by Devon, Eva
“You are still overdressed.”
“Eager are ye?” he asked playfully, enjoying her good humor.
She glanced up through half-veiled lashes as she took the freshly-poured wine. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Well then. . .”
It seemed right that, now, after she’d given him so much of herself, he too should be exposed.
So, taking his time, he took off his long, dark riding coat then his cutaway waistcoat and, finally, he unwound his cravat and dropped it to the floor.
She drank her wine in deep swallows, never looking away as he whipped his shirt over his head.
Only the slightest widening of her eyes showed her approval.
And when he worked his trousers down his legs and pulled off his boots, standing before her completely naked, she adjusted on the bed, much like a cat stretching.
The hardening of her nipples indicated that she liked what she saw very much, indeed.
She held out her hand. “Join me.”
Without bothering to reply, he climbed onto the bed. What was next? Would they converse? How could they?
As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, she gave a rueful smile and waggled her eyebrows dramatically. “Should we now trade our darkest memories?”
He laughed. “I think no’.”
“Good,” she said with a relieved sigh. “I should hate to ruin this.”
“Would it?” he asked gently. “Ruin it?”
A shadow crossed over her face. “Lingering in the past ruins everything,” she whispered. “To survive, one must keep one’s gaze firmly locked on the future.”
The words rang true, but he didn’t wish to accept them. His entire life was driven by keeping one foot firmly planted in the past. First with his father’s death. . . then with his sister. . .
“So, what then?” he queried, shaking off his dark thoughts. Tonight, he would think of nothing but the two of them entwined.
“Hold me?” she asked, as if she had seen his inner thoughts. “I think that would be pleasant.”
“That is something I can manage,” he agreed.
“Splendid.”
So, he laid back on the bed, his chest and head elevated by the pillows, and opened his arms.
She relaxed against him, her back to his chest as they rested upon the pillows.
They drank their wine in silence, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace.
Tracing his fingers along her arm, he felt. . . at peace.
It wouldn’t last.
It couldn’t.
But here with her in his arms, her broken but unbowed spirit on view, he marveled at the strangeness of chance.
If she hadn’t gone out of the castle into the darkness. . . if he had chosen to take his coach and not ride the last leg of the journey. . . how different would this night be?
She certainly wouldn’t be in bed with him.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered at long last.
“I have no idea,” he answered. And he didn’t. He knew that he could not yet trust her. But that was not in line with the quiet voice urging him to let her into his blackened heart.
No, that quiet voice had to be silenced before it could take any root.
So, he poured more wine for them both. He drew her close and pulled up the thick feather-lined quilt over their naked bodies. As if she, too, understood, they both remained silent until the first rays of dawn crossed into the room. . . and the spell was broken.
Chapter 13
The coach rumbled through the wild Highland landscape, the sound of sea birds crying overhead. Somewhere, not too far away, was the freezing North Sea.
It was a sight she’d never seen. A sight she’d never thought to see, trapped in the hells of London for most of her life or confined to her uncle’s estate. The rough bumping of the coach and the soaring birds were a welcome break to the pained silence between herself and her new husband.
They had spoken not a word when in the confines of the coach.
In fact, the only times they spoke, except for the barest of pleasantries, was in their meetings at night. In the golden and forgiving glow of the fire at the coaching inns they stopped at along the way.
Their bodies had spoken in a way that their minds and mouths could not.
It was strange and painful, their inability to now reach out to each other. But the truth was she understood that he had been shoved summarily into a marriage he did not want with a woman he did not, in fact, trust.
How could she blame him for his stony silence?
Still, she was looking forward to the arrival at his home. With any hope, there, they would be able to find some sort of common ground. Surely, then it would be possible for her to make amends.
It stunned her to realize that was, indeed, what she wished.
As the blue light of evening fell, she couldn’t help but wonder if they were going to stop again. After all, surely travel upon winding Highland roads would be far too dangerous in the dark. She eyed her husband, looking forward to those few hours when they could feel at peace in each other’s company. Her entire body anticipated it in the strangest way.
It had been seduced by her husband even if her heart and mind remained wary.
She drew in a long breath, still amazed by the effect the crisp salt air had upon her.
It mattered not that she had traveled for days, cramped in a coach. Here, in this air, she felt alive. Renewed even. Could one be baptized in it? For she felt as if the potent air had entered the windows, swept about her, and scoured her soul.
Was such a thing possible?
Annabelle was not given to fancy, yet there was something in this place. . . something that had been markedly absent from her uncle’s estate.
She’d felt her first taste of freedom on that man’s grounds, though she’d never been allowed to leave. But it had seemed a whole world after the prison of the workhouse and the stench of the gutter.
Now?
Now, she felt as if there were no borders. No walls to hem her in. Just mountains and sea.
And, of course, her marriage. But she would not think on that. For whatever reason, she’d long ago learned to draw her strength from nature, that which had been so denied her as a child.
So, with a quick glance at the duke, who was absorbed in a book, he was always reading, she leaned towards the coach window and leaned through the open square.
Though it was early spring, the fullness of it was just a promise away. The air was still chill and heavy with moisture as she looked about.
The sun was slipping down over the rugged hills which shored up from the valley.
The sky had taken on that magical yellow and blue tinge which heralded a darker hue.
Shadows danced over the rocky hills. Just as she was about to let out a sigh of contentment, she spotted it!
The first star of night.
It shone constant, like a blue-white beacon, beckoning her on.
And just then, the coach crested the pass in the valley and there was the water.
Not the sea.
No.
But a vast lake. . . or loch, as she had read.
It sparkled like a silver mirror under the lowering sun.
And to her delight, she spotted the moon, ascending to rule its half of the day.
How she loved the moon and its magical glowing touch.
Just as she was about to dare to remark upon how large it seemed, her breath caught in her throat.
The castle sprawled on an island within the loch. And that island was no small patch.
It had its own cliffs from which gulls spun overhead. And the four turrets of the fortress, for fortress it was at one time, towered over the water. Within an outer curtain wall stood a mighty structure. One that looked as if it could withstand the great armies of the world.
No doubt, it had.
The English.
“Yer new home, Yer Grace.”
“Mine?” she echoed, full of wond
er. “It isn’t possible.”
“Och, well.” He closed his book gently. “None of us own it. We care for it, until we slip from this world and leave it to the next heirs.”
Heirs.
It was a reminder.
One day, would she be expected to produce a boy for her husband? A guarantee of the successful continuation of the Ardore Dukedom?
Such a thing never would have occurred to her even a week ago. Not even in her wildest dreams could she truly have imagined such a thing. For as a child, she’d quickly learned the danger of dreams. Dreams taught one to hope. . . and she’d not waste away hoping. Oh, no. She’d learned quickly that it was action that saved one.
It was, perhaps, the only reason she had not completely withered away under her uncle’s cruel tutelage.
Then a thought skittered across her mind and she blinked.
What if she was already with child?
The idea was both terrifying and. . . shockingly welcome.
If she was with child, surely the prince would not wish to bed her.
Annabelle shook her head. How had she let her thoughts scatter so?
It was not a habit of hers.
For a moment, she was deeply grateful her face was not exposed to Ardore.
Though she was a master at keeping her secret thoughts hidden, these revelations were particularly shocking and she was uncertain if even she could have kept her visage the mask of calm she had so carefully cultivated.
“And what think ye of the castle?” he asked, his burr suddenly deepening.
She pulled herself back and studied him.
Was the question in earnest? Did he truly care if she approved?
To her surprise, she noted that there was a slight narrowing of his eyes, as if he did, indeed, care. As if he was waiting for her to say something he might not care to hear.
Unlike most men, he was not easy to read. Yet, it was there. In the slight tensing of his jaw, or his hands.
His body said what his words did not.
He wished her to like it.
Which again surprised her. For, if he did not hold her in any regard, her opinion should not matter. Not in the slightest.
“From what I have seen?” she breathed. “It is the most beautiful place in the world.”
His lips curved ever so slightly. “I’m glad, lass.”
Lass.
It should have felt like an insult, to be likened to only a girl. When he said it, it was anything but. Oh, no. It was a caress, like warmed honey over one’s tongue.
His warm, rich voice filled up the space and slid over her skin, as hot and tempting as his caress.
To her dismay, she secretly admitted, she liked being his lass.
She swallowed and looked quickly away. For she could not allow herself to have such feelings. Such feelings were dangerous.
The coach tilted at a terrifying angle as it began its decent towards the castle and she tumbled forward from her bench, barely clasping to the velvet squabs.
For a moment, she was certain she would fall to the floor. But his strong hands grabbed hold of her and swept her onto his lap.
How she adored his strong touch. It was the only true pleasure she allowed herself with him. For she never truly knew what he was thinking or what he might do.
But his body? That, she could understand. It evoked fire within her and though he was powerful beyond measure, his ability to temper his strength was awe-inspiring.
His hand traced along her thigh. Despite her cloak and skirts, she could feel the heat of his skin and beneath her, the strength of his legs was unmistakable.
“Kiss me,” he growled.
They both had a hunger for each other. She understood that. There was no denying it. But he’d not tried to satiate it outside an inn and she was uncertain how to react.
“And if we are caught, will your servants not think me the worst of women?” she pointed out.
He pulled her closer. “They’ll think their laird lusts for his wife and be pleased.”
Her brows rose. She’d heard far cruder things, things which would shock a whore. But she was astonished to find that he meant it.
His hand slid up her hip and he glanced into her eyes. “I wish yer time here to be. . . at least pleasant, lass.”
“Yes?” she asked, astonished anew that he’d given her position any great thought.
“Will ye permit a bit of advice?”
She nodded, silent. For she would be a fool not to listen to whatever was on his mind.
“My people willna understand a cold and distant mistress,” he said, holding her close.
“I see,” she whispered, her heart pounding with alarm.
“Do ye? Do ye ken what I’m saying to ye?”
She licked her lips. “They won’t appreciate an icy English lady?”
“Exactly,” he growled his approval.
She forced a confident smile. “Then I shall have to endeavor to thaw my disposition.”
“Ye’ll be happier for it and they’ll like ye.”
“And you wish them to?” she queried. Her uncle had not cared if the servants liked them. He wanted their fear and loyalty. Nothing else. “Like me?”
“I do care,” he confirmed. “If ye can manage it. It is the way of the Highlands.”
“Then I shall play my part.”
He nodded, clearly relieved.
And it would be a part. She had never been a warm mistress of the manor. In all her life, she could scarcely recall a time when she’d been required to be merry. Seductive? Yes. Merry? No.
Could she do it?
As she looked up into her husband’s hot gaze, she knew she had no choice. For this was to be her home now. She would have to learn how to hold sway here as she had learned to hold sway over those who had come to her uncle’s establishment.
After all, they would never like her for herself.
She’d have to create someone they would like. It would be no strange task to her. All her life, she’d been adapting to new demands.
This would be no different.
In but a few days, she would be in control, but with a bright smile and a kind word.
Even she had read enough books to know what was expected of her.
Yes, even she, with a heart as hard as stone, could manage that.
Chapter 14
Tristan had not expected to desire his new wife so entirely. Och, he’d found her fascinating. He was drawn to her. Suspicious of her. But now that he had tasted her, he longed for her like a man who needs strong drink.
More was never enough.
In all his life, he’d never experienced such physical intoxication.
Somehow, he’d convinced himself that if he gave himself free rein in the passion between them, he could keep his soul apart.
He would have to. Until he could be certain of her. If he could ever be certain of her, he truly did not know. Still, there was no denying that he and Annabelle were meant for each other when it came to passion.
He slid his hands up her waist then up to her back.
She arched against him, pressing her breasts into his chest.
It was a marvel how free she was in moments like these.
And it was a completely different woman who came alive in his arms when they gave way to desire.
For there was nothing cool or detached about her as she took his face in her hands and drew him down to her for a kiss.
Her soft mouth opened to him and her tongue touched his without hesitation.
Kiss after kiss, breath after breath, their hands grew more frantic upon each other.
It was sheer bliss, this spark between them.
He wound his hands into her locks, turning her head to best receive his kiss.
She moaned and curved her buttocks into his lap.
It was all he could do not to tear her skirts and have her then.
But the coach began to slow and he knew they’d already finished the descent down the ben to the loc
h when he heard the wheels clatter over stone.
Only a thread of reason forced him to hold back.
Instead of tugging up her skirts, he lifted his mouth from hers and took in the rampant beauty of her face.
My God. She was so changed.
Not long ago, he’d compared her face to that of perfect alabaster. A stone. But Annabelle was no stone. She was a creature made of fire and air and earth, her cheeks pink, her lips swollen and her gaze hot with need.
She was the most beautiful and compelling woman he’d ever seen and she belonged to him. For now.
“We’ve almost arrived,” he said, his burr thick even to his own ears.
Her chest rose and fell in quick gasps.
The perfect curve of her bosom was a maddening temptation as she caught her breath.
She nodded.
Hands shaking, she pushed back from him and began smoothing her hair.
“They shall all think me a perfect trollop,” she quipped.
He locked gazes with her. “They shall all think ye hearty and full of adventure.”
“A positive here, I presume,” she whispered.
He caught her chin and smoothed his thumb over her plump lower lip, determined for her to know she could belong here. “A positive thing for anyone, Annabelle.”
“Not anyone,” she whispered, her gaze flicking away.
And there it was. It was the moment the woman he was so enthralled with vanished behind a controlled veneer. He’d seen it time and again now.
The coach rattled over the stone roadway as they crossed through the gate of the curtain wall and drew up in the courtyard.
As the horses’ hooves clopped to a stop, with the sound of the livery chinking to a halt, he drew in a deep breath.
His clan had known power and hardship over the years but they were a strong, good-hearted people who somehow thrived despite the tragedy of the family which looked after them. For though the great lairds of Ardore seemed to court misery, they were excellent leaders of their people.
Now, the clan would have their latest challenge. An English lady. He felt certain they would rise to it, but some of the Highlanders wouldn’t be overly fond of her. She’d have to win them to her side.
He glanced at her carefully and as if she were donning a costume. . . she changed.