by Carol Arens
Isobel smiled at him then and he wanted to kiss her. He leaned closer and when she did not move away, he touched his mouth to hers. For a moment, she opened to him and he deepened the kiss, sliding his hand up under her veil to hold her head to his. Then the growing silence around them forced him to stop. Once conversations had been resumed around the table, he whispered to her.
‘Will it be painful, this change you are planning to make?’
She startled and then laughed at his words, not misunderstanding them at all. Then Isobel shook her head.
‘Not painful at all...for me.’
He took her hand in his under the table and stroked it until she shivered. ‘A hint, mayhap? A small one to put my mind at ease?’
‘Nay, Athdar. Everyone is under pain of death if they speak of it before it is complete.’
‘I will ask Glenna,’ he said, acting as though he would stand. She clasped his hand and pulled him back down.
‘She will not speak of it.’
‘Laria, then?’ He looked around for the healer, but she was nowhere to be seen.
‘Laria knows nothing of it.’ A smug little smile curved her lips. She still did not release his hand.
‘I see I will have to challenge you to a game of chess, then, for the answer.’
Her body reacted to those words in a most appealing way. He watched as a shiver of anticipation shook her. Her skin, from the neckline of her gown up through her face, blushed and he was torn apart with the need for her.
‘I think not,’ she said. He felt her hand and the leg on which it rested entwined with his grow warm in reaction to her memories of the boons claimed.
‘I think I will reserve those games for other purposes,’ he said. ‘For other nights.’ He lifted their hands up and kissed hers. ‘For this, I suspect waiting is my only option.’
He heard her expel the breath she’d been holding within and watched as she nodded.
‘I think you may have ruined chess for me,’ she admitted, her voice breathy and soft.
‘Oh, nay, Isobel. I think that once the purpose of our game has been met, we will be able to play again.’ She met his gaze then and he saw no hint of fear there. Nothing but curiosity and desire lay in her blue-green eyes and he had only to wait on her word. ‘You will tell me when I can challenge you?’
‘Aye, Athdar,’ she whispered back. He was about to kiss her again when Padruig called out to him.
‘Let the lady eat, Athdar. Give her some peace!’ his friend called down the table to him.
The hall filled with the laughter of friends and family and Athdar leaned back and allowed her to finish her meal. They had accepted her as their lady, even helping her in whatever scheme this was she had planned.
He had not told her about the morning in the yard when she’d stopped him from fighting. Though he battled six, including his closest friend, dozens had challenged him as her champion over his treatment of her. Dozens had taken her side, believing he had wronged her in the most grievous of manners.
So, this banding together to help her in her plans did not surprise him at all. Not at all.
‘Is there much more to do in the village?’ she asked, as she put her spoon and napkin on the table. Being the last one eating, she signalled for the table to be cleared away. ‘The old ones say storms are on the way soon.’
‘Nay. With the barns done and harvest in, only the butchering and preserving.’
She shuddered then, a look of disgust distorting her lovely face. ‘I am fortunate that Broc wishes to oversee that duty.’
She glanced around the hall then, looking for someone.
‘Who do you seek?’
‘Ailis. I asked her to sup with us.’
‘Ailis?’
His eyes went dark and then empty. There was no recognition of the name she’d said at all in them. Watching him, she was reminded of the same kind of blank expression during their chess game here in the hall. He’d been telling her about the strife between him and her father and he had drifted away in his thoughts for a moment when his eyes took on this very empty stare.
‘Athdar,’ she said quietly so as to not draw the attention of the others at table. She put her hand on his leg and squeezed it. ‘Athdar.’
It took a short bit of time before he came back to himself. He blinked several times and then frowned at her. ‘Who were you looking for?’ He glanced around the hall then, clearly not remembering what she’d said.
‘Ailis, Robbie’s wife,’ she said, watching him closely this time.
‘I do not see her,’ he said.
‘I wonder if she has family to help her through the winter?’ she asked, still observing him closely. ‘I did hear her mention a son, but no others?’
‘Ailis is a MacDougal, from Lorne,’ he finally said. ‘She may decide to return to her family there.’
Did he even realise the break in his words? That, for more than a moment, he was gone? Lost somewhere in his thoughts or memories? So lost, he did not even know it happened?
Looking around, she was certain that no one else noticed it but her. He shook himself as though waking and stood, holding out his hand to her.
They went to his chamber and he took notice of all the small changes she’d made there. She lay in his bed that night, wrapped in his arms, but slept little.
Something was wrong here. Something was wrong with Athdar and no one else seemed to notice it.
Isobel knew with a soul-deep certainty that she had to get to the bottom of it. But if he did not know that something was awry, who could she ask for help?
Laria. Laria had lived here for decades. Surely, if there was a problem, she would know. When the sun rose the next morning, Isobel decided she would ask the healer.
And Broc. He was the same age as Athdar. He’d grown up in the keep with his father, the last steward. It was possible he would know.
With her purpose set—help Athdar whether he knew he needed it or not—she closed her eyes and sleep came.
* * *
Rains arrived instead of the dawn, making all but work inside the keep difficult, if not impossible. Unable to see to moving the looms, Isobel remained inside, claiming some fabric from Coira’s trunks and cutting out two new gowns for herself. Her skills were practiced enough to make plain, working gowns, but to make something more ornate, she would need help.
For Athdar, she planned three more shirts and pairs of trews, for he wore his clothing out quickly. The weavers and seamstresses would have plenty of work to do over the winter to get everyone who depended on the laird for the living dressed as they should be.
When she went to speak to Laria, the woman was not in her workroom. Broc, too, was not in the keep, helping with something in the village. Her decision to speak to them would have to wait.
* * *
For the next two days, everyone worked at their own tasks, but Isobel did manage to have several men disassemble the four looms in the various cottages and bring the pieces to one of Broc’s storage rooms so they were ready to be put back together. Then, taking advantage of his absence on the third day when he and Padruig rode to a nearby village, everything was done, the screens assembled and everyone waited for his return.
Since her courses had finished and there was plenty of time before Athdar was expected back, Isobel had a bath sent up to their chamber. After the hard work of the last few days, the steaming water felt wonderful, soothing away her aches and pains. She thought she might have fallen asleep, only to be awakened by the sound of the door opening and closing behind her. Expecting Glenna to come and help her wash her hair, the deep voice that spoke surprised her.
‘Lass, what did you do to my hall?’
She startled and began to stand before remembering that she was naked in a tub. Isobel sank down in the water as l
ow as she could and waved him out. ‘Athdar, I am bathing,’ she screeched.
‘I can see that, Isobel,’ he said as he walked around to the front of the tub, making no attempt at all to avert his gaze from all that she exposed in her position. ‘Even better, I can see you.’
He reached into the water and touched her leg, sending shivers and chills along it in spite of the steaming heat in the water. Then he encircled her ankle with his fingers and began to lift her leg from the water. She grabbed the sides of the tub to keep her head from going under the water. She realised that the easiest way to keep herself balanced was to let him do it, so she did.
Until he picked up the washing cloth that lay next to the tub, she had no idea of his true purpose. Then he dipped it into the bowl of soft soap and began to spread the lather on her leg. He crouched down, attending to the task with more seriousness than she knew he felt, never moving his gaze from her leg.
He was playing a game with her—she knew it. He was going to continue until she stopped him. How did she play this?
Isobel was going to stop him, but the pure pleasure of his touch, sliding the cloth along her skin, enticed her. Did she act the maiden with him, demur, and object? Or did she allow him what he so clearly wanted? And what her body demanded of her, too?
‘Athdar?’ she said, shifting so he could lift her leg higher. Then his fingers reached her thigh, kneading the muscles gently with the soapy cloth, and she lost the power to think.
‘Isobel?’ he replied though he asked no question.
‘May I have a boon even if we do not play chess?’ She stopped talking then, stopped breathing, she thought, as well, as one of his fingers grazed the place between her legs. Her breath hitched and that place ached as she waited for him to move his fingers again.
‘A boon, wife?’ He took his hand away then and she almost screamed and dragged it back to where she wanted it most. ‘Have you done something that should be rewarded?’ He left her leg up on the side of the tub and reached for the other. When she lifted it herself, opening her legs and most every bit of her to his gaze, he laughed. ‘Oh, aye, you have.’
She wanted to let her head fall back and simply enjoy the riotous sensations he was causing, but she could not. First, before this could go anything further, was the matter of...
‘I want you to bed me,’ she said, forcing herself to speak when she wanted to moan as his hand moved on her other leg now.
‘Lass, I do not think you have to ask me for that boon,’ he said, his voice now a husky whisper.
‘That is not the boon,’ she said, gasping as the cloth moved higher and higher. Her body answered by arching almost into his hand. ‘I need to tell you something first. Before it is too late.’
‘Oh, Isobel, it was too late when I walked in this chamber.’
He stopped then and stared at her as he stood and walked behind her once more. The heated breath on her neck was the only warning before his hands began moving down her shoulders towards her...
‘Athdar! My boon!’ she gasped as she caught hold of his hands and stopped them. ‘You must know the truth. I will not deceive you about this any longer.’
He did stop then, lifting his hands and walking back to where he could see her face. His expression grew guarded and he looked ready to face some grave disappointment.
‘Tell me your truth, Isobel.’
Sitting there, naked in the water before him, and telling him this secret that stood between them was terribly uncomfortable for her. She brought her legs back into the water and thought on how to make him understand.
‘I am still a virgin, Athdar.’ The truth, plain and clear.
He frowned and shook his head. ‘Why do you defend my actions? I saw the blood on your gown.’
‘You cut your hand on the jug and then grabbed my gown. You did not take my virtue by force that night. This handfasting was not necessary and can be annulled. There has been no consummation between us.’ She just spit it out in simple statements.
‘I did not?’ he asked.
‘Nay, you did not. Not yet.’
‘Thank you,’ he whispered heavenwards. ‘You are certain?’
She laughed then. After being married to two other women who most certainly came to his bed innocent, she thought he would understand that a woman knew such things. ‘Aye. Certain.’ She moved, sloshing water over the side—quickly cooling water. ‘That brings us to the true problem.’
He walked a few paces away and then turned to her. ‘And what is that?’
‘Whether or not to wait our year and a day or to annul this now?’
Silence so deafening it hurt her ears filled the room and the space between them. Here was his chance. If he accepted that she spoke the truth, if he spoke now, she knew her father and mother would see to an annulment as soon as she returned home. With all the connections Connor had to the Church, both in funding various churches and monasteries and in donations to their good works, an annulment would be no problem at all.
‘You know,’ he said in a low voice, ‘I knew your intention before you ever arrived at my gates. I may have misjudged the strength of your efforts, but I knew you wanted me to consider marriage to you.’
‘Was I that obvious?’
He laughed then and nodded. ‘Terribly and completely obvious. But then I was trying to avoid that state and trying to avoid considering you as my wife.’
‘And now?’ she asked. Her voice trembled because she did not want this to end now. She did not want to return to her parents. She wanted to be here and to be his wife. She wanted him to love her as she did him.
He did not answer her directly. Athdar walked to the door, lifted the wooden bar from its place leaning on the wall and he dropped it down into the brackets on either side of the doorframe. Then he came to her side and held his hand out to her, waiting for her to take it. She met his gaze and recognised the frank desire in his dark eyes.
‘Now? Well, I do not want a year and a day to decide. I do not want an annulment. I have decided that I’m keeping you. And after this night, my fair Isobel, there will be no doubt that you are mine.’
Chapter Nineteen
Athdar wanted to fall down on his knees in thanks when she told him her truth.
She said she was a virgin. He had not taken her by force.
Could he believe it, though? She had no reason to lie about something like this. The first time she’d said that nothing had happened between them, he had thought she was just trying to protect him. But now? By giving him a way out, she could avoid coming to his bed. He looked into her eyes and could read the truth there.
She accepted his hand and he helped her to stand in the tub. The water sluiced over the lovely curves and down her limbs as it fell back into the tub. He would have understood if she tried to hide herself from him, but not Isobel. She let him look his fill of her and so he did. He watched the way the pale rose-coloured nipples of her breasts tightened into enticing points that he would taste before long. She let him see the pale, golden curls at the junction of her legs and the long, shapely thighs he’d just touched. Her hair, damp but not wet, swung around her body like a rich, thick curtain and his hands itched to touch it.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as he bent down and lifted her in his arms. Carrying her over to the bed, he placed her there in the middle and stepped back. She shuddered, but he did not think she was cold. He covered her with one of the large drying cloths and then reached for his own belt.
Isobel’s eyes widened as she realised his intention. If he had seen her, it was her chance to see him. She’d touched so much of him with her mouth during the tortuous night of kissing, but now she would see all of him. Peeling off his shirt and trews, he walked back to the tub and washed the dust and sweat of the day’s travel off him. Then, with a deep breath, he faced her.
; She’d seen naked men before. Bathing at the river. She’d seen her brothers many times, even now that they were young men. But not even having kissed his chest the shameless way she had could have prepared her for Athdar. Aroused and rampant. For her. Isobel swallowed several times and waited as he moved towards her slowly.
Would it be a bad thing to reach out and touch him?
‘Nay, lass, not a bad thing.’
She covered her mouth, laughing. She’d not meant to say it aloud but she had. It exposed her desire to him, but instead of making her feel shameful, it made her feel strong. So, she did—she reached out and touched his flesh.
It moved beneath her hand—even as she wrapped her fingers around it she could feel his hot blood pumping through it. Sitting up and kneeling, she drew him closer. He did not resist her at all. His eyes were black with desire now and he panted in short, shallow breaths.
‘Does it hurt?’ she asked. She gentled her touch then, tracing her fingers around the width of it.
His eyes closed, his head fell back and he moaned.
Her body answered the sound by sending heat and moisture to the place between her legs. It ached there and she wanted him to...to...to do something to make it...more.
She wanted more. ‘Athdar,’ she whispered. ‘I want...’
Those were the last words she remembered speaking for some time.
He took her by the shoulders and brought her face up to his. Then his possession, his claiming of her, began in earnest. She leaned in to him and opened her mouth to his. The kisses began as gentle touches, lips on lips, but soon he took and took and took her mouth, thrusting his tongue inside and suckling on hers. When her hands drifted to his chest and she slid over the rough curls there, he took hold of her head and plundered her mouth until she lost her breath.
He pulled back, but he was not done.
‘Lie back,’ he said gruffly. He guided her back and then gathered her hair around her head. Then he tormented her as she had done him, showing her how strong his self-control had been.
His mouth moved like a storm over her—touching, tasting, kissing, licking the length of her body. He laved each of her breasts, cupping them and rubbing his thumb across the sensitive tips until her body bucked and arched up off the bed. Then he blew on them before suckling each one. Just when she thought he was done, he touched them again, rubbing the edges of his teeth across them until she moaned.