The Duke's Fiery Bride

by Hildie McQueen

  Gavin let out a sigh and yawned. “Any talk will have to wait until tomorrow.”

  Within moments, he fell asleep and so did Beatrice, happily snuggled next to him.

  She woke to kisses and Gavin over her, his mouth moving from her jawline down to her throat. Before long, they were a tangle of limbs as they sought the intimacy of lovers who’d been apart too long.

  Their lovemaking was urgent and fast-paced, neither seeming to get close enough to convey how much they needed the intimacy they’d missed. Beatrice ran her hands down Gavin’s back and cupped his bottom, pulling him closer while he thrust in and out of her, his body instinctively knowing what she needed.

  It was a long time later that they lay spent. Beatrice sprawled over her husband, a lazy curve to her lips as she traced circles on his chest. “I believe I love you, Gavin.”

  His deep chuckle echoed in her ear. “I’m not surprised. You have to love me.”

  “What?” She pushed up and glowered down at him. “I don’t.”

  “Yes. You. Do.” He said each word between kisses. “I don’t wish to be the only one in love in this marriage. So I hoped you would.”

  “You love me as well?”

  “I have since that day you helped me find my hound.”

  “Liar.” Beatrice laughed, enjoying his mirth when he chuckled as well.

  He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to her temple. “Perhaps it was when you almost shot me in the head with an arrow or when you accosted me in the garden at my uncle’s keep.”

  “I did no such thing. It was you who attacked me.” Beatrice kissed his jaw.

  “No...no, if I remember correctly, you clung to me like a vine.”

  “I feared falling since you were leaning me backward.”

  They continued the verbal sparring, not noticing a red-faced Grisilda backing out of the room with a soft smile.

  Six weeks later.

  At the morning meal, Beatrice walked to the high board and sat next to Gavin. He was deep in conversation with Oscar. One of Molly’s helpers hurried over with a plate and placed it before her.

  Beatrice blanched when her stomach revolted. After a few steady breaths, she was able to sip tea, but each time she looked to the food, the urge to vomit became worse.

  “What’s wrong?” Gavin studied her. Perspiration at the nausea coated her face.

  “I don’t feel well. I will go to Molly and ask for some herbs.” She got to her feet unsteadily and managed to get to the kitchen before hurrying past it to throw up just beyond the doorway.

  “I wondered if you were with child. All those late mornings since His Grace arrived had to produce something.” Molly spoke from the doorway. “Now, hold steady for a moment. I will bring water for you to rinse your mouth with. Then some dry bread to steady your stomach...” the woman kept talking the entire time as Beatrice grappled with the news.

  Why had she not kept track. Of course, since before Gavin left she’d yet to have her courses. By her calculations, she’d not had her courses since arriving there.

  And so, it was that in the next three years, Gavin Alexander Tavish Mereworth, Duke of Selkirk, and his wife, Beatrice Preston Mereworth, were blessed with two sons and a wee daughter they named Marybeth.

  Soon after the wee girl was born, Beatrice drank a bitterroot tea regularly to keep her husband’s seed from taking root. Three young were enough and she wanted to enjoy her husband and the young ones without fear of becoming continuously heavy with child as she and Gavin enjoyed making love often.

  It was a wonderful, sunny afternoon. Both Beatrice and Gavin spent time outdoors with the children. Beatrice chuckled when her husband reluctantly allowed the nursemaid to take the two lads to rest before the evening meal. The second maid waited until Beatrice finished nursing and took the four-month-old Marybeth.

  “I have something planned I think you will enjoy.” Gavin leaned forward and kissed her. “Change into clothing you can ride in. I’ll go see about the horses.”

  Excited at the prospect of riding, she dashed around him and up the stairwell to their chamber.

  Moments later, they rode with Oscar and two guards behind. Beatrice noted they were all armed with bows and arrows and for the first time in a long time, her hands itched to hold her own.

  “Where are we going?” she asked Gavin. He grinned at her then unfastened his bow from the horse’s saddle. Along with it was hers.

  “We, dear wife, are going hunting.”

  No sooner had he handed her the quiver and bow did she spur the horse to a gallop. Laughing as her hair came loose from its pinnings and flew around her head.

  “I will best you, husband,” Beatrice called over her shoulder.

  Oscar laughed and looked to Gavin. “She will never be tamed you know.”

  “Aye,” Gavin replied and shook his head. “I married the fiery woman and would not change anything about her.”

  As they gave chase, Gavin called out to her, “Wife, wait for us.”

  The End.