Except the chamber he’d suspected she would be in was empty. Indeed, each door he shoved open on the keep’s second floor, the one reserved for guests, was empty. By now Gillian would be abed. He could seek her out, but Graeme would likely not appreciate it. Should he wake Morgan instead? Perhaps the maid was not yet abed.
He took two steps back toward the hall and stopped.
Something Allie had said to him surfaced in his mind. He’d told her about seeing Clarissa again, and how it had made him feel, and she’d responded, “I understand well. It is you who does not understand. But you will.”
She’d recognized the depth of his feelings for Clarissa from the start. She’d recognized Clarissa was to be family. He smiled, certain he had solved the riddle.
He went back toward the great hall, this time turning up another corridor and ascending a different set of circular stairs. There were just two chambers up here. One, a smaller version of the solar chamber enjoyed by the lord and lady of Highgate. The other, a much larger room that he and Graeme had once shared as children. It had since been transformed to an adult’s bedchamber, the two small beds replaced with a large one, and all vestiges of the lads’ childhood removed.
Aidan paused as his hand fell on the iron handle of his bedchamber.
Clarissa would be in there, waiting for him. Waiting for this night and for the beginning of their lives together.
He pushed the door open.
* * *
Though she’d been waiting for him to arrive, Clarissa startled when the door opened. She’d not been nervous before now, but watching Aidan as he closed the door behind him . . .
“Gillian?” he asked.
Clarissa looked down at her fine cream chemise and then back up to meet Aidan’s watchful gaze.
“Allie. The gown was Gillian’s.”
“Ahhh.” He took a step toward her. “They’ve taken to you, lass.”
Clarissa nodded, not trusting her voice.
“And I them.”
In three long strides, he reached her, pulling her toward him, and crushed his lips to hers. Clarissa wrapped her arms around him and responded with a tentative touch of her tongue, vowing never to let go. Aidan plunged deeper, his tongue tousling with hers, his head tilting for better access.
This was unlike any of their previous kisses. This one was meant to claim, and its outcome would ensure it. She had thought perhaps they would talk first. After all, there was much to discuss. But Aidan appeared to have other plans.
When his hand reached for the hem of her chemise, his fingers brushing her flesh, something inside her snapped. She wanted no barriers between them, now or ever.
“Take it off,” she said, pulling her lips away for the briefest of moments. Aidan took the opportunity to lift the chemise, and in one fluid motion, he tossed it onto the ground.
But then he stopped.
“I plan to worship every bit of your luscious body before the night is through,” he said, staring into her eyes as he spoke.
With that, he lifted her into his arms and claimed her mouth once again. Clarissa, so intent on the feel of the arms cradling her and the firm pressure of his lips, barely registered they were moving before the cool cloth hit her back. She now lay on his bed. Assuming he would join her, Clarissa began to push herself upward, toward the pillows, but Aidan grabbed her ankles to stop her.
“Nay.”
Running his hands from her ankles upward, he reached behind her waist and pulled her toward the edge of the bed so her feet now dangled over it. He stood then, pulling his own shirt over his head and tearing off his leather boots as if they offended him.
She attempted to prop herself onto her elbows, but Aidan stopped her.
“Stay where you are,” he commanded. “I begin to fulfill my promise now.”
“What promi—”
The sight of him kneeling at the foot of the bed confused her. What was he about?
“Relax, my love,” he said, gently pulling her knees wide. And then, with the wickedest of grins, he added, “My promise to worship you.”
Nothing . . . nothing could have possibly prepared her for the feel of Aidan’s tongue on her. She did pull back then, surprised. But his hands reassured her, his thumbs rubbing gently on her inner thighs. When he touched his tongue again, she was prepared.
And worship her he did.
Clarissa grasped the coverlet at her sides as he used his tongue, his lips and, oh God, his fingers to render her incapable of coherent thought. Her legs quivered as she brought her hips up to meet him, and the slight throbbing she’d felt turned into violent pulsing that started at her core and traveled straight up to every other part of her body.
Calling his name over and over again, Clarissa finally opened her eyes and relaxed her grip on the coverlet. He stood between her legs, smiling.
“If you’d done that before, I might not have left.”
The sound of his laughter as he walked to the side of the bed sent a different kind of warmth flooding through her. Moving upward to join him, Clarissa tried to grab the top of the coverlet to pull it down, but Aidan stopped her.
“Nay,” he said. “I would see you as we make love.”
And that was when she realized they had only just gotten started.
* * *
He didn’t know where to begin.
As he stared down at the perfection of the woman who would be his wife, Aidan worried, for the first time in years, about his ability to prolong her pleasure. He’d thought of this so many times. Dreamed of this very sight, a naked Clarissa in his bed.
When she’d come down to the hall earlier, Aidan had felt sure he’d never see a lovelier sight.
He’d been wrong.
Aidan took a deep breath as he removed his braies and trewes.
“Oh . . . dear.” Clarissa’s mouth hung open, making it difficult for him to remain humble under her appreciative gaze. Her eyes revealed all, as usual.
“Are you scared?”
“Nay,” she said. “But I am surprised.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know why. Instead of responding, Aidan surprised her again by shifting back down to the bottom of the bed. Positioning himself between her legs, he started with her calf, moving quickly to the sensitive flesh behind her knees. As he ran his hands upward, following each touch with a kiss, his lips pressed harder and harder each time. When he reached her hip, he flicked out his tongue. On her stomach, a bit more. By the time he arrived at her breasts, Clarissa reached down and grabbed the hair at the back of his head.
But he didn’t need prompting to take the hard peak into his mouth. Or to give her other breast the attention it deserved as well. When his fingers found her, Clarissa was wet, waiting. But it was not time.
Not yet.
First, he wished to hear his name on her lips. He would feel her pleasure beneath his mouth. He would know she had been well pleasured this night, the one just before he made her his in truth. When she closed her fists in his hair, he did not let up. Just the opposite in fact. He caught her cries with a searing kiss, thoughts of hearing his name forgotten in a rush of pleasure so powerful Aidan knew he’d not last much longer.
Without giving her time to recover, Aidan pulled away and watched the haze of her climax begin to lift.
“Marry me. Tomorrow.”
Her lips, slightly parted and glistening from his kiss, were too tempting. He gave in, just one small touch of his lips.
“But how—”
“Father Simon has agreed to say the vows. But if you would rather wait—”
“Nay.”
His heart skipped a beat.
“That is to say, nay I do not wish to wait. Tomorrow is a fine day for a wedding.”
The look in her eyes told him she was no longer afraid. He’d never felt happier than he did at this moment.
“If we are to marry tomorrow,” she asked, “does that mean we will wait until tomorrow night to—”
He’d pushed her leg
s apart with his knees. But just in case that wasn’t enough of an answer, he guided himself to her, entering just enough to give her the answer she sought.
“It will hurt, but not for long. Or so I am told.”
Just a bit deeper . . . “How is that?”
Clarissa gripped his shoulders. “It is . . . different than your fingers.”
He laughed, both at her words and at her bemused expression.
“I should hope so, lass.”
He’d reached the barrier, and she must have felt it too. Leaning down, Aidan used his tongue to coax her lips apart. When they did, he gave her no quarter. Waves of heat shot up from where they were joined, the kiss slowly spiraling out of control.
Good.
When he felt her tighten around him, Aidan thrust into her.
“Tell me when you want me to move again,” he said through gritted teeth, fighting the need to thrust again. Arms shaking as he held himself above her, he reminded himself not to look down. Instead, he concentrated on her face, waiting for her to relax.
“I . . . I think you can move.”
When he did, it wasn’t nearly enough. But she would set the pace, not he.
“Maybe a bit more.”
He gave her more, would give her everything if she so desired. Need coiled in his groin, the desire to push so strong—
“Like this.” The lass grasped his hips and guided him. He’d have laughed again if he could breathe.
She was going to kill him. Aidan would die the night before his own wedding.
Another push of her hips, and he’d had enough. It was clear Clarissa was ready, and so he gave her what she’d so gently asked for. Aidan gave her all of him. Instead of releasing his hips, she continued to hold on, to push them together. By now he was slamming into her harder than he would have wanted for their first time, but Clarissa showed no signs of relenting. It was only when he began to circle his hips that she let go in favor of gripping the coverlet.
“Aidan, I need—”
“I know what you need, my love.”
He kissed her. For every missed opportunity. Every time he’d left her. He kissed her for not having come back for her sooner, for the love that had first budded in his heart the first day they met.
Aidan kissed her for loving him back.
And when she began to pulse beneath him, he kissed her for the powerful throbs that ensured she was his, forever. As she clenched around him, Aidan shattered with her, their cries one. The world ceased to exist. Everything that mattered was here in the aftermath of the most incredible experience of his life.
Like nothing before it.
She was like no one else.
He refused to be separated from her just yet, so he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. He hadn’t held her for long enough when she lifted her head.
“Can we do that again?”
Luckily, his chamber was in an isolated part of the keep, for otherwise his roar of laughter would easily have been overheard. Before pulling away, he kissed her nose and then nipped at her lower lip.
“As many times as you’d like, lass.”
“You knew it would be like that?”
“Well, not precisely—”
“And yet you held yourself back from me?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure I could have done the same.”
Saucy lass.
“Says the woman who was less than a sennight away from becoming a nun.”
Her eyes widened. At least now she understood.
“How could you have let me even consider such a thing?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
He’d wondered the same.
“That,” he tried to explain, “was magnificent. I tried to persuade you of how good we would be together, but I could not decide for you. I’d have been no better than your father had I attempted to do so.”
He could tell she understood what he meant.
“Then I’m glad I decided to come back.” She looked down at him then, and Aidan felt himself already growing hard.
“As am I.”
He could tell the moment she knew, and approved. But when Clarissa attempted to move away, he stopped her.
“Nay, lass, stay right there.”
“On top of you?”
He groaned. “Aye, on top of me.”
“But . . . can I . . . can we—”
“Oh yes, we can.”
And he would enjoy showing her how.
Chapter 28
Three days of pure joy.
From that night to the impromptu but perfect wedding and then their first full day of marriage, the last three days had been the happiest of Clarissa’s life. And yet a single shadow hung over them. They still had not received word about who would replace Lord Caxton. Whenever he sensed she was worrying about her father—that he might discover her whereabouts before doing what he’d pledged—Aidan reassured her that all would be well.
She’d begun to believe him.
So when two men she didn’t recognize strode into the hall just as they finished the midday meal, the hairs on her arms stood up straight. Aidan’s and Graeme’s expressions did not help alleviate her worry.
“Who are they?”
“Lawrence’s men. Though I don’t see him, which is unusual.”
“Greetings,” Aidan called as he and Graeme stood. “Where is Lawrence?”
The men exchanged glances. Oh God, no . . .
“Is he—”
“Lawrence is well,” one of them said. “May we have a word?”
Clarissa stood to leave, the meal having already concluded. Gillian had not been feeling well, so she would go up to see her.
Aidan reached out and took her hand. “Stay.”
“But you have matters to attend to—”
“We have matters to attend to.”
He squeezed her hand before releasing it. Pleased that he wished her to stay, she sat back down. A flurry of activity unfolded in front of her as Graeme cleared the hall, those who’d remained after the meal leaving to attend to their various duties.
“What happened?” Graeme asked as he returned to the high table.
The shorter of the two men spoke.
“A raid,” he said, his eyes darting between Graeme and Aidan. “Alec led a hot trod across the border after the perpetrators—”
Alec? Clarissa tried to remember who that might be. Ah, Lawrence’s older brother. She’d met him during her stay at their keep.
“One of the thieves was killed by one of our men—”
“Alec ordered everyone back home to Bowden Castle,” the taller man said. They were both talking at once now. “But they were attacked by the same family on their return—”
“Alec is dead.”
Clarissa gasped.
Aidan’s flexed jaw and raised shoulder were the only indication he’d heard that proclamation. Graeme, on the other hand, pounded his fist on the table. “He will be avenged—”
“There’s more.”
When the two men looked at her, Clarissa’s blood ran cold. More? Did it have to do with—
“The reivers claim Caxton is still in power. They bragged of not having to account for their crimes.”
“Still in power?”
Aidan, though he would appear calm to one who did not know him well, was seething now in anger.
“Our chief sent us here to deliver a message. Caxton is still warden and will remain as such. The Earl of Theffield had no intention of ever removing him. While he placated Douglas, he was gathering enough men to turn Theffield Castle into an impenetrable stronghold.”
“What?” she cried out, unable to stop herself. “He never intended . . .”
She clamped a hand over her mouth. But Aidan nodded his encouragement. “Go on, lass.”
Bastard.
Even though she’d initially expected some sort of duplicity, her father’s cruelty still surprised her. “I’d begun to believe, though it seemed unlikely, my father was on your side. Or at least, o
n the side of peace. But if he’s been so bold, it can only mean he has the support of the king. They are preparing for war.”
No one spoke.
“Lawrence,” she asked finally, “where is he?”
She was fond of Aidan’s friend and worried for him. “He is with the chief,” one of the men replied. “They are burying their own. But they wanted you to know . . . to prepare. We have others to inform—”
“Of course,” Aidan said. “Give Lawrence my deepest sympathies—”
Graeme nodded. “And tell the chief of Clan Karyn they have our full support.”
They did not smile, exactly, but Clarissa could tell the men were pleased with Graeme’s words. When they turned to leave, Graeme excused himself. He would find a servant to give them food to take.
Gillian would be proud. She was always worrying if everyone around them had enough to eat.
“I am so sorry,” Clarissa said, turning to face Aidan.
“He was a good man. Lawrence must be devastated.”
She hated to think of what it would do to Aidan if something were to happen to Graeme.
“He will never recover.” He looked at her expectantly. “But you know what this means? Your father.”
“He did not need our marriage as motivation to act against us. He was already doing so.”
“It appears war is unavoidable now.” Aidan reached for her, and Clarissa gave him her hand. “You being here, with us, is not the cause.”
Once, she would have been glad for that. But the thought of Aidan going to battle . . . she shuddered.
“What will happen now?”
He thought for a moment and then stood abruptly, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him.
“Now? We walk.”
Hand in hand, she and Aidan left the hall, walked through the courtyard and toward the gatehouse.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why don’t my father and Caxton and the others reach out and grab the peace that is right before them? Why allow the border to revert back to the way it was before the truce? This strife does not seem to benefit anyone.”
The Guardian’s Favor: Border Series Book Nine Page 20