“Och!” he exclaimed, wincing at the pain and rubbing at the sore spot.
“Did you just pinch yourself?” she asked, laughing.
“Aye. I thought I was still dreamin’,” he said, eyeing her up and down. He stuck his hand under the cover, finding Bernadine’s smooth, warm breast with ease. She smiled and closed her eyes as he palmed the thing, but the happy expression dropped the moment he pinched her nipple.
“Ow!” she shrieked, shoving his hand away and lowering the cover, frowning at the faint redness that the pinch had left on the nub.
“So ye are real,” he said with wonder.
“Of course I’m real!” she said, now looking distinctly less happy as she sat up, allowing the sheets to fall from her, exposing her breasts while reaching around to adjust the pillows at her back.
“But…” Donnan started, sitting up as well so as to better face her. “I thought ye said ye were leavin’. That was the whole point of last night for ye, was it nae’?” he asked.
“No,” Bernadine said, shaking her head. “Or rather,” she said, squinting one eye closed as though considering her words. “In part, it was. But last night was also about allowing me to experience pleasure from a man, to feel cherished and loved. And I rather liked it. So I have decided to stay.”
“Lass, daenae jest me. My heart cannae take it,” Donnan said, moving away from her. Bernadine caught his arm before he could leave the bed, however, drawing her back towards him. She placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face to her, rendering him unable to do anything but look into her sapphire blue eyes.
“I am not jesting, Donnan. I am being perfectly serious. Last night was…well, it was rather amazing. A revelation, you might say. You made me feel things I did not even think were possible for me to feel. I…I cannot give that up. I cannot give you up, not yet, anyway.”
“So yer stayin’ till ye ‘ve had yer fill of me, and then ye ‘re goin’? Lass, I’m not sure that’s much better,” Donnan said, trying to pull away from her.
“Would you let me finish!” she hissed, betraying a hint of the fieriness he had come to expect from her.
He nodded, his eyes widening at the harshness in her tone.
Bernadine apologized for her outburst, then continued. “We have a connection, Donnan. It began that night at the ball, and while it might have been altered by your kidnapping me—I did hate you for a bit—that connection did not disappear. Last night was proof of that. It is there, and it is strong. And I think we would both be remiss if we did not explore what happens between us. It terrifies me, I confess, feeling so many things for someone, yet I believe it is our destiny.”
“So what’re ye sayin’, lass? How long will ye stay?” Donnan asked.
“I do not know,” Bernadine answered, tilted her head and pulling him toward her. “I’m sorry I cannot give you a clear answer. But will you have me anyway?” she asked against his lips.
Donnan sighed, his breath brushed against her mouth, but he nodded. “Aye, lass,” he said, kissing her softly. “I’ll have ye however I can, for as long as I can. I daenae care if it kills me.”
* * *
Bernadine knew that Donnan was staring at her from across the table, but she kept her eyes trained on the man in front of her, who was in the midst of telling her about his wife, who had just given birth to their fourth child.
“Stronger than a ram, me Ellen is,” he said, taking a sip of the ale before him and smacking his lips in appreciation. “I swear she gave birth to the wee bairn in under an hour and was up and tendin’ to the fire the next mornin’, though I warned her not to. I swear, she would dae me work as well as her own if I gave her the chance. I’m always tellin’ her, ‘relax Ellen’, ‘calm yerself Ellen,’ ‘rest Ellen,’ but the lass is stubborn as anythin, I tell ye.”
He shook his head, chuckling to himself like he could not believe his luck in finding such a woman. It was rather endearing, seeing a man so besotted with his wife. It made Bernadine think of her father, and she immediately felt herself stiffen.
She had been trying to avoid thoughts of her family this last week, pushing them from her mind while she and Donnan got to know each other better. This avoidance was due in large part to the guilt she felt over abandoning her escape plot.
Now, she was dining with Donnan and his friends in Castle Venruit’s main hall, drinking wine and dining on the most succulent roast pig she had ever tasted while her family no doubt worried themselves sick over her.
Had she been a better daughter, a better person, however, she could have taken the opportunity to leave, and could have at that very moment been home supping with Papa and Guinevere, relieving them of the grief her absence had caused them. She could have restored normalcy to their lives, but instead she had decided to be selfish, putting her own enjoyment and pleasure above all else.
But though Bernadine felt guilt so severe it had turned her stomach sour more than once in the past few days, that guilt was overshadowed by the most incandescent feeling of happiness.
Sitting next to her at the table was a man who had shown her more respect and understanding in the past week than she had been treated to in the whole of her life. They had spent whole days talking to each other, confiding in one another, and Bernadine had finally found the friend she had so longed for.
Donnan listened to her as she told him her fears of childbirth, the grief she still felt at her mother’s passing. With each of these confessions, he had comforted her, counselled her, helped her see that she was not irrational or overly emotional. She was human. It was a simple fact she should have realized long ago, but from his mouth, in his words, it was nothing less than revelatory.
“Sh, sh, me bonnie! It is all there is. It is only natural after what ye ‘ve been through,” he had told her when she had cried on his shoulder one afternoon after relating her fears about childbirth. She had felt so silly telling them to him, a man, for how could he understand?
But he had listened, nodded, considered, and finally, comforting any terror she had so desperately needed. In his arms, it seemed like nothing could ever go wrong, or if it did, he would be there to remedy the situation.
And when she had told Donnan what she knew of her mother, what her father and Guinevere had told her about the woman who loved to paint and sing, who grew the most beautiful roses in Cornwall, Donnan had listened, then said, simply, as though it were the most rational thing in the world, “She would be proud of ye, lass.”
It was something her father had told her many times throughout her childhood, but that day was the first time Bernadine had ever truly believed the words.
The days they had spent learning about each other were more gratifying than anything else Bernadine had ever experienced. Her fondness for Donnan grew stronger with each passing hour, and though they had not explored each other’s bodies in over a week, she felt closer to him physically than she had even on that night when his touch had made her cry out his name in ecstasy.
If she was honest, she would not mind engaging in such amorous acts again, and soon, but Donnan had been adamant that they focus on conversation, truth, honesty, rather than carnal endeavours, for the time being. It was noble and unexpected of him, but then, Bernadine came to realize little by little that Donnan Young was not at all what she expected. Refraining from physical pleasure was a small price to pay to look into the mind of the man who was slowly but surely stealing her heart.
Donnan had been slower to open up himself, almost leisurely in revealing himself to her, his stories and truths coming in fit and starts. When he had invited her to dine that evening with his men though, she had verily jumped at the chance, knowing it was a decided step forward in their relationship, such as it was.
“Me sister says it is good, miss, for a man to introduce ye to his lads,” Freya had told her that evening while helping Bernadine choose which gown to wear. The maid was becoming another friend of Bernadine’s, offering the sage wisdom of her sisters, which Bernadine had f
ound useful more often than not in these last weeks. All her sisters were happily married with children, something Bernadine was beginning to hope could be her fate as well.
“Means he trusts ye,” Freya had continued, holding up a light blue gown for Bernadine’s inspection.
The conversation had petered out as stays were laced, hair was dressed, and a frock was donned, but Bernadine had walked into the hall remembering what Freya had said, knowing how important the evening was to Donnan.
She had eventually chosen a sapphire gown that Donnan had told her earlier that week “matches yer eyes perfectly, lass,” which was no doubt the reason Donnan could not keep his eyes from her. She did not mind his attentions, but it did make it rather difficult to focus on what his friend was saying about his wife and child.
She was nervous not to pass as inattentive to guests, but she seemed incapable of not being drawn in by Donnan’s deep blue gaze. Pay attention, she scolded herself when she once again realized she had not been following his friend’s words. This is important for you both.
Turning back to Gavin McDonough, Bernadine hoped he had not noticed her lapse in attention. Gavin was one of Donnan’s oldest friends. His father had been Donnan’s father’s secretary, and the two boys had grown up practically as brothers.
Gavin was now one of the castle guards, and he and his wife resided in one of the larger cottages on the property along with their children, the oldest of whom was named after Donnan himself.
“Am I borin’ ye, lass?” Gavin said, his mouth quirking in a grin.
“Oh no, sir!” Bernadine rushed to say, shaking her head vehemently. “Please, tell me about your children. How old is the second born?” she asked, unable to recall that one’s name.
“I’m only teasin’ ye, lass. I can well recall what it was like in the early stages of love. I could nae keep me eyes off Ellen. I reckon I heard less than half of what was said in my presence, so lost was I in thoughts of her,” he said, winking at her.
“Yer man seems similarly afflicted,” he said, nodding his head toward Donnan next to her, whose eyes were indeed glazed over as he looked at Bernadine, a silly smile on his face.
Bernadine blushed and looked down at her plate, mashing her potatoes with the tines of her fork. She felt Donnan’s hand grasp hers under the table, his thumbs running along her knuckles in a way that made her toes curl inside her shoes.
Is it truly possible to be this happy, she wondered? She hoped so.
* * *
Later that night, Donnan was lying in bed, Bernadine on his chest. They had talked so long, that the wicks on the candles had burned down to stubs, and Donnan was in the middle of telling her a rather bawdy joke when he looked over to find the lass asleep on his chest, her mouth set in a smile.
With each night they spent together, Donnan had become more and more conflicted. He knew he ought to be happy with what they were sharing – after all, he had expected her to abandon him over a week ago, leaving him with nothing but humiliation with which to console himself in her absence – but he found that the more he knew of Bernadine, the more desperate he was to make her his.
He knew he needed to tread carefully. He was well aware of how the lass felt about being owned by someone, commanded by someone. He wanted to ask her to marry him, but inherent in that was the necessity of her residing with him. Would she consent to such a prospect?
Chapter 17
“I cannae let him take ye, lass. If ye go, I’ll never see yer bonny face again. I ken it, lass. I ken it for certain. Yer father will never let me near ye again,” Donnan said, pacing the floor of his chambers. Bernadine was sitting on his bed, watching him walk back and forth, anxiety causing his shoulders to bunch near his ears, his hands to clench into fists.
There were no words of comfort Bernadine could give him, because she suspected he was right. The anger her father had felt that night at the ball toward Donnan was nothing to what he must feel for the man now, knowing for certain that he was the reason she had disappeared this last month. It did not matter if Bernadine loved him. As long as her papa was alive, she would never see Donnan again. Her papa would make sure of that.
And yet, as much as she knew this was true, as much as she loved Donnan, she knew that she should leave regardless. It did not matter how it pained her. Her father had been worried sick over her, and she needed to see him, to convince him that she was well. She was all he had now, and she could not let him continue to suffer when she had the ability to stop it. She could not shun her family any longer. Her love for them was as strong as her love for Donnan, and though she hated that she had to choose between them, she knew instinctively the right choice: them.
Romantic love might make her feel like a cherished queen, happy and fulfilled and more carefree than ever, but familial love was what had raised her and nurtured her from birth. She could not turn away from that, from the people who had cared for her the whole of her life. Her papa and Guinevere did not deserve that after all they had done for her.
Therefore, taking a deep, fortifying breath, Bernadine stood up and walked toward Donnan, staying him as he turned to pace back toward the door. Her hands came to his chest, her fingers instinctively curling into the soft hairs there. His skin was warm, the quickened pace of his heart just barely tangible beneath her fingers. He was strong. He had weathered far worse than this. He would, in time, adapt to her absence. He had to. There was no other option for either of them.
“Donnan, I am going,” she said, keeping her voice soft as she stepped toward him. “I have to. My father needs me. I cannot torture him any longer with my absence. He and Guinevere need me.”
“Nae!” Donnan shouted, shaking his head adamantly. “I need ye! I need ye far more than they dae, lass. I need ye like a fish needs water, cows need grass. Without ye, I cannae survive.” Bernadine could feel his muscles tense beneath his fingers, his body going into the fight mode it had become so accustomed to. She could feel the anger, the fear, rising in him, and she knew she needed to stop it. But before she could say a word, Donnan spoke again, this time far softer, a thickness in his voice that told her he was perilously close to tears.
“Please, lass,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Please, dinnae leave me. I cannae bear it. Please.”
“Oh, Donnan. I wish I didn’t have to,” she said, her own voice cracking. “I truly wish I didn’t have to.” She huffed a breath, a sob escaping from her throat and causing her to crumple. Her hands began to fall from Donnan’s chest. She needed to cover her eyes, to catch the tears before they fell. She knew if she let them fall, the rest of her would fall apart, and she could not let that happen.
Seeing this, Donnan grabbed her hands and looped them around his neck, drawing her into a tighter embrace than any she had ever known. The familiarity of his body as it curved against hers was a comfort, quelling the rising sobs she could feel her body trying to release.
As she sucked in a calming breath, she heard Donnan inhale a sharp breath. She could feel him tensing under her hands, clearly affected by the situation.
“My love?” she whispered. Looking into Donnan’s eyes, she saw pure, unadulterated sadness there. It pained her. She had never seen him so emotional before, had never expected to see him looking so close to tears. But then, she had never seen him so torn before, either. As Donnan buried his head in her neck, Bernadine wrapped her arms tighter around him. She never wanted to let him go.
She held Donnan to her, whispering in his ear how much she loved him, how much she would always love him. Her heart was being torn in two to see her love so broken, this warrior crumpling before her very eyes. He was crumbling, so she would stay strong.
If not, I will crumble too.
* * *
Donnan had not felt so morose in fifteen years, not since the night he had found his parents dead where they slept. There had not been time for such strong emotions since then. There had been battles to win, tenants to look after, his sister to raise and marry off.
<
br /> And truthfully, there had not been motive for such sadness in the intervening years. He had made sure of that. Donnan had purposefully removed himself from any chance of emotion since that fated morning, knowing that if he let the emotions out, they would never cease.
He had been proved correct, for here he was now, his head buried in his love’s neck, struggling against the desire to hold her tight and never let her go. He could not stomach the idea that he would not smell the familiar scent of lavender and wintergreen again, not feel her embrace enveloping him in her warm love. It was too much to be borne.
Suddenly, it was not just Bernadine leaving him, but his parents, his sister, everyone he had ever loved. The abandonment tripled, the emotion overwhelming him until he could not breathe or speak.
But he knew he needed to be strong, for himself and the lass, and so he raised his head, shaking away the emotions. He would deal with them later. For now, his focus had to be on Bernadine. Hammilton had given them one more night together, a “gift” as he called it, a chance to say goodbye, and Donnan would not waste it.
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