Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (165 page)

“No, not here.” Lord, her life sounded bleak.

While Mrs. Kirkwall took a moment to frame her next question, Elisande breathed in the apple-scented wood fire. The embers cracked and popped as she waited for the Scotswoman to speak her mind.

“I beg your pardon, milady, but do you understand the intimacies between a man and woman?”

Elisande thought a moment and a long buried memory revealed itself. Apparently, she harbored a vague notion of coupling. She looked at Mrs. Kirkwall’s open countenance and decided the woman was a godsend.

She nodded her encouragement, her springy gray curls bobbed up and down.

Elisande shifted in her seat.

“I happened upon one of the chambermaids in the horse stable when I was a child of ten and one. I did not follow her,” she made that detail clear.

“I understand. Please, go on, milady.”

“I often played in one of the empty stalls. ’Twas the repeated thumps that lured me to the loft, you see. When I caught site of a skirt, curiosity won out over caution, so up the ladder I went. Once I reached the top rung, I noticed the maidservant bent over from the waist, her hands wrapped around a pole, and her skirts piled atop her back whilst a stable-hand stood close behind her. Maeve, that was her name, was writhing and moaning one moment, and laughing the next. Suddenly, she started to chant the Lord’s name, and the stableman let loose with a great shout. I nearly broke my ankle sliding down the ladder rungs.”

Although Mrs. Kirkwall had a smile in her voice, she refrained from laughing outright.

“Did you have no one to speak to about what you witnessed?”

“Shaken, I had not stopped running until I found my nurse Bessie.”

She gave Mrs. Kirkwall a meaningful look.

“Bessie was such a mean old stick, but explained that men oftentimes fell upon women with nothing in mind except to gain their beastly pleasure, and if the woman was lucky it wouldn’t last more than the effort it took to spit. I told her that Maeve was giggling and insisted Bessie tells the truth.”

Mrs. Kirkwall prompted, “And what did the old stick say?”

“She said, ‘If God wanted women to enjoy such a sordid ordeal, He would have ‘seen fit to make them men.’”

By the end of her tale, Mrs. Kirkwall was in tears. Elisande joined in her mirth, glad to break the tension.

“Oh, my dear. You poor, wee thing. Lessons in love from a leman, and a withered old spinster.” She dabbed at her eyes with thick lace linen and reached over to pat Elisande’s hand.

“Now, if you don’t mind an old woman’s meddlin’, I would deem it an honor to step in to your mother’s role and give you some advice.”

Grateful, Elisande smiled and nodded her head. It had been such a long time since she experienced motherly comforts.

“Good. Now, I shall pour us both a cup of warmed wine and we shall have a constructive chat.”

• • •

Elisande removed her plaid, laying it over the smooth spindle of the quilt stand. She had consumed two cups of mulled wine and was feeling the effects. She cast an eye over the room. A tightly roped, double-sized mattress set on a sturdy frame swallowed up a good portion of the bedchamber. The room itself had an earthy ambience. A hard-packed dirt floor covered with thick, colorful rag rugs, and a dense, wooly lambskin laid out in front of the hearth beckoned. Wild flowers in an earthenware jug perched on the roughhewn mantle, and the scent of sweetbriar filled the air.

Next she removed the saffron blouse, letting it fall to her feet and kicked it aside. She slid out of her fine lawn chemisette, flung it on the bed and stepped into a warm bath. To her surprise, Aeden had borrowed a wooden bathing tub from a local bathhouse and while she had her chat with Mrs. Kirkwall, he had been heating bucket after bucket of water. A dab of rose oil created a rainbow effect on the water’s surface and she heaved a lusty sigh of pleasure.

She made thorough use of her time and when she caught herself nodding off, she reluctantly climbed from the tub, found body linens warming on a low table not far from the fire, and she swathed her hair with one and wrapped up in another. She poked her head out into the hall and called to her new friend. Then, she stood behind the door while Mrs. Kirkwall oversaw the removal of the bath by Fergal and Kiernan.

“Take a seat in front of the fire,” her friend instructed.

With a deft hand, she unwrapped Elisande’s hair and ran a deer-antler comb through the wet locks. Once the tangles were out, Mrs. Kirkwall produced a small jar of rose-scented hair balm.

Elisande closed her eyes and basked in the gentle massage. The older woman took up a boar hairbrush and brushed Elisande’s hair until it shined.

“There.” Mrs. Kirkwall set the brush aside and stood up.

“Mrs. Kirkwall, I — ”

She cut Elisande off with a wave of her hand. “I have enjoyed our time together, and if ever you find yourself in need of a friend, I am closer than you think.”

Elisande hugged the other woman tight. “Thank you.”

After she left, Elisande threw off the linen towel and wrapped herself in a clean plaid left to warm by the fire. Suddenly drained, she sank down on the sheepskin rug and curled into the soft fur.

Perhaps she should have chosen to settle in the bed. She scrutinized the thickness of the mattress, faded colors of the goose-feather quilt, and tried to imagine him there with her. Instantly a rush of heat spread across her chest and face. She could not envision doing the things Mrs. Kirkwall described — with Aeden or anyone when it came to it.

Truly, she hadn’t any idea if he planned to join her or not. The hasty offer she made earlier brought a renewed heat to her face. No wonder he left her in Mrs. Kirkwall’s hands. Then, she stopped and thought the idea through. It must have taken some maneuvering to provide a scented bath with buckets of hot water, and at a moment’s notice. As well, to arrange for a compassionate, motherly figure to ease her anxieties demonstrated an uncommon ability to determine the immediate need of a person. She marveled at the man’s intuitive nature and thought how fortunate the people under his rule were.

Now, whether Aeden came to her bed tonight, the day after, or, the day after that — one point crystallized in her mind. For the first time in a long while, she fell asleep untroubled.

• • •

Aeden gathered a handful of wild roses. The thorns stabbing his flesh did little to quell the persistent ache in his loins. He thought of little else than the innocent provocation of Elisande’s request. The click of a door latch interrupted his fantasy. He caught sight of Mrs. Kirkwall in the garden; she nodded to indicate the talk went well. He expelled his pent up breath, relieved his wife warmed up to Glennis. The older woman possessed equal parts common sense, practicality and compassion. He thought it a stroke of genius on his part to send word through Fergal, knowing his mother’s childhood friend could not refuse his petition. The older woman was too kind-hearted to ignore a desperate plea for help. He knew the harsh travel conditions of the past ten days had worn Elisande down, and he did not want to compound her distress by frightening her with his lust.

With that in mind, he pushed open the door to the bothy and discovered her burrowed in his plaid like a squirrel in a nest of autumn leaves. A soft smile lingered on her berry-red lips, and incandescent firelight brightened the caramel highlights in her hair.

He secured the entrance, and stood beneath the archway to better appreciate the uncommon beauty before him. He still found it incredible that she belonged to him — that she was relieved to know it was he she would marry and not Fergal.

An unexpected wave of possessiveness threatened to engulf his senses, and he prayed God be merciful to anyone who tried to come between him and Elisande — there would be none found in him.

She shifted on the rug. The languid movement snapped him out of his dark reflections. He moved toward the bed and surveyed the plump pillows and clean sheets. He plucked the velvety petals from their head and spread them around the bed before quietly undressing. He walked to where Elisande slumbered, his arousal visible as he laid out next to her on the sheepskin rug.

Tenderly, he gathered her into his arms and ran a hand down the expanse of her supple bare legs. He shuddered in pleasure and unwrapped the plaid from her body with great anticipation. She murmured in her sleep and shifted to her back. His mouth went dry. The sight of her rosy nipples peeking through the silken tangle of hair took his breath away. He had never beheld such beauty, never believed someone like her could ever belong to a man like he.

Unable to take his eyes from her, he stretched his body along the glorious length of her. She instinctively turned to him, seeking his heat. He savored the abundance of her pliant curves as they molded themselves against the hard planes of his body. He traced the bold arch of her brows with a calloused finger, smiling when she brushed away his hand like she would swat at a pesky bug. He caressed her lustrous hair, and sighed in sheer pleasure when she rubbed her silken cheek against his smooth chest. Nuzzling her hair, he inhaled the sweetbriar scent unique unto her. His wandering hand lightly skimmed across her chest. His erection swelled painfully as he watched her nipples pebble in the wake of his fingers.

He grazed his knuckles between the valley of her breasts, over the womanly swell of her belly, and beyond, eventually coming to rest at the juncture of downy curls at the vee of her thighs. Elisande’s eyes flew open, her mind a tangle of confusion and desire. Aeden glanced at her, a slight flush to his face. His eyes were more ethereal than usual and a hint of a smile played about his full lips.

“I could not hold myself from you any longer,” he murmured huskily, while one of his hands glided along her inner thigh.

Shocked, she uttered a wordless protest and shifted to her side, but he quieted her with his hands, caressing her belly and midriff, moving her onto her back.

“It’s all right, lass, lie still. Let me care for you.”

She forced her body to relax. He was her husband now, and consummation of their union was what she wanted. He seemed to be waiting for a sign from her. She looked deep into his eyes and it was then she knew she had nothing to fear. She reached up and pulled his head down until their lips met. He groaned low in his throat, and then his mouth fastened on hers with primal greed. Aeden’s erotic mouth moved to her shoulders, the tops of her breast and then teased a plump nipple with his tongue. Elisande gasped at the sensations he pulled from her, never realizing coupling could be so sensual. His mouth seared a hot trail down her body, and she realized that his face rested just above her secret curls. Engulfed in mortification, she instantly reached down to shield the private area with her hand.

Aeden’s lips nibbled her hip, his beard abrading the tender skin. “’Tis no use hiding from me,” he grazed her skin with his teeth. “I intend to learn every inch of you, wife.”

As she removed her trembling hand, he let two fingers wander into the tight curls, gently searching for the yielding softness underneath.

“Spread your legs apart so that I might help you to accept me.”

She whimpered at the suggestion, but allowed her legs to fall open.

He kissed her curls. “Do no’ be afraid, I will no’ harm you.”

Elisande’s breath hitched as Aeden’s lips searched through the triangle of tight whorls. His warm tongue uncovered the hidden peak. Cupping her, he slid one long finger into her slick passage, tenderly probing until he came up against her godhead. Momentarily dislodged by a jerk of her hips, he whispered reassurances and pressed her back down to the rug where he began a lazy, circular motion inside her snug cleft. His tongue laved a place so unbearably sensitive, she bucked and moaned. He stroked her insides in languorous measures, she clenched her jaw to keep from making unladylike noises, but they kept creeping out.

He glanced at her from beneath sleepy lids. “Do no’ hold back, lass. You can make all the noise you want, no one will hear you.”

The edge of Elisande’s vision blurred as their eyes connected over the soft curves of her belly. “It isn’t seemly to make such noises,” she forced out between shallow breaths.

He laughed low and seductive, his fingers rolling over her sensitive flesh. “I can no’ agree. ’Tis more than acceptable to show appreciation for your husband’s skill.”

Unhurried, he pressed his mouth into the patch of curls. Her heart beat at her ribcage. She felt a slight burn as he slid a second finger inside her, exploring, stretching the taut skin, and then he suckled the ridged bud increasing the tempo while she writhed beneath him. His artful fingers worked her in measured thrusts, while his mouth licked and tasted, until pleasure sharper than the tip of a blade washed over her in waves. Then she froze. Arched against his mouth, she gasped and cried out Aeden’s name. His tongue gentled, but continued to spark her passion. Her legs were like jelly and yet she squirmed against him seeking something more. She offered no opposition when he turned her over onto her stomach. He placed a kiss on her shoulder and spread her thighs, entering her with his fingers once more. She was sore and to her embarrassment, realized her entrance swam with wetness.

“Elisande,” he murmured against her ear. She could only surmise the moisture excited him in some way. He shifted her legs wider and the length of his sex rested against her. He teased and fondled her until she hesitantly raised her hips.

“I want to be inside you … tell me you are ready.”

His voice was strained and she knew he was restraining himself.

“Shall I, shall I turn over?”

“Aye.”

She complied and let her legs fall to either side. He settled between her, his whisper ragged and unsteady.

“Touch me, lass, put your hand on me.”

He sucked in a breath and moaned when she wrapped tentative fingers around the hard length of him. She stroked her hand up and down, learning the feel of him — like steel beneath satin. His breath quickened and she realized that the caress pleasured him.

Awkwardly, she guided the heavy shaft between her thighs. The head slipped against the saturated opening of her sex. He groaned in response. She tried again, this time inserting the tip inside her. He nudged halfway into her. It was a heavy pressure and burned far more than his fingers. She tensed against the pain and his arms encircled her the moment he moved in a forceful thrust, and then another and another until he was fully embedded inside her. She wanted to escape the raw invasion, but her movements only drew him deeper.