Bride of Dunloch (Highland Loyalties) (3 page)

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 sizeable 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 her 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.

Joining her husband at the head table, Jane could not help but feel that every pair of eyes in the hall was surreptitiously watching her, aware of the humiliation she had suffered the night before as if the evidence of her shame had been transcribed onto her body.

Perhaps it had been, she thought dully. The flesh between her thighs was so tender and bruised that she was forced to walk stiffly and sit with care. But if Lord Reginald noticed her discomfort, he said nothing.

“What do you think you shall do this day, my dear?” he queried amiably once he’d finished his meal.

She swallowed the mouthful of cheese she’d taken, and smiled gracefully. “I think I should like to see the spinning room. Then perhaps I shall stroll about the grounds and become familiar with the landscape.”

“That is well, but I must insist you do not venture too far. For though my men patrol the borders of Dunloch with vigilance, there is no guarantee that a crafty MacGillivray straggler may slip past them. You do not want to be on your own should you run into one of them.” Then, considering, he added, “Shall I fetch you an escort?”

“I pray you do not,” she replied hastily. “In truth I desire the time alone to reflect and to enjoy the peace of the day. I assure you I shall not venture far.”

“Alright,” he relented. “Mind you be very careful, though.”

“I shall,” she promised.

“Well then, my love,” Lord Reginald said, placing his hands on the wooden table top on either side of his trencher, “I’m afraid I must leave you now. I have much to do.”

He stood from the sturdy table, and with an obligatory kiss to the top of his bride’s head, he left the great hall to begin his day’s tasks.

Jane watched him go, followed by half a dozen of his attendants. She was anxious that he might realize there had been a note of deceit in her voice, for in truth, she had lied. She had no intention of staying close to the castle—her plan, spun almost as soon as she had passed by the place, was to return to the site of the lone English soldier.

She hastened through the remainder of her meal, eager to excuse herself from the great hall and the curious eyes of the castle inhabitants within. Returning to her bedchamber, she donned a sturdy wool gown and matching cloak with a wide hood. Then, without seeking out Ruth to inform her maid of where she was headed, she stole through the castle and escaped the outer curtain wall through the rear gate house. A short time later she had crossed over the rolling, green hills and was travelling contentedly along the main road under a low, grey sky.

Her contentment did not last long, however; the journey to the mysterious site of the lone soldier was nearly an hour on foot. She arrived at the site, flushed and agitated, and exhaled with relief when finally she spotted a figure dressed in the distinct English mail and orange tunic—though the man wearing it was not the one she’d seen previously. Where yesterday it was a tall and broad-shouldered young man, today it was a rather withered man of well advanced years.