“Well, I will. And I’ll do what I can to honor you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering there. “Trust me, Flora.”
“I came here to beg you, Andrew. Don’t make me get down on my knees.”
“You needed to come to me in your night things in order to tell me not to duel Jasper?”
“Did it work?” she asked in a voice she hoped sounded cheerful.
He shook his head. “Nothing you say or do will stop me from defending your honor.”
“What good is my honor if you die?” Flora crossed her arms over her chest, feeling foolish and flushed at his serious manner and dismissal of her charms. “Jasper will fight dirty and I can’t see you killed. I won’t.”
“And what good is my honor if I let some man speak of you in such a manner?” He bridged the gap between them, pulling her to his chest. “I know what I’m doing, Flora.”
“No you don’t,” she spat, trying to stifle the sob that was threatening to come out. She had cried enough the past few weeks and couldn’t stomach falling apart again. “Jasper’s killed dozens of men and he’d kill you too.”
“And I would die knowing that I did what I could for the woman I love.”
“What good is your love if I have to bury you?” The drops of water from his dark red hair mixed with her tears upon his bare chest and she threw her arms around his middle. She had gone to him hoping she could seduce him out of Scotland, use her womanly allures to keep him alive. And there she was, crying into her chest in her useless French nightgown.
“You won’t have to bury me,” he murmured, stroking her hair.
She pushed away angrily, turning her back to him. “Of could I won’t. I won’t be allowed to, as we aren’t wed. You’d be leaving me not a widow, but just some woman you died for.”
“Which means more to me than a set of rings and a vow.” Andrew came up behind her and pressed his lips to her shoulder. “Don’t doubt me, Flora.”
“I don’t want to lose you.” She softened under his touch and leaned back into him as he held her close.
Andrew nuzzled her neck and whispered, “You won’t. Trust in me.”
“I can’t.”
“Then lie and say you do.”
She felt him smile against her skin. If that was his last wish, for her to act as if he could win, then she would do him that one favor. “Only if you promise to consider leaving tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“Then lie and say you will.”
He squeezed her tightly. “Look at us, lying to one another, just like an old married couple.”
“You’re not funny.”
Andrew loosened his grip and spun her around. “But look, you’re smiling.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “No, I’m not.”
“I will say you look rather marvelous in this robe. Bridal white suits you.”
Flora thought of her original intention and how it failed. But no matter what, she would leave his chamber as close to being his wife as she could manage. She reached down to the tie of her robe and let it fall open, exposing the sheer fabric and thin, lace straps.
“Flora,” Andrew began, his gaze drifting downward. “What are you doing?”
She touched a finger to his lips to silence him and shrugged the robe off entirely, leaving her in the transparent gown. She knew she was being immodest, immoral, but she was already a ruined woman and at least she could say she bedded the man she loved. It was a small consolation for the realities of Andrew leaving his life. Before he did, he would leave his mark on her body forever.
“Flora, you don’t have to do this.” His hands were still at his side, one fist holding the towel, but she could see his fingers moving, as if he wished to put them to use.
“Andrew, I want to,” she whispered, touching his chest, pressing her palm over his heart. “Don’t you?”
His eyes raked her body and he took a deep breath. “More than anything…but we’re not married.”
“You said that didn’t matter,” she pointed out, looking up at him. “You said how you feel means more to you than rings and vows.”
“Y-yes, but—”
She silenced him with a kiss, hoping he would abandon the fight and allow them to be joined. It worked. Andrew delved into the embrace hungrily, tangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her close. Flora let him ravage her lips, nip at her neck, and caress the bare skin of her back. It felt so different than the harsh fumbling of her one other sexual experience. Andrew was still gentle, touching each newly bared patch of flesh as if it were made of the finest china. She felt cherished and safe, firm that she was making the right decision.
When his fingers brushed against her breast, she moaned sharply into his mouth. Her own touched trails down the hard slope of his chest, over the ridges of his stomach, and further downward to his hips. The towel was tucked just tightly enough to keep it up, but she knew she could fell it with the flick of her thumb.
But before she could do so, Andrew scooped her up and carried her to his bed. “What kind of groom would I be if I didn’t carry my bride?”
Flora smiled at being called his bride and ran her hand through his thick hair. She wished she had the beautiful declarations he deserved to hear, but every word she tried to speak died as it reached her lips. She was too overwhelmed to think of much more than the need to feel his body against hers and make their union as close to a marriage as she dared.
He hovered over her, kissing her forehand, her cheeks, the tip of her nose—every inch of bared skin, stopping short of the fabric of her nightgown. “You’re so beautiful, Flora, but we don’t need to do this to prove our love. I don’t want you to feel pressured to do this tonight.”
“Don’t you want me, Andrew?”
“More than I’ve wanted anything in my entire life.”
“Then help me get out of this.” She began tugging her nightgown up, but Andrew averted his eyes when the hem hit her upper thigh. “What’s wrong?” Flora felt a pang of self-conscious heat hit her in the chest and spread throughout her body. “Is-is it me?”
His gaze flew back to her. “No, Flora, not at all! It’s just…I…” His ears reddened. “I’ve never seen…this is my first…”
A smile spread over Flora’s lips. “So then help me out of it.”
Andrew gulped and with shaking hands, slid the chiffon up her body, over her head, and tossed it to the floor beside his bed. He sat there for a moment, taking her in, his gaze brushing over her. Flora wished he would remove his towel, but didn’t want to scare him. Instead, she pulled him down beside her.
“Touch me,” she breathed, arching her back, offering him greater access to her form.
He ran his hand over her breast and along the smooth curve of her torso, coming to rest on her hip. Then his fingers repeated the movement back upward, circling her nipple. Flora let out a small squeal of delight as his mouth followed. For a man who had never seen a naked woman before, Andrew was setting her skin on fire with each slight movement and flick of his tongue.
When his lips finally traveled back to her mouth, Flora dared to tentatively grip the fabric slung about his hips. He didn’t seem to notice, he was too busy lavishing her neck and breasts with attention. She slid her hand down and gripped his manhood, making him cry out in surprise. But as she moved her fingers up and down, his sounds of shock turned into ones of pleasure, and he held her tight against his chest, moaning into her mouth.
“I want you, Flora.”
“You have me,” she replied, releasing his member and wishing in the back of her mind that he would touch her in her most secret of places.
As if reading her thoughts, he slid his finger down to her delicate folds, exploring each inch. “God, Flora, you’re so…so wet.”
“More, Andrew, I need more!” She bucked her hips against his palm as he cautiously slipped a digit inside her.
He pulled away sharply. “Did I hurt you?”
“No!” F
lora panted. “It felt good.”
He moved to return his hand, but she moved it away, interlacing their fingers. “Now, Andrew. I need you in me.”
“Are you certain?” He hovered above her, between her legs, rubbing his manhood against her slit.
“I love you, Andrew.”
With that declaration he slid inside her, filling her fully and sheathing himself to the hilt. They froze like that for a moment and Andrew pressed his lips to hers, smiling against her mouth. Flora ran her fingertips over the expanse of his back, craving his movement. She rose to meet him with each tender thrust, but it was still not enough. She craved more.
“Andrew, wait,” Flora gasped.
He immediately stilled. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, get on your back,” she ordered, feeling the need to take control.
Andrew complied, looking confused. But that look turned into one of delight when Flora straddled him, taking his member inside with one swift movement. One of Andrew’s hands cupped her breast and the fingers of the other dug hard into her hip. Flora moved up and down with increasing speed, a delicious sensation building in her core. Andrew lay beneath her, watching her in rapture as she rode him.
But suddenly, he grabbed her by the waist and flipped her onto her back, still impaled on his length. Flora loved this change in demeanor; seeing a new, dominating side of him thrilled her. When he finally began thrusting, Flora bit his shoulder to quell the yell of pleasure that attempted to escape. Her teeth on his skin seemed to bolster his arousal and his movements quickened.
She clawed his back as he drove into her, moaning her name as he neared his own climax. The feelings of lustful desire began rising from the juncture of her thighs, spreading a carnal heat through her torso that shot through her limbs. Flora shouted, pleaded, screamed as Andrew entered her for the final times, before spilling into her all that he had and claiming her as his own.
They lay beside one another, the storms of passion ebbing into a gentle tide of completion that left Flora feeling warm and satisfied. She turned to her side, resting her head upon Andrew’s chest. She listened to the slowing of his heartbeat, sighing as he wrapped his arms around her.
“Are you all right?” Andrew asked once he caught his breath. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Of course not.”
“Did…did you…enjoy yourself?” His voice was a timid whisper.
Flora kissed his chest. “Of course I did.”
“Good.” He sounded pleased. “I think I could do that every night for the rest of my life.”
She was about to laugh, but stopped short. Flora had been so caught up in the moment that she forgot how they ended up in bed together in the first place. Her delirious happiness was replaced with the sickening stabs of fear that had pained her before.
Flora sat up. “Andrew—”
“I think I like you even better when your hair all mussed and your cheeks flushed.” He grinned, running his hand down her arm. But his smile faded when he saw her welling eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Please, don’t fight tomorrow,” she begged. “Every night can be like this in London.”
He took her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. “Flora, I asked you before to have faith in me that I wouldn’t leave you an unwed widow. Trust me, please, and say no more.”
“I can’t, because I love you.”
“Tomorrow is done and there’s no running away. I’ll ask you once more to believe me when I tell you that my love for you will see me through alive. Then I want to say no more of the matter and just look at you so I can remember you now, just as you are in this moment.”
Andrew opened his arms and Flora meekly slid back down. If it was truly his last night on earth and all he asked was that she believe in him, she wouldn’t spoil it with her tears.
“I have something for you,” he told her after several moments of silence. “It’s in my jacket pocket.”
He made a move to rise, but Flora flattened her hand on his chest and pushed him back down. “Give it to me tomorrow,” she whispered, holding tightly to him. “Give it to me tomorrow…after you win.”
Chapter Eighteen
Flora stretched under the covers, smiling dreamily when her hand brushed up against something warm. She opened her eyes to see Andrew’s sleeping face, lit by the early morning sunlight that streamed in through the gaps in the curtains. He looked to peaceful, lying there, his full lips parted, and his long lashes resting neatly on his cheeks. His auburn hair was gently tousled from sleep and hung over his smooth brow.
She pored over his features, taking in each line and angle. She didn’t want to miss even the smallest freckle, in fear that it would later cause her to forget all that she had memorized. So Flora laid there, maybe an hour, maybe less, just watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“Good morning,” Andrew whispered, making Flora jump.
“Goodness! You frightened me!”
He opened his eyes and pulled her close. “I’m sorry. I was letting you stare at me, but there’s only so much a man can take.”
Her cheeks burned. “I was just—”
“You needn’t explain.”
Flora threw her arm over his stomach, holding him tightly. “Andrew—”
“Please, Flora,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head.
She bit her lip, trying to keep herself from more displays of displeasure. Instead, she focused on breathing him in, trying to learn each muscular curve that wrapped around her body. It felt perfect—it was perfect, the pair of them lying tangled in a warm bed, the bright sunlight illumining their intertwined limbs and a spiced fire filling the room with scents of nutmeg and cloves. Andrew brushed his fingers through her hair and she stroked the soft skin at the base of his neck, tracing his collarbone. She wished they could stay in that moment forever.
Andrew reached out a hand and picked up his pocket watch from the nightstand. “It’s getting late.”
“How long?”
“Less than two hours,” he replied. “I need to prepare.”
Flora didn’t want to move, but knew she needed to give him time to dress, eat, pick his weapon, pray. “Yes, I should go dress as well.”
She slid hesitantly from the bed and picked up up her sheer nightgown, tossing it on. Then she donned her bridal robe, fastening it about the middle slowly, as to drag out their final moments. She slid her gaze toward Andrew. He was sitting up, watching her with a smile on his lips.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her.
Flora tried to smile in return, but it felt unnatural. “Thank you.”
“You needn’t come, if you can’t bear it.
“I’ll come. I must.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll see you in the parlor just before noon?”
“Yes.”
“Wear something nice, for when I win.”
Tears welled in her eyes and she stood there, clutching her cloak, wondering how on earth a man like Andrew could be in such a predicament. “I always do.” She turned from him to hide her tears and scurried from the room, only letting the sobs overtake her when the door to her own chambers was sealed shut.
***
Flora stared at her reflection in her dressing table mirror and patted more powder on her flushed cheeks and on her puffed under-eyes. She didn’t want Andrew to see that she had been crying, for she promised him she would not.
Her midnight blue gown felt like a burial shroud and her addition of a black lace choker and dark fur cloak did little to help the matter. But she felt like the walking dead, although Andrew’s blood would not be the only spilled that day. A sgian dubh, a small dagger, was strapped high to her thigh. A hidden slit in the skirt of her dress would make for easy access to the perfectly sharpened blade when Jasper came for her.
“Flora, are you ready?” Gwen asked from the doorway, already clad in her own cloak.
She nodded and stood, leading the way down to the main floor of the castle. Gwen foll
owed mutely, and Charlie joined shortly after, with Drum and a pale Penelope leading up the rear. She felt rather like some manner of warlord, leading her ragtag army to battle. She hid the shaking of her hands in her cloak.
Andrew stood by the main doors, heavy in conversation with Conner. She saw that Andrew held her brother’s personal sword in his grasp and couldn’t decide if that was good sign or not. But after a moment’s deliberation, thought there wouldn’t be a finer sword in Scotland, for Conner took immaculate care of his weapons.
“Flora,” Andrew said as she approached.
She paused a moment, taking in his sober face and pursed lips. “Are you ready?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
He nodded. “Are you?”
“No. But I’ll have to be, because I love you.”
Andrew’s jaw tightened and he pulled her to his chest, crushing her in his embrace. He didn’t say the words back, but Flora knew his actions said far more than a single phrase could portray.
When he released her, he gave her one last, longing look, then strode up to Conner, who clapped him on the back before leading the procession from the castle. Flora glanced around at the silent party. Charlotte was beside Conner, wrapped in her tartan, but lacking baby Alec, for which Flora was glad. Charlie was grim faced and green about the gills and Gwen’s blue eyes flashed as she reached out and grabbed Flora’s hand. Flora was glad for her fierce little sister’s support, although the fingers of her free hand ran over the series of small sapphires on her dagger’s hilt.
When they reached the cliffs overlooking the ocean, the theater for the duel, Jasper was already there, Big Angus standing sternly at his side, obviously displeased at being made his guard. There was a small congregation of men and women who had been at the keep for the celebrations there as well, their earthy hunting plaids blending into the rocks and hills around them. Their faces were grave and many sets of eyes dashed in Flora’s direction. Their attentions made her blush, but she stood stalwart, the picture of a strong Scottish woman.
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