Tara was so ashamed of what he was doing and the slippery evidence of her arousal under his fingers that she could not face him.
‘Look at me, lass,’ he said more forcefully.
Tara tore her eyes open and stared up into Callum’s face. It held a strange combination of ferocity and tenderness. ‘Will you have me, Tara? I would have you willing, or not at all.’
She could only nod, and then everything became a blur of his mouth on her own, skin pressed to skin, hot, heavy, her legs spread wide, and something hard demanding entry to her body. This could not be lovemaking, surely. Fear thudded in her heart in time to the beat of lust lower down. Then, in one smooth surge of his hips, Callum was deep inside her, ripping, hurting, stretching.
Tara cried out, and he stopped moving.
‘Forgive me,’ he whispered. ‘Tis a struggle to go slowly with you, lass, for you are so very beautiful.’
Was it all over? She was sore and hoped it was, but Callum started to move again, ever so slowly, in and out of her body, giving a stifled grunt against her neck now and then. Tara was filled with him, and a raw sensation of pain mingled with pleasure as he withdrew and then surged back inside her.
She could do nothing save cling to his back in confusion, biting her lip, and trying not to cry out. Eventually, his whole body went rigid, and his manhood seemed to grow inside her. A strangled cry escaped Callum’s lips as he bore down on her body and clutched her tightly. For a while, there was just his rapid breathing and the feel of his manhood filling her body, but then he withdrew and rolled away.
Tara stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, at a loss for words, and Callum seemed disinclined to talk, lying beside her with his forearm over his eyes, his panted breaths loud in the silence. Had she displeased him somehow? He had said he would teach her, but he had taken her without a word of instruction, in haste, and in a great frenzy.
When she had imagined a wedding night, she had not expected to be invaded so intimately. Nor had she expected it to hurt. Tara wanted to cry but stifled her tears lest she anger her new husband.
‘I hate that I hurt you,’ he said, in a rush of feeling.
‘It is alright, Callum. It is done now and will soon be forgotten. It is a wife’s duty.’
‘No. It should not be a duty,’ he said, and his voice was tinged with frustration. ‘It will get easier for you, I swear. It will be good for you too, in time, when you get used to me. I do so want to please you, Tara.’
‘I know, Callum,’ she replied. Silence fell again, and Tara rolled over and curled into a ball, hoping he would not say or do anything else. All too soon, his breathing calmed, and when she turned to look at him, Callum had fallen asleep.
***
In the witching hour before dawn, with a pale light creeping in and the candles burned down, Tara woke to Callum stirring beside her. He reached for her, his hands roaming slowly over her body. As he pulled her close, he slid his hands into her hair and kissed her, and Tara almost wanted him.
‘I need you, lass. What a thing it is to touch you, to have you,’ he groaned as he eased her under him.
Tara lay quietly and let him do what he would. It was not so painful as the first time - gentler, less hurried, and Callum took her silently, with the half-darkness hiding her shame. She almost felt a surge of pleasure as he writhed inside her, but it was quickly banished by the thought that he might think her a slattern, impure and loathsome if she squirmed and cried out. So she let him finish, willing it to be over before she betrayed herself.
Afterwards, Callum was quiet, and Tara had to turn from him lest he see the tears streaming down her cheeks. Callum pulled her back up against his belly. His skin had the heat of a forge, and it eased her, for Tara had not felt warm inside for a long time.
She longed to talk to him but could not find the words. Callum seemed so intent on his own pleasure that he had no mind to her as a person. Was she just a thing to him, to be used at his whim and no better than his hound who skulked in the corner? Had she been so reduced in life?
Sleep was impossible, and when the sun was fully up, there came a knock on the door. Callum sprang, naked, from the bed and called out, ‘What is amiss? I did not want to be disturbed.’
‘Tis a visitor, Laird. Bryce Cullan is here,’ cried Greaves, the manservant.
‘Damn, can he not leave me be just for a day?’ growled Callum, leaping from the bed and hastily donning his kilt and a shirt. He came over to Tara and leaned down, and kissed her soundly.
‘Stay abed, and take your rest. I will have food sent up,’ he said solemnly and with a quick smile.
Tara managed to summon a smile back as he gazed down at her.
In a thick voice, Callum said, ‘You cannot know how much you please me, Tara, and how much I care for you.’
He rushed away, leaving her to the emptiness of the chamber and with her thoughts tumbling over each other like stones falling down a hill. .
Could she ever get used to what he had just done to her body? It seemed such a violent and mortifying invasion. But did she not deserve pain and mortification for all the foolish things she had done since coming into Scotland? She had neglected her uncle. She had not done as she was told and become Hew’s mistress. With his money woes behind him, he might not have become lost in drink and despair. And she hated that when Callum had taken her virginity, she had felt only numbness and pain. He deserved so much more than that. She was a bad wife in every way.
Now, it seemed he could not wait to be out of her sight. She had disappointed him on his wedding night. Why did she always disappoint people? They pinned such hopes on her pretty face, but she was just a hollow thing, a pleasing shell. Inside, there was nothing worthy. She must try harder with Callum, or they would both be miserable.
***