He needed satisfaction. His hands roughly caressed her shoulders, her back, her thighs. The feel of her silky skin inflamed him.

Johanna didn't need to be coaxed into responding. She couldn't stop stroking him. His body was so hard, his skin so wonderfully hot, and the way he made love to her with his mouth and hands aroused her to a fevered state in bare minutes.

It wasn't possible to be inhibited with Gabriel. He was a demanding lover, rough and gentle at the same time. He stroked the fires inside her with his intimate caresses, and when his fingers penetrated her and his thumb rubbed against the most sensitive nub hidden beneath her sleak folds, she became wild.

He took her hand and put it on his hard arousal. She squeezed him; he growled low in his throat. He whispered erotic praise and instructions of how he wanted her to caress him.

Gabriel couldn't stand the sweet agony for very long. He roughly pulled her hands away from him, lifted her thighs, and thrust deep inside her. She cried out with pleasure. Her nails raked his shoulders, and she arched up against him to take more of him inside. He almost spilled his seed then and there. It took every ounce of discipline he possessed to hold back. His hand moved down between their joined bodies, and he stroked her with his fingers until she found her fulfillment. Then he allowed his own.

His orgasm consumed him. He groaned with raw pleasure as he poured his hot seed into her. She kept calling his name, and he called God's.

Gabriel collapsed on top of his wife with a loud, satisfied grunt. He stayed inside her, unwilling to let go of the bliss he'd just experienced.

Johanna didn't want to let go of her husband just yet. She felt cherished when she was being held by him. She felt safe too… and almost loved.

His weight soon became crushing. She finally had to ask him to move so she could draw a proper breath.

He didn't know if he had enough strength. That thought amused him. He rolled to his side, taking her with him, then pulled the covers up and closed his eyes.

"Gabriel?"

He didn't answer her. She poked him in the chest to gain his attention. He grunted in response.

"You were right. I am weak."

She waited to hear his agreement. He said nothing. "A northern wind could probably blow me over," she said, repeating the words he'd spoken on their first night as man and wife.

He remained silent. "I might even be a little timid."

Several minutes passed before she spoke again. "But the other things, they aren't true. I won't let them be true."

She closed her eyes and said her prayers. Gabriel thought she'd fallen asleep. He was about to do the same. Then her voice, whisper-soft, yet filled with conviction, reached him.

"I'm not a coward."

Chapter 8

"Who dared to call you a coward?"

Johanna was jarred out of a sound sleep by her husband's booming voice. She opened her eyes and looked at him. Gabriel was standing at the side of the bed, glaring down at her. He was fully dressed and looked furious.

He needed to be appeased, she decided with a yawn. She sat up in bed and shook her head at him. "No one called me a coward," she told him in a sleepy voice.

"Then why did you say…"

"I thought you needed to know," she explained. "And I needed to say the words."

He lost the edge of his anger. She tossed the covers back and started to get out of bed. Gabriel stopped her by pulling the covers up and ordering her to go back to sleep.

"You will rest today," he commanded.

"I have rested long enough, m'lord. It's time for me to begin my duties as your wife."

"Rest."

Lord, he was stubborn. The set of his jaw told her it would be pointless to argue with him. She didn't have any intention of lounging in bed all day, but she wasn't going to debate the issue with her husband.

He turned to leave. She stopped him with her question.

"What are your plans for this fine day?"

"I'm going hunting for more supplies."

"Like grain?" she asked. She got out of bed and reached for her robe.

"Like grain," Gabriel agreed.

Johanna put her robe on and tied the belt at her waist. He watched her lift her hair from underneath the collar. The action was feminine and graceful.

"How does one hunt for crops?"

"We steal them."

She let out a loud gasp. "But that's a sin," she blurted out.

Gabriel was vastly amused by the look of horror on his wife's face. Stealing seemed to upset her. He couldn't imagine why.

"If Father MacKechnie gets wind of this, he'll have your hide."

"MacKechnie's not back yet. By then all my sins will have been committed."

"You cannot be serious."

"I'm most serious, Johanna."

"Gabriel, you aren't just committing the sin of theft," she instructed. "You're also committing the sin of contemplation.''

She looked like she expected some sort of answer. He shrugged. She shook her head at him.

"It isn't your place to censure me, wife."

He expected an apology. He got a contradiction instead. "Oh, yes, it is my place to censure you, m'lord, when the topic is your soul. It is my place to instruct you, sir, for I am your wife, and I, therefore, must worry about your soul."

"That's ridiculous," he countered.

She gasped again. He almost laughed but stopped himself in time. "You think it ridiculous that I worry about you?"

"Do you?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then you are beginning to have affection for me?"

"I didn't say that, m'lord. You turn my words on me. I worry about your soul."

"I do not need your worry or your lectures."

"A wife is allowed to give her opinions, is she not?"

"Yes," he agreed. "When asked for her opinions, of course."

She ignored his qualification. "It is my opinion that you should barter for what you need."

He couldn't control his exasperation. "We don't have anything of value to trade," he told her. "Besides, if the other clans can't protect what they own, they deserve to have their supplies taken. It's our way, wife. You'll get used to it."

He was finished discussing the topic. She wasn't. "Such justification…"

"Rest," Gabriel ordered as he pulled the door closed behind him.

She was married to a stubborn man. Johanna decided not to bring up the topic of stealing again. Gabriel was right. It wasn't her place to instruct him or any of the other clansmen. If they all wanted to spend their eternities in hell, so be it. What did she care?

Johanna spent the morning practicing with her bow and arrows and spent the afternoon playing Auggie's senseless, yet vastly enjoyable, game.

Auggie had become her only real friend. He spoke only Gaelic to her, and she found the more relaxed she was, the less difficult the language became. The older man was patient and understanding with her and answered every question she put to him.

She told him how upsetting she found Gabriel's thievery. Auggie wasn't sympathetic and, in fact, championed his laird's cunning.

They were standing on the ridge, striking long shots while they discussed her worry. Most of the stones shattered from the force of the blow.

"The English destroyed our reserves. Our laird will make certain the clan doesn't go hungry this winter," he announced. "How can you call that a sin, lass?"

"He's stealing," she countered.

Auggie shook his head. "God will understand."

"There's more than one way into a castle, Auggie. Gabriel should find another way to feed the clan."

The old man positioned his staff against the round stone, braced his legs apart, and gave a swing. He squinted against the sunlight to see how far he'd hit the stone, nodded with satisfaction, and turned back to his mistress.