by Candace Camp
“Not since my first time, and truth is, I was as green as she was, and we were both afraid of her father, who had the devil’s own temper.” He grinned, giving her a glimpse, she thought, of how that green lad had looked. “But hot blood usually wins out over fear, I’ve found.” He sobered, running his thumb and forefinger down the strand of her hair. “I did not want to cause you pain.”
“Oh.” She looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t care. All I want is to feel you inside me again.”
His eyes lit with heat, and something very much like a growl rumbled in his throat. He pulled her beneath him. Isobel wrapped her arms around him as he pushed up into her, expanding and filling her in a way that took her breath from her. Jack thrust into her in long, powerful strokes, and to her astonishment, the heat burgeoned in her again, until finally he drove into her with a hoarse cry, sending them both tumbling over into the shattering chasm.
When Isobel awoke the next time, sunlight streamed through the window. She glanced around, disappointed to find herself alone. Stretching, she lay back against the pillows, contemplating the night before. She giggled and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. Her wedding night had been nothing like what she’d expected. She knew that she had opened herself up to a wealth of pain in the future, but right now she could not make herself think of that. Indeed, she could not make herself think of the next few days ahead. The only thing she wanted was to revel in the moment.
At a noise from the door, she turned as Jack entered, still unshaven and wearing only his shirt and breeches. He carried a large tray with a jumble of foodstuffs piled on.
“Good, you’re awake. You looked so peaceful I hadn’t the heart to wake you when I left.” He set the tray down on the bed and leaned over to kiss her, a simple kiss of greeting. But as soon as he started to step back, he changed his mind and came back to kiss her more deeply. Isobel rose up on her knees, the covers sliding down, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Finally, letting out a half-mocking groan, he set his hands on her hips and held her aside, pulling back from their kiss. “Ah, Isobel, you break my will the instant I see you.” He turned to the wardrobe behind him and pulled out his dressing gown. “Here. Little as I like to cover up that view, I must or I fear we shall starve.”
Isobel took the robe and wrapped it around her, rolling up the sleeves until her hands were free. She settled down beside the tray, examining the hodgepodge of dishes. Various meats and cheeses and rolls were piled on plates, along with a bowl of almost solidified porridge, a pot of cream, and another dish of soft, pale butter. Two cups were with a pot of tea, which, she found to her delight, was warm to the touch.
As she poured out the tea, Jack picked up a long roll and tore it in two, sending a shower of hard crumbs over the bed. He handed Isobel half of it and stretched out on the other side of the tray, propping himself up on one elbow.
“Cook took pity on me and made the tea. Apparently she has finally accepted me—no doubt she realizes I am now under your complete dominion, an utter slave to your lust.”
“No doubt.” Isobel rolled her eyes and handed him a cup of tea.
“I told her I was like to waste away to nothing trying to satisfy your carnal demands.”
“Jack!” Isobel choked and glared at him.
He laughed, stuffing another chunk of bread in his mouth, and she reached over to slap his arm. He simply laughed more and dodged her next blow. He caught her wrist and brought her clenched fist to his lips to kiss, saying, “No, have mercy, you savage Highlander. I did not say it.”
“You are very merry this morning.” Isobel pulled back, trying to achieve an aggrieved tone, but she spoiled it with a smile.
“Indeed, I am. I am discovering that being a husband is a very pleasant thing. I should have tried it earlier.”
“Humph. You just have not received a scolding yet. I am sure I can be a veritable fishwife.”
“Ah, but I know how to wheedle you out of it.” He gave her so smug a smile, she had to laugh. “At any rate, I was persuasive enough that Cook pulled out a few bits and pieces left over from the feast. Though she foisted that bowl of oatmeal on me, as well.” He watched as Isobel tentatively poked a spoon at the gelatinous glob. “I will gladly offer it all to you.”
In response, Isobel slathered a bit of bread with butter and jam and popped it into his mouth. “Oh, no, Husband, I would not dream of taking even a spoonful of what Cook obviously intended for you.”
“You are too kind.” He tore open another roll and picked up a dark, round slice, tucking it into the bread. “I shall not ask you what this substance is. It tastes delicious, and I’d rather not spoil my enjoyment with knowledge.”
“I think you are wise.” Isobel watched him, a faint smile playing at her lips. She had rarely seen Jack aught but even tempered, but neither had she witnessed him in this unguarded, almost buoyant mood, the ironic, even cynical, edges of his humor softened. He appeared younger, almost boyish, and she realized, with a pang, how much she wanted to keep that lighthearted expression on his face. “What is the state of affairs downstairs? Are the revelers still at it?”
“Happily, no. Most of our guests have departed.” He chuckled. “Though there are a number of them asleep on the barn floor. Several of the maids are moving about, trying to tidy the place. I saw your cousin Robert in the library, but I was able to avoid crossing his path. Your aunt is closed up in her room, more, I suspect, to avoid running into your cousin than from having gotten foxed last night—which is the reason I presume your cousin Gregory has not made an appearance.”
Isobel drank the last sip of her tea and looked down at the tray, now half emptied of food. She glanced around the room, realizing she had no reason to stay here any longer. “Well . . . I . . . I should get back to my room.”
“I told the maids to bring up a bath for you. I thought you might like one.”
“Oh, yes.” Her face brightened.
“They are bringing it here.” His eyes were on her face. “And some of your clothes as well.” He paused. “Unless you would not like that?”
“No. I mean, yes, that is fine.” She was suddenly flustered and shy. “If you wish it, that is.”
“Yes. I wish it.” His eyes darkened, and Isobel felt the response of her body to that small action. She wondered if he was about to kiss her. She was certain she would like him to.
Jack started to move, and at that moment a timid knock came on the door and one of the maids entered. A second girl followed her, carrying the long, narrow tub between them. Their eyes were large and bright with curiosity, and they glanced around, particularly at Isobel, while trying to look as if they were not. Isobel could imagine what they were thinking, and her cheeks pinkened. Another maid followed with pails of water, and for the next few minutes maids passed in and out the door, carrying pails of water to fill the tub, then kettles of water to warm it.
Isobel avoided their eyes, embarrassed at being the object of their attention. She knew that later in the servants’ hall they would dissect every little detail of the room, from the mussed bed to the clothes tossed on the floor to her tangled hair and his dressing gown wrapped around her. When at last the servants left, closing the door behind them, the room was oppressively silent. Isobel sneaked a glance at Jack, her former ease in his presence broken.
“I . . . um . . . I’m going to bathe now. Are you—” She cleared her throat. “Do you plan to . . .” She made a vague motion toward the door.
“Leave?” He pushed away from the bedpost where he had been leaning. His smile was sensual, his eyes dark and somnolent. “No, I think I’ll stay.” He trailed his knuckles down her cheek. “In fact, I believe I shall take that bath with you.”
“Jack!” Her eyes widened, and heat flooded through her. “But how . . .”
“You’ll see.” He bent to kiss her.
Taking a bath with Jack, Isobel discovered, was not only a pleasurable experience but time-consuming, and it seemed to take an equally
long time to get dressed afterward—especially with the re-dressing. As she stood before the mirror, putting the last pins in her hair, Jack came up beside her, picking up a watch and chain from the dresser.
“You are wearing Malcolm’s watch,” Isobel said, surprised and pleased. “My aunt will be happy.”
“It seemed too kind a gift not to wear it so I bought a key for it while—” He stopped abruptly. “Blast! I meant to give you this last night.” He turned and went to his jacket, pulling a square, flat box from an inner pocket.
“What is this?” Isobel asked in surprise as he held the box out to her.
“Open it and see.” She reached out tentatively, and he laughed. “Go on. It is something you will like—or, at least, I hope you will.”
Isobel opened the hinged lid and drew in a sharp breath. Inside, nestled on black velvet, lay two pearl earrings and a necklace of gold beads and pearls, centered by a single large creamy pearl pendant. “Jack! It’s beautiful.” She looked up at him, her eyes glowing.
“If a few pearls get me that expression, I can only wish I had bought you diamonds.”
“Silly.” She laughed and studied the pendant again, smoothing a finger over its slick surface. “Diamonds could not have been lovelier. But why? How? I did not expect anything like this.”
“I think a bridal gift is customary from a groom, is it not?”
“Yes, I suppose—though I don’t know how things are done in London. But surely you don’t go jaunting about the countryside with jewelry in your pocket in case you should decide to marry.”
“No. But I did go to Inverness, if you remember.”
“Inverness!” She stared at him. “Is that why you went to Inverness?”
“Yes.” He looked at her oddly. “Well, I had to buy a few things from the haberdashery and order some clothes; I did not come prepared for a long stay. And there was the watch key. But I needed the gift immediately, and I knew there would be nothing suitable in the village. Unfortunately, the selection was not terribly impressive, either.” He paused, frowning. “I seem to have shocked you.”
“No. I mean, well, yes, a bit; it was just that I thought—” Isobel broke off, suddenly realizing that she might just have stepped into a quagmire.
“Thought what?” Jack took the box and set it down on the dresser. “Isobel . . . why did you think I went to Inverness?”
“I thought . . . well, that you had gone to visit a . . . a place where . . . that you intended to, you know . . .”
“No, I don’t know.” He stopped, struck. “Did you think I had gone looking for a bordello?” He began to laugh.
“It is the sort of thing men do,” Isobel retorted defensively. “You were about to be married.”
“Is that a Scots wedding custom?” He laughed harder. “A week of debauchery before the ceremony?”
“No, of course not. But Aunt Elizabeth said—”
“I am positive I did not tell your aunt I was going to Inverness to visit a light-skirts.” His laughter had died, but his eyes were still merry.
“You did not tell anyone why you were going, so how was I supposed to know?”
“You did not ask.”
“I presumed if you had wanted me to know, you would have told me. When Aunt Elizabeth said that it was probably the sort of thing one did not tell a lady, I realized that you must have gone there to, to satisfy your needs. . . .” She shrugged and looked away. “It does not matter, really.”
“I can see that it does not.” He crooked his finger beneath her chin to tip up her face. “Jealous, my dear?”
“No, of course not.”
“I don’t think I believe you.” His eyes smiled down into hers. “It’s all right. I find I like a little jealousy in a woman.” He kissed her lightly. “I did not seek out a woman in Inverness. I admit I do have needs—and they seem to have grown more urgent since I reached Baillannan.” He slid his hands slowly up and down her back. “But the only one who can satisfy them is you.”
“Oh.” Isobel leaned against him, hiding the happy relief on her face. “I did not like to think that you had done what we did with another woman.”
“I’m not entirely sure that I have ever done exactly what we did.” He pressed his lips against the top of her head. “Is that why you were so annoyed with me the night I returned?”
Isobel sighed and nodded. “Yes,” she admitted miserably. “I am sorry for what I said. I did not mean—”
“That you did not know me? But you were right; you did not,” he said lightly.
Isobel raised her head, her eyes glinting mischievously. “I believe I know you somewhat better now.”
“Indeed.” He kissed her again, more deeply. “Now, turn around and let us see how the bauble looks on you.”
She faced the mirror obediently, and Jack fastened the necklace around her throat. Sliding his arms around her waist, he pulled her back against him as he studied her image in the mirror.
“It looks just as I thought it would.”
“It is beautiful. Thank you.” She raised her hand to stroke the lustrous pearl again, then frowned. “This looks—” She turned to study him. He had dressed for dinner, and the usual snow-white cravat was in place around his neck, but it was centered by a plain gold pin. “Where is your tiepin? The pearl.”
“You know my tiepins by sight?” He raised his brows. “I am flattered.”
“Is this it? You took it from your pin to make the necklace?”
“Yes. None of the necklaces they had were adequate, and neither were the jewels they had in stock. But I thought the pearl eardrops were pretty enough, and this chain as well if we added a little something to it. I’m sorry,” he added somewhat stiffly. “I had nothing else to hand. I can find you a much better piece in London.”
“No! Oh, no!” Isobel covered the pendant protectively with her hand, as if he might snatch it from her neck. “I love it. I do not want another. It only makes it more special that you gave up something of yours for it.” She took his hand impulsively and went up on tiptoe to kiss him.
He grinned down at her. “Then I should tell you that the stones of your ring came from my cuff links.”
Isobel laughed and went back into his arms.
In the days that followed, Isobel encountered none of the problems of married life that she had envisioned. Indeed the only thing she wrestled with was a question of marital etiquette: What were the rules regarding where she slept? It seemed too bold to simply take up her place in his bed without his asking her. On the other hand, if she went to her bedroom instead and waited for him to come to her, might he not assume she did not want to be with him that night? And where was she to change clothes?
Fortunately, each night Jack began kissing her and pulled her into his room as soon as they reached the top of the stairs, so she had yet to face that decision. Every morning, Isobel slipped down the hallway to her room to dress, feeling vaguely guilty and illicit, hoping she would not have to face the embarrassment of running into one of the servants.
Gradually Jack’s room began to change. First a second chair appeared before the fireplace. A few days later, a vanity table with a delicate chair had been added. At the sight of it, a sweet warmth bubbled up in Isobel’s chest. Her silver-backed brush and comb lay in their mirrored tray on one side of the vanity. Her dish of hairpins sat beside it, and in front of her mirror were lined up her various pots and bottles of perfume and lotion.
“It looked rather awkward for you, standing in front of the dresser to put up your hair,” Jack explained stiffly.
“That was very thoughtful of you.” Isobel turned to him.
“Yes, well . . . it seemed more . . .” He looked around vaguely and adjusted a cuff.
“Practical,” Isobel finished for him, faintly amused by his sudden awkwardness.
“Exactly.” He hesitated. “I hope I did not presume too much in having them bring your things as well.” He gestured toward the vanity top, then turned to the dresser, wher
e he seemed extraordinarily interested in straightening his own brush and comb into precise lines. “Of course, if you wish it, you have only to take them back. I . . . uh, it seems inconvenient . . . going to your room each morning to change. There is ample space in this room; my wardrobe is rather limited. Even after my things arrive from Inverness, there will be many vacant drawers. And the wardrobe is quite empty. I thought you might like, that it would be easier, if you were to put some of your clothes in here.” He stopped and finally turned back to her.
“Jack . . . are you asking me to share your bedroom?” Isobel smiled, her voice faintly teasing.
“Well, yes, I suppose I am. Of course, if you dislike the idea, there is no need—”
“No, I don’t dislike the idea,” Isobel interrupted, soft laughter bubbling up, and started across the room toward him. “I think it is a very good idea.”
“Well, then, that’s settled.” He grinned and swooped her up in his arms to carry her to bed.
It was, Isobel reflected, how their conversations often seemed to end. That, she found, was perhaps the best surprise in being married.
“And how is the bride?” Isobel looked up to see Meg lounging in the doorway of the study.
“Meg!” Isobel bounced up from her chair and went to hug her friend. “I am so happy to see you.”
“I brought Cook some herbs, so I thought I would stop in and see you as well.” Meg paused, smiling. “I was going to ask how you were doing since the wedding, but I can see from looking at you that everything is well.”
“Very well.” A broad smile stretched across Isobel’s face. “Oh, Meg, it is so well that it’s a little frightening.”
“Somehow I think that you did not stick to your intentions of a celibate marriage.” Meg’s eyes danced.
“No.” Pink tinged Isobel’s cheeks. “As it turned out, Jack convinced me to stray with very little effort. It is no doubt brazen of me, but I am excessively glad he did. I never dreamed what it would be like. I must seem quite mutton-headed, I know, as if I cannot hold to my convictions.”