"What!" I drew away indignantly, but he pulled me back and collapsed on the bed with me on top of him. He held me until I stopped struggling, then raised me enough to meet his lips again.
"I know once is enough to make it legal, but…" He paused shyly.
"You want to do it again?"
"Would ye mind verra much?"
I didn't laugh this time either, but I felt my ribs creak under the strain.
"No," I said gravely. "I wouldn't mind."
"Are you hungry?" I asked softly, sometime later.
"Famished." He bent his head to bite my breast softly, then looked up with a grin. "But I need food too." He rolled to the edge of the bed. "There's cold beef and bread in the kitchen, I expect, and likely wine as well. I'll go and bring us some supper."
"No, don't you get up. I'll fetch it." I jumped off the bed and headed for the door, pulling a shawl over my shift against the chill of the corridor.
"Wait, Claire!" Jamie called. "Ye'd better let me—" but I had already opened the door.
My appearance at the door was greeted by a raucous cheer from some fifteen men, lounging around the fireplace of the main room below, drinking, eating and tossing dice. I stood nonplussed on the balcony for a moment, fifteen leering faces flickering out of the firelit shadows at me.
"Hey, lass!" shouted Rupert, one of the loungers. "Ye're still able t' walk! Isn't Jamie doin' his duty by ye, then?"
This sally was greeted with gales of laughter and a number of even cruder remarks regarding Jamie's prowess.
"If ye've worn Jamie out a'ready, I'll be happy t' take 'is place!" offered a short dark-haired youth.
"Nay, nay, 'e's no good, lass, take me!" shouted another.
"She'll ha' none o' ye, lads!" yelled Murtagh, uproariously drunk. "After Jamie, she'll need somethin' like this to satisfy 'er!" He waved a huge mutton bone overhead, causing the room to rock with laughter.
I whirled back into the room, slammed the door and stood with my back to it, glaring at Jamie, who lay naked on the bed, shaking with laughter.
"I tried to warn ye," he said, gasping. "You should see your face!"
"Just what," I hissed, "are all those men doing out there?" Jamie slid gracefully off our wedding couch and began rummaging on his knees through the pile of discarded clothing on the floor. "Witnesses," he said briefly. "Dougal is no takin' any chances of this marriage bein' annulled." He straightened with his kilt in his hands, grinning at me as he wrapped it around his loins. "I'm afraid your reputation's compromised beyond repair, Sassenach."
He started shirtless for the door. "Don't go out there!" I said, in sudden panic. He turned to smile reassuringly, hand on the latch. "Dinna worry, lass. If they're witnesses, they may as well have somethin' to see. Besides, I'm no intendin' to starve for the next three days for fear of a wee bit o' chaff."
He stepped out of the room to a chorus of bawdy applause, leaving the door slightly ajar. I could hear his progress toward the kitchen, marked by shouted congratulations and ribald questions and advice.
"How was yer first time, Jamie? Did ye bleed?" shouted Rupert's easily recognized gravel-pit voice.
"Nay, but ye will, ye auld bugger, if ye dinna clapper yer face," came Jamie's spiked tones in broad Scots reply. Howls of delight greeted this sally, and the raillery continued, following Jamie down the hall to the kitchen and back up the stairs.
I pushed open the door a crack to admit Jamie, face red as the fire below and hands piled high with food and drink. He sidled in, followed by a final burst of hilarity from below. I choked it off with a decisive slam of the door, and shot the bolt to.
"I brought enough we'll no need to go out again for a bit," Jamie said, laying out dishes on the table, carefully not looking at me. "Will ye have a bite?"
I reached past him for the bottle of wine. "Not just yet. What I need is a drink."
There was a powerful urgency in him that roused me to response despite his awkwardness. Not wanting to lecture nor yet to highlight my own experience, I let him do what he would, only offering an occasional suggestion, such as that he might carry his weight on his elbows and not my chest.
As yet too hungry and too clumsy for tenderness, still he made love with a sort of unflagging joy that made me think that male virginity might be a highly underrated commodity. He exhibited a concern for my safety, though, that I found at once endearing and irritating.