“I don’t. I just like the idea of providing something useful and contributing, even if ’tis only a small one. Have ye ever had raspberries straight from the bush?” Her mind turned to the sweet fruit and how the tartness lingered on her tongue.
“Nae. I’ve never had a garden.”
“They are wonderful.”
“There is a garden at my estate.” His smile relieved the tension that had been brewing since their stop.
“What’s in it?”
“I dinnae ken, but we can take a tour, and if ye like, ye can plant whatever ye want.”
Och, maybe there was still hope he would value her. “I’d like that.”
A short while later, they rode into a large village that was still quite active despite the late hour. They left the horses in a stable, and Finlay guided them to a building where again, the innkeeper knew him by name.
The bottom floor was filled with rambunctious local residents drinking and having some sort of celebration. Taking her hand, Finlay led the group up the stairs. The other Cameron men followed but stopped at a door as she continued on down the hall with her husband.
Brodie was no longer with them.
Why did the men keep disappearing?
Finlay pushed open the door to a room at the end of the hall. Stepping in, her heart started to thud as she realized she was alone with her husband. She’d not even thought of what the night would bring. Would he demand his rights now?
Although it was late and the sky remained filled with clouds, the sun still broke through, lighting the room with its lingering rays and casting an ethereal glow through the window. Finlay lit a candle, and she paced, not wanting to sit on her sore bottom and taking advantage of the opportunity to stretch after riding all day.
He reached around and took the sword from his back, placing it gently on the floor just under the edge of the bed. She busied herself by strolling over to the window and peering out. Brodie was circling the stables then glancing around the town.
“Do ye think someone tried to harm yer horse?”
“Nae.” He didn’t sound convincing. But she’d seen the glances he’d continually tossed over his shoulder like he was expecting bandits to fall upon them at any moment. All the Cameron men seemed to be on alert.
Expecting him to continue, she turned, but he only sat and removed his boots, evading the question and planting doubts in her head. “Is someone trying to hurt ye?”
“The only people I can think that would want to harm me are my brothers, and I doubt they’d sully their boots and come all the way to Scotland to do it.”
“Will I meet yer brothers?”
“Aye.”
A soft knock sounded through the room. Finlay’s eyes darted toward his sword, but then turned back to the door. “Who’s there?”
“’Tis Mage, sir.” Blair recognized the voice as one of the women who had greeted them downstairs upon their arrival.
“Aye, all right then.” With two steps, he was across the room in what would have taken her four or more.
After pulling in the door, Finlay moved away to let a hunched woman carrying a tray enter the room. The graying woman smiled at him then her and set her offering on the small table by the unlit hearth. “Welcome missus. So happy to see this one has taken a wife.”
“Thank ye.”
“If ye need anything else, let us ken.”
“Aye,” he said as the woman scooted out the door as quick as she’d entered.
Sighing, Blair moved over to the table and slid slowly into one of the padded wooden chairs. She inspected the food and inwardly groaned, hoping to not let her husband see her displeasure at the offering. Stew, looking too similar to what she’d been served at Kentillie last night, and cheese. Neither of which she was going to touch. There was a small loaf of bread, so she decided to go with that. “Are ye going to join me?” Blair asked.
“Aye.” Easing in beside her, he took one of the plates.
She felt small next to him, but not fragile. Lifting her cup, she took a sip of the ale. The warm liquid slid down her parched throat easily. She took another sip then broke off a piece of bread. “Do ye ken every innkeeper from Kentillie to England?”
“I’ve been traveling this route since I was a babe. I ken it well.”
“Where in England are we going?”
“Just as far as Middlesbrough. From there, my brothers or father can deliver the message to the king. Supporting Charles is one of the few things my family and I can agree upon.”
“Do ye think he will punish my clan if my father insists on sending his men?”
He looked surprised that she knew of her father’s plan. “Does yer father keep ye informed on his dealings?”
“Nae, I keep myself informed.” She took another sip of the ale.
“I dinnae ken what the king will do to those who rise up against him.”
“Can ye attempt to assuage his anger? Ye ken when John takes over ’twill be different.”
“Aye, I like yer brother. He’s an intelligent man. Loyal.”
She found it pleasant talking to her husband, and the tension in her shoulders loosened slightly. She took another sip of the ale.
“Have ye always been interested in politics?” He spooned some stew into his mouth.
“I have educated myself on what I need to ken for the clan.”
His eyes lightened, and his lips turned up. She couldn’t help smiling back.
They continued to eat in a companionable silence, and after finishing her bread, her body became languid. It was most likely the effects of the ale or the dread of knowing tomorrow would be as grueling as the journey today had been, She found herself staring at his lips and remembering how they tasted. She sighed before she realized it.
Finlay’s pupils grew smaller, reminding her that he was a man and had every right to claim her body. It scared her, but at the same time, she didn’t feel pressured. She stood and moved over to the bed, thinking it was best if they got the hard part over.
“Are ye ready for bed?” Sitting on the edge, she removed her slipper. He continued to chew, but the task looked harder now. Taking off the other slipper, she placed them at the foot of the bed.
“Aye, shortly.”
Blushing, she rose and strolled to the table where he had stilled. “Will ye loosen the ribbons, please.”
When he nodded, she dipped to expose the delicate material to his touch. His fingers danced across her back, lingering and taking longer than usual as tingles spread through her spine at the light movements.
“Done.” His voice was hoarse and raspy, sending a thrill through her that he’d reacted to her in such a manner. She’d been worried after last night that he’d had second thoughts and didn’t want her. His voice and eyes said differently.
Moving back toward the bed, she turned to see his regard hadn’t left her. Slowly pulling, the gown slid from one shoulder then the next, as her cheeks stung with embarrassment. Finlay’s gaze devoured every move she made, and on top of the shame in it, she felt an odd anticipation as his eyes darkened and his chest rose and fell.
Tearing her gaze away, she moved to lay her gown over the chair she’d vacated and sat back on the bed to remove her stockings.
He rose, bumping into the edge of the table and knocking the tray onto the floor.
“Hell.”
He stooped to pick up the dishes, placing everything back on the tray, then stood. Need shone in his eyes when he looked at her, but he walked toward the door, opened it, and placed the remaining food outside. Shutting and bolting the door, he turned back to her.
She stood and waited for him to come closer. His heated gaze trailed from her face down her body. She shuddered.
He came to a stop just in front of her, his mesmerizing eyes piercing hers. His lips landed on her mouth, gentle at first, questioning and seeking approval. Rising up on her toes, she deepened the caress, urgent and needy as her body heated. She welcomed the touch.
It was
new and so different from what had come before, like her body had waited for this moment to truly desire a man.
Her husband.
Tentatively, she slid her tongue into his mouth. He stilled, then his tongue started to dance with hers, and a thrill shot through her.
His hands rested on her hips as she rose up to clasp onto arms that were taut and strong, and nearly the size of her waist. She felt safe and desired. They’d barely had the chance to converse on the journey so far, but in this embrace she felt he was saying, “I want ye, need ye, and I’ll respect and protect ye.” He wasn’t a man of words, he was a man of action, and somehow that meant more.
He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her tight, but it was suddenly too much. She gasped and broke the kiss, her body seizing in protest as his hard penis pressed into her belly, proof that he desired her, but also an indication of what was to come. The part she didn’t like. The calling that was now her duty.
Would it, too, be different with Finlay?
Not wanting to anger him as she had Henry, she said, “I’m sorry.” The words rushed from her mouth as a plea for forgiveness. She hated the twisted emotions that invaded the corners of her mind.
His grip fell as he backed away, releasing her back to the floor. He scrutinized her. “There is nothing to be sorry for. Did I hurt ye?”
“Nae. Just startled me.” But that wasn’t true, she was terrified and trembling, ready for the verbal assault or a fist.
It didn’t come.
Nodding, he went to the chair and sat, removing his boots, then standing to remove his plaid and shirt. She slid into the bed and looked away, shaking as she prepared for him to come at her again.
The light from the candle went out then the bed shifted slightly as he crawled under the blanket next to her. He scooted closer and placed his arm around her. He must have sensed her fear, because he made no moves to further their connection, only held her with his warm body pressed to her back. The reassuring gesture soothed her frayed nerves.
“I’m sorry.” She fought back the wave of guilt that enveloped her. For making him turn away, and for thinking he was anything like the brute who had taken her maidenhood. Her husband was nothing like that weasel.
“Nae. ’Tis no’ yer fault. We will get there.”
After a few minutes of lying cradled in his arms, unable to shut her eyes, unable to stop the images in her head, she confessed, “Henry forced me. I didnae ken it was going to happen. He took me to his room and wouldnae let me leave.” Her voice trembled, but she tried to steady it. “I never would have gone with him if I’d known what he intended.”
Finlay tensed. “Why did ye no’ tell someone? Yer brother or me? I could have helped.” His voice took on a low rumble.
He had been in the hall that second night as Henry pulled her from her chamber. She remembered Finlay’s tight jaw and clenched fists; she had known he was ready to intervene on her behalf and had almost given in to the urge to plea for help. But, if she called out for assistance, it would have put Finlay and Kirstie’s clan in danger. After Henry had forced himself on her the previous evening, she realized she was stuck with him, and there was no reason for the Camerons to feel the weasel’s ire. So, she’d gone willingly the rest of the way.
“’Twas too late once he was done. And we were betrothed. No one would have been able to give back what he’d taken, and ’twould only have angered the Grahams for yer interference.”
“I’m sorry ye had to go through that. I promise I will never force myself upon ye.” He hugged, drawing her in closer, cocooning her in his warmth and assurance.
“I ken, but sometimes my body and my brain arenae in agreement.”
“We have plenty of time.”
Time. Something Henry had not given her. She wanted to roll over, look in Finlay’s hazel eyes, and tell him she was ready, and she knew he deserved his rights as a husband, but she couldn’t do it.
His head nuzzled up to the back of hers.
A little while later, his arm slackened in sleep. Only then did she relax and shut her own eyes.
Chapter Eight
Something moved beneath him, bringing Finlay awake. A painful longing between his legs throbbed. One he’d always ignored in the morning, but this time, it was insistent and ached as his body recognized the soft flesh of a woman next to him—Blair, his wife.
Sleep had eluded him most of the evening because unbidden images of Henry putting his hands on her haunted him. How could she have loved a man who had treated her so roughly? He hoped over time, she would come to have some affection for him, but he didn’t have all the pretty words and flattery most men did. Hell, he could barely even read.
His thoughts took him to that long-ago, sweltering day when he’d made the decision to keep his deficiency a secret, to work as hard as he could, even if it took him longer than most.
It was on one of his summer trips to England when his stepmother decided he needed a tutor to keep him busy and away from her, since she couldn’t escape his presence by returning to London. The tutoring only lasted the one day, but he’d been locked in an attic room with the man and had experienced true fear, one still unmatched to this day.
Finlay couldn’t remember the man’s appearance, because he’d been terrified to look in his direction, but the instructor smelled of mint, and every time he stumbled over a passage, the tutor slammed a long flat wooden stick across his hands. The pain was intense, and before the lesson was over, his bladder had spilled out onto his seat.
Later, standing outside the drawing room, covered in sweat and his own urine, he overheard the man telling his stepmother that he was ignorant and would never learn to read. Laughter spewed from the two boys within, the ones who were supposed to be his brothers. At one time they’d been kind to him. After that day the relentless teasing started, and he still wasn’t sure if it was at the urging of the stepmother or if they’d decided him unworthy of their continued affection on their own. He’d only been ten, but he’d known then he would never earn a place in his father’s wife’s heart.
His real mother was the only reason he could make sense of the jumbles at all. She’d sat patiently as he’d stumbled through whatever she’d brought for him to read. She loved to read and write, and despite the distance and the void between them, she still wrote to his father.
She was probably the only reason he’d made it through university. More painful memories he didn’t want to explore. He shook his head and returned to the present, to the gift that lay beside him.
Running his hand up and down Blair’s arm, he wished for another kiss like they’d shared last night. They had connected on a level that had been more than just the need to sate the hunger growing in him—it was like the world had made her for him and like he would burst if they stopped. Of course he didn’t push her, but the pain in his member was excruciating, his cock screaming at him for not plunging into her warm sheath. If he were alone, he would take matters into his own hands, but he couldn’t do that in front of her.
Stirring, she turned and glanced at him, sultry blue eyes still filled with sleep and an unspoken welcome. Coming up on an elbow, he dipped his head, hoping to link with her again. She sighed into his mouth as her fingers found the bare skin on his side and gently held on as if she needed him as much as he desired her. Her fingernails grazing his skin fueled the yearning that was burning out of control.
As he continued to rest on one elbow, tongue dueling with hers in a dance that had his blood humming, he explored her curves through her shift, her heated flesh calling to him through the material. Going slow so as to not startle her, his hand slid down to her thigh where the undergarment had gathered up. Caressing her soft skin sent tingles through him as he traced circles on her outer leg, slowly moving toward the inner side.
She arched into him. He felt the soft intake of breath as her body melded to his. As his hand slid toward her core, a little whimper escaped from her lips still connected with his, not in protest, but one o
f encouragement.
Pulling back just to be certain, he whispered, “Are ye all right?”
She only nodded while his fingers continued to trace patterns on her thigh. Her mouth slightly open and eyes dilated, she watched him as if he were the only man in the world and she had complete faith and trust in him.
His mouth returned to hers, hungry and wanting more. This time he didn’t let his tongue enter her mouth, he trailed kisses across her soft cheek and down to her neck. Her grip on him tightened as her head tilted to give him better access. As he kissed, sucked, then nibbled on her neck, she gasped.
He whispered into her ear, “Do ye like that?”
“Aye, husband.” The word of possession spilled from her lips and marked itself in his chest, calling out to him. Aye, she already owned him, just as she belonged to him.
He nipped at the small nub at the bottom of her ear, and she moved closer into him. His touch became bold as he tugged at her shift and sought out her core.
At a knock on the door, he stifled the curse that almost burst from his mouth.
“We’re up and have the horses ready.” Malcolm’s voice penetrated through the silence.
He wanted to scream “go away”, but he couldn’t. He had a duty to get the message to the king. He groaned. Bedding his wife would have to wait.
She looked as pained as he felt—she’d not pulled away this morning, and the trust she’d given him imparted hope. This moment would have him speeding toward tonight’s destination, so they could finish what they had started.
“Tristan is back,” filtered through the door.
He found his voice, but it felt strained. “Be right down. Can ye see to some food to break our fast?”
“We already have it waiting downstairs.”
Argh, he thought that might buy him a few more moments alone with his wife. “We’ll be down in a moment.”
Boots tramped down the hall, and he was left with the need to finish what they had started, but he wouldn’t rush through it. That’s what had scared her last night—his over-eagerness. There would be plenty of time tonight.
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