Rogue's Challenge (23 page)
She nodded, tears flowing down her cheeks.
He leaned forward and whispered against her lips. “Then marry me. I beg you."
"Yes.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with everything she had in her.
Colin appeared in the doorway. “I take it the lass is well,” Colin said.
Ian lifted his head and smiled at his friend. “Aye, all is as it should be. Tell Amelia that Jenny is fine and has consented to be my wife."
"And you'd better hurry before she gets out of bed to find out for herself,” Jenny added tearfully.
Chuckling, Colin closed the door behind him.
Ian eased onto the bed beside her and pulled her into his lap, her head nestled beneath his chin. “We have much to discuss,” he said, and cleared his throat, the topic not of his liking. “Amelia has told me much of your life. About your work, your father ... your fortune. But I have naught to give you, Jen. Nothing but my sorry self and a few coins."
She lifted her head and peered into his eyes while stealing her arms around his neck. “And that bothers you."
"Aye, greatly. Your sire will look upon me and ask me of my worth and I have nothing to commend me."
"The fact that you saved my life, that I love you, that you're the father of my child ... none of those things count. Is that what you mean?"
He leaned his forehead against hers with a sigh. “The fact that I bedded you before wedding you is most definitely not in my favor. But ‘tis my lack of prospects that concerns me most."
She kissed him tenderly. “Then we will have to do something about that, Master Southernland."
"And how do you propose we do that, Mistress Maxwell?” he whispered, returning her kiss and lingering at the sweet edges of her lips.
On a moan she tilted back her head and allowed him access to her neck as he trailed kisses across her skin. “We need to examine your talents and exploit them."
He chuckled as he nipped her shoulder with his teeth. “I do not think I can increase my coffers with this particular talent."
With a laugh she pushed at his shoulders. “I am not about to comment on that, but you do have other talents."
"Talents we shall discuss at a later time, love,” he said, and laid her on the bed where they ended a day filled with life and death with some very pleasurable pursuits.
"Have you figured out anything yet?” Tuck asked.
Jenny handed little Heather back to her mother. “No. Every idea I or Colin has, Ian shoots down without a thought. I'm almost afraid we'll never get married."
"Hey, this isn't stopping him from saying I do, is it?"
Jenny nodded with a grim frown.
"Oh, you've definitely got to find something for him to do then."
"I know,” she sighed. “He refuses to step into the future with nothing to show for himself. He has too much pride to go to my father with nothing. And he hates the idea of me paying for everything when we get there."
"He wants to work,” Tuck said with a snort. “A day I never thought I'd see."
Jenny planted her hands on her hips and looked across to Tuck where she nursed Heather. “You make it sound like he's lazy."
She chuckled. “No, not lazy, just privileged."
"If only one of his apprenticeships could do him some good in the future,” she said thoughtfully.
"I don't think sixteenth century law will do him any good."
"No, not unless he writes history books.” Jenny threw up her hand before Tuck could suggest it. “I already mentioned it, and no. He doesn't see himself as a writer or expert on history. Too stodgy, he says."
Tuck nodded with a crooked grin. “Yeah, I have to admit. I can't see him as something that—settled. He likes activity, fighting, riding—"
Jenny laughed. “And charming whoever is around."
"Hey, how about politician?"
"Are you kidding? He'd probably challenge his opponent to a duel the first time a derogatory remark was made about him."
"Or you or your father.” Tuck sighed and tucked Heather into the crib beside her brother. “No. I'm afraid that man has knowledge of only three things that will carry to the future. Ancient weaponry, women, and horses."
Jenny stilled. “Horses?"
She sat back in her chair and adjusted her gown. “Sure. He spent all his time in stables when he wasn't working in the lists or chasing skirts. I think he still does."
Her head cocked to the side as ideas raced through her mind. “And you're certain he wasn't just sneaking off to the stables with a girl?"
"Positive. To be honest, he hasn't done much chasing since I got back last fall. I don't think he likes to fool around with the locals. Too messy if things should go bad, know what I mean?"
A smile spread across Jenny's face as the perfect solution to the problem came to her. “Tuck, you're a genius.” With that she jumped out of her chair and bolted through the door.
"Thanks! But what did I say?"
Ian pitched another bit of muck from the stall into a cart, his body drenched with sweat. He'd shed his doublet and shirt ages ago, but could not shed his apprehension. Hard work oft settled his brain when a problem presented itself, but not this time. After a few hours in the lists, then a long hard ride, he'd resorted to mucking stalls to find some relief, but to no avail.
"Ian, I—” Jenny stopped but a few paces inside the stable, her mouth agape.
"What is it?” He dropped the shovel and hurried to her. “Are you not well?” He pressed his dirt-smudged hand against her belly. “Is the babe all right?"
A slow sweet smile spread across her lips. “I love you. Do you know that?"
"Aye, but—"
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.
"Sweet Jen,” he moaned, relishing the feel of her in his arms, in his heart. “I fear I am getting your dress dirty,” he whispered against her lips.
"I don't care,” she sighed.
With a chuckle, he pulled away, but only a scant bit of inches. “And the need for a kiss is what brought you running into the stables, scaring me half out of my wits?"
"Mmm, I always need your kisses. Especially when you look so incredibly sexy without your shirt.” She kissed him, rubbing against him like a kitten, then pulled free of his arms. “But I do have another reason for being here."
"Aye, and have tortured me soundly for it."
She giggled with an impish gleam in her eye. “I'd say I'm sorry, but we both know that would be a lie."
"You shall pay the price later, my love.” He kissed the tip of her nose then returned to the shovel. “So what is this reason for seeking me out other than torture?"
"I've solved the problem."
He slowly turned back to her, banking the hope growing in his chest. The need to be worthy of her was all he could think on. He could protect her, but could not provide for her and their babe, not in her time.
"Horses."
Ian blinked a moment or two. “Horses?"
She nodded, her eyes bright, her smile wide.
"I am afraid, love you shall have to explain. Horses are not a means of travel in your time. How could they be the answer to my problem?"
"Horses may not be for everyday travel, but they're widely used for pleasure. Some places still use them for work, like in America."
He shook his head, not understanding her logic. “I cannot care for you and our child mucking stalls."
"No, not that. You know all about them. Breeding, training, buying, trading, you know it all."
"Aye, I have a vast knowledge of the beasts, but horse breeding is not an inexpensive venture. I would need the funds to begin, which I do not have.” He put away the shovel and took up his clothes as he crossed to her. “I am sorry, love. ‘Tis a fine idea, truly, but I cannot undertake such an endeavor."
"How much?"
"Nay, you will not provide it, nor will I ask Colin for it,” he said firmly. “We shall think of something else."
"No. This is the answer, I'm certain of it."
He put his arm around her waist and started across the bailey.
"Ian, how much money do you think you have to have in your pocket to feel comfortable marrying me?"
He stopped in mid-stride. “You think that—nay, love. You have it wrong.” Pulling her into his arms, ignoring the jeers from the battlements, he kissed her. How could she think that he would not honor his vow? “Nothing will stop me from marrying you. Not my station, not my empty purse, nothing this side of death will stop me from having you as my wife."
"Do you mean it?"
"Aye, my love. With all my heart. I only wish to provide for you without aid, ‘tis a matter of pride. I will wed you, make no mistake."
His fingers drifted down her long braid as his gaze roamed o'er her fey features. If he had but known this was why she'd not chosen their wedding date, he would have explained himself ages ago. “You have but to say when. And I warn you, little one. If you do not pick the date before sundown this day, I will toss you o'er my shoulder and present you before the priest first thing on the morrow."
With a smile so bright and tears in her eyes, she said, “How fast can you get cleaned up?"
Ian threw back his hair with a boisterous laugh. “Today it shall be."
Nestled together in the marriage bed, Ian let his fingers drift over her shoulder, along her arm, down to the hand that wore his ring. He lifted it and placed a kiss to the back of his wife's hand.
Wife.
The word had meant little to him in the past, but today, this night, and for the rest of his life it would mean heaven.
"You're thinking again,” he whispered, spying the small crease between her brows.
"You never gave me a price.” She turned on her side and cupped his face, running her thumb across his bottom lip. “How much do you need to feel comfortable?"
"You have no need to worry on that, love. I will have enough before we leave."
"Oh?"
"Colin has need of new horse flesh and does not wish to leave Amelia and the babes. I will go in his stead."
"You're going to act as his buyer?"
"Aye."
She smiled as she kissed him. “Then when we get home, you can begin building your own lines, and you will be using my dowry to help you.” He shook his head, but she stayed him. “Yes, you will. That's how it's done now, and that's how it will be done when we get home."
With a chuckle, he kissed her. “And how much, dare I ask, is your dowry?"
"Whatever is fair for this century."
"Why do I detect an omission?"
"Oh, all right, this century plus a cost of living increase."
He laughed and settled atop her lithe form. “Four hundred years is quite a lot of increase, think you?"
"It's only fair,” she said breathlessly, as he sheathed himself in her warmth.
"Aye, fair in deed. I shall not let you win every argument, love."
"Mmm, who's arguing?"
Tobor Morar is a real port. It was not actually established, however, until the late 1700s.
The roughness of a new beard scraped against Joanna's skin as thick full lips pressed firmly against her mouth. She whimpered and the pressure softened. Slowly he pulled away, but she didn't want him to leave. It had been three years since a man had really kissed her, and although it hadn't felt like the start of a kiss, she desperately wished it to end as one. After all, she was only dreaming again.
She often had dreams like this one. Dreams where a faceless man held her in his arms and soothed her aching spirit. She used to see her husband's face, and in the beginning, that had brought her comfort, but over the years since his death, his image had faded. Now there was no face, no identity, only the feeling, and she welcomed it.
With a soft moan, she caressed his lips. He lingered, barely touching, then pressed his mouth once more against hers. Teasing her lips apart, his tongue enticed hers to explore the taste and texture of his mouth, dueling and delving deeper, filling the emptiness of her weary soul. She wanted the feeling to last forever, but after another moment of pure bliss he was gone, and it was time to wake up.
Slowly lifting her heavy lids, she found herself looking into a pair of eyes the color of cool green moss.
"Welcome back.” The deep resonant tone of his voice sent goose bumps across her damp skin and she shivered.
He raised his head and turned, giving her a view of his nearly perfect profile. “Toss me that towel."
Not a dream? Not a faceless lover?
A two-day-old beard covered his strong jaw and upper lip. Around his face and across his tanned brow, hair dark as pitch lay in unruly waves. Water droplets fell from the tips as he turned back to her. Stroking her skin with the towel, she shivered again.
"I hope you're not going into shock,” he said.
Shock?
She'd just experienced the most delicious kiss of her life from the most handsome man she had ever seen.
Hell yes, she was in shock. But that wasn't what he meant. Her thoughts hurried back to the moment before she opened her eyes, but her mind was totally blank except for the kiss.
She cleared her throat awkwardly. “What happened?"
He leaned over her, stopping a whisper away. His lashes were long and spiked together with moisture. She felt lost in his eyes.
"You almost drowned. You bumped your head and went under. I pulled you out. I was about to give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.” His thick full lips cocked into a rakish grin. “Or I thought I was. I guess you didn't take in any water after all."
Was it possible to die from embarrassment? Joanna briefly touched her mouth with her fingers. A faint taste of lake water lingered across her tongue, but her throat and lungs felt fine.
"How do you feel?” he asked.
A bead of water fell from a lock of hair curling out from his brow, landing on her cheek. He gently brushed away the moisture with the tip of his finger as though he were sweeping away a dewdrop from a flower.