Winning the Highlander's Heart

by Terry Spear

  “Aye,” he belatedly admitted. But now he really didn’t want to lose her. He had to convince her of all the husbands she’d almost had, he was the only one she’d learn to love. Once he wed her, he had every intention of earning that love and keeping her for good.

  Tonight was only the beginning.

  Still, she seemed worried as she chewed her bottom lip. Then she nodded. “Aye, but if you die, do not blame me.”

  The curse. She was still worried about the curse.

  Malcolm hid his smile. His brothers had been right. He had wanted her from the moment he’d tried to rescue her climbing down the rope outside her chambers at Arundel. Only he hoped the king wouldn’t have his head and prove the curse true.

  Malcolm took his bath and after the earl’s wife had one of her ladies-in-waiting loan a gown to Anice, she was led to the chapel where Malcolm waited. He tapped his foot on the floor more impatient than he’d ever been.

  The impromptu wedding astounded the earl’s courtiers as Malcolm overheard whispered sentiments concerning this, and the fact the lady was not his bride already, but the Lady Anice who had vanished with her escort. Malcolm’s brothers grinned at him. He’d lost the wager this time. They’d been right. He’d ask the lady to marry him, only not under any circumstances any of them could have imagined.

  Yet, even if she had regrets, he had none. He’d never thought it would turn out this way either. Marrying a woman for her property was something that had to be done. He would have given the woman children, ‘twas a natural state of affairs, and his first son would inherit his title. But he never thought he’d fall in love with the lady he was to wed.

  Though the ceremony wasn’t as grand as if they had planned it at her castle, nor was she able to wear the pretty silk cloth she wished for her bridal gown, the lady was as bonny as ever in her borrowed purple gown. The garment was slightly big for her, but still framed her curves beautifully and the bodice draped slightly at the neck, so when he drew close to her, he could see the cleavage between her ivory breasts. But when he kissed her at the end of their nuptials, loving the feel of her silk lips against his, she didn’t return the affection, and he knew the road ahead remained stormy.

  Still, he attempted to reassure himself ‘twas her shyness in front of a chapel full of courtiers whom she didn’t know. At least that’s what he told himself.

  When they retired to the room off the kitchen, his brothers, the earl and several of his courtiers hung around to cheer them on.

  The earl said in good humor, “Though ‘tis our custom to see you our well pleased with each other before you consummate the marriage, since the Lady MacNeill is so bashful, we will leave you to your own devices.”

  He bade a maid shut the door, while several joked and laughed in the kitchen as tankards were undoubtedly refilled to celebrate the occasion.

  Malcolm touched Anice’s cheek. “Lass, I love ye, truly, I do. I would want to consummate this marriage and make it lasting, as I affirmed in my wedding vow to ye. But if you would rather wait—”

  She nodded vigorously.

  Not the response he wished. He began to remove his shoes and hose, sure she was reluctant to have him help with hers. What he wouldn’t have given for the butler to have left wine for them to drink to help calm the lady.

  Then he spied two tankards of wine sitting on a table against a wall. He smiled. “Wine, to smooth away the jitters, my bride.”

  He crossed the floor and seized the tankards, but when he turned, Anice was already buried beneath the blanket. He glanced around the room, but saw no sign of her gowns. “Did you no’ need help with your gowns?”

  “Nay. I’m exhausted, Malcolm. Hurry and extinguish the candles so we may sleep.”

  “You cannot mean to sleep in your bridal gown.”

  “’Tis not my bridal gown.”

  He sensed the distress in her voice and set the tankards back on the table, then joined her. “Lass, I know you wanted to wear the silk you purchased at the fair in Northumberland. You would have been fetching in the gowns made from such a lovely cloth, but you’re beautiful in anything you wear, whether ‘tis a monk’s robe or the gown you wore tonight. If you wish, we can be married again at Brecken when we reach there—”

  “We should not have done this, Malcolm. I fear for your safety, both where the baron is concerned when he learns of what we have done, and His Grace, who will surely be displeased.”

  Again, he was relieved to know the lady feared for his safety and it was not that she abhorred the idea of being his wife overmuch. “Aye, you worry for me. But I have fought many a battle for matters that hardly concerned me. Not this time. Whether you believe me or no’ I want you for my wife, lass. I will fight for that right with every bit of my strength until my dying day.”

  She offered a soulful smile. ‘Twas better than her scowling at him for the moment. He grabbed the tankards and returned to the straw bed. “Here, lass, drink. I do not intend to ravish ye, though the notion certainly appeals.”

  Her smile broadened, and she reached for the tankard. He swallowed a couple of gulps, then set his wine down and lifted the blanket to expose her shoes. He chuckled and a blush rose to her cheeks. “You are going to wear your shoes to bed even? Nay, this will never do.”

  He crouched at her feet and untied the laces on the one, then slipped the leather off. Then he reached for the other. Looking up to see her expression, he was well pleased to see her watching with a smile still teasing her lips.

  He massaged her hose-covered feet, and she purred in response. Immediately his groin tightened. If he could only touch other parts of her body this very eve and show how much better a husband in the flesh was compared to one on paper...

  Though that luscious body of hers hidden under the gowns and blanket took his attention, he attempted to engage her in lighthearted conversation to ease her mind.

  “The earl said he would send one of his ladies with us to accompany you home, Anice.”

  “Nay, I would worry about her safety.” She leaned back, seeming more relaxed. “Besides I have you to help me with my gowns. Why would I need a maid?”

  He chuckled under his breath, pleased with the way things were turning out. “Aye, why indeed?” He slipped his hand up her gown, removed her garters, peeled down the hose on one leg, then the other.

  She remained so still he grew worried she had fainted, or fallen asleep.

  “Milady, are ye all right?”

  She bent her leg, placed her arms beneath her head, and rocked her elevated knee back and forth. “Uh-huh.”

  Had she too much wine? He glanced at her tankard, but couldn’t see how much she’d consumed, though then he’d recalled while he was speaking to the earl, she was drinking from a tankard after her bath. “Did you need more wine?” He pulled away the blanket.

  “The wine is done.” She motioned to the container that held more. “You can fetch me some more.”

  “Aye.” But just a wee dab. He didn’t want her passing out.

  He refilled her tankard, but when she sat up and reached for the vessel, he set it aside and lifted her from the floor. “Will be easier to remove your gowns if you stand, lass.”

  Before she had a chance to object, he slipped the over-large bliaut over her head with ease. His bride stood before him in her chemise shift. Though he could not see through it as well as when she wore it soaking wet, the fabric translucent and clinging to all her curves, he could still make out the rosy crowns of her breasts, perfectly aroused.

  Her breathing became rapid, and her heart beat at a quickened pace.

  “You’re not going to faint on me, are ye, Anice?” he asked.

  “Nay, milaird. Why would you worry about that?”

  He smiled. “Aye, why indeed.” He rested his hands on her face and kissed her lips, lightly at first, but when she rested her hands on his hips, he deepened his kiss.

  She moaned and though he wanted to lift her shift, he feared frightening her with moving too qui
ckly. He hadn’t even removed his own clothes yet. He yanked at his tunic while continuing to kiss her, hoping she wouldn’t change her mind.

  “Malcolm,” she said breathlessly.

  “Aye, love.” He threw his tunic on the floor, then took her hands and held them against his chest. “You feel the way you make my heart beat faster?”

  She ran her fingers through the light smattering of hair covering his chest and touched his scars, feeling the muscles beneath the skin. He grabbed his belt and began to remove it, expectation of bedding the lass, setting his body afire.

  “You have been wounded many times.”

  He could barely think of anything except making love to her, but when she ran her finger down one scar running beneath his nipple to his hip and asked where he got it, he figured anything that would help her to relax was worthy of conversation. “During the Crusades, love.” He slid his trewes down. But they stood so close together, she couldn’t see his body. Would she be frightened to see his eagerness to have her for his own? Already his shaft was hard as his lance, ready to penetrate her untried sheath.

  “Did you suffer much?” She avoided looking lower than his chest.

  Not like he did right this very minute. “For some days. My brothers did not think I would live. I ran a high fever.” That didn’t sound very heroic. He only wanted her to think of him as the Highlander who would always protect her. “But of course, it would not keep me down for long.”

  “Aye, you are a Highlander, verra brave and strong.”

  Her words filled him with pride that she felt that way. He pressed her close to enjoy the feel of her soft curves against his hard body. Only her thin chemise rested between him and what he wished to conquer. Delaying the inevitable was driving him insane.

  Again, he kissed her lips, and she kissed him in return this time, sweeping her fingers over his back. “You have scars on your back, too.”

  Her exploration of his muscles triggered another rush of blood straight to his groin. “Aye.” He ran his hand down her side then cupped her bottom and pressed his erection hard against her stomach.

  She moaned in response, eliciting a groan deep inside him when her soft body pressed against his arousal. His ache for her intensified tenfold. Did she feel the same for him?

  He grasped her shift and began to draw it up, praying she would not stop him.

  “I am afraid, Malcolm,” she said and trembled when he lifted the gown higher.

  “Of what are you afraid, lass? I will be gentle with ye.”

  “You are kind to me, Malcolm. I...I only worry what will happen when—”

  He kissed her lips to silence her words. He had no need to hear anything more spoken about the baron he already hated. As long as the lady did not fear Malcolm’s making love to her, he would proceed.

  When he removed her gown, she shivered again.

  “I do not want you getting chilled.” He helped her to lie down, and that’s when she saw him naked for the first time.

  Her gaze focused on his arousal, her lips dropped open and her green eyes grew big. “’Tis nearly as big as a horse’s.”

  He laughed with gusto. If the lady had wished to give him a compliment, she could not have thought of a better one.

  She looked up at him, her face concerned. “Have I offended ye?”

  Joining her on the bedding, he shook his head. “Nay, love.”

  “We will just sleep, is not that so, Malcolm?”

  Sleep? What made the lass think they only would sleep?

  “You are only removing our clothes because we do not sleep in them, but you do not mean to make love to me because we can still annul the marriage if the king wishes it.”

  “I do not wish it, love.” He pulled the blanket over them, then wrapped his arms around her. He squashed the worry that she’d insist on remaining a virgin until they had the king’s blessing. “I thought you understood I do not want to annul the marriage. I want you for my wife.”

  She touched his chest with her fingers, tracing the longest of his scars again. “Nay, you can keep me warm as before.”

  Her touch forced more urgent cravings. He might not make love to her as husband and wife this eve if she was dead set against it, but he planned on warming his wee bride up just fine, only not quite the way she had in mind.

  Chapter Eleven

  Malcolm kissed Anice’s cheek and it was more than she could bear not to allow him to make love to her. Every time he grew close, the ache grew between her legs and the feeling was agonizing. Would his making love to her, relieve the throbbing?

  “Aye, love,” he said. “I will warm you up. Did you like it when I rubbed your feet?”

  “Aye, ‘twas verra nice.”

  The way he cared for her truly touched her but she couldn’t allow him to be harmed because he married her to keep her honor intact. ‘Twas best they plan for an annulment should the king request it of them and, too, if Malcolm changed his mind about wanting her for his wife.

  The notion the baron would marry her solely for her properties was bad enough, especially since she was certain he had murdered her uncle. ‘Twas equally wrong for Malcolm to feel forced to marry her when he wanted an English bride. And for what? To protect her from the tongue-waggings that would commence once ‘twas discovered she and Malcolm had been alone together as man and wife, except not having had the nuptials to make it such. He was being kind to say he wanted her. He had no intention of marrying her or any other Scottish lass.

  “Good. You seem tense. Would you like me to rub your back?”

  She hesitated, wanting his touch, but not wanting him to think he had to go any further. She realized, too, he would be concerned others knew he had not consummated their marriage. Would they think there was something wrong with him? Or with her? She took a deep breath, trying to crush the worries. “I would not want you to work so hard to please me when I will not allow you to make love to me.”

  “’Tis no’ work but pleasure, if it makes you feel good.”

  “Aye, only I will do the same for you afterwards.”

  She was sure he said something about taking a cold bath afterwards if she did, which could give him a chill, so she couldn’t believe he said such a thing. “Malcolm, what say you?”

  “I would feel honored.”

  She was sure those were not the words he spoke. When he rolled her onto her stomach and started to knead her shoulders like he was a skilled baker kneading a roll of dough, she hummed in ecstasy.

  “Remember, you promised to massage my muscles, Anice.” His voice was dark and husky, nearly groveling.

  She smiled. “Think you I will not?”

  “I think you might become so relaxed, you will fall asleep before you can give me a massage.”

  “Then I will give you one tomorrow eve. Well, mayhap not as we shall not sleep together tomorrow eve. I will try not...hmmm, that feels sooo good, Malcolm.”

  Every bit of her neck and shoulders began to relax, but then he moved her arms. “Rest your head on them, so I can get all of your back muscles, Anice.”

  When she readjusted her arms, she felt her breasts somewhat exposed, though his hands continued to knead her back with finesse, and she assumed he was too busy to peek. He shifted, drawing his fingers over her sides, sweeping up and down, the tips of his fingers touching the fullness of her breasts with an insistent stroke.

  The area between her legs grew wet. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to stop the ache.

  His hands drew lower to the tip of her spine and around her hips. “You are tensing, Anice, when you are supposed to be relaxing.”

  “Aye, I am trying.”

  She swore he chuckled under his breath.

  Then he touched her bottom. She stiffened.

  “Relax, Anice. If you do not, I will feel I have done a poor job.” He massaged her bottom, lifting and stroking until her insides burned.

  “I think I am coming down with a fever,” she whispered.

  Again, she
thought she heard him chuckle to himself.

  “Nay, lass, your skin feels just right. You have nay fever.”

  He slid his hand between her legs, touching her where she ached so badly and moved her legs apart.

  “Malcolm,” she scolded.

  “Aye, lass. I am working on your legs, then you can give me the same kind of rub.”

  She bit her bottom lip when he massaged the upper part of her thigh, bumping into her aching center with each stroke. She wanted to open her legs further and let him stroke the ache. Would it relieve the tension there, too? Then she scolded herself. No decent lady would think such a thing.

  He worked on her upper thigh overmuch, making it almost numb, but then he switched to her other and applied the same sensual strokes. ‘Twas not the massaging of her leg that garnered her attention, but the area between her legs.

  “Malcolm,” she entreated.

  “Aye, lass?”

  “You are doing a verra good job, but you have created a new tension that aches something awful.”

  Again she thought she heard him chuckle. “Tell me where and I will aid you in getting rid of it.”

  She hesitated. “Nay, I was mistaken. If you are almost done, I will give you a rub next.”

  He worked lower on her legs down to her feet, but much more quickly this time. Then he ran his hand over her back. “I can help the ache between your legs, if you wish me, too.”

  She knew his meaning then. “We cannot make love.”

  “There are other ways.”

  She frowned. “I have never heard of other ways. The ladies newly married tell of what happens, but none of them said anything about other ways.”

  “Mayhap their husbands do not rub their backs either.”

  “Nay, you are right. I do not remember any of them saying their husbands did that with them. ‘Tis verra nice between a husband and wife.” Though, she instantly felt guilty that they were truly not husband and wife.

  “Aye, love. Before you rub my back, did you want me to ease your other ache?”