Joan took a small sip of wine. “’Tis highly unusual, but I am quickly learning that the McKennas do things their own way.”
“’Tis what makes us all so charming—and strong.” Malcolm smiled, then grimaced. “Och, they’re calling fer the bride to sing.”
Joan felt a rush of nerves, but true to his word, Malcolm brought Katherine to sit beside her. The musician began to strum his lyre and the crowd quieted. Joan cleared her throat and warbled a few notes and then Katherine’s lovely voice joined hers.
The haunting ballad filled the great hall, rippling through the rafters in a gentle wave. Their joined voices created a unique, harmonious sound, beautiful and moving. As the final note faded away there was utter silence, and then the chamber erupted in cheers and applause.
They clamored for more and Joan and Katherine obliged with three more songs, their voices ringing out together pure and clear. Her throat parched, Joan drank several large sips of wine, surprised to see how late the hour had grown.
“I’m certain that he is asleep, but I should like to check on Callum before I retire,” she said.
“Of course ye must see to Callum.” Malcolm seized her hand and brought it to his lips. In a courtly gesture, he grazed a light kiss across her knuckles. “I shall join ye shortly in our chamber.”
A red-cheeked squire escorted Joan to the nursery, eager to return to the festivities once she dismissed him. Joan entered the chamber quietly, surprised to discover that Callum was awake. He was seated at a child-sized table, a nearly empty bowl of porridge in front of him.
His precious face brightened with a smile when he saw her. Joan embraced him eagerly, holding him close even as he continued eating his food.
“Milady, good evening.” A round, gray-haired woman with a kind smile bustled over. “I am Mistress Innes, the nursemaid. Master Callum awoke a few hours ago. He said that he was hungry and that he wanted porridge.”
“’Twas kind of Cook to go to the trouble of preparing it fer him,” Joan said, amazed that in the midst of serving such an elaborate feast the time was taken to grant Callum’s request. “I must make certain to thank him in the morning.”
“Her,” Mistress Innes corrected. “Mary is the castle cook and a fine job she does of it, if ye dinnae mind me saying.”
“She is skilled,” Joan agreed. “This evening’s meal was a veritable feast. Did ye have a chance to partake?”
“I did, thank ye fer asking. They brought up a tray with more food than I could eat, yet I finished every bite.”
Mistress Innes’s round face jiggled when she laughed and Joan decided she liked this woman.
“Have ye eaten all yer porridge?” Joan asked, bending low to kiss her son. He smiled and nodded. “Then it’s time to sleep.”
Joan helped Callum climb into bed, then pulled the blankets around him. Leaning forward, she dropped a kiss on his cheek. She began to hum one of his favorite songs and his eyelids soon closed. Reaching out, Joan stroked his hand until his breaths were steady and even, his slumber deep.
“My bed is right there,” Mistress Innes said, pointing to the corner. “I’ll watch over him.”
“Thank ye. But if there is a need, ye must send fer me,” Joan instructed.
Following the nursemaid’s directions, Joan was able to find her way back to the chamber she now shared with Malcolm. Thankfully, ’twas dim and quiet when she entered. As this was not officially her wedding night, they had been spared the traditional songs and crude jokes that most couples endured when they were brought to the marriage bed, an event she suspected the clan would have delighted in providing.
Gertrude arrived. Sensing her pensive mood, the maid remained quiet as she unbound Joan’s intricate braid. Having her hair brushed always managed to soothe her and Joan made no protest when Gertrude continued gliding the comb through her golden tresses long after they were untangled.
“The hour grows late, milady.”
The gentle sound of Gertrude’s voice brought Joan out of her stupor. “Yet the celebration continues. I can still hear the music from the great hall.”
“It willnae be long before Sir Malcolm arrives.” The maid’s words sent a cold wave down Joan’s spine. “Shall I stay with ye until then?”
Joan patted her maid’s hand reassuringly. “Nay. Ye should leave.”
The reluctance to follow that order was clearly reflected in Gertrude’s expression, but she did as she was bade. Joan’s chair scraped against the wooden floorboards as she dragged it closer to the fireplace. She sat in front of the hearth for a long time, staring into the dying flames. Every now and again she would take a sip from the goblet of wine she held, determined to keep her wits, no matter how frayed her nerves.
There was, of course, no true cause for such feelings of panic. She was hardly a virgin, knew precisely what happened when a husband crawled into bed with his wife. It was never particularly pleasant, even when she wasn’t being abused by Archibald’s tongue or fists, but she would manage.
Manage. Such was the lot of womankind.
Unexpectedly, a vision of Lady Aileen and the McKenna rose in Joan’s mind. Clearly, those two did far more than manage, even after all these years. She couldn’t account for it, but it made her wonder.
Malcolm was a very different sort of man than Archibald. His manner, his temperament, aye, even his kisses. Would lying with him be very different? Though a true Highland warrior who knew much of fighting and killing, there was a softer side to Malcolm.
Well, not exactly softer—kinder. Fair. Honorable. She had seen the affection he held for his parents and siblings, the unmistakable love and devotion he carried for his daughter. Was it possible that he one day might feel the same about her?
Was that something that she even wanted? Could she someday lay claim to Malcolm’s heart? And what if by some miracle that happened? Those who loved expected it to be returned.
Could she allow herself to love him? Did she even know how? Ripples of unease traveled through her. ’Twas the question that frightened her the most. Her cousin Davina said that love was more than momentary desire and passion. It required respect, fondness, and affection.
And trust. Dinnae forget trust. Fer me, that is above all the hardest thing to give anyone, especially a man.
Joan shook her head vigorously. She must not think about these things right now. It clouded her already confused mind and heightened her nerves. She finished her wine, rose from the chair, and began restlessly wandering about the room. It seemed so odd seeing her things neatly placed within the chamber. They looked foreign and strange among Malcolm’s manly possessions.
She blew away a wisp of hair that had fallen over her eyes, then picked up her comb. Though Gertrude had just finished brushing her hair, Joan needed the comfort it brought, so she began combing it again. It worked for a few minutes, but at the sound of approaching footsteps, her hands stiffened and the comb clattered to the floor.
Malcolm entered the chamber without knocking, his presence seeming to invade the space. “Has Gertrude left?”
“Aye.” Joan cleared her throat, appalled at the squeak she heard in her own voice. “Will yer squire be in soon to assist ye?”
Malcolm leaned against the closed door, folding his arms across his chest. “Nay. I wear no battle gear and require no help in removing my clothing. Unless ye’d like to volunteer?”
“Ye just said that ye dinnae require assistance,” she replied, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt.
He reached down to remove his tunic. Nervously, Joan moved to gaze out the largest window. She could see bursts of stars twinkling brightly in the cloudless sky. How ironic that it was not until their journey’s end that the weather cleared. She turned to share the joke with Malcolm but the words melted on her tongue when she saw him.
He had stripped down, and was clad in only a long white linen shirt and braies. The strings on the shirt were open, and she could see the swirls of dark hair curling on his chest. It c
ontinued down over the flat, muscular line of his stomach, vanishing into the materials of his braies.
Joan’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He was a very attractive man. Perhaps that would make sharing his bed easier? She moistened her lips, her heart nearly leaping from her chest as she tried to imagine it.
“How’s Callum?” Malcolm asked. “Was he asleep when ye went into the nursery?”
The deep baritone of Malcolm’s voice made Joan shiver, but thoughts of her son pushed away her nerves. “Callum was stuffing his face with a bowl of porridge when I arrived, but took to his bed with no protest. Even after his earlier nap, he was tired.”
“No doubt. It was a long journey.”
“Mistress Innes seems a most kind and efficient woman,” Joan offered.
“Aye, she has a good heart and a wealth of knowledge on the care of children.”
Yet despite all her knowledge and experience she is unable to control Lileas. The thought came unbidden, but Joan held her tongue. Now was not the time to discuss Malcolm’s unruly daughter.
He poured a goblet of wine for himself, then refilled hers and handed it to her. Once she was holding it, Malcolm pointedly raised his vessel. She did the same. He clinked his goblet against hers, then drank. She took a very small sip, since she had already drained one full glass before he arrived, in addition to the wine she had drunk at the evening meal.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over his knee. He leveled his gaze at her, his shadowed face filled with expectation. He grinned and Joan felt the breath catch in her throat. There was a hint of a dimple in the corner of his mouth she had never noticed.
Saints above, he is a handsome devil.
Joan glanced into her goblet, not liking the wide-eyed, uncertain woman she saw reflected on the shimmering surface. She raised her eyes and nearly gasped when she met Malcolm’s dark, penetrating stare.
“Tell me, wife, are ye ready fer bed?”
* * *
Joan’s eyes widened in shock and Malcolm cursed himself for being an overeager fool. She had made no secret of her distaste for the marriage bed. He needed to tread slowly, carefully, or else he’d ruin what he hoped would be a night of mutual passion.
“I am prepared to do my duty, Malcolm.”
Her words were like a dose of cold water, yet astonishingly his ardor had not cooled. He had been grappling to control himself ever since he had entered their bedchamber earlier in the evening to bring her down for the evening meal.
Malcolm took Joan’s hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed the top of her wrist, then turned it and gently caressed her palm. Her breath hitched. He moved his mouth higher, tracing the soft inner skin, and felt the rapid fluttering of her pulse.
Desire or fear? Impossible to tell, yet if he could hazard a guess, he suspected fear.
“I willnae bite,” he murmured. “Well, only in a playful, pleasurable way. I promise.”
He had hoped for an answering smile, but Joan’s eyes were cool and watchful. So much for his irresistible manly charms.
“I’ve slept beside ye fer six long nights,” he said. “There’s no cause to fear me.”
“Sleep?” She sniffed inelegantly. “Is that what we shall do when we are in that vast bed tonight, husband?”
Damnation! His new wife had an uncanny ability to take everything he said literally when it suited her. “Aye, we shall slumber in that bed. Eventually.”
He cupped her cheek, then rubbed her lips gently with his thumb, hoping she’d be bold and grasp his finger with her teeth. She didn’t. But she didn’t turn away either.
Emboldened, Malcolm gallantly swept her into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her down. She attempted to crawl away to the far side, but Malcolm locked his arm around her small waist to prevent it.
His body was already hard. All it had taken was the sight of her in her sheer night rail and the memory of the few kisses he had shared with her to bring his desire to a nearly fevered pitch. But he would control it—somehow.
Malcolm turned so that they lay side by side, facing each other. He pulled her close and kissed her deeply, feeling her shiver when he claimed her lips. She pressed a shaking hand against his chest and he was uncertain if she meant to draw him close or push him away.
That worried him. He was not a man interested in a conquest. ’Twould be impossible for him to take from her what she did not give freely with at least some degree of passion. He wanted to convey that to her somehow, yet feared if given the choice, Joan would avoid his bed indefinitely.
Starting over, he lowered his head and nuzzled the delicate spot beneath her ear. She smelled delicious, more intoxicating and heady than the finest whiskey. He kissed her again, forcing himself to go slowly, allowing her to become accustomed to the feel and taste of him.
She met him haltingly and he felt his excitement flare. As gently as his fingers allowed, he pushed the fabric off her shoulder, exposing her breasts. Reverently, Malcolm cupped one luscious mound in his hand. She let out a throaty cry when he rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger, yet she didn’t pull away.
Encouraged, Malcolm dipped his head, grazing his teeth sensually across the stiffening peak. Her breath hitched and he ravaged her with kisses, stimulating her with his mouth and tongue. He worked the garment off her other shoulder and down her body.
Her flesh was flawless; the feel of her skin was soft as silk. Impatiently, he tore off his shirt and braies, moaning with delight at the feel of flesh against flesh.
Continuing his seduction, Malcolm worked his hand over her stomach and down between her thighs. She flinched when he touched her. “Relax,” he whispered. “Let me bring ye pleasure. I know that I can. I heard it starting in yer voice.”
Her face grew red. “Malcolm, please.”
He held back a sigh. He wanted her to feel desire, but he wanted more. He wanted to comfort her, make her feel safe and cherished, yet she continued to resist.
“Joan, ye are my woman, my wife. Ye need to trust that I willnae hurt ye.”
“I’m trying. Truly.”
He started again. This time he captured her lower lip with his teeth, biting her gently as he had promised. He continued to tease her mouth until she moved close enough to graze her breasts against his chest. Encouraged, his mouth sought hers in a hungry kiss, twining his tongue around hers until he heard soft moans coming from the back of her throat.
Yet they sounded oddly forced.
He lifted his head. “What are ye doing?”
Her throat moved visibly as she swallowed. “Kissing ye?”
“The noise, Joan.”
“Ye said that ye wanted to hear my pleasure. But if ye’d rather I stay silent, then I shall.”
With a groan, Malcolm rolled onto his back. Disappointment mingled with frustration. This was not going at all as he had hoped. He knew that some women enjoyed playing a game of refusal before surrendering, but this was different. “I want ye to do it because it makes ye feel good. Not because ye think it’s what I want to hear.”
She stayed silent and he could hear her breath coming in a long, deep rhythm. “Do ye desire me, Malcolm?”
“Och, Joan, I should think that is rather obvious.” He cupped her chin and turned it toward him. Her eyes glittered in the candlelight, filled with emotions he could not fully decipher, but at least he saw no fear or revulsion.
“Will ye . . .” She hesitated, biting her lower lip.
“Tell me,” he coaxed. “I want us to find pleasure together.”
“Will ye indulge me?” she whispered.
“By leaving ye alone and sleeping on the floor?” he asked jokingly, half fearing that would be her request.
“Nay. By not asking fer the impossible tonight. I believe that I can bring ye pleasure, if ye let me.” Her thigh pressed into his as she moved closer.
“Joan, I’m not sure. . . .”
Her lips brushed his cheek, her warm breath fluttering on his skin. Then she angled he
r head and flicked her tongue across his ear.
His cock jumped and he nearly shot off the bed. Before he could catch his breath, Joan rolled herself on top of him. Her gaze locked with his as she settled herself between his thighs. Lacing her fingers through his, she stretched his arms over his head.
His interest was immediately captured by the sight of her breast, hanging low and heavy and oh, so close to his lips. Taking full advantage of this position, Malcolm lifted his head. His tongue darted out and first he licked, then he suckled the pink nipple.
Joan gripped his shoulders, her nails digging deep. Slowly, she eased herself down on his erect shaft. He could feel her body stretching, opening itself to him, accepting his length until he was buried deep inside her. She was tight, but wet. At least he had managed to do that for her.
Malcolm gave a ragged sigh, sliding his hands up to explore her body. Her narrow waist, soft hips, firm buttocks. Her skin was flawless, without a single blemish or mark. He let his eyes feast on that glorious sight before trailing his hands down her body. He brushed his fingers lightly against the back of her knees and heard her breath catch.
Malcolm froze. Had he finally found a magical spot? He caressed her again. She bowed into him, moving her hips tentatively. He could feel his penis swelling within her. Moaning, he thrust upward, pushing himself deeper.
“Do ye like it? Does it feel good?” he asked, unable to find the passion he felt reflected in her eyes.
Almost as if reading his thoughts, she closed her eyes. Tightening her knees against his side, she pulled herself up, then plunged back down, finding a rhythm that drove him mad with excitement. He could feel the smooth softness of her legs as they brushed against his, almost tickling the hair on his thighs. It drove him wild.
Joan twisted against him, and he groaned in pleasure. The heat was rising in his body, the pressure building. He tried to fit his hand between their bodies to stimulate her, but she denied him, thrusting her hips forward.
Suddenly, she reached down and pinched his nipple. Hard. ’Twas too much. With a shout, his body erupted, shuddering violently as his climax surged and pulsed through him. The pleasure was nearly blinding. Heaving in great gasps, Malcolm was amazed to feel Joan’s arms tighten around his shoulders.
No Other Highlander Page 17