Free Betrayed by Bertrice Small

herself. Instinctively, she stiffened.
    “No, no lassie,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “Don't fight me now. Ah, yer sweet! Sweet!”
    He pushed onward, finally meeting with the barrier between Fiona Hay's girlhood and womanhood. Swiftly, he crossed it, thrusting as far as he could, then resting.
    She felt a sharp sting of pain that spread down into her thighs and up into her chest, rendering her breathless for a long moment—and then the burning melted away. Fiona gasped, drawing a great draught of air into her lungs, which she almost immediately expelled. “Does it hurt all the time?” she managed to ask, finding it impossible to understand why
anyone
would enjoy
this
if it did.
    There was an almost pained expression in his eyes. “No, lassie,” he whispered against her lips, kissing her softly. He began to move upon her, pinioning her lightly, his big hands pressing down upon her wrists on either side of her head. With an almost primitive instinct she began to move in rhythm with him. He stared down into her face, amazed at the savage beauty of it as she began to experience passion. He was surprised that despite her inexperience he was finding great pleasure in coupling with this girl. The tightness in his groin was building and building.
    The pain gone, Fiona closed her eyes again. The deed was done, and her virginity shattered. There really had been nothing to be afraid of, and she began to relax, joining him in the erotic cadence he created. She broke his fight grip and put her arms about him, drawing him closer to her. The stars were beginning to sparkle behind her eyelids again, and a feeling of growing exhilaration began to fill her entire being. She criedout, and his mouth descended fiercely upon hers, intensifying her euphoria. She could feel him, hard and demanding within her. Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Ah! Ah!
Ah!”
she sobbed, and then she sensed the impending burst of his lust, and his juices flooded her, mingling with her virgin's blood. In that instant Fiona soared, her heart beating wildly, clinging to him.
It was wonderful!
She drifted mindlessly for what seemed several minutes, aware of their ragged breathing, aware that their bodies felt hot and wet, and were still intertwined. Finally he withdrew from her, lifting himself off her body, his big hand tenderly smoothing the tangle of hair from her face. Fiona opened her eyes and looked up into his face.
    “Ye were verra braw, lassie,” he told her with a small smile.
    She smiled back. “Yer satisfied, then, that I was indeed a virgin, and my debt is paid to ye, my lord?” Fiona said mischievously.
    “Ye were a virgin, lassie,” he agreed, “but ye have just begun to pay yer debt to me. Have I not warned ye that twenty head of cattle are verra expensive? Yer a brazen little thief, Fiona Hay, and I'll have my full measure of ye. I'll give ye and yer sisters yer living free, for I owe that to yer grandsire Hay, but the cattle are another matter.”
    “Yer a hard man,” Fiona said softly.
    ‘Jesu!” he swore as softly. “Is there no end to yer wiles, lassie? Yer flirting with me.”
    “I don't have any knowledge about being a man's mistress,” she answered him pertly. “Is a mistress not permitted to flirt with her lord? At least in the privacy of their chamber?” Her dark eyelashes fluttered at him wickedly, and her mouth was suddenly pouty.
    “I don't know the rules of this game we play myself,lassie,” he responded with a chuckle. “I've never kept a mistress.”
    “I suppose ’Tis no different than keeping a wife,” Fiona said, “except, of course, ’Tis not respectable to be a man's mistress.”
    “It is not respectable to steal a man's cattle either,” he reminded her with a grin, then ducked as Fiona whacked him with a pillow. Angus Gordon climbed from the bed. “’Tis time ye got some sleep, lassie,” he told her, and drew the coverlet over her.
    “Do ye not sleep here with me, my lord?” she asked,