The MacGregor chief raised his eyebrows, struck by the girl’s naivety. “Aye, well, his Lordship’s side fared the better. No’ too many casualties.”
“Now, now, Brian. My bride need not be regaled with such gruesome tales,” Lord Reginald interrupted with a good-natured wink. “Far too burdensome for the female sensibility, is that not right my dear?”
Jane swallowed the insult and nodded complacently. “Indeed, my Lord.”
Though the conversation ended there, the MacGregor chief’s words piqued her interest. When the man moved away from the dais, she risked her husband’s displeasure and inquired further.
“My Lord—forgive me, but might I ask a further question on the subject? For if I am to be the mistress of this castle and of these lands I confess I would like to know as much as I can about its people—and also its enemies.”
Much to her relief, her persistence did not seem to anger her husband. Lord Reginald considered for a brief moment, shrugging finally.
“I suppose if you are going to be travelling to the village and interacting with its people, you might be better off to know whom you can trust and whom you cannot,” he reasoned. “The MacGillivrays lost their hold of these lands because they refused to swear their loyalty to King Edward. Since Dunloch and its people require rule, the king awarded them to me. These people need a fair and steady lord to guide them in the king’s name, you must understand, not a pack of slovenly, warring savages.”
Jane, who knew very little about politics, accepted the baron’s logic. “Well then, if they would not swear loyalty and then attacked the castle, I suppose you acted as you needed to in order to protect what is now rightfully yours.”
“That I did, my dear,” he agreed. “But be you warned—many MacGillivrays still live in the village and even in the castle itself, as do a great many more who were once loyal to the clan. They have been allowed to remain as they have pledged their allegiance to England and to the Crown, but there is no telling whether they harbour secret animosity or design, so do be careful.”
“Are there MacGillivrays here now?” she asked, her blood chilling at the possibility.
“Indeed there are,” he confirmed. “Most of the servants—with the exception of the kitchen staff, for I’d rather not suffer a death by poisoning if I can help it. And Tearlach over there—he was the MacGillivray steward before he became a turncoat to his clan and swore loyalty to England. I’ve got my eye on him—I do not trust that man. But he is good with the books, turns me a handsome profit, and so I retain him.”
Lord Reginald’s attention was diverted then by a guest who wished to speak with him. Jane was glad of the interruption, and used it to study the man who had once been a fearsome MacGillivray clansman.
Though fearsome was definitely not the appropriate word to apply to this particular Scot—or at least not anymore. It was clear that he had once been a man of great strength, and though he held the position of steward, she thought he must once have been a warrior as well. But the years had taken their toll on him—his face was terribly weathered, and his hands gnarled and arthritic. He walked with a bit of a limp as well, though not enough of one to hinder his movements.
There was something else that had taken its toll on the man, though, something which Jane was unable to identify. She could detect no visible hunch, yet the man walked with a stooped gait as if there was a great weight pressing down upon his shoulders. And his face, though very kind in appearance, looked disappointed somehow.
Or perhaps ... sad.
She was frightened by the burly specimens of virile Scottish men present in the great hall that evening. This one, however, for reasons unknown to her, stirred within her a small pang of sympathy.
As the night wore on the merriment grew significantly uninhibited—as did the accompanying drinking. By the time the festivities came to a close, far beyond the midnight hour, more than a few guests in the great hall were clearly in their cups.
For Jane, though, the end of the celebration arrived much too soon. She was not ready for the duty which lay ahead of her this night. She knew that what happened between a man and a woman behind closed doors was supposed to be highly pleasurable. Amelia told her so, and Jane believed her for Amelia had experienced it more times—and with more men—than any of the unmarried girls she’d known in Sussex.
With the hour drawing ever nearer to that when she would be expected to couple for the first time in her life, she could not imagine such an act being at all pleasurable with a man as old as Lord Reginald. But as much as she would have wished it, the moment could not be delayed forever. At her husband’s bidding she was shown to her quarters by one of the female servants where she was washed, undressed, and prepared for her deflowering by a tearful Ruth.
“Now you be a good girl,” she said when she was finished brushing out Jane’s long, russet hair at the ornately carved vanity. “Lie still, and try not to cry. If his Lordship has not had too much to drink, I imagine it will be over fairly quickly.”
“Why would it not be over quickly if he has had too much to drink?” Jane asked, her voice unsteady.
“The drink, you see, it tends to ... interfere with the men folk’s ability to—well, never you mind that,” she broke off in haste when Jane paled. “It will be fine.”
With a warm kiss on her forehead, Ruth left the room. Jane watched through the glass in the mirror as her beloved maid shut the door behind her, leaving her entirely alone in a bedchamber that did not at all feel like it was hers.
She gazed at her reflection. Her tears had long ago run dry, but her eyes were still visibly red and swollen. A sense of numbness had overtaken her, reflecting itself in her face. Her usually alabaster skin looked waxy, and her blue eyes—which normally sparkled with vivacity and were generally considered the only redeeming feature of her otherwise plain appearance—were dull, lack-lustre.
In fact, with her sallow face illuminated as it was by the flicker of her lantern, she thought she might well be mistaken for a corpse. There was no help for it, though. And even if there was, she was not entirely sure she would bother. She had not an ounce of desire to render herself more attractive for Lord Reginald.
Resigned, she stood from the dressing table and crossed the room to the bed. Drawing her shift up to her knees so she could climb the high frame, she crawled into the middle of the straw mattress and pulled the many covers up to pool loosely around her waist. She then drew her knees to her chin, wrapping her arms tightly around them as if they were a barrier—a barrier through which no man could cross to violate her.
In the hallway beyond her closed chamber door, heavy footsteps resounded on the stone floor. Shortly after, a second pair of footsteps joined them.
“Night then, Reg,” she heard a gruff voice call in a northern English accent. “We’ll be off in the morning. Enjoy your bride. She’s a bonnie one, isn’t she?”
“I suppose so,” Lord Reginald’s voice responded. “Though her sister is by far the prettier of the pair. I daresay next to that lass, the girl is rather unappealing.”
“Why did you not negotiate for the sister’s hand then?” inquired his companion.
Lord Reginald snorted. “Not a chance. That one’s been plucked and plucked again. Besides, I’ve no time for a beautiful and silly wife. I require a serious and dutiful girl I can shape and mould as I see fit. Between the two sisters their looks were the only differing factor—the dowry was equally as large, and a marriage to either one brought the same familial alliance.”
“Oh, I think she’s pretty enough,” responded the unidentified voice. “She’s a fine figure, to be sure. And let us be honest, Reg, that’s all that truly matters when you’re between her legs, is it not?”
Lord Reginald guffawed appreciatively, and Jane listened to their footsteps as the two men parted company.
Ah—now it was perfectly clear why the baron had pursued her hand and not Amelia’s. He had been after a practical wife, one with connections and a sizeab
le dowry. And one who was not spoiled ... in more than one sense of the word.
Her sensibilities told her she should be affronted by this revelation. And yet ... and yet she could not bring herself to care one way or another. Even as Lord Reginald entered the bedchamber and saw her watching him—even as he regarded her without apology though it was obvious his exchange had been overheard—she couldn’t find it within herself to feel the slightest of offense. At least now she had her answer to the enigma of his pursuit of her.
With this new understanding, she watched nervously, assessing his appearance, as Lord Reginald undressed himself and laid his finery on her dressing table. His hair was a deep grey with streaks of silver through it; much of what had been on top in his youth was gone, but what remained was neatly trimmed. He wore a closely cropped beard, and though his features were rather non-descript, they were far from ugly. From what outline she could see beneath his fine linen shirt, his body was not repulsive—neither too slim nor too fat. He had been strong once, she thought, and likely still was to a degree, but his belly did show signs of his advancing age; a small protrusion was visible beneath his shirt and his hips looked a little wider than would have been attractive.
Her assessment of him was cut short when, dressed only in his shirt, he approached the side of the bed. Evidence of his arousal immediately snared her attention—his rigid member tented the loose fabric that hung to his knees. She recoiled at the thought of it, for she had never before seen a naked man—much less one afflicted by the heat of his desire for a woman.
As if reading her virgin naivety like words on parchment, Lord Reginald suppressed a grin. With his eyes riveted on her, he pulled his shirt up and over his head, dropping it carelessly to the braided rug beneath his bare feet.
Jane’s hands moved automatically, pulling the covers closer to her chin, and her eyes widened in horror at what she saw. His member was much larger, much thicker, than she’d ever imagined a man’s member could be. It jutted boldly, like a weapon, from beneath the curling mass of silver hair between his thighs. She stifled a cry of terror—surely such a protuberance would tear her apart.
Her terror seemed only to excite him further. His eyes held hers intently as he crawled naked into the bed beside her and slipped himself under the covers. Moving his face closer to hers, he pressed a hand to her shoulder, urging her to lie back. Jane complied, though every muscle in her body trembled uncontrollably.
Her frame as rigid as a plank, she pressed herself into the mattress. She wished it would swallow her. She wished that angry, vengeful MacGillivrays would burst through the door and skewer the pair of them to it. Anything to spare her this awful moment.
But the mattress remained firm; the door remained closed.
Lord Reginald propped himself on his elbow beside her and stroked the length of her jaw with a bejewelled forefinger. The way he looked at her, as if she was a morsel to eat, made her skin crawl. But before she could protest, before she could beg him for a moment’s pause ... before she could even breathe once more—his mouth was on hers.
Jane did not know how to respond. She’d dreamed of being kissed all her life—but not like this. Not by a man three times her age who was not at all concerned about her inexperience, her feelings. Lord Reginald’s tongue roamed her stiff lips, probing, urging them to part. She forced herself to obey the silent command and opened her mouth to his. The moment her lips parted, he plunged his tongue deep inside, swirling it around and around in a frenzied manner. She kept her lips still, for the taste of the wine and the meat on his tongue, which he’d consumed at the meal, threatened to make her gag.
Relief flooded her when he withdrew his invading tongue from between her lips—only to be replaced by a more gripping panic as he reached to the hem of her shift. She lay still, recalling Ruth’s advice and praying that it would soon be over. He tugged the fabric up past her hips, and then up farther to expose her naked, young breasts. With little effort despite her lack of assistance, Lord Reginald pulled the gown over her head and tossed it to the floor just as carelessly as he’d tossed his own fine shirt.
His eager hands caressed her naked skin, roving her curves and hillocks as they traced the contours of her slender shape. The experience was humiliating, and Jane pressed her lips together into a thin line to stifle the whimpers that threatened to escape her throat.
When he brought his lips to her breast, her breath drew inwards sharply. Amelia and her companions in Sussex had provided her with all the unspeakable details of this moment, yet she could not overcome the shock of having a grown man’s tongue flickering about her nipple. Her heart hammered at her ribs and her breathing turned to gasping from her rising panic. Mistaking her reaction as a sign of her arousal, Lord Reginald tongued more wildly.
There was no mistaking the look in his eyes when he released her breast from his mouth and gazed at her face again. Jane stared back, her fright evident in the cast of her features—wide eyed and tight lipped.
“Are you wet for me, girl?” he inquired, his voice raspy.
“I-I have been w-washed, sir, b-but my m-maid d-dried me,” she stuttered pathetically.
Lord Reginald chuckled. “That is not what I meant,” he said gently.
She had hardly a moment to wonder what it was he had meant before he reached his hand between her thighs. She cringed as his fingers pressed to her sensitive flesh, massaging and probing her seam with firm pressure.
“Bone dry,” he declared with a wicked grin. “You must be wet if I am to enter you with ease, else it shall be uncomfortable for both of us.”
His meaning eluded her—until he shifted down her length and positioned his mouth at the peak of her thighs. Stunned, she felt him lick the flesh between with one long stroke of his tongue, then press his hands to her knees, encouraging her to part her legs. The humiliation she’d felt when his hands had been on her was nothing to this. She was mortified. She clenched her eyes shut, though no force could hold back the tears that escaped the corners of her lids. His beard chafed at her tender crevice as he suckled and probed her.
When she had been sufficiently moistened, he slipped a forefinger between the crease of her flesh, sliding it deep within her.
“That’s better,” he whispered.
With her eyelids clasped tightly shut, she could see nothing but the flicker of the candlelight from across the room. However, the moment she felt Lord Reginald shift himself back up her length and onto of her, her eyes flew open again. With his left hand, he gripped the back of her right knee and hitched her leg up over his naked hip. When the plump tip of his turgid erection grazed the flesh between her thighs, Jane lost the last bit of control she had over her panic.
“W-wait, no—please ...” she stammered frantically.
“Shhh,” he responded gently, as though he were calming a babe. He placed his hand at the side of her face and stilled her trembling lips with a press of his thumb. Even as her head shook back and forth in denial and pleading, Lord Reginald drove himself mercilessly into her cavity.
She cried out at the pain of his invasion. Within her she could feel there was a barrier which opposed his invading manhood. Encountering it he pressed deliberately, sending waves of pain out from her pelvic bone through her limbs. The sensation was excruciating as she felt a sharp pop, then a tearing, inside of her, and she barely managed to bite back a blood-curdling scream.
He was too large for her; her young, untouched cavity could not accommodate him. Her hands clutched fiercely at the bed sheets and she whimpered at the pain he was causing her.
None of it seemed to bother Lord Reginald—in fact, it appeared only to heighten his arousal. He moved inside his new, young wife, grunting heavily with each thrust of his hips. He held himself up by his right arm and kept his left hand under her knee, trapping her leg against his body, forcing her to remain open for him.
Her tender flesh burned and throbbed. Jane had no choice but to clamp her teeth and her eyelids together, and suffer through h
er husband’s claim of her body. With an inner fervour, she willed it to be over soon, willed him to hurry up and satisfy himself.
She knew when the moment was drawing close. His movements became quicker and more urgent; his grunts of effort turned to moans of ecstasy.
Soon, she chanted inwardly. It will be over soon ...
And then finally the moment arrived. Lord Reginald threw his head back and let his jaw drop like a dead fish. With one long and ugly roar, the baron released himself into her, pounding her bruised flesh wildly as his climax surged.
When it had ebbed and disappeared, he collapsed onto her, crushing her with his weight. His breath was hot and heavy on her neck, and his naked skin slick with perspiration. Jane did not move. She simply allowed him to lie atop of her, and prayed that he would soon move so that she could breathe. His manhood, which had been so rigid and unyielding only minutes ago, withered, slipping flaccidly from between her thighs.
After several long moments Lord Reginald raised himself. He kissed Jane’s cheek gently, ignoring the fat tears that met his lips.
“Good night, my love,” he said simply.
Then he stood from the bed, and without bothering to collect his clothes from her dressing table, he departed his young wife’s bedchamber. Naked and satiated.
Once the door had closed behind him, Jane turned onto her side and curled her knees to her belly. Her womanhood throbbed painfully, and the inside of her thighs were sticky with the fruits of Lord Reginald’s climax and with her own blood.
Quietly, in the flickering candlelight, she cried herself to sleep. Never in her life had she felt so alone.
Chapter 3
The activity in the great hall the next morning was nearly as high as it had been the night before. Minstrels weaved in and out of the guests at leisure as the fashionably dressed men and women broke their fast. Servants ferried silver trays of bread, meat and fish, and offered pewter jugs of wine and ale. It was as if the laughter and merriment that had echoed through the hall the previous night had been merely suspended, and resumed again at sunrise with fervour.
Bride of Dunloch (Highland Loyalties) Page 2