by Nicole Locke
‘Our marriage? Too late for that.’
She stepped back as if he hit her. ‘You think I deny this marriage? I gave vows before God and all my clan, including my father.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Including me.’
She opened her mouth to deny it simply out of spite; however, she might be blunt, but she was no liar. ‘Including you,’ she agreed.
He took a few steps away to face a wall before he braced his left hand against it. He stayed like that as she waited for him to continue. Another moment longer before he said anything at all. ‘What won’t work?’
She’d never seen a man with mannerisms such as his. He was large, formidable, and though it looked as if he pushed against the wall it felt as if in some way the wall gave him some support.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked though she wasn’t truly paying attention. Rather, she avidly watched him drum his fingers against the plaster.
‘You mentioned that this won’t work,’ he said.
Ah, yes. ‘I meant our talking wasn’t going to work.’
He turned his head to look at her and a lock of his brown hair fell across his forehead. ‘I admit this conversation is confusing despite the number of words we’re using, but it does appear we’re conversing.’
‘I meant the ones we will have in the future.’ She wanted to put her hands on her hips. ‘Do you intend to get used to my bluntness?’
More drumming of his fingers before he huffed out a breath that could have been a laugh or annoyance, she didn’t know him well enough to know the difference.
With a shove against the wall, he stood. Then with his eyes on her, he seemed to come to a decision.
Something in her braced for it. Would he accept the way she talked, or had she married an intolerant man? Would there at least be some understanding between them even if trust was tenuous? Or would he—reach behind him and yank his tunic over his head.
Rory revelled in his wife’s slight gasp. Her blunt words were none that he ever heard from a woman. As the Chief’s son and heir, he was used to women catering to his words. If he did give them notice, they minced and blushed. Even his own mother was soft, gentle.
This woman, this wife of his, did nothing he’d ever encountered. She wanted to speak her mind, but it seemed her stunning eyes wanted to take their fill of him as well. And just as he heard every word she spoke regardless of whether he agreed with them, he felt every brush of her gaze against his bare skin.
He couldn’t explain his rash action of taking off his tunic. He had entered this marriage knowing what was expected and needed of his role. He said his vows and closed the door to this bedroom understanding precisely what needed to be done tonight to honour his vows and protect his clansmen.
For though he’d bargained to marry her, he knew he could not, should not, consummate the marriage. How could he when a betrayer was in their midst? For Paiden’s sake, for his own, he had to leave a way out. For though the McCrieffs dangled a bright future for him, they also took it away when Paiden collapsed to the floor.
More the fool he if he blithely denied that traitorous fact. But facts blurred when he was in the same room with Ailsa. He had not expected her and whatever it was between them. In the end, it seemed his reaction to this woman was also traitorous. Being in this room shook whatever convictions he’d intended.
Who was he fooling? Nothing had gone according to plan since he’d stepped across the stream bordering the lands. And all his intentions seemed foolish as he stood in this room and faced his wife.
He wanted, and though his friend could be dying in another room, he still wanted her.
The sounds of revelry were quieter now, the candle flames lower in their wax. The room’s shadows thickened around them, cocooning them. He felt the quietness, felt the air in the room against his skin. It changed the longer they stood there staring at each other. Heavier, thicker, and harder to pull into his lungs.
He knew what this was becoming and what it shouldn’t be. Where were her words now? ‘You’re quiet.’
She gave a wave in his general direction. ‘I didn’t expect—’
‘A man?’
‘That isn’t what I meant. I mean...’
The longer she looked, the longer desire coiled around them. His own skin felt branded by her few words, by the gasp of breath she took.
This wouldn’t do. He agreed to marry her, he didn’t agree to trust her. It was a betrayal of his friend who still did not wake. Of his clan until he found the coward who poisoned him. And those were the truths she was aware of. There were more untruths he never intended to say because a wife should not have been his future.
Yet here she was and he didn’t need to notice the flush along her cheekbones or the elegant way she turned her hands. ‘Surely in all your help with life and death you’ve seen a man’s bared back?’
Ailsa went quiet before her whisper. ‘Not like this.’
‘No, I imagine not like this.’ She was his wife and he her husband. Politics. Paiden. He felt the pressure of both fade as Ailsa’s eyes took in every contour. He might never have battled, but he trained for it, he’d been born for it. It was his right as a Highlander and ruler to brandish a sword, to take a life before it was taken from him. His body bore proof to his perseverance and training.
His body, however, wasn’t thinking of battle or politics, it wanted something else entirely. And even that was mired with other layers that should be heeded, but were also ignored.
Despite her demand, despite her words, Rory knew Ailsa was inexperienced. A knowledgeable woman would never look at him the way Ailsa was, with a greedy innocence that caused his heart to thump in his chest and his blood to pool hot and fast in his groin.
Her eyes didn’t stroke his chest in a blatant perusal, but flitted, darted, dashed from the curve of his shoulders to the tapering of his waist. Her eyes, her parted lips, were friction to the flames that made the heat between them erupt.
‘Your clothes,’ he ordered, his voice rough; his words cut short. He was amazed he could say that much.
‘Are you saying it’s my turn?’ Ailsa replied, her tongue folding along the seam of her lips before pulling her full lower lip deeper in her mouth.
Tracking that move, he could not say a word, so gave a curt nod.
She walked slowly to the bed and sat, and his mind blanked. Her hair, her gown against the contrast of the bedding was mesmerising. He’d not intended to undress at all this evening. Resolved to make this marriage in name only until justice was met, he’d counted on her innocence to make that plan easy.
Instead, he found an experienced virgin. An innocent siren. How was he to give her pleasure only when she demanded his tunic so those eyes of hers could caress him?
Her beauty and grace affected him as no other woman. If they kept silent and he knew nothing else of her, perhaps with heroic effort, he could gaze and touch without losing himself.
But he knew her spirit. Her strength. He’d held a blade to her neck and she’d still ordered him about so she could tend Paiden. Now she sat on her bed covered in the softest of white and green linen to unlace her shoe.
Her movements were quick, efficient, and she looked every inch the Chief of her own clan or a goddess from tales past. He was a fool to think he could control this wedding night. He hadn’t been able to control watching her in the courtyard or as they’d dined on supper.
And far worse than that, he hadn’t been able to control how his hands had trembled just that bit, just enough, when he’d taken her hands in his and said his marriage vows.
Her flaming hair bound, her green eyes searing him as she’d whispered her vows in turn. He might not understand her, his mind fighting against hers at every turn, but his body...
His body resented that he stood still, that he didn’t take the few steps towards her and press her back against the bed.
It took every ounce of will to merely watch her toss her shoes in the corner and roll down her hose with fingers he wanted on his own skin.
When she stood, he swore he lost his breath as he waited for her to take off the rest. He’d never wanted this much, desired like this before. It was that lack of patience, that forced him to say the words. ‘Your gown?’
She tilted her head. ‘You want my gown off?’
‘Is that not what I asked from the very beginning?’
‘I asked something as well.’
Did she mean for him to accept her words? No man would accept such bluntness in a wife. He wasn’t about to start. He’d been raised to believe that men were the providers, rulers, leaders, and women had different priorities. Of home and hearth. His mother was soft spoken, delicate, frail.
Ailsa, however, could be a warrior on the battlefield. She surprised him to the point he didn’t know if he wanted to get his bearings or be left reeling. Agreeing with her demands for him to remove his clothing was mistake. He knew it, yet he leaned against the wall, shoved off his shoes and kicked them to same corner she did hers.
She glanced at his feet and looked back up. ‘I’ve taken off more clothing than you.’
His skin was bare to her eyes and though her shoes and hose were more clothes than he’d shed, that cursed gown covered all of her. ‘But not nearly enough.’
He took in the hem of her gown to the curve of her waist to the flush of her cheeks. Her eyes were equal parts ire and heat.
She knew what he wanted, but still defied him. She asked him for clothing as well, but didn’t know what was at stake. Even if his doubts on his past were no more, there was Paiden. There was an enemy about and this alliance was for politics only. As such he needed to remain in control. Removing his breeches wouldn’t happen. He’d stand here all night if need be.
‘You want more,’ she said as bluntly as ever. To him the words were a siren’s call.
He closed his eyes on that. Always. He always wanted more and how was he to say he did and still deny himself? Apparently, he didn’t need to, for he heard the tug of fabric and an impatient huff of breath.
Ailsa was struggling with her laces.
‘I know I said I have troubles,’ she said, ‘but usually not this much.’
She looked so...frustrated that it eased something in him. Helping her was something he could do. Something simple. ‘Let me.’
When he drew near so they almost touched, she turned her head. It made the closeness a bit easier. A bit, but not much. Like this he could see how many colours of red her hair contained, he could smell the lavender and evergreen that was brushed in her gown.
She exhaled. ‘This is a very strange evening.’
The laces weren’t so tangled and since they were made of silk, they unwound with a few simple tugs. ‘Most husbands and wives undress in their chambers.’
‘Most husbands and wives do not negotiate for each item of clothing. We didn’t have this much negotiation when we agreed to marry.’
‘True,’ he answered because it was the truth and saying anything else would bring light to the lies he already had to protect.
Saying vows was no negotiation, but a swift sword of duty to the only son of a Highland chief. He had no power to avoid it. Everything else, however, he’d negotiate to ensure he kept the little power he had left. For no matter what, he would resolve the wrong that was done here and he wouldn’t make any more mistakes.
To do that, he had to leave his breeches on, but with a few more tugs the ribbon pulled free and something within him did as well when Ailsa stepped away and flung the surcoat to the ground.
It was his control slipping as he realised he would touch, he would taste this woman with her green eyes and red hair that beckoned him. He’d feel what it was like to press against her, hold her and discover what it was about her that compelled him to her.
With a huff to her breath she straightened her shoulders which pressed her breasts against her chemise and he was glad for the ribbon still in his hand so he could hold on to something. He would find this more between them. The only question was whether he would also find his resolve.
* * *
Rory held so still, he could be carved marble. Ailsa didn’t know why he’d grown quiet or didn’t take off the rest of his clothing...or hers.
She didn’t know much, but this couldn’t be normal on their wedding night. If they were in love, kisses would be done and there would be passion. She had heard of both in abundance from scullery maids to cordwainer’s mothers. She didn’t expect that between Rory and her, yet even in an arranged marriage shouldn’t there have been pleasantries? Some wooing?
The act of lovemaking was intimate and, though she had bared more before him than any man, he still felt like a stranger to her. Would they touch, would he take her maidenhead and she know no more of him than this?
She tilted her head to him and noticed the changes as they stared. No man had stood this close before so that she could see in minute detail the colouring of his skin in contrast to the dark discs of his nipples.
She felt the warmth of him as well and the slight rasp of his breath. This close she could also catch the hint of leather, of steel and something of the man. Something that reminded her of the cliffs heated by the sun.
She was reminded of those cliff’s in his eyes as well. Dangerous with a forged strength to withstand the elements. That awareness pounded in her heart and rushed from her head to her toes and back again. Licking her lips at the dryness suddenly there, she asked, ‘Aren’t we to lie on the bed?’
He moved so slowly she could watch the ascent of his left hand, the one that held the ribbon, before he brushed his fingers against her jaw and just behind her ear. ‘Perhaps I should kiss you first.’
A soft tilt of her chin raised her gaze. She kept her eyes open to see the descent of his head towards hers and saw the quirk to his brow as his eyes kept to hers.
‘Are you watching us kiss?’ he asked. ‘You are bold, are you not?’
Boldness, no. Curious, yes. Unsteady, most definitely, and she placed her hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm, almost hot beneath her. It surprised her, but not as much as him if the widening of his eyes was any indication.
‘Very bold,’ he murmured against her lips. Now he would kiss her as expected and the strangeness of this day would be like it should.
Instead, he tilted his head and kissed just to the side of her lips. Then up along her jaw with a delicate, deliberate precision she was helpless not to be affected by. To give him access, she arched her neck, placing her hand on his other shoulder.
A growl of approval as Rory shifted closer to her, his right hand supporting her lower back, shifting her weight to support her against him. As he kissed along her neck, his left hand caressed and she felt the ribbon he held brush against her shoulders before he pulled back.
A soft chuckle. ‘Still watching?’
She couldn’t seem not to. This man, this stranger who was touching her as no other had before, as she experienced shivers and heat along her skin as she never had before.
‘See this, then.’ Stepping back, he gathered her chemise and tore it up and off her body.
‘Ailsa,’ he said as he tossed the garment even as he kept the ribbon. She stood naked and vulnerable. Feeling the air and this man before her, she was aware of the prickling of her skin and the tightening of her nipples.
His eyes darkened to impossible depths as did the flush along his chest and cheeks. Then he closed his eyes and eased his breath through parted lips.
Was this how it was? How could she know this was how it should be between a man or a woman? As a healer, she seen many women naked and tended to some males as well. There’d always been chaperons and the older healer usually tended the males until her death. However, in a marriage situation, she didn’t know what she was to do
.
Should she have taken off his clothes and closed her eyes as well? ‘What is it?’ she whispered.
He opened heavy-lidded and unfocused eyes.
‘I don’t know...’ she started to say. ‘Is there anything...?’
His eyes cleared and he gave a rueful shake to his head. ‘You’re untouched, Ailsa. Am I frightening you?’
‘A bit.’
He clenched the ribbon. ‘Sorry, lass, do not worry. You’re beautiful.’
‘You’ve told me before.’
‘I did?’
‘When we stood before the priest.’
He frowned. Did he not want to say such sentiments to her? Maybe not and for some reason that hurt. She’d liked that he said such a compliment in front of their clans. But he didn’t. Suddenly she wished she denied him taking her chemise off.
A rough exhalation and he cupped her jaw. ‘You are more than beautiful, Ailsa,’ he said. ‘So beautiful I could barely keep my eyes from you when I entered that courtyard though your father faced me and arrows were pointed at my back.’
‘You saw me, then?’
He caught a tendril of hair and let it flow through his hand. ‘This hair.’
‘Everyone sees my hair.’
‘I shouldn’t have been noticing you at all when faced with enemies. Yet I can’t help noticing you like this, the bounty of those breasts, the flare of your hips...’
His words weren’t praise, but the tone of his voice made her flush as if she was truly beautiful. ‘I don’t understand. Haven’t you seen a woman’s form before?’
‘Are you asking if I’ve had lovers?’ At her quick nod, he continued, ‘Yes, but I can’t remember any of them.’
‘We all have breasts and hips.’
He leaned forward and for some reason she stepped back, then again each time he moved forward until her legs were pressed to the bed. When she didn’t move, he gathered her in his arms to lay her down. She moved over to give him room, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he stood over her with that same heat intensifying between them as she admired his wide shoulders, the ripples of his stomach muscles, the dark trail of hair that arrowed into his breeches.