The Laird's English Bride

by Lauren Royal

  “What am I s’posed to say?” Mary whispered.

  Beneath the ribbon bow, Clarice squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Just say yes, sweet.”

  “Yes!” An exclamation of immense joy, the single word echoed in the ancient stone chamber.

  And though Clarice had felt like Mary was hers from the day Lord Cainewood brought the child to her doorstep, in that moment she felt closer to her daughter than she’d ever thought possible. Bound, as Cam had said, heart and soul. She would never be able to thank him for this precious gift of belonging.

  All at once, Caithren was untying the ribbon, and Cam raised Mary into the air and gave her resounding kisses on both cheeks. Then he handed her to Clarice, wrapping his arms around them both as though he could protect them from the world.

  She hoped he could. She was counting on it.

  “Am I a princess now?” Mary asked when he finally released them.

  “No, poppet,” Clarice started.

  “Aye,” Cam interrupted before she could say another word. “You’re my princess. And you always will be, even after you go off and get married.”

  “I’m never getting married,” Mary declared. “I’m going to live with you forever.”

  Cam smoothed her hair ribbon. “Well, now, it’s the truth that nothing would make me happier. But we’ll have to wait and see what happens, aye? Don’t forget that only last week your own mama was saying she’d never get married, either.”

  “I must get back to the ball.” Caithren sighed, then brightened. “I cannot wait to tell everyone the news.”

  “Nay.” Cameron put a hand on her arm. “This is your night. Yours and Jason’s. If you’ve no objection, I’ve a mind to take my two lasses here downstairs for a dance or a dozen—”

  “Me, too?” Mary squealed. “Is that why you taught us the dances?”

  “Absolutely. We’ve much to celebrate, the three of us. But in secret, aye? No one else will know it’s not only cousin Caithren’s wedding we’re celebrating, but our wedding-for-three as well. So lock your lips, aye?”

  Mary clapped both hands over her mouth and nodded.

  “Good.” He took her by the hand and Clarice with his other. “Then let us celebrate.”

  FOURTEEN

  CELEBRATE THEY did, dancing the new dances and supping on scrumptious delicacies until the wee hours when the ball finally wound down. The locals headed for home, and guests who’d traveled a distance were each shown to one of Cainewood Castle’s hundred chambers. Mary fell asleep on the way up the stairs, and they took her to the nursery and tucked her into one of the small beds that flanked baby Jewel’s cradle.

  “She looks like a princess,” Cameron whispered.

  Clarice went on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you so much for including her in the handfasting. It meant so much to her.” She hesitated a moment, still shy with this man—her new husband. “To both of us.”

  “To all three of us,” he corrected her, bending to kiss Mary’s little forehead.

  Apprehensive of what would come next, Clarice wished it weren’t so short a distance to the Gold Chamber. Once more she was awed by the magnificent room, though Cam didn’t give her much time to admire it, or to fret over the ominous sight of the grand, brocade-hung bed. The door had barely shut behind them when he set down his candle and turned to drag her into his arms.

  His lips on hers felt stunningly soft and tender as ever, but there was a new intensity underneath, a heat that warmed her to very toes. He kissed her mouth, her eyelids, her cheeks, her neck, until she was breathless and tingling and floating somewhere up near heaven.

  “I’ll make you forget them,” he promised when he finally pulled away. “The men who mistreated you.”

  “I’ve forgotten them already,” she whispered dazedly.

  “That’s not yet true,” he said, “but I’ll make it true. You shall feel so safe”—he took her face in his hands—“and so adored”—he placed a slow, sweet kiss on her forehead—“that all the past will simply fade away like a bad dream.”

  When his mouth resettled on hers, she pressed against him with a sudden surge of wanting. Her hands found their way beneath his surcoat, roaming over his back, his chest, his hips, wherever they could reach. Slowly he backed her up, until Clarice felt her legs against the bed—distantly, for all she could attend to was her overpowering need to be close to him, closer. She slipped the surcoat down his shoulders.

  “Clarice…” he groaned, stilling her hands. He raised them to his lips and kissed each of her palms. “I meant it when I said you are enough, aye? You don’t have to do this.”

  She looked to the bed, with its brocade counterpane turned down invitingly, and back to Cam, with his breath coming quick and his eyes full of veiled hope.

  And all her anxiety came flooding back.

  She could refuse, she knew, without fear of punishment. Cameron would never hurt her physically—not on purpose, anyway. But it was his wedding night, and he had already given her so much. Surely she could give him this one small thing?

  Despite her resolve, she couldn’t hide her trembling as she lowered herself to the bed and stretched out on the sheets. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she drew a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s all right,” she forced between gritted teeth. “You can do it now.”

  She waited a few heartbeats, and when he didn’t touch her, she opened her eyes. Cameron stood in the same spot, his surcoat still halfway down his shoulders, his face an inscrutable mask.

  She swallowed hard and frowned at him. “Do you not want to do it?”

  “You bet I do.” His eyes seemed to glitter. “But not like this. Not until you’re ready.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m ready now. Just…just do it.”

  “Nay.” Shaking his head, he finished removing the surcoat and draped it over an elaborately gilded oak chest sitting at the foot of the bed. “We’ll both know when you’re ready. You needn’t announce it. Especially when it’s not true.”

  “Please, Cameron, I’m ready,” she insisted, wanting nothing more than to have this part out of the way. This part wasn’t a fairytale, and she wanted to get back to the fairytale part of her exciting new life.

  Tomorrow she and Mary would pack up their things and say good-bye to Gisela and Anne and all their other friends and neighbors. Then Sunday they’d be on their way to live in a castle…

  “You’re not ready,” Cameron disagreed with staid calmness. His gaze was steady, his voice gentle and husky. “When you look up at me and speak my name with love, not resignation, and when your body trembles all over from longing, not fear…then you will be ready. And we’ll not be doing it until I know you want it just as much as I do.”

  “Oh, Cam.” Her heart ached at the thought of disappointing him. “I thought I’d explained this to you—I thought you understood. I’ll never want it as much as you do. I’ll never want it at all.”

  “Then we won’t do it,” he said simply.

  Her jaw went slack, and a moment passed before her tongue could form any words. “You—you cannot mean that,” she finally stammered.

  “I don’t lie, Clarice.”

  “But never…” It was incomprehensible. “Do you mean to say that if I don’t want it, you will never do it at all?”

  “Aye.”

  She struggled up on her elbows to better see into his eyes. He truly looked sincere. And he’d never given her cause to distrust him. She felt a flood of relief, mixed with wonder and a rush of deep affection. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off one of his shoes. “I don’t think it will come down to never, though,” he said conversationally. “I reckon that not too long from now you’ll be ready.”

  “Maybe,” she said doubtfully, not wanting to argue. “In a few years.”

  “Or perhaps a few days.” His second shoe hit the floor, and he shifted on the bed to look at her as his long fingers went to work on his cravat. “Or hours.�
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  Her elbows slid out from under her, and she lay flat, staring up at him. His eyes darkened. Thinking of the way he talked—when your body trembles all over from longing—made the heat rush to her cheeks and her mouth go dry.

  She licked her lips. No man had ever talked to her like that. In fact, her first husband had never talked in bed at all—he’d either yelled or taken his pleasure in stony silence.

  Cam leaned across her to place the cravat, neatly folded, on the oak chest. When he dipped his head to brush a kiss over her lips, a little whimper rose from her throat. She wasn’t quite sure whether it was a sign of fear or longing.

  “Hush,” he soothed, and sat up. In a businesslike way, he slipped his hands behind her neck and unclasped the pearls. They glistened in the candlelight as he slowly laid them on the chest with a series of soft clicks. “Do you like your wedding present?” he asked.

  “Pardon?”

  He was already removing her shoes. “Your wedding present. The pearls.”

  She gasped, and it wasn’t only because his hands were moving up her stockinged legs. “But…when? How? I thought they were borrowed. It’s too much—”

  “Don’t be silly, Clarice,” he said, plucking off a garter. “Lady Leslie should own a nice set of pearls.” The second garter joined the first on the floor. “Did you know your new cousin Amy is a jeweler?”

  “Amy? Oh, you mean Lady Greystone? Yes. She gave Mary a locket for Christmas.”

  “Well, she asked a mere pittance for those pearls. Having a jeweler in the family proves to be mighty convenient.”

  The thought of lords and ladies as family made her head spin. Or maybe it was his fingers slowly rolling her stockings down and off, making her toes curl and her skin tingle.

  Will had never touched her with his hands, only with his fists.

  Leaning on his forearms, Cam moved over her with a gentle smile. “I promise I won’t do anything you don’t like.”

  He smelled like soap, and he felt warm, and because she believed him, his weight on her was more comforting than frightening. “Anything?”

  “Anything. For now, I’ll just kiss you.” He cradled her cheek with a hand and skimmed his thumb over her lips. “You like kissing, aye?”

  “Aye,” she breathed. “I mean, yes. Kiss me. Please.”

  When his mouth met hers, she let herself slide into the sensation, feeling perfectly safe and content. She trusted him, and he’d said he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t like.

  She definitely liked kissing him.

  She still wondered that a man’s mouth could be so soft. And when it turned firmer, more insistent, she liked that, too. He tasted spicy and sweet, like the wine that had flowed freely at the ball. When at last he lifted his head, she looked into deep, hazel-blue eyes filled with love, and knew their expression mirrored her own.

  “Cam,” she whispered on a tender sigh, and pulled his head back down.

  His lips trailed down to press a soft, shivery kiss in the hollow of her throat. “Do you like this, love?”

  “Mmm, yes.” It was a wonder that a kiss, not even on the mouth, could feel so good. She began to tremble.

  He was making her tremble all over.

  Lud, it was just like he’d said it would be…

  This, Clarice thought later, was more than a fairytale come true. Making love. It was the perfect—the only—way to describe it. In Cam’s arms, her old world had melted away, replaced by a new and wondrous existence brimming with shining promise.

  Across the room, the last candle sputtered and died. Pressed together in the darkness, as close as two people could be, their hearts beat a matching rhythm. She reached for his face and took it between her hands. His cheeks were slightly rough beneath her fingers, just enough to remind her that, incredible though it seemed, this breathtaking man was real, and he was hers.

  And it was glorious.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you for who you are, and who you’ve magically made me to be.”

  “It isn’t magic, love. Or if it is,” he mused, his words warm against her lips, “it’s simply the magic of the two of us together.” He fit his mouth to hers in a long, languorous demonstration.

  “Together,” she whispered back when they finally settled down to sleep. Never had she imagined that word would apply to her and a man. But from this moment forward, it did.

  For a year and a day and forevermore.

  THANK YOU!

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  Next up is Kendra’s story in The Duke’s Reluctant Bride. Please read on for an excerpt.

  If you'd like to learn more about the real people, places, and events in The Laird’s Fairytale Bride, turn the page for Lauren’s Author's Note...

  BONUS MATERIAL

  Author's Note

  Explore the Chase Family World

  Excerpt from The Duke’s Reluctant Bride

  Books by Lauren & Devon Royal

  Contest

  About the Authors

  Contact Information

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Dear Reader,

  Most of the homes in my books are inspired by real places you can visit. Cainewood Castle is loosely modeled on Arundel Castle in West Sussex. It has been home to the Dukes of Norfolk and their family, the Fitzalan Howards, since 1243, save for a short period during the Civil War. Although the family still resides there, portions of their magnificent home are open to visitors and more than worth a detour, should you ever find yourself in the area.

  I hope you enjoyed The Laird’s Fairytale Bride! Next up is Kendra’s story in The Duke’s Reluctant Bride. Please read on for an excerpt as well as more bonus material!

  Always,

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  LAUREN & DEVON’S NEXT BOOK IS…

  The Duke’s Reluctant Bride

  The Chase Brides

  Book Four

  Lady Kendra Chase’s brothers insist it’s high time she wed. But although they've presented her with an abundance of suitable young men, no one has caught her fancy—until her coach is held up by a dashing, mysterious highwayman. When the two of them are caught in a compromising embrace and her overprotective brothers demand they marry, Kendra is aghast. Are they really desperate enough to match her with an outlaw?

  Scottish-born Patrick “Trick” Caldwell is the new Duke of Amberley—and also the so-called Black Highwayman. But he’s about to realize that leading a double life isn’t nearly as complicated as marriage. When he’s compelled to wed beautiful, headstrong Kendra, he finds himself caught between his perilous secret mission and his watchful new bride. Can Trick untangle the web of half-truths and heartache before he loses his one chance at love?

  Read an excerpt…

  Sussex, England

  June 1668

  KENDRA CHASE adored her brothers, except when she wanted to kill them.

  “Jason is right,” Ford told her as they rattled down the road in a shabby public coach. “You’re eighteen years old, and it’s high time you take a husband.”

  “You’re eighteen as well,” she retorted, g
laring at her twin, “but I don’t see you being dangled before every eligible lady in the county.”

  Ford rolled his eyes. “It’s different for men, Kendra, and you know it.”

  She did know it. But she didn’t have to like it.

  “We only wish to see you live a life of comfort,” Jason put in. Crammed onto the bench seat between Kendra and his wife, Caithren, he tried unsuccessfully to stretch his long legs. “Or would you prefer to travel this way all the time?”

  As if to drive home his point, the springless vehicle lurched in and out of a rut, rattling Kendra’s teeth. She gritted them. Though Jason was careful with money, he was, after all, the Marquess of Cainewood, and they did own a much more luxurious carriage. But one of its wheels had broken on their way out of London, and they’d been forced to take public transport—or else risk missing an urgent appointment back home at Cainewood Castle.

  An appointment to introduce Kendra to the latest “suitable” man her brothers planned to foist upon her.

  “Better the public coach than the Duke of Lechmere’s,” she said stubbornly. “I vow and swear, I’ll not become a duchess and be ‘your graced’ for the rest of my life.”

  “And what, pray tell, would be wrong with that?” Jason shook his head. “I’ve never understood what you have against dukes.”

  Kendra turned her glare on her eldest brother. “You may not understand my feelings, but plainly you were aware of them—and yet you approached Lechmere anyhow.” She noticed the other passenger, a stranger dressed in simple clothing, was observing their argument with frank interest. She glared at him, too.

  A noise of agreement rose from Caithren’s corner of the coach. “I told you, Jase, that his grace wouldn’t suit Kendra,” she said in her Scottish brogue.

  “And I told you, Cait, that she’s got no good reason to refuse him.”