My Highland Bride (Kingdoms of Meria Book 2)

by Cecelia Mecca

  His hand covers my breast, his skillful thumb rubbing my nipple through the material until it peaks. Through it all, he is kissing me, claiming my mouth. Already he is making my body answer to a new master, one I never expected to want or need.

  Desire, full and fierce, encompasses every bit of me. I grip the material of his shirt with both hands, fisting it tightly as he continues his exploration. The kiss is like a dance. It started slowly, growing in confidence, and now there is no thinking. No hesitation.

  I am engulfed in his embrace and enjoying each and every moment.

  When Erik pulls away, his lips wet and his breath uneven, I marvel at the thought that I did that to him. This champion of the Tournament of Loigh and commander to a queen is as beholden to me as I am to him in this moment.

  “I’ve longed to kiss you that way,” he says, lowering his head to my neck this time. Erik moves my hair to give himself greater access. “To feel you.” He presses his lips to the sensitive flesh there. “To make you mine in every way.” His kiss drifts toward the back of my ear. “You are so beautiful, Reyne.”

  He stops and stands tall, my arms having to reach high to continue to cling to him.

  “Apologies,” he says, “for my delay in coming tonight. I’ve learned some interesting news.”

  Erik’s second hand follows the other’s lead, and now both breasts receive equal treatment.

  “Aye?” I manage as my hands slip to his shoulders. Erik steps back just slightly. When he looks down to his hands, still cupping my breasts, and smiles, my core clenches again. My body is preparing for him.

  “The lord here is a distant cousin to the queen.”

  I attempt to ignore the twinge in my chest at his mention of her.

  “He says sentiment begins to change, to be swayed in her favor. It appears she is not alone in wanting to explore peace despite the king’s intent in sending the Oryan.”

  Hating how I feel when Erik talks of the queen, I concentrate on his hands as they move from my breasts downward, reaching behind me, cupping my buttocks and pulling me closer.

  I never knew until this moment I wanted a man to grab me there.

  “That is good,” I manage. “You will need more than just the Highlanders’ support, aye?”

  He called me beautiful, but I would say the same of Erik’s smile.

  “Aye. Cettina will be pleased to hear it.”

  His smile falters.

  “Reyne . . .” His hands freeze. “Your demeanor changes every time I say her name.”

  “Does it? I’d not noticed.”

  Liar.

  “You are my wife.”

  “Because my father willed it,” I cannot help but say. The thought has not been far from my mind this whole day.

  “And because I willed it too. I’d not have agreed to his terms had the idea not appealed to me.”

  He’s said as much, and yet still I wonder. “Nay? Not even for his support with the Highland Council?”

  Would you not do anything for the queen?

  I already know the answer, but I keep the question to myself, not wanting to ruin our wedding night.

  “I’d not have agreed to his terms had I not wished to marry you, Reyne,” he repeats. “And that was before we became reacquainted. I am happy to be married to you. Do you not sense that?”

  I do, but . . .

  “Cettina,” he concludes.

  I’ve not met her, but that does not prevent me from imagining the queen, whom he and others have described as a rare beauty, kissing my now husband. He does not love her in that way, I remind myself.

  But neither does he love you.

  Erik drops his hands, sighing.

  “You do not believe me,” he says more than asks. “You think me madly in love with Queen Cettina, and what? That we will engage in a salacious affair the moment we return to court?”

  Precisely.

  “Nay, but so many believe that.”

  “And so many are wrong. They know not the intricacies of our relationship. There will always be gossip at court, Reyne. I should have better prepared you for that. Many have little to do with their time other than speculate on others’ lives. It makes them feel as if they’ve a measure of control. You’d do well to ignore it.”

  “I will try,” I vow.

  He is still studying me, but his look has changed from desire to concern. I hate that it’s so, but I cannot change my thoughts.

  Or can I?

  Lady Arabelle pops into my mind then. She is right, I am his wife, not Queen Cettina. And Erik is worth fighting for.

  “I will try,” I say again more forcefully.

  But my comment does not abate his concern. Brow furrowed, he says, “I do not wish for our first time together to be marred by your doubts.”

  I do not wish it either, but it seems it is too late.

  Erik runs a hand through his hair. What is he thinking?

  “I’ve upset you,” I say.

  “Nay, Reyne. You could never upset me by being honest. ’Tis all I ask from you. And I will give you the same in return.”

  Neither of us has moved, but the distance between us has grown.

  I nod. “I gladly give it.”

  He looks pained. “Do you wish me as your husband?”

  How could he ask such a question?

  “Of course! We would not be married otherwise,” I say, incredulous. It is I who was forced on him, not the other way around.

  “Do you believe that I do not love Cettina? In the way that matters, as a husband loves a wife?”

  Oh dear. This time, his questions are not so easy to answer. But I fear my silence has given me away.

  I wish I could believe such a thing. But he has admitted to loving her, in a way. He’s admitted to turning to her in a time of need. Clearly she means a great deal to him.

  He frowns. “Can you give yourself to me without distraction? Without such thoughts swirling in your head?”

  This one I can answer. I shake my head.

  Erik closes his eyes. I lay my hands on his chest, forcing his eyes back open.

  “You asked that I be honest.”

  His smile is sadder than I would have hoped for on our wedding night, but he has an intent look in his eyes, much like he did before the Triumph match.

  “Despite how we came together, I am glad to be your husband.” His hands cover mine.

  “There is nothing I would rather do than pull that shift over your head and make love to you. Consummate our marriage as many times as you are able to given our long journey this day.” He squeezes my hands. “But I cannot make you believe it, Reyne. I can only seek to prove it to you. I will prove it by denying myself the thing I want most this night, and on every night of this journey. I will continue to deny it when we reach Breywood if you are still not ready to give yourself to me without questioning whether I’m worthy of such a gift.”

  “You are more than worthy,” I begin, but he stops me.

  “I see the shadow that crosses your face at every mention of the queen,” he says, moving our clasped hands over my heart. “I would dispel it if I could.”

  Then do so, I wish to say. Tell me you love me, Erik, and we can share that very thing right now.

  Because in that moment, I realize it’s true. I do love him.

  But I can’t bring myself to say any of that, so I simply sit there, uncertain, blinking up at him.

  “I serve the queen,” he says, and I can actually feel myself flinching. “You will speak with her. Dine with her. Cettina will be a part of our lives for many years. The only escape will be if I step down, which I can do at any time but am not willing to with Edingham’s future so uncertain. You understand that, do you not?”

  “Aye,” I admit.

  “Then we will come to a place where you no longer feel as you do. In the meantime.” He lets go of my hands and wraps his arms around me. “We will become accustomed to each other. I will answer any questions you may have and be truthful always. An
d when you are ready—” This last part he murmurs in my ear, and I can hear the pain in his voice. “—when you are ready, tell me so.”

  My head, pressed up against his hard chest, begins to throb as the all too familiar feeling of an oncoming headache invades this doomed wedding night. I can tell him I’m ready this very moment. Confess that I’ve fallen in love with him, even as I’ve willed myself to keep my distance.

  But perhaps Erik’s idea has merit. Should we wait to mark this momentous occasion when Queen Cettina no longer casts a shadow on an otherwise bright beginning?

  Perhaps.

  Only . . . what if her shadow is everlasting? What will become of us then?

  Without an answer, I allow myself to be held by a husband who did not ask for me but sacrifices for me even now. And that is something, is it not? Because I know what the evidence of his need feels like against me. There is no doubt this is a sacrifice for him.

  The question is, how long will Erik be willing to wait if I’m unable to overcome my jealousy of the queen? Mayhap it’ll go away once I meet her. I will no longer have such feelings, and we can enjoy a glorious wedding night as soon as we reach Breywood.

  Mayhap.

  22

  Erik

  We ride through the gates of Breywood Castle, Bradyn jumping from his mount first. As he rushes forward to greet a young girl he fancies, the baker’s daughter, I’m reminded that in many respects he is still a boy.

  But fast becoming a man.

  Other than a few mishaps, he did remarkably well on this trip.

  Just as we ride through the gatehouse and outer curtain wall, onlookers gather around to watch. From our brief stop in the village, it seems word of Reyne has reached the castle ahead of us.

  I attempted to prepare her for it, but my wife’s mount slows beside me in a way that suggests she is hesitant. The more time I spend with Reyne, the more I can see the impact of her sister’s death. One way she chooses to keep her sister alive is by pursuing her interests. Fara loved to read, and so that seems to be Reyne’s current passion. She also has many new worries, I’ve found, most of them sparked by what she saw and experienced, by the loss she carries with her. I cannot pretend to understand what it is like to have a sibling, let alone lose one, but I wish to learn everything I can about Reyne . . . from her grief and worries to the fierce side of her I remember from childhood, for that girl is still a part of her too.

  One day, just before reaching a river crossing, she spotted a deer in the distance. When she reached for the bow hanging from her saddle, I watched in fascination.

  Reyne held her hand up in the air, signaling for silence, and then grabbed an arrow from the quiver. It was the first time I’d seen her touch the bow, which I’d meant to ask about.

  The deer, still visible but well over three hundred paces away, moved just before she released the arrow. It would have been a near-impossible shot, but that she not only knew how to shoot and even attempted it, on horseback, had all three of us staring at her.

  Reyne smiled at us and shrugged as she replaced the bow. “’Twas worth a try. We could have had a more resplendent supper this night.”

  Later, as we feasted by the fire on rabbit, I asked about her skill with the bow. Warin had apparently taught both of the sisters how to shoot. She claimed to have more accurate aim than even her brother, a claim I am eager to test in the yard. Imagining myself standing behind her, watching her backside as she draws back to shoot . . . it has become a common source of torture.

  But there are plenty of others.

  Lying with her in the tent. Enduring the hungry gazes she doesn’t think I notice. One morn, upon waking, I found my hand firmly cupping a breast when I woke.

  Sighing, I remind myself who is to blame for my own frustration as I watch Reyne dismount from her horse with the help of a stable boy.

  Aye, I would know my wife in every way, but at this particular moment, stopping an attack and avoiding war takes precedence. As I hand off my reins, I ask Bradyn to run ahead to tell Cettina we’ve arrived. She likely already knows we are here, but I need an immediate audience.

  Reyne is nervous, as am I. I hate that the queen has come between us and wonder if meeting her will make matters better, or worse. I suppose we will soon find out.

  “It is magnificent,” Reyne says softly.

  Situated on a wooded bend along the Hebanby River, too far south to be considered part of the Highlands but far enough from the border to be safe from the entanglements that have plagued Edingham since it became independent from Meria, Breywood Castle is magnificent. Still, it is modest for the seat of kings and queens.

  “Shall I find you an escort to our rooms, or would you accompany me directly to the queen?” I ask as Reyne takes my arm. We’re remarkably comfortable with each other for a pair of former neighbors who hadn’t seen each other for more than ten years. Even Gille has commented on it. If only we could consummate the marriage . . .

  “I would remain with you,” she says.

  Gille and I exchange a glance. He knows of her hesitation to meet the queen, something she’s mentioned to him herself. If only he knew the extent of that hesitation. I have told no one about our arrangement, nor do I intend to do so.

  “Then come,” I say, greeting well-wishers and thanking them as we make our way through the courtyard and up a flight of stone stairs that leads straight to the entrance for the great hall. Though we do not step inside, Reyne pauses for a moment.

  “’Tis a lovely hall,” she says. “So much color.”

  Indeed, the crests of each king of Edingham hang from every corner, one more colorful than the last. And with the trestle tables pushed up against the walls, it appears bigger now than it does during mealtimes.

  “The lady’s chamber is this way,” I say as we walk toward what was once called the lord’s chamber, just to the right of the great hall. Because the queen spends much of her time in here, two guards stand at its entrance. They glance at Reyne but say nothing.

  “She’s waiting for me?”

  Their presence confirms Cettina is inside, and Bradyn’s message would have arrived by now.

  “Aye,” says Alan, third son of a minor Highland lord.

  Pausing before we enter, I lean down and kiss Reyne on the cheek, not knowing precisely what to say to calm her fears. I nod, and the double doors are pulled open by the guards.

  The lady’s chamber is not overly large, although it boasts two sizeable windows, each with plush velvet window seats. The shutters are thrown open at present, allowing in fresh air. Cettina sits behind an enormous oak desk not meant to be moved, unlike most of the furniture in this castle. Built by her great-grandfather, it is meant to intimidate, and for most people it does.

  I squeeze Reyne’s arm, then release it so I can bow to the queen. My wife follows suit. A quick glance reveals she’s discomfited, but there’s naught I can do to reassure her. So I take her arm and present her to the queen.

  “May I present my wife, Lady Reyne, daughter of Lord Moray of Blackwell.”

  Cettina would know of my marriage by now from the message I’d sent.

  “Reyne, this is Queen Cettina Borea, first of her name, sovereign of the great kingdom of Edingham.”

  Cettina speaks first, as etiquette dictates.

  “Lady Reyne,” she says, “I am pleased to welcome you to Breywood Castle. And I congratulate you on your marriage.”

  She turns to me.

  “’Twas a most surprising, though not unpleasant, bit of news to learn you’d married, Lord Stokerton.”

  Though I don’t look at Reyne, I can feel her tense beside me.

  Perhaps not so surprising as you tasked me with gaining Lord Moray’s support with the Highland Council. Of course, I don’t voice the thought aloud.

  Cettina’s brows rise.

  “And to Lord Moray’s daughter?” There’s something harsh in her tone, and the words are clipped in a way that indicates she is not pleased at all.

&
nbsp; “Aye.”

  She turns to Reyne, opens her mouth, and closes it. Whatever words she struggled with are forgotten, and she says instead, “We’ve much to discuss, Erik.”

  I wince at her use of my given name. I don’t need to glance at Reyne to know this is not going well.

  “Aye,” I agree. “I bring news of an urgent matter.”

  She looks back at me.

  “More urgent than the news you traveled to Ledenhill for?”

  “Aye.”

  She frowns. “I’ve news as well, from Meria. But our discussion can wait.”

  Aye, she is definitely angry—her tone leaves little room for doubt. But why? Could she be jealous after all, and I’ve misread all that’s passed between us?

  “First I wish to speak to your wife. Alone.”

  I place my right hand on Reyne’s wrist, which is tucked through my arm, defying my queen on her behalf sooner than I would have liked.

  “She is new to court, and I would prefer to stay with her,” I say, as sternly as I dare. “If it pleases you.”

  Cettina looks back and forth between us.

  “It does not please me.”

  Something is amiss. This is not the Cettina I know, and I will not leave Reyne alone with her.

  But my wife’s fierce side makes another appearance, and she lifts my hand and disengages her arm.

  “We will do as the queen bids,” she says, as if she has experience navigating the whims of royalty. Her eyes implore me to do as she asks. Hesitant, I relent only when she more forcefully pushes me away.

  “Go,” she says. “I will join you shortly.”

  With a final glance at the queen, I reluctantly bow and turn to leave.

  Uneasy, uncertain, and very much aware our marital celibacy will not end this night as I’d dared to hope, I knock and the doors are opened.

  This does not bode well at all.

  23

  Reyne