The Laird (15 page)

She sniffed the goblet. “I didn’t know you had wine.”

“’Tis saved for special occasions.” He’d been told she would not consume ale. Wanting her a bit tipsy, he was not about to serve her the boiled water she preferred. He spoke amiably about his day as he ate, and she downed half a horn of wine and poked at her food.

“I thought ye hungry, lass.”

“Huh?” She looked up from her trencher and mustered a wee smile. “Oh. I guess my hunger passed.”

No doubt, when ye realized I wasna about to let ye escape
.

He refilled her elk horn goblet. “Do ye find the solar to yer liking?”

She nodded. “But it must be cold in winter. Have you thought of putting in glass?”

“Aye, someday all will be glazed, but fear not the winter cold.” He grinned. “I am a warm soul.”

“Ah.” She licked her lips and fiddled with her food again.

After a moment she said, “Where I come from couples—-men and women—-date, get to know each other before they...” She bit into her bottom lip and chewed.

“Tup,” he offered, trying to suppress a grin. For a widow she was verra shy.

“Ya, ‘tup’ is a good word.” She took another healthy swallow of wine. “You see, my people like to feel comfortable with one another. People don’t just jump into bed together...immediately.” When he raised a disbelieving brow, she amended, “Well, okay, some do, but it’s not the right way. Do you see-—ken--what I mean?”

“Aye.”

“Thank heaven we got that straightened out.” She expelled a great whoosh of air and picked up her knife. “I knew, if given an explanation, you’d understand.”

He waited until she’d eaten a couple of mouthfuls before saying, “Tell me yer way, my lady.”

“My way?”

“Aye, yer way of a man kenning a woman.” He had to find out quickly. The priest would be entering the secret passage and have his eye pressed to the spy hole as soon as he called for the food to be taken away.

“Well, I’d like a man to give me flowers and take me to dinner. To talk as we walk or sit together, that sort of thing. We call it dating.”

He grinned. So far he hadn’t done too badly. He’d fed her and they were talking. “About the tupping.”

“You’re back to that again, are you?” She heaved a sigh. “Well, I’m not speaking from experience you understand—-ken--but I always thought it would be nice to have a man with slow hands.” She grinned self-consciously and trilled the words of her favorite country song,
Slow Hands
, about a man who understood he needed to take his time making love to his lady, and not come and go in a heated rush. She blushed anew and ducked her chin. “It’s a popular song where I come from by a man named Conway Twitty. I’ve always thought it romantic.”

He found her voice lilting and her wine-induced behavior endearing. Such an odd creature, his wife. And what kind of an oaf had she married that she dreamed of a balladeer with slow hands and an odd surname? He huffed at her first husband’s stupidity. Well, he, for one, could be as slow and gentle as she wanted. With that thought in mind, he asked, “What think ye of yer new book?”

“Ah, the new book.” She fiddled with her knife and sucked in her cheeks. “Duncan, it’s very pretty, but a little too...condescending to women for my taste.” Seeing he did not comprehend, she added, “Where I come from women are treated as equals.”

“’Tis so here.” The Magna Carta had made it so, particularly for those poor wee souls who happened to marry or be promised to brutish men. He didn’t like the skeptical look in her eye, but left the argument for another day. His objective at the moment was not, after all, to prove his rightness in such matters, but to spread her thighs and consummate this forced marriage--or all would be lost.

Hoping to lower her guard, he reached for her hand. He turned it palm up in his.

Some claim eyes were the window into one’s soul but her delicate, decidedly feminine hands had already illuminated her soul to his perusal. With them, she had brought him back from the brink of death. And--if Angus was to be believed--she had cried over him in the process. That alone warranted his best efforts as he consummated their vows. He ran his thumb gently across her palm, noting new flesh were the water had burned. He was taken aback by her skin’s softness. A softness now mirrored in her eyes. “Have ye a passion in life, lass?”

She blushed. “I love to cook and to read. And you?”

He grinned. Dare he tell her? She hadn’t pulled her hand away. Nay, not yet. “Being laird is enough.”

“All work and no play will make you a dull lad, Duncan.”

He grinned and lifted a brow. When he murmured, “My thoughts, exactly,” she choked on her wine.

He pounded her gently on the back. When she finally turned a natural pink he asked, “Are ye finished, lass?” When she nodded, he went to the door.

Within moments the room had been cleared, the door locked, and his lady had backed herself into a corner again.

He stood at the foot of his large bed and held out his hand. He whispered, “Lass, come here.”

She shook her head, and he shrugged. He could give her more time. He had to undress anyway and snuff out all but one candle. He saw no point in giving the blasted priest more than a glimpse of this coupling. No more than need be to insure his holdings were safe.

He tended to the candles first, suspecting his size might put his shy lady off should she get too clear a view of things. He then tried to shrug out of his coat and immediately groaned.

To his surprise Beth ran to his side. “Duncan, you’re going to tear yourself open again. Let me.”

She carefully eased his jerkin off. As she started to walk away with it folded over her arm, he caught her wrist and pulled her into his embrace.

“Nay, my lady, ’tis time.” He lifted her chin with a finger and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I promise this eve will be as slow as ye luste.” He placed a hand on her neck and felt her pulse bounding under his fingers. He smiled when fabric slip past his legs, surprised that just his touch had been enough to cause her to lose her grip of his jerkin. He kicked it under the bed.

She pressed both palms to his chest. “Duncan, I really don’t want...”

“Sssh, lass, ye have nay reason to fash.” He gently brushed his lips against her forehead. He heard her little intake of breath when he drifted lower to kiss her eyelids. When his lips slid over her soft cheeks to hover over her lips, the pressure she applied to his chest eased.

Ah. Apparently, she didn’t mind being kissed, perhaps was even curious. He’d not argue with that. He’d been staring at her lush, full lips for days wondering how they’d feel.

He ran his tongue along the crease of her trembling lips then nibbled on her plump lower one. Plain though she be, his lady did have a nicely shaped mouth, full and nearly liquid under his. He licked and she gasped, opening for him.

Never one to miss an opportunity, he delved into her. Ah. To his delight she tasted of wine and mint, her tongue felt like velvet as it slid slowly against his. He deepened the kiss, languishing in the silken interior of her mouth as her warm feminine scent filled his chest. When he changed angles to plunge deeper still, she moaned. Her velvet growl set his heart racing. He could not remember when that had happened last. Mayhap, never.

His blood heating, he ran a gentle hand up from her waist to caress the sweet fullness of her breast, only to have her stiffen in his arms. Ah. She did mean
slow
. No matter. ’Twas all the better for his purposes.

With any luck the priest hidden behind the wall was already in his cups and half way to sleep. Since noon, Angus had been pouring as much mead as possible down the damn man’s gullet. Hopefully, he’d be out cold when they joined or near enough that he’d not dare naysay their coupling done.

Duncan refocused on the task at hand--his assault against his bride’s shy nature. Since she’d not pushed his hand from her breast, he gently swirled his thumb along the side of the decidedly firm globe. He could have hoped for more to hold, but what he stroked felt deliciously female and his manhood rose.

He cradled her to his hips. As his fingers captured her nipple, to stroke it firm, she gasped and he deepened his kiss. To his delight her breath heated, as did her skin. Her hands began inching up his chest to his shoulders, traveled as if by their own accord. When they slid around his neck, fingers burrowing deep into his hair, he groaned into her mouth and slid a hand to her buttocks. Delighted with her unexpected response, with the taste and feel of her, he gently drew her against his throbbing need and slowly backed her toward the bed.

His height, while a good thing in battle, made aligning inflamed body parts while standing with a woman nigh onto impossible. He needed her on her back, and he needed it now.

He deepened his kiss before lifting her with his good arm. She mewed into his mouth as he slowly lowered her onto the bed. He settled as best he could—-given her blasted skirt--between her warm thighs. Her tongue caressed his. Ah, yes, this is what a man lives for. A woman not afraid to show pleasure, a woman willing to give as well as receive.

He cradled her left breast in his palm, his thumb finding joy as it traced the firm nub of her nipple. Would they be pink or a deep caramel, he wondered, sliding his lips along her jaw and settling on her shoulder. He needed to taste her, needed to suckle her nipples like a hungry babe. Needed to rock into her hips, to feel the heat and moisture that hid beneath the layers of fabric keeping him at bay.

He shifted his weight to his left arm, much to his shoulder’s dismay, and slid his free hand down her leg.

Her hands suddenly slammed into his chest.

“No!” She pushed again at his chest. “Duncan, please, we can’t.”

He blinked. “Huh?” What in God’s name had taken her out of her warm lassitude so suddenly? He rocked up onto his elbows, his hands now on either side of her face. “What’s wrong, lass?” He studied her anxious expression and silently cursed. Had he been moving too quickly? Had he been too rough? What?

“I...” Her pupils were still dilated with lust as her gaze darted from his face to the door. She nibbled on her lower lip, her breath still hot and fast from their kissing. Nothing made sense to him.

She swallowed hard. “I...I have my flowers.”

Her flowers? Nay. This couldna be. He’d have noticed her waddling like a babe with a load in its nappy. At the least, she would have occasionally cradled her belly.

He inhaled, his nares flaring slightly as he sampled the heated air between his face and hers.
Nay, ‘tis nothing here to indicate flowers
.

As he studied her features more closely, she blushed and turned her face away.

Ah huh!
The wench lies
.

“Humph!” He ran a gentle finger along her lower lip. When he did it again, her gaze locked on his lips and took on the decidedly unfocused look of passion. He watched, bemused, as her tongue tentatively slid along the path his finger had taken. Aye, she’s lying, but why?

“Ye flowers, lass?”

Her gaze shifted to his chest as she nodded like a sandpiper. She started worrying her lovely lower lip near to death with her upper teeth. “Uh-huh.”

He brushed a loose strand from her forehead and fingered its silky texture. “Ye’d not be telling a fib out of fear or mayhap shyness, now would ye?”

“Oh, no! No, no, no. I have my flowers.” She had yet to look him in the eye. “Definitely.”

“I see.” He kissed her brow, and was pleased to see her gaze found his lips once again as he pulled away. “Well, my ladywife, then I fear I canna go on....” She sighed, visibly more relaxed. She patted his chest.

He rocked up onto his knees, his hands coming to rest on either side of her hips. He smiled. When she offered him a tentative smile of her own, he added, “...until I check.”

He buried his face between her skirted thighs and heard a squeal loud enough to wake the dead.

P
lease, God, take me now!

Beth squealed louder and longer as Duncan noisily snuffled and sniffed at her crotch again. This time she tugged on his ears for all she was worth. “Duncan! Stop! What hell are you doing?”

If a body could die of mortification, she wanted to be on the short list. Had to be on it. She struggled to sit, and finding she couldn’t, she swatted his head. “Damn it, Duncan!”

He finally came up for air, laughing to kill himself. “Ah, lass, ye are a wondrously poor liar.”

In less than a heartbeat he rocked forward and settled on top of her, as he had before, his knee gently wedging her legs apart. Her treacherous thighs instinctively separated to accommodate his weight before she’d realized what they had done, so she again found herself pinned under more than two hundred pounds of solid muscle, and if her loins were correct, nearly as much bulging manhood.

He captured her hands in each of his own and settled them above her head. She stared wide-eyed at his suddenly inscrutable features. Then slowly, one corner of his mouth curled and a wicked gleam took shape in his eyes.

Uh-oh!

He started to slowly rock against her hips as his grin widened.

Now, God. Now would be a good time to take me!

She turned her face as his mouth drew near. She’d play no part in this...this seduction. He’d not said, “I’m fond of you,” much less said “I love you.” The fact that she’d mooned over him, cried over him, and was totally confused by her body’s response to him didn’t matter one wit. She couldn’t make love to him. She just couldn’t.

His lips grazed along her neck. “Ah, lass, ye are a wonder.” When he sucked gently where her neck and shoulder met, she gasped as unexpected tingles raced down her spine.
Oh my word
.

No, she just couldn’t open her heart to the pain again, could not allow herself to become vulnerable.

He licked the spot and she moaned. He then moved his lips only an inch further down and did it again.

When his lips stopped to nibble again, she did manage to whisper, “Duncan, husband, I really don’t think...”