He nodded, indicating it was her turn. Joan’s pulse steadied. He had kept his word to treat her as an equal, giving her the opportunity to repeat exactly the same vow.
“In the name of God, I, Joan, take you, Malcolm to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish, to honor and to guard, forsaking all others until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”
James handed the ring to the priest. After he blessed it, Father John placed it in Malcolm’s outstretched palm. Smiling, Malcolm slid the solid gold band onto the fourth finger of Joan’s left hand, where the vein went directly to her heart. The ring felt cold and heavy, yet oddly comforting, too.
“She dinnae say the proper vows,” Agnes protested. “Are ye certain they are truly married?”
“Aye, they are indeed husband and wife,” the McKenna insisted. “All they need now is the priest’s final blessing.”
Father John blustered for a moment, and Joan thought he might protest. Yet under the McKenna’s withering glare the priest recited the traditional prayers as she and Malcolm knelt at the altar.
And then it was over. Joan held tightly to Malcolm’s arm as she stood, hardly believing she was once again a wife.
“Aren’t ye going to kiss her, Malcolm?” the McKenna bellowed.
There was a rumbling of nervous laughter at the question. ’Twas not the usual practice, but Joan knew that some considered kissing a legal bond that sealed all contracts, while others believed it was the best way to ward off evil spirits. For Joan, it seemed the most basic way for a man to assert his dominance over his newly wedded wife.
“Joan?”
Everyone was staring and she felt a rush of blood warm her cheeks. She shivered, remembering the strength of his arms, the rough scrape of his beard, the gentle caress of his lips, and realized she was not opposed to experiencing it again.
But in front of an audience?
She nodded, fully intending to accept the kiss with open eyes and closed lips. Malcolm reacted by slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her against his chest. Her heart started pounding as he lowered his head.
Joan’s eyes closed as their lips brushed. She held herself stiffly at first, but then seemingly of their own accord, her lips softened, her body yielded, and she succumbed to his embrace. Malcolm slanted his mouth across hers and she felt herself lean into him, her breasts pressing against his chest.
The McKenna hooted in delight and Malcolm reluctantly ended the kiss. For a moment Joan couldn’t catch her breath, nor slow the hammering of her heart. Malcolm smiled and ran the edge of his thumb across her cheek. Then he winked.
Saints alive! The gesture felt nearly as intimate as his kiss. Flustered, Joan looked down at her bouquet of flowers, busying herself by stroking the soft petals.
Arm in arm they left the chapel and found the MacPhearsons clustered outside. The laird and his daughters stood on the steps while most of their soldiers were loitering near the horses, waiting for the signal to leave.
Callum was there, holding tightly to Brienne’s hand. He broke free the moment he spied her, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Joan scooped him up in her arms and held him close, then reluctantly passed him over to Gertrude when the MacPhearson sisters came forward to offer their congratulations.
“We’ve many miles to cross to reach home. Are ye ready to depart, Joan?” Malcolm asked, scrutinizing the sky. The rain had ceased, but dark clouds remained on the horizon, an ever present threat.
“Gertrude and I packed last night.” A twinge of shame stabbed at her pride and Joan lowered her eyes. “I shan’t be bringing much.”
“Good. It will make traveling easier.” Malcolm continued to gaze upward. “The wind is fierce, the sky ominous. Be sure to dress warmly. We’ll probably spend the better part of the day trying to stay ahead of the storm.”
It took less than an hour for Joan and Gertrude to be seated on their mounts mingling with the rest of the McKenna party. Most brides traveled to their new homes with laden carts, but since Joan had none, ’twas decided that all would ride, including the women and children.
Brienne appeared excited at the prospect of the journey, though there were traces of the tears that she had shed earlier when bidding farewell to her sisters and father. In contrast, Joan’s eyes were bone dry; Laird Armstrong had been brief and distracted when Joan said her good-byes and was already inside the great hall, breaking his fast.
The chains rattled noisily as the heavy iron portcullis was lifted. With the McKenna in the lead, the clan contingent passed beneath them, two abreast. Malcolm rode at Joan’s side, with Callum seated securely in front of him. The lad was quiet and still for once, equally fascinated by the large horse he sat upon and the man who held him so protectively.
Somehow, they managed to avoid the worst of the rain, a miracle considering how often they stopped to allow the women a chance to stretch their legs and answer the call of nature. They made camp before nightfall in a sheltered valley, with a broad stream running beside them. A few of the men tried their hand at fishing and the fruits of their labor were being cooked over the fire.
Joan sat on a log near the blaze, with Callum on her lap and Gertrude and Brienne on either side of her. The latter held her sleeping babe in her arms, patiently allowing Callum to lean close and touch the babe’s foot.
“He’s going to wake that infant,” Malcolm cautioned as he came to stand near them.
“Aye,” Joan agreed. “Callum’s full of mischief after spending the better part of the day sleeping in the saddle.”
“He needs to run,” Malcolm decided, motioning toward his men. Two of them obediently appeared at his side. “Take young Callum down to the riverbed. I’m sure there are many rocks he’d enjoy tossing in the water.”
Joan stiffened. “I will see to my son’s welfare.”
“Our son,” Malcolm corrected.
Joan looked at him in surprise. While pleased to have Callum so easily accepted, she balked at the notion of having someone else decide what was best for her child.
“Callum has a great fascination with water,” she warned.
Malcolm nodded. “Guard the lad closely and have a care that he doesn’t get wet,” he instructed his men.
“I should like to go, too,” Brienne announced, following after the trio.
“And me,” Gertrude added, taking her place beside Brienne.
“Was it something I said?” Malcolm wrinkled his nose and sniffed his tunic. “Or do I need a bath?”
“Nay.” Joan smiled. “They all have the misguided notion that the newly wed bride and groom wish to be alone.”
“Aye. Women are ever the romantics.”
She gazed at him, then bowed her head. “Not all women.”
Malcolm reached for her hand and kissed the back of it. “Then it falls to me to be the gallant swain. Shall I recite a poem to yer beauty, praise yer talents, and extol yer numerous virtues?”
“Will it impress me?”
“Alas, I fear not. I’m a dreadful poet.”
“And I have few virtues to extol,” she added.
“Och, we are the perfect couple, lass. Let us toast to it.”
Joan accepted the cup Malcolm offered, gasping as the fiery whiskey went down her throat.
“I thought it was wine,” she choked.
“Ye looked as though ye could tolerate something stronger,” Malcolm explained as he refilled her cup.
Joan wasn’t certain what to make of that remark. She nearly handed the drink back to him, but the warm glow spreading through her empty stomach was pleasant and relaxing. Perhaps Malcolm was right. She took another few sips and realized the cup was empty.
She turned her head, almost screeching when she saw that Malcolm was closely watching her. His expression was intense, his eyes darkening with purpose. Something fluttered inside her at that look and she felt an odd anticipation sizzle in the air between them.
’Twas almost as though something was pulling her to him. Joan had the most absurd notion to tip her chin toward his lips, wondering if he would kiss her.
A burst of male laughter on the other side of the camp broke the spell. It must be the whiskey, she decided before recklessly holding out her cup and asking, “Is there any more?”
He gave her a strange look, then filled her vessel.
Joan lowered her eyelids slowly and sipped her whiskey. It went down smoother now, with but a hint of burn. She finished it just as Gertrude, Brienne, and the children returned.
At Malcolm’s urging, they all sat together in front of the large fire, partaking of the freshly cooked fish, brown crusty bread, and hard cheese. The mood was cheerful, the presence of the wee ones bringing smiles to even the most hardened of Highland warriors.
Though the food smelled tantalizing, Joan barely ate. Instead, she dangled her empty cup in her hand while staring at her food. Callum sat happily between her and Malcolm, chewing his meal with gusto. His appetite impressed the men, who encouraged him to put as much food into his small mouth as possible. They made a game of it with him, and while Joan supposed she ought to correct his horrendous table manners, she could not scold the lad when he was having so much fun.
The moon rose in the clearing sky, its silvery beams illuminating the campsite. Joan listened to the hoot of an owl and realized the hour had grown late. She cuddled Callum in her lap, wishing she could sleep beside him. But that was impossible—she had a husband now.
“’Tis time fer bed,” Malcolm announced. “We’ve no tents, but my men have hung some blankets from the lower branches of several trees to afford us some privacy.”
Joan’s face heated as every detail of being bedded by Archibald came flooding back to her. His wet kisses, groping hands, brutish possession of her body. ’Twas hardly an experience she was eager to repeat. The memories were disturbing, and though she tried, impossible to put from her mind.
“Good night, my brave little warrior,” she whispered, hugging Callum tightly.
He snuggled against her, his eyes already half closed. Gertrude reached for him, but Malcolm was there first.
“He’s too heavy a lad fer ye to carry,” he said, picking the child up and handing him off to James.
Joan sat for a moment longer watching James carry her dear lad to a cozy spot near a group of warriors. Gertrude followed dutifully behind, settling Callum on his pallet, then placed herself protectively beside him.
Joan rose from the log, head held high, the skirts of her gown and cloak rustling around her. She walked ahead of Malcolm, having no difficulty locating the bridal bower he had described. She halted suddenly at the entrance and he bumped into her.
Joan jumped, her skin burning at the feel of his warm body. Instinct warned her to pull away and she reacted, stumbling. Malcolm caught her before she hit the ground, his strong arms enfolding her, his breath hot against her neck. “Are ye hurt?”
“Nay, I . . . please.” Joan’s heart thudded wildly in her chest. She shouldn’t have drunk so much and eaten so little. Her head was spinning, her mind wrestling with warring thoughts.
’Tis Malcolm, she kept repeating silently to herself. He will not harm me. But the words could not penetrate her fear. She continued to struggle in the hope of freeing herself, her terror rising when he did not relinquish his hold.
Joan lifted her chin to hide her panic. “I give ye fair warning. If ye ever beat me, Malcolm McKenna, I’ll thrust a dirk between yer ribs the moment ye fall asleep.”
He cocked a brow. “Sounds pleasant.”
She slumped forward, the fight leaving her as quickly as it flared. “God forgive me. I am a sorrowful excuse fer a wife. I honestly dinnae understand why ye married me.”
“A fair question, but one that is best answered after a restful night. Lay down, Joan. Things will seem far better in the morning.”
“I’m not tired,” she said peevishly.
“Well, I am.”
Joan regarded him uncertainly in the moonlight. The tension between them grew and she could feel her heart starting to pound. “Which side should I take?”
“The left. My men will stand guard throughout the night, but I always keep my sword near my right hand, just in case.” He placed his hands on his hips and sighed softly. “Ye need not look so afeared, Joan. I’ll not ravage ye the moment ye lay down.”
The stiffness in her mouth eased. “Ye are most considerate, husband.”
“Aye, that I am. I’ll be sure to wait a good ten minutes before I pounce.”
Joan burst into nervous giggles. Was this how it could be in a marriage? Lighthearted teasing and smiles, instead of feelings of being powerless and out of control?
Slightly more at ease, she settled herself among the blankets. Malcolm joined her, lying back on his elbows, with his legs crossed at the ankles. Cocking his head, he favored her with a charming grin. “Go on, have yer wicked way with me, lass.”
“I’d rather not,” she whispered, almost with regret.
“Then we’ll wait.”
He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. Tensing, Joan held her breath. His mouth was warm and firm, yet true to his word, Malcolm moved away from her.
Her flesh tingled where his lips had touched. Joan brought her fingertips to her face and gently traced her mouth. The kiss had been affectionate and chaste—so why did she feel a flash of heat when their lips met?
Joan turned on her side, presenting him with her back. It felt rude somehow and she fretted as she lay there worrying that the gesture might have insulted him. Frowning, she stared into the darkness, trying to decide what to do. Her ears strained to hear any movement from him and then she realized the soft sounds of his even breath meant that he had fallen asleep.
Though they barely touched, she could feel his solid strength next to her and it brought her a sense of security that she had never known before. Malcolm would not hurt her; nay, he would protect her. Comforted by that thought, Joan closed her eyes and allowed herself to slowly drift off to sleep.
* * *
As the dawn broke, Malcolm awoke to the sight of Joan’s lovely face lying beside him. Even in slumber it was perfection, the features delicate and feminine, the complexion unblemished and creamy white. Her head was on a small pillow one of his men had been able to find; her chin tilted upward as though begging for a kiss.
She had not removed her gown, but unlaced the bodice to allow herself more comfort while she slept. It hung loosely over the top half of her body, giving him a clear view of her breasts. They were perfection and Malcolm’s body tightened with need at the appealing sight.
Though he longed to cup that round, ripe flesh, he instead traced her jawline with the tip of his finger. She stirred, yet didn’t wake, her arms reaching instinctively to cradle the child that snuggled between them.
Aye, on top of spending his wedding night like a chaste monk, he now shared his bridal bed with her restless son. God help him if his brother ever discovered it. James would no doubt delight in teasing him about it for months.
Callum had woken in the night, crying for his mother. Joan had tossed at the sound of his whimpers, but exhaustion had put her in a deep, restful sleep. Malcolm had heard Gertrude trying to soothe the lad, but he wailed harder.
Knowing the easiest way to calm the lad was to bring him to his mother, Malcolm had retrieved the child. A frazzled looking Gertrude had been grateful for the assistance, surrendering Callum without question, though first warning the lad would need to empty his bladder.
That task completed, Malcolm had returned to a still-sleeping Joan. Once snuggled contently against his mother, Callum had smiled so sweetly Malcolm’s heart had stirred.
He wondered briefly where the lad had inherited such a sunny disposition. Certainly not from either of his parents.
Malcolm debated rising when he suddenly felt Joan shift. She awoke with a start, her eyes bursting open wide, her nostrils flaring in confusio
n. ’Twas clear that she knew not where she was—but then her eyes met his and her shoulders relaxed. The gesture of trust warmed Malcolm’s heart.
“Good morning, wife.”
“Husband.”
Her voice was husky with sleep, the sultry tone causing the throbbing between Malcolm’s legs to twitch hopefully. He groaned and thrust his lust aside, knowing there was to be no relief this morning.
’Twas true that some men would not deny themselves in this situation and Malcolm almost regretted not being one of them. It would be so easy to push young Callum aside, roll Joan onto her back and bury his aching cock deeply in the sweet warmth between her thighs.
“Mama!”
Joan blinked away the glaze of sleep in her eyes and looked down in genuine surprise at her son. “Callum! How did ye get here?”
“He cried fer ye during the night,” Malcolm explained. “I decided the easiest way to make him content was to bring him to ye.”
“Ye dinnae mind?” she asked incredulously.
“Nay. Callum is a calm sleeper. Unlike his restless mother. My back is sore from all yer kicking. The lad saved me from further pain by lying between us.”
Joan blinked, then met his gaze. “He might have wet the blankets,” she added, clearly still trying to comprehend the situation.
“Fortunately, Gertrude warned me of that possibility, so I took the necessary steps to avoid an accident.” Malcolm reached out and ruffled Callum’s hair. The child giggled and rolled against him like a playful puppy.
Malcolm immediately began to tickle him. Callum shrieked loudly, his laughter so infectious that Malcolm found himself chuckling, too. So, amazingly, did Joan.
“What sort of mischief are ye getting yerself into, young master?” Gertrude called out.
Callum instantly stilled, jumping to his feet. “Baby?” he asked eagerly as Gertrude approached.
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