His Bonnie Bride

by Hannah Howell

  "Nay, 'tis the sweetest haven I have e'er known." His lips moved gently over her face as his hands stroked her body, easing away the tension. His hand on her thigh, he said, "Wrap these slender beauties around my waist, sweet Storm. Cradle me to ye. Hold me close atween these silken thighs."

  With a passion-induced obedience she did so, and shuddered along with him as he deepened his possession of her. Her eyes locked with his where he hovered above her, raised up on his elbows. A soft gasp escaped her as he began to move slowly; what was left of her pain was forgotten as a nearly painful pleasure grew within her. Unaware that her eyes had turned to a deep molten color, she was held in the fierce light of his gaze. After a moment she began to move with him in nature's own rhythm.

  "Aye," he groaned in a voice trembling with passion as his lips teased at hers. "That is the way of it. Parry my ilka thrust. Take me so deep inside ye that I cannae find my way out. So sweet. So verra sweet," he rasped, and took her lips in a greedy kiss as he began to move faster.

  Storm met his growing fierceness with an equal one of her own. Her slender arms joined her legs in holding him close while her tongue played with his as their kiss matched the growing frenzy of their movements. She was only dimly aware of his husky mutterings, his voice thickened by passion nearly beyond her comprehension. Suddenly the feeling within her grew to a point that alarmed her. She felt balanced on the edge of some precipice, her body drawn back like a bowstring ready to be released. Despite her growing fear she could not bring a halt to things, and that only increased her agitation. Suddenly she was an unwilling passenger on a journey she did not know the destination of.

  "Tavis, I ... oh, God, please, something ... Tavis, I fear to shatter. Help me, please. I am afraid."

  Cupping her face in his hands, he strove to articulate clearly so that he might ease her fears before they dimmed her passion. "Dinnae fight it nor fear it, sweeting. Give yourself to it. Give it to me. 'Tis the glorious ending of our journey. Savor it."

  He held her gaze and read her release there even as his ears heard her impassioned cry. His body luxuriated in her tremors of inner delight. With one fierce thrust he sought his own escape, seeing in her face the way her body greedily accepted his passion's tribute before he collapsed in her arms. For a moment they lay intimately entwined, letting their minds and bodies slowly return to normalcy.

  With her return to sanity, Storm found herself caught in a growing sadness. She knew some of the reason for her tears was the sense of loss, the realization that she was no longer innocent, her childhood irrevocably put aside. The greatest cause of her depression was the knowledge that something so beautiful to her was simply the use of a woman to the man she held. Though not one given to weeping and fully aware that it was mostly self-pity, Storm found herself too caught up in her crying to stop.

  Leaving her arms, Tavis fought to quell the guilt that had swiftly grown from a small twinge at the start of her weeping. With a damp cloth he washed them both clean of the signs of her lost childhood. Returning to the bed, he took her into his arms, ignoring her slight resistance.

  "Dinnae greet, lass. I cannae give it back. E'en an I could, I would just take it again."

  Storm hoped he would never gain a full accounting of what he had stolen from her. " 'Tis easy for ye to speak so. It matters not how many women a man has. They can even find a pride in their conquests. 'Tis different with a woman ere she wants to wed. A man expects his wife to be pure, untouched by any man. Ye have ruined my hopes for marriage and a family."

  " 'Tis not quite as bad as all that," he said quietly, although he thought it might be.

  "Nay," she snarled, wrenching free of his gentle hold, " 'Tis always easy to find those who will take me for my fortune. Men such as Sir Hugh or mayhaps another of Lady Mary's past or present lovers."

  It was not a pretty picture. Tavis grew angry, for she was stirring up his guilt again, a feeling he was not overly fond of. The cynicism he had so often brought to the fore failed him. He could not say it mattered not to him and mean it. Then, too, the thought that no other man might want her now was fleetingly pleasant, but only fleetingly, for he knew it was not true.

  "The bride gift may not be so sweet, but ye'll nay be left to wither on the vine."

  "Would ye take a wife that was no virgin?" she snapped, already sure of his answer.

  Tavis smiled slightly when she registered open-mouthed surprise at his answer. "Aye, an I kenned 'twas nay her fault. A lass is no match for a man. 'Tis wrong to blame her for what she couldnae prevent. There'll be enough men willing to overlook your lack of a maidenhead, for ye be highborn, pretty and wealthy. Just dinnae tell them how much ye enjoyed it." He laughed softly and easily parried her blows, pinning her beneath him on the bed. "What is this ye wear, lass?" he asked, picking up the amulet she wore around her neck, which he had disinterestedly pushed aside earlier.

  Looking at the circle of amber he held, a lovely butterfly forever caught in full wing-spread within, Storm relinquished some of her anger. "It was my mother's. She found it when she was a small child and had it hung upon this chain. When she fell in love with my father she gave it to him. As she lay dying, she told me to wear it and do the same. 'Tis not often ye find such beauty caught in amber, nor caught so perfectly. She felt it was a perfect love token, for 'tis unique and the shade of our eyes."

  "And ye have nay found a man to give it to as yet?"

  "Obviously not," she drawled, trying to ignore a twinge of pain that came with recalling her circumstances.

  Ignoring her reference, Tavis stared into her eyes, truly fascinated by their coloring. "Aye, 'tis the same color, and your eyes can snare a man as well as this resin did the doomed butterfly."

  "I have no intention of snaring anyone," she snapped indignantly.

  "Nay?" As he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs caressed her cheeks with a slow, gentle motion.

  "Nay." She could feel herself reacting to his touch, as well as the lean strength of him pressed so closely to her. "Well, now that ye have had what ye wanted, ye best scurry back to your own bed."

  "I never scurry."

  Biting her lip against a rising annoyance, as well as a growing passion, she gritted out, "Then walk, run, trot, lope or do as ye please, but ye best get to moving."

  "I am not going anywhere, lass." He smiled as her eyes widened.

  "Ye cannot stay here. 'Twould be known by all what ye have done come the morning."

  " 'Tis common knowledge now. I made my plans plain enough ere I left the hall."

  For a moment Storm was speechless with embarrassment and outrage. "Did ye have to? How can I face all the others on the morrow? Could ye not have kept my disgrace a private matter?"

  Shaking his head, Tavis found her naivete hard to believe. "Ye are my prisoner and a bonnie wee lass. Not only your kinsmen will question your innocence when ye leave here, but my folk have wondered why I have nay touched ye. Those that didnae ken I had not all thought I had. Near half the folk ye have faced all week have thought ye in my bed or I in yours. Think on it no longer, my sweet little one."

  "How unjust of them," she whispered. "Do ye not care that they think ye a ravisher of maids?"

  "Nay." His hands began to stroke her slim length and he felt her tension being replaced by desire. "I've nay ravished ye. Seduced, mayhaps, but nay ravished." His tongue tracing the outline of her mouth, he murmured, " 'Tis here in your arms I intend to stay until ye are given back to Hagaleah and England."

  Neither paid much mind to how uncomfortable the mere thought of separation was. Even so, it killed what little resistance Storm had. Tavis became all the more desperate in his need.

  * * * * *

  Iain paused outside his father's door, saw a shaft of light, heard voices and rapped. Following the command to enter, his gaze settled upon Janet, a woman he neither trusted nor liked. He said nothing until his father finished off his potion, handed the goblet to Janet and she had left the room.

  "Putri
d rot," Colin grumbled. " 'Tis little help it gives me, yet I feel I maun suffer it."

  "Tavis is with the Eldon lass."

  Colin sighed. "Aye. 'Twas due. I hope he isnae going to hurt the bairn."

  "Nay. He might not keep to the letter of his promise, but he'll not harm her. She's an Eldon."

  "I ken that weel enough, and many's the man who'd say 'Have at it, Tavis,' but she's a good wee lassie and I cannae wish her hurt. Muckle's the year Eldon and MacLagan have faced each other at sword's point, but the man doesnae deal in treachery and butchery. Many's the time I wished I could have a friend at my side as worthy as that foe. I cannae like visiting dishonor upon his child. Then, too, there's the wee matter of me sword arm," he finished, touching the smooth scar at his shoulder.

  "Aye. All this I can see weel, but 'tis more than that, is it not?"

  "I have ne'er seen the lad in such a fever for a lass."

  "Nor have I. 'Tis what drives him to go against your wishes, mayhaps against his own."

  Hesitating, Colin held his son's gaze and then decided that Iain was very probably of a like mind, so would not find his growing qualms foolish ones. "I fear Tavis is sowing himself a harvest of grief," he said quietly, and Iain solemnly nodded.

  Chapter Eight

  Ignoring the tension that was building within her with each step she took, Storm followed Phelan into the great hall where dinner was to be served. Since Tavis had begun to share her bed there had been less of an air of imprisonment to her stay at Caraidland. Tavis did not like someone hanging around all the time, yet Storm knew she would not get many steps away if she tried to flee. There was always someone near, always a pair of eyes following her.

  The fortnight had brought yet another reply from Hagaleah, couched in such terms that, although it was a refusal, it could not be acted upon as such. When Storm had presented Tavis with what she considered a reasonable tally for her nightly services and suggested that he deduct it from the ransom there had been a spectacular argument. She thought it a little hypocritical of him to use her like a whore, but then become enraged and outraged if she dared to call herself one in even the most subtle of terms. Nevertheless, she was careful not to, for they found quite enough to argue about as it was.

  Then there were Janet and Katerine. They did all they could to make life miserable for her. They were proving to be experts in the field. It had reached the point where Storm feared an immediate outbreak of hostilities. More and more the subtle remarks flew, anger simmered and reaction was forced down to grow greater and fiercer.

  Kate's reason for being vitriolic was plain to see. It had taken Storm a while to understand Janet's. When she did she wished fervently that she had not or that she would be proven wrong. Instead, as Colin grew weaker, Janet's reason for resenting her became all too clear. Janet plainly wanted Tavis, desired her own husband's son.

  A silent groan rose up in Storm as the ever weakening Colin was led out of the hall, no longer able to linger with the others after the meal. The ritual of the women preparing to retreat to a far corner of the hall and leave the men alone to talk but the men inducing them to stay was gone through. Storm preferred staying at the table, for she really had little in common with the other two women, and the men afforded some protection from the vicious remarks and rising animosity. She was not afraid of the women, but did fear a humiliating scene if things were not kept curbed in some way.

  Storm continued to feel that someone was slowly poisoning Colin but, although she had a very strong suspicion as to who it might be, she could not yet accuse someone. The watching she and Phelan indulged in had left them with only one firm conviction: Malcolm was the only one they could wholeheartedly exonerate. Their reasons for doing so were rather vague, but they did not care. If nothing else, they had to trust someone soon or Colin would die. Storm wondered how she could get to Colin's room to talk privately with the devoted Malcolm. There was little time left. It amazed Storm that Colin still lived, for he looked so very close to death.

  "So your people still refuse to buy ye back," drawled Katerine, her eyes hard as they flickered over the way Tavis's hand rested upon Storm's knee with an unconscious possessiveness.

  "Lady Mary would not part with a brass farthing to save her own mother," Storm remarked calmly.

  "Aye, and mayhaps she kens ye be working off the ransom," Janet purred too loudly.

  "Janet," Tavis growled warningly into the sudden hush that had fallen over the table.

  Refusing to let the woman anger her, Storm coolly retorted, "Ah, well, I did present Tavis with what I considered a reasonable tally, but mayhaps I estimated too low, for he was loathe to accept it."

  Tavis's hand tightened on Storm's knee in warning as snickering erupted around the table. He did not like to hear Storm referred to in such terms. Despite the situation, he did not think of her that way and did not want her or any other to do so.

  Kate had reached the limit of her endurance. For a fortnight she had struggled to entice Tavis away from the girl but had failed miserably. The way her former lover treated Storm made Kate grind her teeth in jealous rage. Even when the couple fought there was a casual intimacy between them she had never achieved with Tavis.

  "Methinks 'twas too high," sneered Kate, rising to stand next to Storm. "A skinny wench like ye wouldnae bring a ha'penth on the streets."

  "Enough!" Tavis bellowed, leaping to his feet to glare at his former mistress.

  Wine, frustration and desperation robbed Kate of pride, and she clung to Tavis. "How can ye toss me aside for her? Her folk arenae going to ransom her, 'tis plain. Send her back and return to one who kens how to pleasure ye. She cannae ken the ways o' loving. She's naught but a cold Sassanach bitch. How can ye nay see that I am the woman for ye?"

  Storm watched the pair for a moment before standing up to leave. Her insides were knotted with a jealousy that grew with each caress Kate offered Tavis. It mattered little that he did not return them. He neither pushed Kate away nor told her to cease. In fact, Storm thought he looked as if he was thinking about all the woman had said. Storm decided to leave before she lost control, revealing her jealousy and fear to everyone.

  "Slinking away?" purred Kate, who also took Tavis's silence as acquiescence.

  Turning in her advance toward the door, Storm looked Kate over with ill-concealed scorn. "Nay, I simply do not find groveling an entertainment to my liking."

  The soft snickering that reached Kate's ears fueled her rage, and she moved to stand directly in front of Storm. "Ye just cannae stomach being set aside, can ye?"

  "I believe I will survive," Storm drawled. "If ye wish to take back a man who has ignored ye for a fortnight, consorting with another right before your eyes, then, please, feel free to be such a fool. Just do not ask me to sit and watch a member of my own sex debase herself so."

  With a cry of inarticulate rage, Kate backhanded Storm across the face. Tavis would have interfered, but Iain stopped him, saying quietly that the confrontation was past due. Storm was nearly sent sprawling from the force of the blow. She reacted automatically. With a strength increased by anger suppressed for too many days and a healthy jealousy, she struck back. Bringing a small fist up from her hip in a smooth swing, she dealt a blow to Kate's jaw that sent the larger woman sprawling to the floor and kept her there. A surprised silence fell over the hall.

  "She's all yours, Tavis," she said quietly, "though I fear ye will have to rouse her first."

  Tavis was too amazed to move after Storm and merely stood staring at the unconscious Kate while Storm strolled out of the hall, Phelan right behind her. It was a long moment before he could rouse himself enough to do anything. Picking up a tankard of ale, he tossed it into Kate's face, watching with no sympathy at all as she spluttered and wakened. He wondered how he had ever managed to bed her and ruefully admitted that lust gave little thought to the character of the vessel in which it spent itself.

  "That bitch hit me," wailed Kate as she struggled to her feet unaided.
>
  "Ye struck her first," Tavis pointed out in an icy tone. "I think it best if ye go home on the morrow." He strode out of the hall, oblivious to the curses Katerine screeched after him.

  He went to his chambers to wash up. Although he spent every night in Storm's bed, he had not moved himself in with her for reasons he did not fully understand himself. Just as he slipped into his robe, Janet quietly entered his room, shutting the door after her and leaning against it.

  With her hair loose and dressed in a diaphanous gown, Janet was beautiful, but Tavis was unimpressed. "What do ye want?" he growled.

  "Ye shouldnae be so rude to your stepmother," she purred as she moved toward him. "I thought ye might be ready for a change from the squabbling bairns ye have bedded o' late."

  " 'Tis only Kate causing the uproar, and she will be gone come the morn," he said coldly, not reacting in any way when she pressed her full curves against him.

  "Ah, Tavis, how soon ye forget," she murmured, trailing kisses over his jaw. "Do ye not yet want to retaste the passion we shared that night?" Her hands slid inside his robe.

  Grabbing her by the wrists, Tavis flung her away from him. "So ye claim, but I cannae recall any."

  " 'Tis the guilt ye feel that tries to erase the memory. Ye must not feel so, Tavis. Your father hasnae been a husband to me in many a month." She tried hard to touch him again.

  Stepping around her, Tavis opened the door. "Ye are still his wife. Good night, Janet."

  Clenching her fists in anger, Janet watched him leave. Time was running out. Katerine had failed to keep Tavis from the Eldon girl, who seemed to have bewitched him. Despite the fact that Colin was but a heartbeat from death, Tavis still clung to his chivalrous ideals and would not succumb to her enticements. Janet strode out of the room, deciding that it was time to urge events along.

  Storm glanced at Tavis when he entered her room and sprawled on her bed. He lay on his stomach, watching the card game she and Phelan were playing on the floor. There was trouble written upon his handsome features, and she could read an inner torment in his eyes before he veiled his look. Telling herself she was a fool to feel so did not lessen her concern for him. The anguish she sensed in him became her own.