by Diana Cosby
Gray eyes darkened.
Aiden smothered the urge to assure her they’d flourish beneath the Bruce’s reign. Until the clans united beneath his sovereign, naught would exist but war.
“I fear for my liege lord as well,” she said. “Instead of the English joining with him, his forces will be gutted by those to whom he has foolishly given his trust.” Her eyes widened. “Mary’s will, what if Lord Comyn is killed during the attack?”
“Gwendolyn,” Aiden said softly, “there is nay more we can do this night. On the morrow, and with us both rested, we will decide our next move.”
Tired lines creased her brow as she set her goblet aside. “You are right.” She crossed the chamber, leaned against the timeworn stone and stared out. “What if after everything we canna reclaim my home, and”—tears pooled beneath her lashes—“I have failed my people.”
His fingers curled into a fist beneath the ache inside him for her anguish. Time and again she’d proven herself a woman of honor. Instead of her own safety and possessions, her greatest worries were for those who served her.
Humbled by the depth of her caring, moved by this woman any man would be blessed to call his wife, Aiden shoved to his feet and walked over. “Never could you fail them.”
Wisps of blond hair framed eyes raw with emotion. “Mayhap,” she whispered, “I already have.”
“What could you have done?” he demanded, furious she’d blame herself. “’Twasna as if you knew of the Duke of Northbyrn’s strategic arrival. Even if you had, believing he was in league with Comyn, when his ships dropped anchor in the bay, you would have allowed the traitor entry into your castle. And,” he continued, one palm rising to stop her when she opened her mouth to argue, “what if Comyn had arrived before the English fleet? With the duke having seized your home, do you think King Edward’s man would have allowed Comyn to live?”
The little color in her face fled.
On a muttered curse, Aiden brushed away a lone tear glistening on the curve of her cheek, the silkiness of her skin in stark contrast to her fierce will. “However terrible the circumstance, your courage to face the challenges, to press on, astounds me.”
Anger glittered in her eyes and she turned away.
Moved by her passion, by the complex woman who made him want beyond what was safe, he caught her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You made the best choices you could!”
She stiffened. “W-What if they are not enough?”
“Blast it, I refuse to allow you to condemn your decisions. Your every action is given with care, goodness, and honor.” He released an unsteady breath, and spoke from the heart. “You are the bravest woman I have ever met.”
“If I was brave, instead of leaving, I would have confronted the duke and driven my blade through his treacherous heart.”
He grunted. “Had you tried, with your guard greatly outnumbered, you would have been captured if not killed.”
“Mayhap, but the Sassenach would be dead.”
Aiden crossed his arms. “Aye, and another English noble sent by Edward of Caernarfon stepped into his place.”
Red sweeping her cheeks, Gwendolyn strode across the chamber, whirled. “I hate war.”
“As do I,” he agreed, the scrape of blades melding with screams of death of the battles he’d fought over the years still raw in his mind. He stepped toward her. “I despise each day, each life I or my men take, and will thank God once the last sword is sheathed. But to not confront evil or halt the threat is to empower those who wish us dead.”
She stared at him a long moment, the struggle for calm in her expression, her acceptance of the pain, and the upheaval of the past few days, easy to read. With a frustrated exhale, she shook her head. “Now what?”
“We finish eating.”
She scrutinized him as if performing her own internal evaluation, then a sad smile touched her mouth. “As simple as that?”
Aiden nodded, suppressed the burning ache to cradle her against his chest. “For now, we canna do more. On the morrow once we sneak out, with the duke’s men in search of us, ’twill be a dangerous journey. We need all of the rest we can get.”
“Then we should finish the fare.”
At her sigh, his gaze lowered to her full lips, and her belief that he hadn’t liked her kiss sifted through his mind.
Liked?
A colossal understatement.
He wanted, no, he craved her touch. Her soft sweetness beckoned, destroying his hold on logic, on his purpose for being here, and muddling his brain until he wanted to haul Gwendolyn against him and help her forget the atrocities of this day.
His reactions toward Gwendolyn went beyond the usual. Her beauty, her character and courage all appealed to him more than any woman he’d ever met. In this mayhem they were bound, each aching from wounds not yet healed. Yet, however much he wanted, he couldn’t pursue a deeper relationship now.
Or ever.
At his silence, she frowned as her eyes searched his. “What is wrong?”
“This, us, I…” Aiden stepped out of reach, the depth of his desire for her shaking him to the core. “Our kiss earlier this day,” he breathed, damning his words, yet overwhelmed by the urge to give her something when she’d been stripped of her home, and the life she loved. “You pleased me greatly. However much ’twould be wise, I canna pretend indifference.”
A delicate blush crept up her cheeks. “We are nay longer in danger, and hours lay ahead until dawn.”
Heat stormed him at thoughts of hauling her to him. Given the situation, a mistake. He started to turn away, but caught the sadness in her eyes. Bedamned, had she not been hurt enough?
On a sharp curse, Aiden closed the distance and cupped her face, damned the warnings blaring in his mind. “We have time, but ’tis sleep we need.”
Anguish-filled eyes held his. “With all that has occurred over the past few days, can you rest?”
The torment in her voice twisted his gut. “We must try.” His hands not as steady as he would have liked, he willed himself to release her.
“I think this will serve us both better.” Before he could move away, her eyes dark with need, she lifted on her toes and pressed her mouth against his.
Her sweet taste poured through him obliterating logic. Aiden fought to think, to remember the reasons why he must keep away from her, failed. On a muttered curse he hauled Gwendolyn against him, filling his hands with her soft curves, tormenting in their lushness. Just a blasted taste, then he would set her aside, no harm done.
Heart pounding, he skimmed his mouth over hers, savoring until his every breath was filled with her. At her moan, he took the kiss deeper.
Gwendolyn slipped her hand beneath his tunic, and he hardened with anticipation as her fingers slid lower, searching, caressing until he burned to have her.
Pulse raging, Aiden backed her against the wall. His breaths coming in sharp rasps, he wrenched down her top filling his hands with her glorious breasts. He skimmed his thumb against their firm tips, leaned down to suckle.
Her body shuddered as he took, nipped her sweet flesh, doubting he’d ever have enough. Lost to all but her, he knelt before her, shoved aside her garb and exposed her to his view.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered as he opened her slick folds, leaned forward to taste. Her moan drove him as he took, tasted until her gasps surround him in a heady bliss.
“Bróccín,” she cried out as her body shuddered her release.
His mind pounding out its demand, he swept her into his arms and laid her upon the bed. Cool air brushed across his exposed stomach, and he glanced down.
Gwendolyn’s sure fingers released the last tie, dipped lower.
God’s teeth! He caught her hand before she touched his hard length, and pinned her wrists against the sheets. What in Hades was he doing? Sweat beaded his brow as he d
ragged in a deep breath, then another, fighting back the need storming him. Blinded by desire, had she stroked him, guilt piled atop his doubts that he would have stopped.
With a muttered curse he fought to rein in his desire. How had he convinced himself that one touch of her would be enough? “We canna do this,” he rasped.
Confused eyes dark with desire held his. “But...we are wed. Though you were gracious to offer me time to adjust before we shared a bed”—a sultry smile curved her mouth as she slid her arms around his neck—“I want you now.” Gwendolyn skimmed her gaze down his every inch, then lifted her lids, and pinned him beneath scorching intent.
Bloody hell! With but one hand he could strip her naked and fulfill his every fantasy.
Except their marriage was a lie. However much he craved her precious offering, he wasn’t the man who she believed him to be.
Aiden damned his own wretched weakness. Once he departed and she received news of Bróccín’s death, she’d mourn the loss of another husband.
However much he despised continuing this charade, for the sake of duty, ’twas his only recourse. “I do want you— God’s sword, so much it hurts… But”— he pushed to his knees, the ache inside him screaming against unspent lust—“I willna have our first time together be on the floor of a cave. ’Twill be in a real bed, upon silken sheets, with firelight caressing your skin.”
Her lips parted on an unsteady breath.
Control eked in slow, pathetic spurts through his veins as he skimmed his hands over curves. “When we make love,” he whispered, his teeth nipping along the curve of her jaw, “I will revel in touching you, kissing your every glorious inch for hours. No rush. No worry. No intrusions. Even that willna be enough. We shall remain in our chamber for days,” he said as he kissed a path down her neck, her taste threatening to undo his steel will. “When we are not asleep, I will have you over and again until you beg me to cease.”
Eyes dark with challenge, Gwendolyn wrapped her fingers around his hardness. “Mayhap ’tis you who will be pleading when I kneel before you and slide my lips over your impressive length.”
His eyes crossed as he moaned against her tight hold, striving to smother his body’s demands, to not strip her and drive into her heat. “Nor will I be gentle.”
Gwendolyn gave a throaty laugh. “I am counting on that, my lord, but”—she skimmed her lips over the curve of his mouth, then began to edge down his body—“I dinna need to wait. We can—”
Merciful God in heaven! On a rough inhale, Aiden flattened his hands against her shoulders. “I have given you little,” he growled. Her breathy moan shoving the control he’d worked so hard to rebuild down another notch. “’Tis my wedding gift to you,” he said between clenched teeth. “The waiting will allow us to learn more about the other, increase of our awareness, and give us the ultimate pleasure upon our joining.”
Skepticism stared back from a bewitching bewildering pool of gray eyes.
“Give me this,” he pressed, her heady scent, taste, eroding his will further. He unwrapped her fingers from his length. God’s sword he needed air.
For a long moment she held his gaze.
As if possessing a maddening will of its own, his hardness flexed against her belly. He bit back another groan,
“I agree,” she whispered, her eyes alight with mischief. “unless you decide otherwise.”
Aiden sucked in a sustaining breath, stepped away as he secured his garb. He could do this. He had no other choice.
If they’d met under different conditions, Gwendolyn was a woman whom he’d pursue. Given their circumstance, the graveness of the situation, God’s teeth the very reason for his presence here, she was the one thing he could never have.
Now.
Or ever.
* * * *
Gwendolyn stilled, stifling her disappointment. Though she’d lain with a man, never had she experienced the raw desire Bróccín’s touch inspired.
She shuddered at the erotic promises he’d whispered, ached at thoughts of how he’d touched her, kissed her until she’d fallen over the edge. Aye, he was right. With the way he made her feel, a night making love with him wouldn’t be enough, doubted mere days would sate the feelings he inspired.
A smile touched her lips as she held his gaze. They’d known each other but days. That he could evoke such intense feelings for him in such a brief time was amazing.
Instead of a short-lived burst of intimacy, her magnificent husband offered gallantry. Heat surged through her at thoughts of sharing his bed, but more, a sense of hope, of peace in their years ahead.
Though renowned as a fierce warrior on the battlefield, ’twould seem few knew the man she’d vowed to spend the rest of her life undressing in their bedchamber. However much she wanted him, how could she not savor the thoughtfulness of his request?
She would wait.
With her heart in her throat, and feeling as if never again would her life be the same, Gwendolyn stood, unashamed of her near nakedness. From this day on they would be man and wife, but not the artificial life she’d first believed.
Images of their children flickered in her mind, and her smile grew. Look at her spinning fancies from his simple request. No, ’twas naught simple about what he’d asked. A man did not make the moment of their first joining special unless he wished for their marriage to be more than mere compliance with a noble’s dictate.
He’d obviously asked the delay to bed her because he cared.
She trembled at the realization. Overwhelmed by the unexpected gift, for both their sanity, she tugged up her garb. Gwendolyn laid her fingers within his outstretched hand and fought to keep her voice smooth. “Aye, let us finish our meal.”
Then they would find their bed, except unlike before, they wouldn’t sleep apart. They wouldn’t make love, but she hadn’t promised to leave him untouched. With the boundaries drawn, heat poured through her at thoughts of the infinitely wicked ways she could tease him.
Throughout the meal, she enjoyed their animated discussion, impressed by his vast travels. With each moment they spent together, she found herself relaxing more, and if only for the few hours ahead, ignored the perils beyond the cave. The morning and the danger ahead would come soon enough.
Nor could she dismiss the underlying current between them, awareness she intended to fuel. Gwendolyn stowed the uneaten food, stood. “I will find my bed now.”
Bróccín nodded.
She walked over to the pallet, knelt and turned down the blanket. “Are you not tired?”
“I…”
Embraced by the fire’s glow, she saw his hands fist at his sides. Gwendolyn smiled. “Our boundaries are set,” she whispered as she loosened the ties of her gown. “’Tis but your warmth I seek.”
Jaw tight, on an unsteady breath he remained still. “I—”
She pulled the last tie, nudged the woven cotton into a puddle around her feet. A simple white chemise clung to her curves. Pleasure swept her at the hungry flare in his eyes.
He cleared his throat. “Mayhap us sleeping together isna wise.”
Gwendolyn laughed, enjoying herself. “I far from think a simple woman like me is a threat.” Gwendolyn slipped beneath the covers, leaned forward until the top of her cleavage threatened to spill out. “Come now, my lord. You are not frightened, are you?”
Lines of strain deepened across his brow. As if a momentous task, Bróccín turned. With his back to her he stripped to his trews.
Warmth slid through her body as she took in the play of his muscles, the hewn perfection, and savored the memory of his hard length within her hand.
Her husband turned. His eyes met hers, narrowed. “I thought you were going to sleep.”
“I will,” she said, stroking her finger across the generous swell of her breasts. “I was but admiring the way you move, and envisioning how soon you will move
inside me.”
His throat worked.
Empowered by her affect over him, she edged the blanket lower. “I canna believe nay one has ever told you that you have a fine body, one any woman would want, one I canna wait to—.”
“Move over.”
Pleased by his brusque manner, she shifted to give him room, but not too much. If she were to suffer in their delay to make love, she would ensure he experienced the same wanting ache. And if in their play he decided to take her, Gwendolyn believed she could find forgiveness for his transgression as well.
Bróccín moved beneath the covers, and then rolled over to lie on his back.
A smile touched her mouth as Gwendolyn shifted so her entire body pressed against his. “Neither of us will be cold this night.”
Bróccín grunted, and then tugged up the cover. “Go to sleep.”
Her smile grew as she ran her finger along the curve of his arm, resisting a laugh at the sudden tensing of muscle. “At every turn, just when I believe I am starting to understand you, I discover you are not the man I initially thought.”
Silence.
“When we first met,” she continued, far from dissuaded, “I was put off by your brusqueness, had pegged you as a cold man, uncaring about everything except war.”
He remained quiet, but the pulse in his throat raced.
“Now with each passing day,” she continued, caressing his broad shoulder, “I find you caring, a man who doesna make decisions in haste.” She lingered as she reached his lower back. ’Tis said you are a warrior who inspires devout loyalty. Now,” she said, slipping her hand lower, “I understand why.”
The cover rustled as he faced her. He clasped her hand within his. “You understand naught.”
“I believe I do,” she said, “and am surprised the fact makes you uncomfortable.”
“You dinna worry me.”
“I think,” she said as she skimmed her free hand down the lean muscles across his chest, enjoying the play of thick hair upon his taut skin, “that I do.”
His brows narrowed as he leaned over and caught her other wrist, leaving him on his elbows but a breath above her. “Good God, lass, go to sleep!”