’Twas such an unexpected caring, intimate gesture, and for a moment he felt irrefutably bound to her. He strained upward, pouring the last of his seed deep inside her womb, and she gave a soft cry of pleasure.
Joan slumped over him, burying her face between his neck and shoulder. She lay there for a few moments, breathing hard. He ran his fingertips lazily along her spine and over her buttocks, enjoying his soft, female blanket.
After a few moments, Joan raised her head, then grimaced as she pulled herself away, separating their bodies.
Concerned, he asked, “Are ye all right?”
She tilted her chin and favored him with a small grin. “I’m fine. Relieved. ’Twas far less of an ordeal than I feared.”
“Och, words to warm a man’s heart and stroke his manly pride.”
Her body went rigid. “Forgive me.”
“Nay.” He laid a soft kiss on her cheek. “Ye pleased me greatly. I only wish that ye had allowed me to do the same fer ye.”
“’Tis better this way,” she insisted.
“Shall I show ye how wrong ye are to say that, wife?” he quipped.
She paused, letting the night rail she had just grabbed slip through her fingers. “Is that an order?”
“Jesus, ye are my wife, Joan, not my squire.”
Malcolm’s heart ached as he tried to understand the type of marriage she must have had with Archibald and wondered how he could convince her that this time it would be different.
Eyes luminous, she stared back at him. “I am who I am, Malcolm,” she whispered. “Not the woman ye think or wish me to be.”
He gently caught her face between his hands. “Ye are far more than ye believe yerself to be, Joan. I know that in my heart.”
He saw the doubt in her eyes and immediately wanted to ease it, yet held his tongue. ’Twould take time for Joan to change the way she thought of herself, to see herself as he saw her. To trust him enough to allow the passion he believed she held so tightly inside her to flow freely.
Joan rolled to her side and Malcolm followed, pressing himself tightly against her back. Nuzzling his nose against the tender nape of her neck, he inhaled her sweet, clean scent. Joan wiggled, inadvertently brushing her soft, round bottom against his groin.
His body tightened, the flames of desire so recently sated quickly rising again. Of their own accord, his hips thrust forward, poking against her softness. Joan sighed loudly, turned her shoulder, and tilted her head up to meet his eyes.
“Ye promised me sleep.”
“I did.”
“I trust ye, Malcolm. Ye are a man of honor, a man of yer word.”
She spoke with a certainty that momentarily filled him with pride, until he realized it meant he would have to keep his word and allow her to sleep instead of coaxing her into another bout of lovemaking.
“Go on then, close yer eyes and start yer snoring,” he grumbled.
Joan’s triumphant expression fell and a look of horror crossed her face. “Do I truly snore?”
“Aye, like a burly blacksmith.”
“I dinnae,” she cried out.
“Ye do.” He kissed her on the tip of her nose. “And I find that I like it. Very much.”
Chapter Thirteen
Joan woke the next morning alone in the large bed, feeling anything but refreshed. Unused to having such a large male sleeping beside her, she had tossed and turned well into the morning hours, all the while listening to Malcolm’s deep breathing. The sound was a stark, unwelcome reminder of her own inability to slumber, worsening her mood.
Yet it wasn’t only the feel and sound of her bed companion that kept her rest at bay. Her mind was racing with thoughts of Malcolm that continued to plague her, no matter how hard she tried to shut them out. His heady kisses, the touch of his lips and fingers on her body, the feel of him deep inside her.
Joan stretched, groaning at the soreness in her limbs and other places. She had tried to please him, as any good wife should, she was surprised to realize how important that was to her. Yet it paled in comparison to Malcolm’s insistence that the pleasure they found in their marital bed be mutual.
The consummation of their marriage vows had been a contradiction of emotions for her. Malcolm had been patient and gentle and she was grateful for his consideration. But his insistence that she also find the act pleasurable had been puzzling and she truly had no idea why it was so important to him.
Was it a different form of male dominance and control? Was he hoping that her enjoyment of their passion would in turn create a need for him within her that could be used to bend her to his will?
Or was she simply being too suspicious? Malcolm had given her no cause to suspect him of such devious intent. Quite the opposite, in fact. He appeared sincere in his regard for her, honest in his emotions.
Yet her hesitancy persisted. Had her disastrous relationship with Archibald soured her to the extent that she was unfairly ascribing ulterior motives where none existed? Or was she merely determined to never again be held at the mercy of any man who claimed her as his wife? He might have the power to raise her passions, but she had the will to control them—and she was not about to relinquish it.
The intimacy that she had shared with Malcolm had brought forth very unexpected feelings of yearning and need deep within her. Joan didn’t understand these emotions. Didn’t trust them. And therefore wanted no part of them.
Yet her new husband had very different ideas.
Gathering her courage, Joan cautiously peered through the opening in the bed curtains, half expecting to catch a glimpse of a naked Malcolm. But the chamber was empty.
For a wee moment she considered succumbing to the temptation of pulling the covers up to her chin and seeking the sleep she so desperately needed. The bed was warm and cozy, the linen sheets finely woven and smelling pleasantly of rosemary.
But she could hardly spend the day abed, especially if Malcolm was not with her. All would believe her to be a slovenly woman, especially her new in-laws. Above all, Joan was determined to gain their respect.
Joan slid her night rail on before leaving the warmth of the bed and crossing the chamber to gaze out the window. A golden morning light bathed the land. In the distance she could see the glimmers of sunlight breaking through the mist, shimmering on the surface of the loch that sat at the base of the mountains. Surrounded by a tall green forest, it looked peaceful and calm.
There was a chill in the breeze that blew in through the window, but it was a welcoming blast of fresh, crisp air. The bailey was bustling with activity at this late hour of the morning. Wagons of food were arriving for the kitchen, livestock was being moved from the pens to the pastures, a band of carpenters was repairing the walls of two of the outbuildings, their hammers pounding rhythmically.
Joan dragged her hand through the tangles of her hair. She normally braided the long tresses at night, but had left them unbound at Gertrude’s insistence. It took a while to comb through the knots this morning, but the familiar, simple task was soothing work. Gertrude arrived just as Joan finished, the maid’s mouth creased into a smile. She carried a tray with fresh bread, dried fruit, cheese, and ale.
“Goodness, I’m not an invalid,” Joan said, as Gertrude arranged the food on the table. “I can sit in the great hall and break my fast like the rest of the clan.”
“Sir Malcolm ordered this repast fer ye,” Gertrude declared. “He insisted that ye be allowed to sleep late. He also asked to be summoned when you woke, so that he may show ye about the castle.”
“I’ll need to visit the nursery first,” Joan replied, a swirl of pleasure in her chest at her husband’s thoughtful gestures. “I’ll find Malcolm after I’ve seen Callum.”
Joan stepped lightly as she entered the nursery, pleased that she had been able to find her way without asking for assistance. McKenna Castle was exceedingly large; it would take time for her to know her way through its many passages and it felt good to have already mastered one.
Ca
llum ran forward for a hug and Joan swung him into her arms. Lileas hung back and Joan greeted her with a friendly smile. The lass dipped her chin and returned it with a shy grin of her own.
Mistress Innes was helping the children finish their morning meal. She cheerfully offered to find Malcolm’s squire and send the lad to search for him.
Joan was glad to have the time alone with the children. She settled herself between them, but turned at the movement she heard in the doorway, expecting to see Malcolm. Her breath caught and her stomach clenched in fear when she instead beheld a large, ragged animal. It was filthy, covered in gray and white matted fur, with pieces of twigs and leaves clinging to its hide.
Its eyes were close-set and beady, its teeth long, sharp, and lethal. Part dog, part wolf, all danger, its large snout twitched as the beast lifted it in the air, sniffing in their direction.
My God, how did it get in here?
Holding her breath, she prayed that the creature would ignore their presence and move away, but it looked directly at them. Joan never hesitated. She snatched Callum under one arm and thrust Lileas behind her, placing herself between the children and the feral animal. It halted, appearing startled by her actions.
“But that’s . . .”
“Lileas, keep silent,” Joan demanded in a harsh tone, frantically searching for a weapon to defend herself and the children.
The table was filled with dirty bowls, cups, and spoons. In desperation, Joan lifted one of the bowls and hurled it toward the intruder. It crashed at the animal’s feet, splintering into pieces and spraying shards of pottery in its path. The animal yelped and for a moment Joan thought she had succeeded in wounding it, yet saw no sign of blood.
Joan stepped back slowly, taking care to move carefully and keep her balance. If she fell, the beast would be on her in a moment, leaving the children unprotected.
As she drew near it, Joan noticed a small bench. She dropped Callum behind her, lifted the bench with both hands, and held it out in front of her. It was heavy and unwieldy, but the only barrier she could find.
The animal moved to the table. Not taking her eyes off the creature for a moment, Joan balanced the bench awkwardly in one arm and groped her way along the wall. It lifted its large head, sniffed again, and began licking the remnants of food from the bowls.
’Twas the distraction that Joan had hoped for, yet there was no route of escape. If they ran for the doorway, they would pass too close to it. She could feel her breath reduced to quick, short gasps as she realized they were trapped.
Her mind raced with a possible defense and then she heard the merciful sound of booted feet racing up the stairway. Rescue! Yet if it were one of the servants or a young page, he or she would be equally at risk.
“Have a care! We are cornered by a rabid beast. Summon Sir Malcolm at once!”
“Joan?”
“Malcolm, be careful!” Joan shouted.
“Oh, Papa, ye’ve come to save us!” Lileas stepped out from behind her, screwed up her face, then turned accusingly toward Joan. “Ye tried to hit Prince! With my bowl of porridge.”
Prince? Saints above, this foul creature has a name?
Malcolm appeared in the doorway. He issued a stern command and the creature pulled itself away from the dirty bowls and obediently sat. A second command and the animal lay down on its belly.
Arms aching, Joan slowly lowered the bench she had been holding.
“Prince is Lileas’s pet,” Malcolm explained as he came into the nursery. “He would have been here yesterday to greet us, but he disappears from the castle sometimes.”
“To terrorize the villagers?” Joan asked, raising a brow.
“Nay!” Lileas cried. “Everyone loves Prince. No one fears him. Sometimes the blacksmith’s daughter cries when he goes near her, but she’s not a brave lass, so it doesn’t count.”
“Well, it should matter,” Joan snapped, her recent scare shortening her patience. “No child should be frightened inside these walls. What sort of animal is Prince?”
Malcolm’s lips slowly curved. “A dog.”
“Truly?” Joan eyed the beast suspiciously. “Are ye certain he isn’t Cerberus?”
Lileas wrinkled her nose. “Cerb . . . who?”
“Cerberus,” Joan repeated. “Also known as the hound of Hades. He is a monstrous, multiheaded dog who guards the gates of the underworld, preventing the dead from leaving.”
Lileas’s eyes rounded in horror. She flounced past Joan to stand at her father’s side.
“I see that ye are acquainted with the Greek legends,” Malcolm commented as he patted Lileas’s shoulder.
“Only the gory ones, though I suppose they all have a somewhat gruesome ending,” Joan replied.
“I understand yer fright, but I dinnae believe that Prince deserves to be likened to a beast with three heads, a serpent for a tail, and snakes protruding from various parts of his body,” Malcolm said mildly.
Joan blushed. “Perhaps that is too harsh a comparison. But I believe that dogs belong in the kennels, or when the weather is very cold, they may be allowed to stay in a corner of the great hall. Not in the bedchambers or heaven forbid, the kitchens.”
“Prince is Lileas’s special companion,” Malcolm said. “He has far more privileges than the other dogs.”
Joan rolled her eyes. “Naturally.”
Malcolm visibly chafed at her remark. “Prince is not a wild animal. If ye remember the full story, Cerberus was captured and tamed by Heracles.”
“Aye, Heracles mastered him without the use of weapons, using his lion skin as a shield and squeezing the beast around the head until he submitted.” Joan looked again at the dog. “But after accomplishing that great feat, he kept the animal in chains.”
Lileas let out a cry of dismay. “Ye want to put Prince in chains! Nay! Papa, please, ye mustn’t let her.”
“Hush now, Lileas. Joan was merely retelling the legend of Heracles and Cerberus.”
Lileas let out a loud sniffle, then rubbed her nose energetically on her sleeve. “’Tis a horrid, awful, mean tale and I dinnae wish to hear any more of it.”
Joan suffered a small pang of guilt at the child’s obvious distress, but was soon distracted by her son as he toddled curiously near Prince.
“Doggie.” Callum reached out eagerly, his hand dangerously close to the dog’s sharp, angled teeth. “Nice doggie.”
“Callum, nay!” Joan slapped her son’s hand away, fearing Prince might chomp on his fingers.
Callum’s lower lip quivered. Joan bit her own lip, contrition gnawing at her. He was only being curious. And brave. Not many would approach such a large, hairy beast with the hand of friendship.
“Och, what is that awful smell?” Mistress Innes appeared in the chamber, covering her nose with her hand.
Prince’s tail began to thump in greeting and Lileas started giggling. “It’s Prince.” She turned to her father. “He needs a bath.”
“I’ve no time for it now,” Malcolm said. “Prince will have to stay in the barn and ye must promise that ye’ll keep away from him, Lileas.”
“But I’ve missed him so much,” Lileas whined. “It willnae take ye long to get him clean, Papa. Please? Then Callum and I can play with him.”
Joan tilted her head. “Ye are the one who bathes him?”
Malcolm cast her a sheepish glance. “Usually.”
Joan swallowed what she wanted to say, then felt her color starting to rise as she tried not to laugh out loud, picturing her warrior husband bathing the hound. Yet all amusement vanished as she listened to Lileas continuing to plead with her father to bathe the dog.
Joan could tell by Malcolm’s expression that he was weakening. ’Twas no wonder the child was impossible; her demands were seldom refused. Malcolm glanced Joan’s way, his expression conflicted.
Joan’s back stiffened and she folded her arms across her chest. She was not about to release him from his promise to show her about the castle this morning so he cou
ld further indulge his daughter.
“I’ll do it,” Mistress Innes volunteered. “The poor horses willnae be able to endure the stench if Prince is shut inside the stable with them. Come along, children. Ye can help me give Prince his bath.”
“Me too!” Callum said.
“Aye, ye too, laddie. I’ll keep him safe, milady, have no fear.”
Mistress Innes grabbed Prince by the scruff of his neck and pulled him from the chamber. The children followed eagerly behind her. ’Twas on the tip of Joan’s tongue to protest, but she held her words, not wanting to appear mean spirited in light of Mistress Innes’s generosity.
“This was hardly how I imagined I would greet ye this morning,” Malcolm said, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between them.
“I shouldn’t have acted so foolishly over a dog,” Joan replied, a blush of embarrassment forming on her cheeks.
“I understand. Prince can be somewhat terrifying upon first acquaintance.” Malcolm’s gaze traveled from Joan’s head to her boots and back again. “Ye look most fetching this morning.”
Joan momentarily lost her voice. Malcolm’s tone was smooth, his eyes darkening with interest. Joan’s stomach began to tingle and she felt her heart begin to race for an entirely different reason.
He looked especially handsome this morning. His jaw was freshly shaved and the deep blue of his tunic mirrored the blue of his eyes. Was it merely his looks or was it something else that drew her to him?
“Ye promised to show me about the castle,” she blurted out, needing to draw away his scrutiny. “Shouldn’t we get started?”
“Aye, it would be my pleasure. But first, I expect a morning kiss from my bride.”
Anxiety knotted the back of her throat at his predatory smile. His kisses had the power to fluster her senses and cloud her mind and she felt a great need to keep all her wits about her.
However, outward resistance could escalate the simple request into a contest of wills and she did not want to begin the day battling her husband. “Good morning, Malcolm.”
No Other Highlander Page 18