Claire pulled away from Ian, hoping her knees would cooperate and bear her to her chamber. “I will do as you bid, but I will check on you later.” She glanced at Phillip. “See that his wound is tended to.”
“I shall go and get supplies.” Phillip gave a nod and left for the cellarium.
“I’ll see you to your chamber,” said Ian. He looped Claire’s hand in the crook of his arm and led her into the great hall and toward the circular stairs.
Claire wanted to refuse, if only to recover from the heady feelings his closeness brought. At the same time, she was beginning to crave his presence like the sweet taste of honey on hot bread.
His free hand slid over hers, his thumb circling across the back of her hand. Her breath quickened. What if he noticed? She resisted the urge to run up the stairs just to camouflage the true cause of her erratic breathing.
Ian squeezed her hand and then stopped and pressed her against the wall. The coolness of the stone seeped through her dress. He stood on a lower step so that his eyes were level with hers. Her heart stood still at the heat of his gaze. His dark eyes seemed to devour her as they traced a path over her face.
One of his hands slid around her waist, while the other cupped her cheek. His thumb moved over her bottom lip, the calloused pad sending little waves thrumming through her body.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath feathering her face.
“I must look a fright.” She barely managed the words.
Ian cupped the other side of her face, holding it with gentle care. “Most lovely, you are.”
Mesmerized by his mouth when he talked, she watched as he drew closer until her eyes slowly closed in anticipation. Her breath stilled. And then his lips met hers. Soft. Gentle. The faintest of touch, then his touch was gone.
She opened her eyes open to find Ian’s questioning gaze, as if to ask permission. Aye, oh, aye! Claire slid her arms up around his neck. She threaded her fingers through his dark waves and pulled him to her.
Ian groaned as she pressed her lips to his. His hand slid around her back, pulling her close. He angled his mouth over hers and deepened his kiss. Her senses reeled, the sweet need to be closer enveloping her heart and soul.
“By the saints! You didn’t even make it to your chambers!”
Ian broke the kiss and briefly touched his brow to hers, his breathing as labored as her own. He loosened his grip but kept her within his arms as he looked down the stairwell at Phillip.
“Do I need to escort the lady to her room myself?” Phillip’s brow lifted skyward. “I am a good protector, you know.”
“Perhaps if you’ll bring me a sack to hide her beauty, I think I can make it the rest of the way.”
Phillip laughed as he continued up the stairs. “Her tray of food is on its way, so off with the both of you.”
Ian removed his arms from around Claire, and she leaned against the wall for but a moment, trying to gather the strength to climb the rest of the stairs. Faith, but the man’s kiss fair stole her wits. She hooked her hand around Ian’s arm to aid her progress, and he covered it with his own once more.
Her eyes misted at the sweetness of the gesture. She knew she was an emotional sort, but the past two days had opened her eyes to see into her heart. Her misplaced prejudice. Her misplaced judgment of character. Her growing love for her betrothed.
Aye, there was that, as well.
Once they reached her chamber, Ian opened the door and then returned his hand to hers. He opened his mouth, then closed it, his brows coming together in a frown.
“Oh, go on and kiss, man; then leave her be.”
Ian shot a glare at Phillip.
Claire lifted on the tips of her toes and gave Ian a sweet smile. She softly placed her lips on his for a brief kiss before settling back on her heels. “There. Is that what you wanted?”
“Not even close,” said Ian.
Claire laughed and stepped away. She slowly closed her door, capturing Ian’s gaze until the latch clicked shut.
Claire heaved a huge sigh and pressed her forehead against the rough wood of the door. My, but he was a temptation. While she had her scruples, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to keep him at arm’s length if he persisted in bestowing kisses like the ones she’d just experienced in the stairwell.
She might go after the priest herself.
Chapter 29
Ian stared at the wooden door now barring him from Claire. By the saints! Her bold embrace in the stairwell ... he was of a mind to kick open the door and kiss her senseless.
A punch in the arm sent him off balance, and his arms flailed as he gained his footing.
“Stop your pining and move on to your own room,” said Phillip. “You are as useless as a newborn calf attached to its mother’s teat.”
“I am no such thing.” Ian swiped his hands over his face, trying to remove the fog of Claire’s sweet presence from his mind.
Phillip snorted and strode down the corridor, glancing over his shoulder at Ian. “Come along. I’ve instructed a bath be drawn for you, and then I will dress your wound.”
Ian glanced at Claire’s door once more and heaved a sigh. He did need to clean the cut on his leg. Of course, bathing the malodorous scent from his body would help in the pursuit of his fiery-haired lady. His step picked up in anticipation.
“My lord!” James hastened down the long hallway.
What could have happened now? Ian’s stomach dropped. Was Niall up to mischief?
“My lord, the priest has arrived.”
Ian’s breath left him. “The priest is here? I thought he wasna due for another couple of weeks.”
Phillip came alongside him and clasped him on the shoulder. “I hired a couple of village men to track down the priest and bring him here.” His friend’s grin grew wide. “I knew how difficult it was getting for you to wait to bed your lady.”
Ian’s neck warmed, but he wanted to dance a jig at the happy thought of taking Claire as his own—tonight. “I must say, Phillip, you are a devious friend. But I thank you for it.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let me get Claire, and we shall see the deed done.” He made for Claire’s door only to be hauled back by Phillip’s strong grasp.
“Nay, you will clean up for your lady first.”
Ian opened his mouth to put Phillip in his place, but then he pressed his lips together. Claire would appreciate a non-malodorous husband in her bed. He grunted his assent. “Aye, but let us be quick about it.”
Phillip laughed. “You may want to hurry your ministrations, but I guarantee your lady will take her time preparing for a wedding.”
Ian tried to organize is thoughts. “See that the priest is fed. The evening meal should be served soon. Everyone is invited to stay for the ceremony after the meal. Perhaps Claire willna take overlong in her preparations.” Ian paused. “I need to tell her of the priest.”
“Do you want me to give her the news?” asked Phillip.
Ian frowned. “I shall tell her.”
Phillip smiled. “Very well.” He and James left to do Ian’s bidding.
Ian strode the short distance to Claire’s chamber and rapped on the door.
The door cracked open, and Claire’s green eyes peeked through. “Is there something amiss?”
“Nay, ’tis good news. The priest has arrived.” He tried to tamp down his smile but was unsuccessful—until Claire’s face twisted into a scowl.
“I cannot wed tonight. There is not enough time to prepare.” She opened the door fully, still in her bloodied dress.
“What is there to prepare, other than to bathe and clothe yourself?”
“But I have no new gown, or new shoes.”
“Wear the gown you wore at the handfasting.”
Claire’s brows drew together even further. “Have you even a ring?”
“Aye, that I do have,” said Ian, thankful to have had the foresight to have their new blacksmith fashion one.
Claire gaped at him, shock regist
ering on her face. “Truly?” A hint of a smile played at the corner of her red lips.
“Aye.” He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed when her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. If she didn’t shut the door soon, he was going to grab her, carry her downstairs, and marry her in the time it would take to blink an eye. He took a step and reached a finger to trail across her cheek. “Now, are you still opposed to wedding me this eve?”
Claire took his hand and moved her lips over the finger that had caressed her face. Fire threaded through his limbs at the sweet gesture, and he gripped the door frame with his free hand to keep from hauling her into his arms. Saints, her sweet side melted his heart into a puddle.
“I am willing.” Claire smiled, let go of his fingers, and then promptly shut the door.
She said aye. Ian grinned and then heaved a sigh. Tonight, they would be wed and free to start a new life together as true husband and wife.
He walked to his room with a swagger in his step. Now that he knew she was ready, even willing, his impatience abated somewhat. That didn’t mean he tarried in his bath. Nay, he rushed through his cleansing, as well as the binding of the wound on his thigh. Never had he been more grateful that his injury was merely a scratch. This day of all days.
After donning his best tunic, hosen, and boots, Ian hastily ate from the tray of food set on his bedside table. The aroma of roasted venison should have stirred his appetite, but tonight it held little appeal. His stomach quivered as if tumbling with pebbles, his nerves alive with anticipation—or fear. Nay, surely not fear.
But it wasn’t every day one wed a beautiful woman exuding passion as wild as her fiery head of hair. Of course, any woman with a temper as heated as Claire had exhibited from time to time was sure to be of a passionate nature. He was indeed fortunate.
And a mite nervous. Would he be too boorish? Too clumsy? Too impatient?
Nay, he was a warrior. He was lord over a promising piece of land. No need to fret over the marriage bed. Time spent in each other’s arms proved he had nothing to fear.
By the saints, he needed air. He swung open the chamber door and stepped into the hallway. He marched to Claire’s room and lifted his hand to the door.
He stilled.
Rushing her wouldn’t be appreciated, and he didn’t need any interference in getting married. No need to stir her ire. He stepped away and leaned against the stone wall opposite her door. He crossed a foot over his ankle and patted the wall with his hands. He waited. Patiently. For what seemed like hours.
Ian pushed away from the wall and strode down the hall. He had emptied his cup of ale in his room and needed to quench the parched dryness of his tongue. Not that he needed it for his nerves.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the great hall, Phillip came to his side. “You smell much better,” said Phillip.
“I wish I could say the same about you.”
“Ever the gallant flatterer.”
“Before we proceed, tell me of Niall. Is he gone?”
“Aye, he and his men took their dead and left not long ago.”
Ian took a deep breath. “Very well. Make sure there are extra guards to walk the battlements until further notice.”
Phillip nodded, and then pointed toward the head table. “Let me introduce you to the priest.”
Ian followed Phillip across the room and onto the dais. The thin, elderly priest with clipped gray hair sat eating from a trencher piled high with food. “Father Alford, may I present Sir Ian McGowan of Whitfield.”
The priest turned to Ian and gave a nod. “I was told you had need of my services.”
Ian slid onto the chair next to Father Alford. “Aye, I am to wed Maid Claire Beaumont.”
“And you couldn’t wait until I passed through during my next rounds?” The priest sipped from his goblet. “You are handfasted, correct?”
“Aye.”
“When shall you wed? Tomorrow?”
“This night, we shall marry.”
The priest shot a surprised look at Ian. “Eager, are we?” he asked with a wry smile. “Does Maid Beaumont have anything to say about this?”
The talking and laughter of the great hall stilled, and Ian cast his gaze around the room. Claire stood at the bottom of the stairs. He rose to his feet. My, but she was beautiful. Dressed in a gown of dark purple, Claire twisted a curl resting upon her bosom. She’d left her hair down. For him. Saints, but he loved her curly tresses and the way they cascaded like sprays of sparks from a roaring fire.
She moved toward Ian, and Phillip punched him in the arm. “Go to her, man,” he whispered.
By the saints, Ian wasna sure his legs had the strength. But his bride came to him, and he must meet her.
He leapt off the dais and strode toward his bride. His future. His love.
Claire walked across the great hall, acutely aware that all eyes were trained on her. Pushing her shoulders back, she ignored the stares and whispers. The only gaze she sought was from the man striding toward her, wending his way through the tables.
She pushed a wayward curl away from her face. Had she made a mistake in leaving her hair down? What would the priest think? While it was customary to wear a veil, she preferred the freedom of seeing clearly, which seemed symbolic of the start of a new life with Ian. But should she have veiled herself in deference to the priest?
The look pure joy on Ian’s face eased her mind. Surely, he would have been reticent if he thought her untoward. They came face to face in the middle of the room, and the whispering about her rose like a horde of bees buzzing in her ear. The gleam in his eye sent a flutter through her stomach, and she dropped her eyes to the ground. Courage, woman! You were the lady of Whitfield well before Ian arrived. She lifted her chin and gave him a tremulous smile.
Ian grasped her arm. “Are you unwell?”
Her brows winged high. “Do I look ill?”
“Nay! Nay!” He slid his hands down her arms and clutched her fingers with his own. “You seem ...” He glanced at the sea of faces surrounding them and led her toward the dais. He stopped at its base and turned to face her. “Are you unsure of this marriage? We can wait if you need more time.”
Fear gripped her. “Have you changed your mind?”
“I have not. I only want to make this easy for you. Though you’ve known we are to wed, you did not expect it to be this night. I would not force you. We can wait till the morrow if you prefer.”
Warm relief thawed the cold gripping Claire’s heart, and she smiled. “I do not want to wait. I want to marry you.”
Ian swallowed, and a hint of a smile played about his face. “I am honored, my lady.” He squeezed her fingers and led her onto the dais.
“Father Alford, we are ready to be wed,” said Ian.
“Father, there is no rush. Finish your meal,” Claire said to cover Ian’s impatience. Heat swathed her neck.
Father Alford pushed back from the table. “I’m not used to such hearty fare. I am satisfied, I assure you.” He came to his feet and held out his hands to Claire. She pulled her hand from Ian’s and clasped the priest’s outstretched fingers. “’Tis good to see you Maid Claire. Much has transpired since I last saw you.”
“Aye,” said Claire, with a quick glance at Ian. Her whole life had tumbled askew and then righted itself for the better.
“I was informed the marriage is by order of the king, but I must ask ... is this something you have come to terms with?” The concern in the priest’s eyes spoke to Claire’s anxious heart, as had Ian’s care for her feelings only moments ago. She was grateful for the guidance this man brought to Whitfield. “I have. Ian has proved to be a kind and conscientious overseer. Whitfield and I are in capable hands.”
The man beside her stood a little taller at her words. Such a simple thing, really, but encouragement was powerful in fortifying the soul of a person. She would do well to remember this truth in the days to come.
Father Alford released Clai
re’s hands. “Sir McGowan, I heard about you during my travels. News of your accomplishments at Whitfield in the short time you’ve been here has spread far.”
Ian dipped his head. “Thank you. I’ve been fortunate to have men ...” he cast a glance at Claire, “... and women who are more than adept at managing the estate.”
“But leading those who manage well on their own is not an easy task. It says much for the state and strength of your character. Now, shall we see to the nuptials?”
Claire’s stomach fluttered once again, while Ian moved into action and called two guards who sat at the closest table. “Come move the head table and chairs off the dais.” The guards did as he bid.
“My lady!” Edith and Leticia drew near the dais. Leticia held a bouquet of lovely bluebells wrapped together with a strip of white linen. Claire met them and said, “Leticia, you shouldn’t have troubled yourself in such short order.”
“When I heard the priest had arrived and a wedding was taking place, I grabbed Noah to help me find flowers in the woods. He held the torch so I could see in the dark.” Her cheek dimpled.
Claire clutched the spray of flowers close, overwhelmed by the compassion and love these women expressed on a continual basis. “Thank you,” said Claire. Her voice quivered and she swallowed hard, refusing to cry on her wedding day. “I am the most fortunate of women to have you in my life.”
“Most fortunate, indeed.” Ian drew beside her and plucked a bloom from the bouquet. He tucked the flower into curls above her ear and then smiled at the women. “You have adorned my bride in a most lovely way.”
Edith and Leticia beamed at Ian’s praise, and Claire’s heart swelled at the gesture. He truly was one of the kindest men she had ever known.
Fiona approached. “Maid Claire, I have a gift for you on your wedding day.” She held out a necklace of delicate silver chain bearing a silver cross pendant. The cross was inlaid with a ribbon of gold, and an emerald was set in the middle of the piece.
His to Keep: A Medieval Romance Page 26