To Marry A Scottish Laird by Lynsay Sands

stitches in his back pulled a little. They’d done that a time or two last night while he was tupping Jo, too, he recalled and the thought made him glance to the side for her. She was no longer sleeping beside him . . . and wasn’t in the clearing, he noted, after sitting up to glance quickly around.
    Frowning, Cam got to his feet and pushed his hands through his long hair to get it out of his eyes as he looked around for any clues as to where Jo had got to. The smell of freshly roasted meat drew his attention to the pheasant over the cooling ashes of their fire. That made him relax a little. Only then did Cam admit to himself that for one second, he’d feared perhaps she’d been upset by what he’d done and left while he slept, setting out on foot alone.
    Cam grimaced at the guilt that suddenly beset him. He hadn’t forced her, he knew, but he had been rather aggressive that morning. He’d also caught her half asleep and no doubt completely unprepared for his advances since she was pretending to be a boy. On top of that, she had been completely inexperienced. That had quickly become obvious, even before he’d broken through her maidenhead. In fact, it had nearly made him stop at one point, but she’d felt and tasted so delicious, and she’d been so responsive that he hadn’t been able to reign himself in.
    Damn, he thought, Jo had a lot of passion in her. She’d moaned, writhed, gasped and cried out like a wild thing as he’d pleasured her, and it had all just made him want to pleasure her further, wring more cries and pleas from her sweet lips. The memory was enough to make Cam hard all over again, and he glanced down at himself, grimacing when he saw the dried blood on his shaft, further proof of her innocence.
    Not that he’d needed to see the blood to believe it, he thought, and decided a quick dip was in order and then he would go in search of Jo. They needed to talk. He didn’t know what he would say, but was pretty sure that at the least he owed her an apology. Not only had he taken her innocence, but he’d neglected to withdraw or do anything else to protect her against getting with child. That last part was alarming. He liked Jo, a lot. In fact, he liked her more after knowing her these few short days than he’d liked any woman he’d known, even his wife, whom he’d lived, slept and dealt with for a year. He didn’t know why. Perhaps because he’d relaxed and talked with her as a friend when he’d thought her a boy. He’d never spoken so freely with a woman before, but felt, even now, that he could talk about just about anything with Jo.
    Whatever the reason, the fact was that Cam liked her and had no desire to see her grow big with his child and then die screaming as she tried to push it out of her body. He should have left her alone, or failing that, used a pig’s bladder. That was what he had been doing since his wife’s death. He’d carried around a pig’s bladder and when the need arose, tied it around his shaft with twine to prevent spilling his seed in a woman.
    Unfortunately, the bladder had somehow torn while he was with the tavern wench. Cam wasn’t sure how that had come about. He’d discovered it on waking up in the morning. He’d had a sore head at the time, and hadn’t been pleased at the discovery. He’d hoped for more than one night in the tavern wench’s arms, but he wouldn’t risk it without the bladder, so he’d mounted up and left, expecting to catch up with his cousins the next day. Instead, he’d run into Jo and her attackers. He wasn’t sorry. Frankly, he would pass up a dozen attractive barmaids for one Jo any day. So, in the end, the bladder tearing was a bit of good fortune, he thought with a grin . . . Except for the fact that he hadn’t had it to use with her, some part of his mind reminded him, making his grin quickly fade.
    Sighing, Cam pushed his thoughts aside and headed for the water to clean up. He was nearly to the water’s edge when he