Something shifted in his gaze. “Have ye ever been with a man, Beitris?”
The servants brought trenchers of food and she sat down at the table and began to eat, ignoring his question. He pulled out his carved chair and sat down next to her. “Beitris, ye dunna have to fear me. If yer a virgin, it only hurts the first time. And then ye’ll find pleasure, I promise ye. Ye’ll be an eager bride, not a reluctant one, once ye’ve been in my bed.”
Kat stabbed a knife into her beef with a little too much force and refused to look at the warrior next to her, this man she didn’t know. Her husband.
Not yet. He still has to consummate the marriage, she reminded herself.
She stared at the tapestries on the walls, the couples dancing to fiddle music and laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world, the myriad of flickering candles, the silver cups reflecting firelight. There were antlers on the walls and a black wolf’s skin on the floor, its eyes unseeing. People dancing created a sea of flashing plaids and skirts, their faces half lit and half shadowed. Elspeth and her clan must have departed for she did not see any of them in the crowd.
Kat had never imagined her wedding when she was a wee lass. She spent most of her time thinking about swords and sword drills. She’d never dreamed of a wedding in which she wore her finest linen chemise or a silk tunic or a surcoat embroidered with gold or silver thread, with shoes of fine leather on her feet. She couldn’t imagine a groom next to her adorned in his best, or riding to a church with a little troop of merry jongleurs preceding the bride and groom while wedding guests rode behind them.
Nor had she ever imagined being forced to marry her enemy in the ruin of a small, roofless kirk long emptied of worshippers, haunted by the ghosts of Vikings and valiant knights.
Many stared at her with curiosity, some with loathing. Kat stared back defiantly. Children fenced with sticks, playing at mock battles. She was reminded of Ewen the Toothless, whose life she’d ended. Trembling, she stared at her plate. “I killed a man,” she whispered.
Conall’s big hand covered hers, their fingers entwining. “Ye rushed into battle intending to kill,” he reminded her. “Ye did what ye had to do today. If ye had not, ye might have gone over that cliff too.”
“I always dreamed of proving myself in battle,” she said. “I wanted to be like my brothers. For once in my life, I wanted to…matter.” Tears gathered in her eyes, falling down her cheeks, and he wiped them away with the pad of his thumb.
“But I never thought about the cost. Dear God, how can ye slay men in battle after battle and still have your soul?”
He lowered his head, his warm breath against her ear. “There are some who say I have no soul, Beitris. But I do what I do for the good of my clan. Never think I enjoy it as some men do, animals like Angus MacDonald. I have grown weary of violence and death.” He withdrew his hand and became lost in his own thoughts.
There was the smell of wet wool and peat burning as the fighting clan enjoyed themselves. None of it seemed real. It was all a blur. Sorcha, Mollie, and Malcolm now sat to the right of Conall and often stole glances at Kat, who felt she must be a dreadful sight after two days in the wild in her torn and ragged dress.
The clan started to settle down as the Seanachie began to tell stories of their ancestors, of those that had sired their line, who had built this castle and roamed the woods and hills and fished in the rivers and lochs. Stories of the men who had sailed galleys and fought battles on Scotland’s treacherous coast. Everyone listened. There were stories of men with swords, defending what was theirs. And stories of the brave women who had won their hearts. Martha came and took Kat’s hand. “I’m to take ye upstairs and help ye with yer bath, my lady.”
Kat finished her whisky, coughing and sputtering. She reached for Conall’s cup of whisky and drank that down too. Conall arched a dark brow as she eyed the door at the front of the great hall.
“’Twould be foolish to try to escape a second time, my lady. And after so much whisky. Vera foolish.”
As Kat was led upstairs by Martha, a woman began to sing. Her voice was ghostly as she sang a Gaelic love song. She sang of the wild land of Scotland, of magic and rocks blind to the wind, of white rabbits and destiny, of courage in war, of a love that could not be denied. Though Kat moved slowly and unsteadily up the stairs toward Conall’s chamber, she hadn’t been defeated yet. But Conall, as ever, was a mystery to her. She had to admit he had many virtues; there was a gentle, compassionate, wounded man beneath the hard, arrogant warrior.
She couldn’t help but wonder, which man would show up to the bedchamber tonight?
Chapter 15
After Kat was bathed, she donned a nightdress and paced to and fro beside the window. A storm lashed the sea below the castle walls and matched her mood.
It was much later when Conall entered the bedchamber. His mother Sorcha was with him and her eyes held compassion as she searched the bed with care.
“What do ye look for?” Kat asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have no weapons hidden.”
“’Tis not weapons I look for. I need to ensure no ill-wisher has hidden anything that could impede conjugal relations, such as two halves of an acorn or beans. ‘Tis a tradition.”
Kat was bewildered; she’d never heard of such a thing.
“The marriage bed awaits ye,” Sorcha said. “I welcome ye to clan Maclean.” She left Kat alone with Conall. As soon as he shut and latched the door, he began to undress.
“What are ye doing?” she said, twisting her hands. “Everyone will ken why ye’ve come upstairs. They’ll ken ye’ll take me to yer bed and….”
His broad back had been to her and he turned around. She was struck silent as she gazed at the muscles in his arms and his broad chest. Her eyes fell on the puffy, jagged scar on his side, the one she’d inflicted. For the first time, she realized how exhausted he was, that she was the cause of his exhaustion. He hadn’t had to come after her.
He approached her. She would have backed away from him but there was no room to back away. His fingers caressed her cheek and sent wild, hot tingles over her skin. “I’m tired. I came upstairs to go to bed and to sleep, wife. Ye can barely keep your eyes open yerself for lack of sleep.”
Up close, she could see the dark flecks of gold in his hazel eyes.
“Why did ye find me and bring me back here?”
“When I found ye gone, Beitris….I canna explain it, but I ne’er felt so empty. I had to find ye.”
“But…why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
She shook her head. “I’m the enemy. I’m…”
“Ne’er say it again. Yer a Maclean now. This is yer home. Yer my wife, for better or for worse.”
Kat stared at the bed and he noted the fear in her eyes.
“I willna hurt ye, Beitris. I ken ye’ve received mostly abhorrent treatment from men in the past but I am not like them.”
She still hadn’t told him her true name. She didn’t want any more lies between them but her name was the only thing she had left of herself. She would wait and tell him to call her Kat when the moment felt right. When he’d forgotten about her; when it no longer mattered.
He removed the rest of his clothing and she couldn’t help but admire his muscled thighs as he slipped beneath the cover into bed. “Ye can join me for some rest if ye like. I will ne’er touch ye without yer consent.”
“But the clan will want proof of the consummation….”
“I will not lie to ye, Beitris. It will happen. But it will not be a forced joining. Nay, ne’er that.”
He turned his back to her and she clenched her fists at her sides, unsure of herself. Finally, without removing her nightdress, she climbed into bed and moved to the far side, facing him, her back to the wall.
He arched a dark brow and laughed. “It will be more comfortable if ye undress. Yer nightdress is too big. Ye’ll get tangled in it.”
“I’m not undressing,” she said.
“Su
it yerself.”
Soon he was asleep. She studied his masculine face, his dark lashes fanning his cheeks, his rugged jaw. After a while, he turned in his sleep, his back to her.
The nightdress was too big and it was uncomfortable. She waited a long time, to be sure he was truly asleep. Then she removed the nightdress and wrapped the blanket around herself, stripping it away from Conall. He moved in his sleep but didn’t try to pull it back. She realized her mistake at once at having bared his broad back, his lean waist, and his long, muscled legs. She turned toward the wall, feeling the warmth that rushed to her cheeks.
Why couldn’t he be more like the ugly monster he was rumored to be? His dark looks affected her. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. But it was something more than that. When he caressed her with his eyes or touched her with his hands or his lips, reason fled. Yet he thought of himself as a scarred, hideous being.
Kat realized she too was exhausted. Oddly, she felt safe with his large form next to her. Feeling guilty, she threw part of the blanket over him. She was vaguely aware, as she drifted off to sleep, that her feelings for him were changing. But Ragnar and Lorcan and a battlefield of screaming, crazed men haunted her dreams and reminded her he was her enemy.
Chapter 16
It was well past midnight when Conall felt something warm stir and press against his side. He awoke to find his new wife’s naked body pressed against his own in sleep. She had removed her nightdress at some point.
He kissed her forehead and she snuggled even closer to him. He growled low in his throat, his shaft swollen and hard. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman. Softly, he caressed her arm, the curve of her waist. His fingers trailed along the velvet swell of her hip and her eyes fluttered open.
“Do ye ken how badly I want to be inside ye, to sheath myself in yer warmth?”
She started to pull away and stopped, for his lips were warm upon her neck. She shivered with delight. Why did she have to respond this way to him?
“Forget who ye are,” he whispered. “Forget who I am. In this moment, we are a man and a woman. A husband and a wife. Not Maclean. Not MacDonald.”
His many moods she could handle. The primal, sensual assault he was directing on her senses was another matter. The feel of his lips and his hands had rendered her nearly senseless. His lips teased her bottom lip with a soft kiss. Then his mouth was over hers and he was in command.
Her traitorous body responded with passion; she was intoxicated by the feel of his warm mouth moving on hers and the feel of his muscled body. There was no denying he wanted her; his hard shaft pressed against her thigh.
His fingers nudged her thighs apart, stroking and delving into her womanly core. Instinctively, Kat arched her back, wanting the feel of him, wanting his masculine fingers deeper.
“Aye, ye want me too. Ye can try to deny it with words but yer body says otherwise.” His tongue delved inside her mouth and she moaned, nearly undoing him. “Ye’ve had a lifetime of hurt, Beitris. But I will ne’er hurt ye. For this moment, we are simply two people who want to touch each other.”
The storm outside grew in intensity. It was nothing compared to the storm inside of her.
“I ken yer thoughts are swirling after all ye’ve been through, lass. Let me help ye forget them for a few hours.” His kiss was hard and gentle at the same time. She writhed as his long, lean fingers continued to explore her, unable to stop opening herself to him, wanting something more, as an ache began to build within her.
“When I came upon ye on the cliff and saw what those men intended to do to ye, I never felt such rage.”
She broke his kiss for a moment. “Yea,” she said, “for mayhap they would have deprived ye of the pleasure of hurting me.”
He gripped her chin with his hand and stared into her deep blue eyes. “Ye dunna understand, Beitris.” His mouth was not done exploring. He placed soft kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her breasts, then back to her lips. “I would never hurt ye. I want ye as a man wants woman. I want to make ye mine.”
“I…dunna understand ye,” she breathed.
“Then let me show ye.” His hand cupped her breast and his hot mouth came down on her nipple, sending a hot jolt of pleasure through her core.
“Winter is coming, wife. And winters are long. There are many ways a man and his wife can keep each other warm.” He lifted his hand and brought it to her face, moving a strand of hair behind her ear. “In the Highlands, we should take every opportunity to celebrate those rare moments in life when we find something unexpected and warm.”
He took her hand and placed it on his shaft. She nearly gasped at the size and heat of him.
“Feel me, for I dunna want ye to fear me. As much as I want ye, if ye say nay now, I will not force ye.”
Kat felt a stabbing, hot, wet heat between her legs. Of their own accord, her fingers began to explore his silky, hot shaft, the length and breadth of it, the smooth, rounded tip of it, as his hand guided hers.
His eyes were dark with desire as he watched her touching him. “Look at me. Feel me. I want ye to ken me. I dunna want ye to be afraid when I take ye, when I’m inside ye. I ken trust has never come easy for ye. Will ye…trust me?”
Kat’s blood was afire. She could not speak. Her lips parted and she nodded, marveling at his beautiful shape, the most intimate part of him.
“Do ye…want me inside ye?”
Timidly, she reached up and threaded her hands through his dark hair and pulled his lips closer. “Yea,” she breathed. “But I thought I was not the type of woman ye desired. Ye said I looked like a neep.”
He laughed, a rich, masculine sound. “’Twas a lie, for I wanted ye from the first. Sweet God, but ye make me lose my head whenever yer near.”
The heat of his palm scalded her hip. He kissed her until her doubts and struggles and rational thought slipped away. She couldn’t resist him. She didn’t want to resist him. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything but fear, shame, and hate. She gave in to the new sensations flooding her body. She’d been cold and afraid for so long and he was warm and alive.
His hand inched closer to her core, caressing her inner thigh. “Do ye believe in oaths, wife?” His voice was hoarse with lust. It was a powerful feeling, knowing she could make this battle-hardened warrior feel lust and need.
“I believe in oaths if they are made from the heart, for the mouth can utter anything without meaning,” she said.
She didn’t want to talk anymore. She didn’t want words. She wanted his touch, and she wanted to touch him. She started by tracing the lines around his mouth and his eyes with her fingertips, wanting to know the intimate feel of the creases made by all the times he’d laughed and all the times he’d squinted through slanting rain on battlefields, walking through violence and loss. She explored the hardened muscles of his chest, the dark tufts of hair there.
Her fingers danced along a puckered scar near his shoulder. “What happened?” she asked.
“I was hunting and broke from the party. I didn’t realize I’d wandered onto Campbell land. Someone hiding in the woods fired an arrow, quite expertly, into my shoulder. It could have been a lot worse.”
“Did ye capture him?”
“Aye. Even with an arrow stuck in my bloodied flesh, he was easy to track. Though ‘twas foolish of me to give chase with a bleeding wound. I could have died alone in the woods.”
“Did he meet his end at the point of yer sword?”
“Nay. He was a Campbell, but a lad of only ten summers. I let him go.”
Shyly, she leaned down and trailed her lips along the scar she’d made with her own sword. She heard his quick intake of breath as he threaded his big hand through the wild tresses of her auburn hair.
His masculine scent and feel, his musk, the way he tasted, was working its way into her against all rationality. She trailed her fingers along his muscled thigh and watched as his shaft seemed to swell even further at her touch.
�
�Take me in yer mouth.”
Her eyes met his. He saw the uncertainty there. “I will guide ye.”
Hesitantly, she lowered her head to his shaft, taking the tip of him in her mouth. He growled with pleasure. She kissed the most intimate part of him and explored him with her lips, lost in learning him.
Eventually he whispered. “Stop.”
“I’ve displeased ye?” she said, her breathing ragged.
Nay, quite the opposite. If ye dunna stop, I will spill my seed now. And I am determined to show ye pleasure this night.”
“But…I’ve heard ‘tis painful.”
“Ye’ve never been with a man?”
“Nay.”
“Only for the first thrust. After that, I promise, ye’ll feel only pleasure. Do ye…want me? Do ye trust me to put yer fears to rest?”
She looked into his heated hazel eyes. She wanted him to claim her. She wanted his weight on her body. She wanted to know how it felt to trust. To belong with someone. Even if it were just for this night or a short while.
When she was a wee lass, her mother had often made her promise she’d never let her heart turn to stone from the sadness and sorrows of life. Strange to think of it now, of how she had promised but hadn’t kept her oath.
All her life, she’d been trying to turn her sadness and sorrows away with the point of a sword. The past days had changed her. She was different. She sensed Conall and she were alike in one way; it was so very difficult to be vulnerable. She knew she’d been foolish to run from him. She liked how Conall made her feel. Even if he could never truly love her. She had even come to see reason in the forced union in the ruins of the kirk. It was an unselfish act on his part, for no one had commanded him to marry her in order to protect her.
She wanted to feel protected for once in her life. She wanted his protection.
She saw him more clearly than ever now, his deep hazel eyes, the scar on his rugged jaw, each hair starting to sprout on his chin, the lines around his mouth. She had spent much of her life in fear and was tired of it. She moved closer to him so she breathed his breath. “Aye, Highlander. But I find it strange ye want to make love to a turnip.”
A Dark Highland Magic: Hot Highlands Romance Book 4 Page 10