by Tarah Scott
He hid a smile. “Should we return there and you not be allowed even this small reprieve?”
She shot him a narrow-eyed glare. “And risk the ride back in the dark. I think ye wouldna’ agree even if I demanded it.”
“Not tonight,” he admitted, but knew she had no wish to return, at least not tonight. Once he realized the pain associated with the memories at Castle Glenbarr, he knew he had to bring her to Dunfrey Castle to consummate their marriage.
They passed through the archway from the outer bailey into the inner courtyard and were greeted by a groom. Talbot dismounted and went to Rhoslyn’s horse.
“Have you ever visited Dunfrey Castle?” he asked as he helped her from the saddle.
“Once, when I was eleven. Fordyce Galloway lived here. When he died, his wife married a lowlander whose only heir was English. Their son inherited Dunfrey Castle, but he lost the property to Edward.”
Talbot tossed the reins to the groom and commanded his men to come to the hall once they’d taken care of their horses, then pressed a hand to the small of Rhoslyn back urged her toward the door.
“He did not pay his taxes, I take it?”
“Nay. The property lay unused until you took possession.”
Talbot kept only a small contingent of men at Dunfrey Castle, which left the bailey empty this late in the day. He found he liked the quiet and wondered what Rhoslyn would think of living a more sedate life here.
“Do you like Dunfrey Castle?” she asked.
“I do. The buildings are in excellent condition. The forests support an abundance of game. I plan to build cottages and employ freemen to farm the land.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You, a farmer? I canno’ imagine it.”
“I hope you can imagine it,” he said. “How else am I to maintain the fields at Castle Glenbarr if I do not become a farmer?”
“You can leave the running of Castle Glenbarr to me,” she said.
“Or we could hire a steward,” he said.
“Are ye saying I canna’ do it?”
“I am saying you might have more important things to do.”
“Like raising your sons?”
He shifted his gaze to her. “They would be your sons as well.”
Her expression turned speculative. “How do ye feel about being banished to the Scottish Highlands by your king?”
Talbot repressed a laugh. “Buchan is little different from Kent.”
They had reached the castle and walked through the archway at the front door. He pulled the huge door open and Rhoslyn preceded him into the large foyer.
“Ye havena’ seen Buchan in the winter,” she said as he pulled the door shut. “It is bitter cold. Much colder than Kent.”
“I imagine we will find ways to keep warm.”
Her brows snapped down. “Are ye telling me you will bed me often in the winter?”
“As often as you let me.”
“Let ye?” she said. “You are my husband. You may bed me as often as ye please.”
“I am not my brother, Lady Rhoslyn. I do not force a woman, even my wife. I would hope you understood that by now.”
Her eyes flew wide. “That isna’ what I meant.”
“We have many years ahead of us. I would rather enjoy that time with my wife.” Talbot urged her forward and up the stairs. They climbed to the third floor where he took her to his chambers. “The rooms are smaller and the furniture not as opulent as Castle Glenbarr,” he said, “but I find it comfortable. Would you like a bath?”
She shook her head. “I dinna’ want to put your women to work at this hour.”
“I agree. I will go down myself and heat the water. The men can carry up the water for you.”
Her brows rose. “Ye and your men will prepare the bath? That I must see.”
An hour later, the bath sat before the fire filled with steaming water. The last of the men who’d carried up the water left as Talbot poured two goblets of wine. He gave one to Rhoslyn and she emptied it in several gulps. She returned the goblet, then went to the tub and began untying the laces on her gown. Talbot set his wine on the table and crossed to her. She looked up, then froze when he gently moved her hands aside and began loosening the laces. Once loose, he grasped the fabric at her waist and pulled the dress over her head. She stood before him in her shift.
His cock jerked at the glimpse of her breasts straining against the thin linen fabric before he turned. He returned to the wine and refilled their goblets. The rustle of fabric conjured a vision of the shift sliding across her breasts before Rhoslyn dropped it onto the floor. The gentle swish of water against the side of the tub told him she had lowered herself into the tub.
He waited a moment, then turned. She rested, back to him, facing the fire.
“Would you like more wine, my lady?”
“Aye.” She picked up a cloth from the table beside the tub, scooped soap from the small earthen jar sitting alongside, and began lathering her arms.
Talbot took the goblets to the tub and set her wine on the table where the soap had been. From the corner of his eye, he saw her slow in rubbing the soapy cloth along one sleek arm. Water lapped at the pink nipple of the breast not hidden by her arm. Talbot turned away and took a drink of his wine. He crossed to the bed, set the goblet down and began taking off his boots. His mail shirt, then shirt, followed before he finished off his wine.
Rhoslyn dipped down into the tub, then came up, hair dripping. She began lathering the long tresses. Talbot went to the tub and knelt on one knee behind her.
She stilled. “Is there something ye want, St. Claire?”
“Aye, but we will begin with your hair.”
“My hair?” She twisted, coming face to face with his chest, and jerked back. Water sloshed over the top of the tub.
Talbot grasped her shoulders and her head snapped up. “Unless you wish me to pull you out of this tub before your hair is finished, I suggest you face forward.” She frowned, and he lifted a brow and flicked a glance at her breasts.
A blush crept up her cheeks and she pulled free, turning her back to him.
He scooped soap from the jar on the table, then gathered her hair atop her head. She sat stiffly as he lathered the thick mane. Slowly, he worked his fingers through her hair and across her scalp, massaging until she released a slow sigh. He set the soap on the table then instructed her to rinse her hair. She dunked her head, rubbing her hair to remove the soap.
Talbot couldn’t tear his eyes from her breasts, swaying with the small waves of water created by her movement. She lifted her head from the water and he handed her a towel. She wiped her eyes, then cast him a quick glance and yanked her eyes back to stare down at the water as she dried her hair. Talbot grabbed the drying cloth from the table and handed it to her. He shoved to his feet as Rhoslyn rubbed her hair dry.
He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or worry that she took an inordinate amount of time to dry her hair. She finally rose from the water and quickly wrapped the towel around her. She rubbed her arms.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“The water had grown cold,” she replied.
“I can remedy that.” He swept her into his arms.
She cried out and threw her arms around his neck. Talbot sat down on the bench, cradling her on his lap.
“Have ye gone insane, St. Claire? I am all wet.”
He grasped her chin and tilted her face toward his. “Are you?”
She frowned. “Am I—St. Claire.”
He lowered his mouth onto hers.
* * *
Rhoslyn froze when St. Claire’s lips touched hers. She held her breath, suddenly uncertain what to do. She felt like that fifteen-year-old virgin who had awaited Alec in his bed on their wedding night. But Alec’s lips hadn’t felt so...full. She shivered. The tense muscle of his arm beneath her fingers belied the gentle brush of his lips against hers—and the thick bulge beneath her buttocks. His arms tightened around her and she knew an instant of panic.
He broke the kiss and buried his face in her hair. “You need never fear me, Lady Rhoslyn. As long as I live, you need never fear anyone.”
Tears sprang to her eyes with a sting she hadn’t felt since Dougal died. Rhoslyn willed her emotions into subjection. She was being childish. What reason had she to cry?
St. Claire drew back. His gaze moved across her face and he gently brushed aside the wet locks that clung to her cheeks. His eyes then locked with hers.
“Am I so terrible? Can you not forgive me for what my brother did, or is it that you will never be able to stomach an Englishman touching you?”
His fingers rested on her left cheek, warm, gentle...
Rhoslyn could only shake her head.
His gaze sharpened. “Are you saying you cannot stand my touch?”
“Nay,” she blurted.
His brows dove downward.
“I mean, nay, that is no’ what I am saying.”
“Then I am not repulsive?” he asked.
She scowled. “Ye are teasing me.”
“Am I?”
“You know full well you are a beautiful man.”
Amusement warmed his eyes. “Beautiful? I have not heard that.”
“Ye are no’ a very good liar, St. Claire. You know you are a braw man.”
“Beautiful and braw,” he said. “That is a good thing, then?”
“I imagine no woman ever kicked ye out of her bed.”
His eyes darkened. “Including you?”
Her breath caught. “You are my husband.”
“Aye, but we spoke of this already. I will not force you.”
“If I turned you away, ye would go?”
“I would ask at least for a son,” he replied. “Perhaps also a daughter.”
Her heart began a fast beat.
“Would that be so terrible?” he asked.
Staring into his dark eyes, it seemed as if giving him sons and daughters would be the most natural thing in the world. Didn’t a wife want to give her husband children? She shivered.
He lifted a brow. “I am remiss in my duty, my lady. You are sitting on my lap and still not warm.”
“Nay,” she began, but he rose with her in his arms and strode to the bed. Her pulse raced. He ducked between the curtains and laid her on crisp, clean sheets.
“The towel,” he said, “it is wet. Give it to me.”
She hesitated. Then yanked the cloth from her body and dragged the covers up to her chin. The chilled sheets elicited another, stronger shiver. St. Claire stepped back and loosened the ties on his breeches, then shoved them and his braies down his hips. Rhoslyn glimpsed his thick erection in the instant before she yanked her gaze up to his face.
He climbed into bed beside her and pulled her close. “The sheets are cool. I should have had the maid warm them.”
“It is all right,” Rhoslyn said, teeth chattering.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Her breasts pressed against with the warm, hard muscle of his chest and desire tightened her sex. Unexpected guilt surfaced. She was doing nothing wrong. Alec was gone. He wouldn’t ask her to remain barren and die alone. Yet, she hadn’t considered the possibility that she would marry again...that she would desire another man.
A nervous flitter stirred in her belly. She had been nervous with Alec, as any virgin would be with her husband, had cared for him, had desired him, but her feelings hadn’t been this intense. And that, she realized, was where her guilt originated. St. Claire had done nothing more than hold her against his naked body, and she trembled. Could he discern her reaction?
His member pulsed against her thigh. Her mouth went dry. Aye, he knew.
They lay, quiet, his heart thumping out a powerful beat against her breast. Why didn’t he roll on top of her and enter her? What would it feel like when he did? Embarrassment washed over her and she was glad he couldn’t see her face.
“Are you warmer?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“What do you think of my hiring men to work the land around Dunfrey Castle? I would have to hire a steward and an overlord. You must know men who I can trust.”
Was he asking about business at a time like this? “My grandfather would know men.”
“Perhaps, while the steward is learning, you could oversee his work. Ensure that he is honest and knows what he is doing.”
What was wrong with the man? It was obvious he wanted her. She had never known a man to talk business while making love to a woman. Unless... Was she nothing more than business to him?
“If ye wish,” she replied in a business-like manner. “As you know, I am proficient with numbers.”
“And with the servants.”
“What?” she said.
“You are good with the servants. They care for you.”
“I care for them.”
He nodded, his chin brushing the top of her head. He was going to drive her mad.
“You will probably have to hire someone to replace your cousin,” he said.
“My cousin—oh, aye. How have ye been getting along without him?”
“He left only the week before you returned home.”
“Returned home, that is what you call kidnapping me?”
“I saved you. Did you really want Melrose?”
The amusement in his voice pricked her pride. “He would make a good husband.”
“He would do as you commanded, you mean.”
That is exactly what she’d meant, but said, “A good husband knows when to listen to a wife.”
“I shall remember that.”
Was he going to talk all night long? Mayhap his desire had waned. She shifted slightly, then froze at the press of his very rigid cock against her thigh.
“Are you all right, Rhoslyn?”
“Are ye going to get this over with or not, St. Claire?”
“You want me to be quick about it?” he asked.
Rhoslyn didn’t miss the husky note in his voice.
“How long can a man take to finish the job?” she replied.
“Enough time to ensure the lady is well satisfied.”
The brush of his fingers on her arm startled her and she jumped.
He stilled. “How can I think of doing more when a simple touch makes you jump?”
“‘Tis no’ that. Ye simply caught me off guard.”
“Shall I tell you everything I plan to do to you?”
A tremor rippled through her body at the thought of what planned to do to her. If the hardness of his member was any indication...she swallowed.
“First, I want to brush my fingers across your skin.” He began again to trace lazy circles along her arm.
Gooseflesh race along her flesh.
“You like that,” he murmured.
It wasn’t a question.
The finger moved upward across her shoulder, then neck, tickling the fine hair at her nape. She shivered.
“You like that, as well.” He slid his fingers into her hair and gently fisted her hair, pulling her head back. “Now I am going to kiss you.”
His lips touched hers and she closed her eyes, breathing deep. His tongue flicked at her mouth in warning, then swept inside. She was startled at the sweet taste of him, a combination of the wine he had drunk and something she couldn’t quite define.
He released her hair and murmured against her lips, “I am going to touch your breasts.”
He flattened his palm on her shoulder, and her heart beat faster as he slid his hand down until the warm palm cupped her breast. He broke the kiss and began nibbling on her ear. Heat pooled between her legs.
“You are very beautiful,” he whispered.
With his thumb, he grazed the tip of her stiffened nipple. Pleasure streaked through her.
“Shall I taste your breasts now, my lady?”
The hoarse note in his voice—and the question—made her head whirl. How did she answer such a question? But he waited for no answer, and dipped his head downward. Anticip
ation tightened her sex. When his warm mouth closed around the nipple she couldn’t halt a moan. Then, God help her, he suckled, and she wondered if he would bring her to pleasure that instant.
“I am going to touch you,” he said against her breast.
Touch her?
The hand on her breast stroked downward and she realized what he meant. He suckled harder and her senses muddled. He lightly ran his fingers over the sensitive dip in her belly, causing a quiver across her flesh she felt clear to her core. His large hand brushed her curls, then closed over her mound.
“St Claire,” she whispered.
“Aye, love?”
“This is strange.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“God no,” she blurted, then jammed her eyes shut from embarrassment.
“I am relieved,” he said, his voice a bit choked.
He dipped a finger between the moist folds that protected her swollen nub. The digit caressed the delicate bud. Rhoslyn forced back the impulse to clamp her legs together. She was torn between wanting him to touch her and mortification. Alec rarely touched her this way and, in truth, she had wanted him to. St. Claire applied slight pressure and need shot through her. Oh, she was wrong. Alec had never touched her this way. She shifted restlessly, wanting the pleasure hinted at in his caress. It had been so long. All those months before Dougal’s birth, then the isolation of the convent. Too long.
He shifted his mouth to the other breast and drew on the nipple. Rhoslyn thrust the fingers of one hand into his thick hair and tugged.
“Ahh, you like this, my lady?” He sucked harder.
Rhoslyn moved against his finger. He slid one muscled leg across her legs. The thigh was heavy and so very warm, and she wanted more of him, skin to skin. His caresses intensified. She fisted his hair more tightly. He covered the other breast with his hand. Sweet Jesu, she was drowning.
His warm, moist tongue ringed the nipple. Rhoslyn moaned. Cool breath washed across her flesh and the exquisite pucker of the areola pushed her over the edge. Pleasure rolled over her in a sudden tidal wave that bowed her off the bed. She dropped back onto the mattress and couldn’t stop her thighs from clamping around his hand as a second spasm rocked her.