by Deanie Roman
• • •
She mustered what little dignity that remained and ignored his playful look.
“Good morn, husband.”
Startled, he reared back a bit to stare at her as he she had grown an extra ear overnight.
Worried, she scrambled to her knees and surveyed the tidy room in search of danger. Everything seemed in order. The only window was shuttered, the door still bolted. No rodents scurried about the floor and nothing had caught fire. She brought her eyes back to his stunned expression.
“Have you seen a ghost?”
It was the only explanation left. Not that she’d ever encountered one.
Clearly her words jarred him and he came back to himself.
“Aeden?”
He forced a smile. “’Tis naught, lass.”
She scooted over to the edge of the bed, clenched the covers to her breasts and laid a tentative hand on his forearm. A flush of desire washed through her as he eyed her with a cagy expression.
“Please, something is obviously troubling you. We are married now, you may tell me anything.”
Clearly uncomfortable, he fidgeted, and scanned the room as if the answers were carved in the walls. Finally, he settled on her face, and the hard glint of moments ago softened. He plucked at her fingers still holding his forearm.
“You called me, husband.”
“If this bothers you, than I will refrain from using the address.” Her heart sunk at the thought.
“No, don’t do that. Truth told, I like hearing you say it,” he admitted gruffly.
She raised her hand and cupped his unscarred cheek. “That’s good to know, because I like saying it, husband.”
His eyes devoured her and her breath hitched as he bore her backwards to the mattress. A devilish grin transformed his face.
“I know something else you may like … wife.”
Chapter Fifteen
Aeden enjoyed the sight of his wife trailing the damp cloth over her shoulders and the swell of her breasts. He could not fathom why he had been hell bent to avoid an entanglement with her. Fully clothed and ready to begin the day, he had not the slightest inclination to go about his duties. Elisande fascinated him. He could watch her graceful movements all day.
That sudden realization brought him up short. He should have been out the door hours ago, not lingering over his wife like a lovesick boy. If after one evening and a morning buried between her thighs, how in the hell would he act in a month? Staring up at the ceiling, he ran a hand down his bewhiskered jaw. Damn. If he were honest, he would admit the first time he kissed the woman he was enchanted. Unsettled by the revelation, he walked over to her, grabbed her by the shoulders and captured her lips with primal need meant to assert his dominance. Although he caught her unawares, Elisande held nothing back and responded to his possession with sweet surrender. He heard the bucket hit the dirt first followed by the soggy linen. Her obvious enjoyment gentled his mouth. Out of breath, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers.
“Aeden?”
He waved her off, unwilling to voice his thoughts. She caressed a finger down his cheek, and he opened his eyes to her passion-glazed eyes, knowing it mirrored his own. He couldn’t allow her that far into his heart — wouldn’t allow, he qualified. It gave his enemies a bargaining chip. Even as the last sentence formed in his mind, he knew he only deceived himself. He already cared too much for Elisande, and it scared the hell out of him.
“Husband?”
Abruptly, he seized her shoulders, and pulled her flat against his body. Groaning he buried his face in her hair. “Damn you,” he whispered. “Damn you for making me need you like this!”
His mouth came down hard and demanding on hers, his tongue thrust deep. She matched his urgency kiss for kiss, molded her body to his, wanting to quell the unrest within him. With a sob, she trailed hungry, wet kisses from his jaw to his throat and back. She dug her fingers into his plaid, her need every bit desperate as his.
His breathing accelerated, ready to explode from her touch alone. He tumbled them to the bed where they fell to the mattress in a tangle of arms and legs. He stared into her misty eyes drinking in her beauty, and just like that, the savagery of the moment gave way to tenderness. Drawing her close, he opened his mouth over her bared breast sucking hard, his teeth skimming along the nipple before releasing it.
“Do you ken how much I want to brand you so every man will know you are mine?”
In answer she tugged his head down to hers for another searing kiss. She savored the closeness of their bodies, and let go of her inhibitions. Drawing her knees up she made no secret of what she wanted from him. In one swift motion, he drove into her, filling her. Cupping her bottom in his large hands, he plunged deep, encouraging her to take all of him. She came apart in his arms, and the strength of his release warmed her insides. Afterwards, they lay together until sleep claimed him.
A little while later, Elisande watched him sleep, stroked his hair and marveled at the fiercely passionate nature of their union. She never imagined bed play would be so much to her liking. The aggressiveness of the act should repulse her, a gentlewoman, but it had the opposite effect. She reveled in it, as the marriage bed proved to be the one place desire triumphed over dedication to duty, and rigid decorum. Nevertheless, the knowledge he cared for her against his will wounded her. Yet, that he struggled with his feelings provided a slim ray of hope. Over the past eleven days, she learned his accent thickened in times of elevated emotion. Therefore, she took it as a positive sign that he converted to his native tongue when his appetites were aroused. She sighed. Her thoughts jumbled, though she remained absolutely certain of one thing. It would take perseverance, and patience to make Aeden understand that caring for someone wasn’t a burden, but a blessing. Fortunately for her, living behind the walls of Cadby Hall had perfected her determination.
• • •
The farther north they traveled, the colder the air, the more severe his demeanor. He ignored her upon waking and continued in silence throughout the day, beginning with the morning meal. She tried not to be distressed by his indifference, yet the passionate lover of last evening, and the teasing husband of the previous morning had vanished, leaving a steely eyed warrior in his place. He quit their bed at dawn, as if his backside was afire. When she emerged from the cottage, he stalked over to her and settled her atop a Highland gray procured from the village days earlier. Although he wouldn’t address her directly, his eyes consumed her.
Throughout the day, he kept her in his sight. She refused to acknowledge him, pointedly looking away whenever he glanced back at her. Two could play at that game. She stared daggers at his back and decided she would not bother to fall in love with him and amused herself by ticking off a list of reasons why, starting with his arrogant, taciturn nature. However, it backfired as she realized her inconsistent feelings for her husband. He possessed a teasing side that she found pleasing when abed. More than once during their travels he made sure of her comfort. He showed compassion and a keen understanding when he sent Mrs. Kirkwall to her, and the most surprising by far was his tenderness toward her on their wedding night. Still, she would not discount a few of his less than stellar qualities.
Her inner grievances were disrupted when Aeden signaled for her with all the arrogance of their first meeting, and she decided this unlikeable trait held firm at the head of her imaginary list.
Fergal came up on her and slowed his mount alongside hers to escort her to her husband. She inhaled a lungful of clean air and ticked off yet another trait — expecting her to eat trail dust for miles without reprieve. As she passed the rank and file, one glimpse at their serious expressions wiped the petty grievances from her mind. As soon as she rode abreast of Aeden, his men tightened the side and rear gaps to create a protective barrier for her.
“Is danger afoot?” she whispered, unable to keep the concern from her voice.
Her question brought a few startled glances from the men nearest her
and ignited a firestorm of comments.
“Dinna you worry, milady, you’re safe with us,” assured the warrior closest to her.
“Aye, safe as in yer mam’s arms, ye are,” piped up another.
“Does Lady Maxwell believe our chief would leave us open to attack by riding across an open field?” The incredulous question came from Ian, a smirking warrior who had joined their party at the cottage.
“Hold your tongue,” Ronan admonished. “Our lady is unfamiliar with the ways of warring men. She did not mean to insult our chief.”
Taken aback, Elisande skewered Ian with an affronted stare.
“Certainly not.”
Finally Aeden settled her mind.
“We’re safe, wife.”
Relieved, she nodded and applied both hands to the small of her back to stretch out the knotted muscles. Waiting patiently for her husband to speak, she noticed he glanced at her breasts when he thought she wasn’t aware of his eyes on her. The furtive perusal brought a small smile to her lips. So, he wasn’t immune to her charms as he liked to portray. Suddenly, a sharp whistle drew their attention and moments later, the edge of the forest came alive with a dozen men or more clad in green and brown plaids.
Amazed at the spectacle, she trained wide eyes on Aeden. He gifted her with a quick quirk of lips.
“We claim them as allies.”
Still suspicious she asked, “If they are friendly why did they lay in wait?”
He ignored her question saying instead, “When they near us, keep your head bowed, your eyes averted, and say naught.”
“What — why?”
“Just do as I command,” he snapped his attention on the other clan.
“Mayhap I should dismount and kiss the ground at your feet to show my subservience. Would that suit?”
He waited a beat and swung his gaze in her direction. “Your idea has appeal, wife.”
She gathered up her loose reins and urged her mount back a step.
“Of all the indignities I have suffered at your hands, this has to be the most humiliating.”
His expression ended her tirade and he focused on his allies. She reached over and poked his shoulder, he ignored her.
“I want it noted that I am not capitulating to your ridiculous demand — ”
That gained his attention. He spoke hard through clenched teeth, his expression so frosty it could freeze water.
“You dare to call my judgment into question?”
“No.”
Heat flooded her face. She supposed she should just keep her mouth shut and do his bidding since she was uncertain of Scottish customs. She noted one of the men from the other clan making his way over and wondered at Aeden’s desire to disregard the man’s presence. She found it rude. It also made her nervous and decided to give him what he wanted.
“I’m not calling your judgment into question, and yes, I will keep my head lowered. Are you happy now?”
“Aye.”
She wanted to smack him, but bowed her head instead and added another intolerable trait to her mental list — his need to win. While she listened to the men trading words in Gaelic, she noted that Aeden’s men pressed in on her when the allied clan became too curious. At least that’s what she surmised since she kept her eyes riveted to her folded hands. It required all her strength of character not to urge her mount forward and nudge Honeybush’s backside. The notion of dropping her husband to the ground like a sack of dirt, preferably on top his head, pleased her sense of justice immensely.
During the course of the conversation one bold man tried to sidle up, reached out and tried to touch her hair. Swift as a whiplash, Aeden grabbed the man’s wrist and squeezed until he whimpered in pain. His rapid-fire rebuke followed. Unfortunately, her understanding of Gaelic was limited to greetings, gender and days of the week. Throw in the varied dialects of the odd language, she might have been listening to the chittering of squirrels. She figured out the clan name only by Aeden’s address to the Mackenzie’s leader and sensed the man’s keen interest like a physical touch. The longer she was made to sit still and silent, the angrier she became.
How dare Aeden be ashamed of me?
She assumed she would be found lacking in beauty by a Scotsman’s standards, but she was certain she never caused anyone to retch in her presence either. All at once, the Gaelic word for woman was bandied about, and she knew for certain they spoke of her. Curious, she broke her vow of silence and leaned a little to her left.
“What is it they say?” she whispered to Fergal.
Fergal leaned in. “They want to know your name, milady.”
She wanted to ask another question, but Aeden’s words stopped her short. Although she did not understand the word, his tone was clear, and not a tint of pride or satisfaction colored his voice. God’s truth, he might be speaking of the weather, or his horse. No, she corrected, his horse would have commanded a whole sentence at least. Bitter thoughts swam in her brain, and she supposed she should be grateful the man able enough to keep food in his belly when forced in her company. He put an abrupt end to the clan’s curiosity by nudging Honeybush forward to grab the reins of her gray. He urged the horses past the group and they almost clear the men when one of the Mackenzie men asked a question.
“My lady,” his stilted English caught her off guard and she swung around in the saddle to stare at the Mackenzie man.
“By what name are you called?”
The man’s impertinence caused a murmur of disapproval throughout the crowd, and she remembered too late her promise to Aeden. In an attempt to atone the lapse, she made a point to ignore the man’s question, pivoted back around, bowed her head and stared at her hands, but the man persisted.
“Woman, by what name are you known?”
Aeden’s composed expression transformed into one of fury. He skewered the man with a hostile stare and in a voice rife with ferocity proclaimed, “All anyone need know is that the woman is mine!”
Chapter Sixteen
Unprepared for the sight, she gaped as the village unfolded before her eyes. Neatly tended fieldstone cottages, ripe gardens alive with ripened vegetables, and freshly washed clothes pegged out on taut ropes greeted her. Barefoot children and their dogs ran through the streets to avoid the men, while others trailed after the horses. The rhythmic reverberations of the smithy’s hammer resonated all over the bustling village, as merchants hawked their wares.
“My goodness, Aeden, ’tis a flourishing village!” she exclaimed, delighted.
“Did you think we lived in mean little huts with naught save rags on our backs?” he countered.
She laughed a light-hearted lilt that turned heads her way. “If you were privy to the fireside tales told in England, ’twould stand your hair on end.”
He studied her for a moment. “Yet, you willingly left your home to live amongst people you believed to be poor?”
“Any fate proved more palatable than the one my father chose for me.”
“Do you think you might be content, here, with — ” he hesitated, “me?”
It was a serious question, one that deserved a serious answer. She held his guarded gaze, remembering the untamed passion of their lovemaking, and how tender he was afterwards. Whatever lay ahead, she knew she would always have a safe haven within his embrace.
“Yes, Aeden, I believe I shall be content.”
“Elisande — ”
“Riders approach!”
The guard’s voice from atop the barbican hailed their arrival, stopping Aeden short.
Her tension palpable, she held herself rigidly. Suddenly, she wanted Aeden’s arms around her as they entered the lower bailey where hundreds of his people awaited their arrival.
Securing the gray’s reins, he pulled Elisande close until his thigh rubbed against hers. Leaning in he stated, “Remember, you are my Lady, and my people are now your people.”
He watched her with an unmistakable pride in his eyes. She swallowed over the lump that formed in her t
hroat. He was proud to call her wife. With his words reverberating in her head, she straightened her spine, held her head high, and vowed to be worthy of Aeden’s pride and the title he bestowed on her.
Shoving aside her fear, she nodded at the women despite their dour faces, and noticed a few tentative smiles in return. She watched and listened to people greet Aeden — not surprised by the esteem in which they held him.
Their party entered the main courtyard and a stable hand appeared by her side to help her dismount. She would have liked to find her aunt right away except Aeden seemed in deep discussion with a dark-eyed man called Ioan.
The onlooker’s curiosity was palpable, however, for the time being, her presence was neither explained, nor ignored. She began to wonder if he had forgotten about her. Another thought had her wondering if he planned to ignore her again, as he had on the journey here.
Disheartened by her morose imaginings she started to put some space between them, when his hand caught her waist and drew her in close. Without words, he staked his claim, hereby ending any speculation to which man she belonged.
Caught up in the happenings around her, she paid little heed to the topic at hand until one of the men mentioned Addis. Before she learned anything of significance, Aeden cut Ioan short with a quick shake of his head.
She might have questioned Aeden until the woman emerging from the keep doors caught her attention. The sun in her eyes obscured her to a degree.
“Elisande?”
Overjoyed, she wriggled free of Aeden’s loose grasp and started toward Onora’s voice.
“I wouldn’t mind being the one to catch her,” Ioan mused loud enough for her to hear. Yet it was Aeden’s comment that warmed her heart.
“She’s already caught.”
• • •
Elisande could scarce believe the woman before her, hair unbound, and wrapped in a faded plaid was her once painfully prim, and fashionably turned out aunt. Never a hair out of place, let alone a wrinkle in her skirt. The transformation was a bit difficult to reconcile.