Where it counts.”

  He lowered his head and brushed a sweet kiss across her lips. When he pulled back, she had to stop from kissing him again. Since he’d shown her such bliss that night at the inn, Pearl had found herself anxious for his touch. He’d treated her like a jewel after Da’s announcement of their marriage, careful not to be alone with her too much. But Pearl would’ve happily crawled into his lap and placed his hands all over her, if it allowed her to feel the same way she had the evening before their return.

  Moreover, she wanted to give him the same pleasure he’d given her. She’d whispered to Saffy and Citrine about it, comparing speculations and theories, but it was nothing compared to actually touching Gregor. Her husband.

  She wanted to run her hands over his skin, to feel his heart beating against hers. She wanted to touch him—everywhere—and explore just what this was between the two of them.

  And she wanted to be able to do it without making him feel guilty.

  “Are ye happy, Pearl?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes on a shiver, the same delicious feeling she got whenever he said her name. “Aye,” she whispered.

  “Are ye sure?”

  He needed reassurance? She opened her eyes and met his. “Aye,” she whispered again. “I’ve been sure, ever since…”

  When she bit her bottom lip, not quite willing to share all her secrets, he lifted one brow, prompting her without words.

  She tutted at her old hesitation. “When my sisters would talk about men, an’ how desire felt, I would dismiss the topic. I had no interest in marrying some far-off laird, so I thought love-making wasnae for me.” Her cheeks grew warm at the confession. “But the way they described desire…” She dropped her gaze to his chin. “’Twas familiar.”

  “Aye?”

  “Ye see, there was this warrior. A man, a big man. An’ I would watch him sparrin’ with the others, sometimes. I’d watch his arms and his bare back, and I’d wonder.”

  When he pressed her against him with a soft hiss, she felt the hard length of his shaft pressing against her belly, and nearly moaned in anticipation. Already, she felt the pressure building at the juncture of her thighs, and wondered if he could tell.

  “What did ye wonder, Pearl?” he whispered in that harsh voice of his.

  She shivered, as she always did when he said her name. “I’d wondered what it was like to touch him. To let him touch me.”

  She couldn’t help the little gasp of surprise which escaped her lips when he dropped her hand and lifted her. With both hands under her rear end, he spun and placed her on the table, and nudged her legs apart. She ended with her hands on his shoulders, and him standing between her knees.

  He leaned down. “An’ if ye had him here? What would ye do with him?”

  “I’d…” She lifted her hands to run them down his arms, then back up to his chest. “I’d demand he remove his shirt, because there’s far too much linen between me and his skin.”

  He made that hissing noise again, which she was learning was his version of a grunt, and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. In one swift move, he pulled it over his head, much faster than the time he’d done so beside the loch.

  In a heartbeat, Pearl was staring at the wide expanse of his chest, sprinkled with wiry hairs a few shades darker than the auburn on his head. She flexed her fingers twice, then placed her palms against his chest, right over his nipples.

  They both sucked in air.

  “Then what?” he asked in a choked whisper.

  “I’d touch him the way I’d been thinkin’ about.”

  Using just her palms, she ran her hands lightly over his chest. When she brushed against his nipples, he hissed again, so she did it a second, then a third time, until the little nubs were hard.

  And under her gown, her nipples matched his.

  Her grin was a little smug as she ran her hands over his taut belly, and around his sides, admiring the firmness of his muscles and the way he jerked under her touch. Oh, not much, but she noticed he was sensitive along his sides, and when she stroked him there, he twitched away from her fingers.

  Was the Sinclair Hound ticklish?

  Taking pity on him, she returned her attention to his arms and shoulders—they were her favorite parts, after all. She made sure to brush against his healed wound, and the part of her which wasn’t completely focused on the pleasure to come, noted he didn’t seem sensitive there, which was a good thing. But he was sensitive other places…

  With her hands still on his shoulders, she leaned forward and ran her tongue across his left nipple.

  He jerked again, then allowed his head to fall back. “Oh God, Pearl.”

  She loved it when he said her name like that.

  Since she sat on the table, her legs dangled free, and she opted to put them to use. Wrapping her ankles around his knees, she tugged him until he shuffled closer, then turned her tongue and her attention to the other nipple. His hands clenched into fists by his side when he hissed again.

  Feeling bolder, she straightened and lifted her chin. “Ye’re still wearing far too many clothes, Gregor.”

  Those deep blue eyes she loved so much flashed. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip, mimicking the feel of his mouth on hers, imagining what it would feel like to have him kiss her, touch her.

  It must’ve shown in her eyes, because his hands fumbled for his belt and he jerked off his plaid.

  With her ankles still hooked behind his legs, he stood between her thighs wearing only his boots, and proudly met her eyes.

  Breathless, she dropped her gaze to the shaft jutting from the dark hair between his legs. She’d seen it that morning at the loch, but he’d been so far away then.

  Now? Now she could touch it.

  She wrapped both hands around it, one palm brushing over the smooth tip. When she rubbed it, the entire length felt like…like steel encased in the softest leather.

  “God’s teeth, lass!” He twitched under her touch again, but didn’t move away. “Ye’re killing me.”

  She hummed, her attention on the fascinating shaft in her hands. Would it really fit? Gregor was so much bigger than she was. But as she stroked it, she felt it growing even larger, if such a th
ing was possible, and when she brushed her palm against the tip, a bead of liquid leaked out.

  “Pearl,” he hissed, “I need to touch ye.”

  She’d been so focused on her explorations, she’d forgotten to watch him. She snapped her attention back to his face, and was struck by how tortured he looked. His hands were fisted by his sides, his head thrown back, and he was breathing deeply. He seemed in pain.

  All because she was touching him? Or because he wasn’t touching her?

  “Aye,” she agreed curiously.

  Faster than she could blink, his fingers were in her hair, tugging her head back. She sucked in an excited breath just as his lips slammed down against hers, then moaned. With his shaft pressed between them, she opened her legs wider and reached around to cup his rear end, while his teeth nipped at her lower lip.

  It was a few moments before she realized she was unconsciously rubbing against him, flexing her hips forward and back, causing his thick member to rub against the most intimate part of her.

  She felt…warm. No, hot. She ached, and was definitely wearing too much clothing. “I need…” She moaned against his lips. “Gregor!”

  “Aye, lass,” he rasped, easing his hold on her. “I ken.”

  One of his large hands dropped to her knee, where her gown was already bunched. He tugged it further, until her lower legs were bare, save her stockings. It was enough for him to step back and run his hands up her thighs. She shivered at the sensation, and dropped her hands flat to the table behind her to support herself.

  He pushed her skirts higher, past her stockings, past the ribbons which kept them up, until he draped the material over her hips and stared down at the curls covering her womanhood. If she hadn’t seen the look of hunger and appreciation in his eyes, she might’ve been embarrassed, but as it was, she remembered the feel of his fingers inside her, and was desperate for it again.

  Without breaking his gaze, she thrust her hips forward once more, offering herself to him.

  His gaze dropped to her center, and he ran his palms up the insides of her thighs, stopping only when his thumbs touched her core. He brushed circles across her skin and curls, and Pearl felt the tugging at her center. His gaze was riveted on her, and it made her feel…powerful. Desired. Needed.

  “God’s teeth, Pearl, ye’re already wet for me.”

  She understood what that meant, and what would happen, so she just nodded and squirmed under his touch. “Please, Gregor…”

  Without lifting his hands or halting his motion, he met her eyes once more. “Yer gown?”

  It was all he needed to say. She nodded eagerly, and he pulled her from the table and reached for her laces. It was the work of a moment to pull the gown off, then her shift.

  When she was standing there in her stockings—it was fair, because he was nude aside from his boots—he sucked in a breath and lifted his hands, palms out. As if he wasn’t sure if he could touch her. But the way he looked at her! As if he was a drowning man, a starving man, and she was his salvation!

  So, she stepped forward, pressing herself against his palms, and he hissed in satisfaction as he cupped her breasts, one in each hand. The way he squeezed sent shivers through her, and when he brushed his thumbs against her nipples—the thumbs he’d so recently used on her core—she surged against him.

  “Yer boots,” she panted.

  The noise he made might’ve been a curse, but he hurried to the bed and sat to remove his boots. She made short work of her garters and stockings, and was standing over him by the time he was finished.

  He grabbed her wrists and pulled her down as he fell back on the bed, and she ended up plastered against his chest, his shaft nestled against her center. She moaned at the delicious sensation and rotated her hips, pressing his hardness between them, against the spot where the need had built beyond her control.

  Stilling her with his strong hands on her hips, he ducked his chin and caught her gaze with a question in his dark eyes. He was asking if she was ready, and Pearl didn’t think she’d ever been more prepared for anything.

  “Show me what to do,” she commanded, breathless with desire already.

  He slid his hands down her thighs to her knees, tugging until she was straddling him. His thick shaft stood straight against her core, and it was easy to see how this would work.

  His breaths were coming in pants now, too. “’Twill be more comfortable for ye,” he managed to say.

  Eager now, Pearl moved forward as he guided himself towards her opening. She allowed herself to take him all in, inch-by-inch, until she was seated fully on him.

  He was right. She controlled everything from her position. And down there…

  Gregor was lying as still as a stone, both hands resting against her thighs, his eyes on her, his breathing even. He was waiting for her to take the lead.

  She rocked forward, then back once, and he closed his eyes. The knowledge she was in control made her smile, as did the sensation of him moving within her. There’d been pain, aye, but she’d barely felt it.

  A few more gentle rocks, and the pressure began to build in her. Gregor began to flex, to buck just ever so slightly, to meet her rocking with thrusts of his own. One of his hands crept up to encircle her breast, and the other reached for the nub of her pleasure.

  That was the end for Pearl. The knowledge this man, this good man, had given control to her, and cared about her pleasure, sent her over the edge. She stilled, gasping, as her muscles clenched around him, and she reached for him.

  With a curse, Gregor flipped them both in one motion, and as the waves of bliss began to crash over her, he flattened her on the bed and began his own thrusts, hard and desperate once more. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she buried her face in his neck and screamed his name as her orgasm swept her away.

  He lasted a few heartbeats longer, enough to plunge a few more times before he stilled, threw his head back in a soundless roar, and thrust deep as he held her hips in place.

  The feeling of warmth filled her as she came back to herself, and she was smiling breathlessly when he collapsed against her. Wrapping her legs around his thighs, she held him inside her.

  “I love ye,” she whispered against his skin. “I love ye.”

  It was a long moment before he exhaled and lifted himself over her, his auburn hair hanging around his stoic features as he stared down at her.

  “Thank ye.”

  She smiled softly and ran her palms over his chest, her body still humming from the pleasure he’d given her.

  “For what?”

  “For that gift.”

  Did he mean her virginity, or what she’d said? She moved her hands up past the scars at his throat, the scars that represented who he used to be, until she was cupping his cheeks.

  “I love ye,” she repeated.

  Saints be praised, his lips curled upward. “An’ I love, ye,” he whispered, just before he slipped out of her and rolled to one side.

  With his arms around her, she followed, until she was pressed against him. It was so much like that night at the inn, except this time, he was naked, and they seemed to mold together. And the pleasure she’d felt then was nothing to the joy in her heart now.

  A feeling of perfection, contentment, stole over her. “Ye ken,” she said eventually, “in all the years my sisters an’ I jested about being married, I never once thought of babies. But I guess that’s the natural order of things, aye? And Da said he was ready to bounce his grandbabies on his knee.”

  In the fading light, Gregor said naught.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “Well, what?” he whispered.

  “Well, what do ye think?”

  He was silent a long moment. “I think ye like to hear yerself talk.”

  She giggled and poked him in the side. “One of us has to talk, husband. Do ye mind it so much?”

  “Nay.” He squirmed just slightly under her touch as she moved to circle one of his nipples. “I love ye the way ye are,�
�� he rasped.

  “So, what do ye think about babies?”

  His breath whooshed out of him as his large hand came up and flattened hers against his chest. “I think ye’re goin’ to get another chance, if ye keep that up.”

  In surprise, she lifted her head from his shoulder to stare down at his member, lying heavy and soft against his thigh. She turned to him. “We can do that again? Really?”

  “Nay, wife,” he hissed. “I’m no’ a bull, ye ken.”

  That’s when the laughter broke free from her, and she rolled on top of him. Her hair formed a curtain around them as she smiled down at him.

  One of his hands found her hip, and the other reached up to brush across her cheek.

  “My jewel,” he whispered. “My Pearl.”

  And just as her sisters had said, the sound of her name on his lips sent a shiver through her the laughter couldn’t hide.

  “I love ye,” she said.

  He was her husband, her Gregor. He didn’t have to speak for her to know what was in his heart. And the way his eyes sparkled told her they were going to have a very happy forever together.

  Epilogue

  Summer

  Pearl moaned in pleasure as Gregor massaged her scalp and worked the soap into her long hair. She sat between his knees, the water lifting her up as she tilted her head back so he could reach everything. As far as he could tell, her hair was the cleanest damn hair in the whole clan, but if his wife enjoyed his ministrations, he was going to continue.

  “I dreamed o’ this,” Gregor confessed.

  And Pearl, being Pearl, didn’t even wince at the sound of his rough voice. In fact, since their marriage, he found himself speaking more and more; not just to her, but occasionally to others. And the Sinclairs didn’t seem to mind his voice, either. None asked him about the injury to his throat, none asked him to repeat himself. They followed the example Pearl set, and just accepted him.

  It was humbling.

  She smiled softly. “Ye dreamed of washing my hair?”