She knocked the glass from his hand, sending it flying across the room where it fell into pieces. “I will not allow you to touch me,” she repeated.
“Bronwyn, you’re only nervous. Every bride is scared her first time.”
“First time!” she said in a high pitch. “Do you think this is my first time? I have lain with half the men of my clan. I just don’t wany any filthy Englishman touching me, that’s all.”
Stephen did not lose his patient smile. “I know as well as you do that that’s a lie. You wouldn’t be so frightened if you’d been with a man before. Now please relax. You’re only making things worse. Besides, what can you do?”
She hated his smug self-assurance that she was helpless against him. She hated everything about him. He stood there so confident. Even nude he emanated a feeling of power. Bronwyn returned his smile, for she had something that would take that smile from his face.
“Rab!” she commanded. “Attack!”
The huge dog hesitated only a moment, then it sprang off its feet and headed directly for Stephen’s head.
Stephen moved to one side, his reactions even faster than the dog’s. As Rab flew toward him, a mass of snarls and long, pointed teeth, Stephen doubled his fist and slammed it into the side of the dog’s great square head. Rab’s flight immediately changed direction, and he hit the wall with force, then slid to a heap on the floor.
“Rab!” Bronwyn screamed and dropped her sheet as she ran to him.
The dog tried to stand but weaved about in a stunned way.
“You’ve hurt him,” Bronwyn cried as she looked up at Stephen standing over them.
Stephen had given the dog only a brief glimpse to see that it was unhurt, then his eyes were on Bronwyn alone. He stared, open-mouthed, at her rosy-tipped breasts, her round hips covered with skin like ivory satin.
“I’ll kill you for this!” Bronwyn screamed.
Stephen was too dazed with the beauty of her to see that she was reaching for the knife that lay by the fruit on the table. It was a dull knife, but the little point was sharp. He saw the flash of it only an instant before it would have sunk into his shoulder. He moved to one side, and it cut his skin.
“Damn!” he said as he put his hand over the wound. Suddenly he was very tired. Blood oozed between his fingers. He sat down on the bed, moved his hand, and looked at his shoulder. “Tear off a piece of that sheet so I can tie this.”
Bronwyn stood still, the knife still in her hand.
Stephen looked back at her, his eyes raking her body. “Do it!” he commanded, then watched as she knelt and tore a long strip of linen from the sheet. She wrapped the rest of the sheet around her.
Stephen didn’t ask for her help in bandaging his arm. When he’d tied it, using one hand and his teeth, he turned to the dog. “Rab, come here,” he said quietly. The dog obeyed instantly. Stephen carefully examined the dog’s head but saw nothing hurt. He patted the animal, and Rab rubbed his head on Stephen’s hand. “Good boy. Now go over there and sleep.” Rab went to where Stephen pointed and lay down.
“Now, Bronwyn,” he said in the same tone, “come to bed.”
“I’m not Rab to change loyalties so quickly.”
“Damn you!” Stephen said, then took one long stride toward her and grabbed her wrist. He pulled the sheet away from her and tossed it to the floor. “You’re going to obey me if I have to beat you.” He threw her over his bare thighs, bottom end up, and applied several hard, painful smacks to her firm, round buttocks.
When he finished, when each cheek bore the prints of his fingers, he threw her to the far side of the bed. He ignored the tears of pain in her eyes. He stretched out beside her, threw one arm around her waist, one heavy thigh over hers.
Stephen lay still for a moment, feeling Bronwyn’s delicious skin next to his, and he wanted very much to make love to her. But he was also very, very tired. He’d fought Roger that morning, and Bronwyn, as well as her dog, the rest of the day. A sudden feeling of contentment washed over him. He had her and she was his to enjoy for the rest of his life. His muscles began to relax.
Bronwyn lay under Stephen in a rigid position, braced for what was to come. Her backside burned from his spanking, and she sniffed once through her tears. When she felt him relax, then heard the even breathing that unmistakably said he was asleep, she felt relieved—then she was insulted. She started to move away from him, but he held her in a grip that threatened to break her ribs. When she saw there was nothing else she could do, she began to relax. And when she did, she found she rather liked his skin next to hers. His shoulder was hard and firm, and she rested her cheek against it. The candles in the room guttered, and she smiled dreamily as Stephen buried his face deeper in her hair.
Chapter Five
STEPHEN WOKE VERY EARLY THE NEXT MORNING. AT FIRST he was only aware of the pain and stiffness of his bruised shoulder and his gashed upper arm. The room was dark and quiet, with only the faintest pink light coming through the tall window.
Stephen first became aware of the smell of Bronwyn. Her thick black hair was wrapped around his arm. Her thigh rested between his. He forgot any feelings of discomfort in an instant. He took a deep, slow breath and looked at her. Asleep and relaxed, her eyes didn’t shout hatred at him; her chin was lowered and defenseless, soft and womanly.
Cautiously he moved his hand to touch the side of her face. Her cheek was as smooth as a baby’s, softly rounded, sleep-pinked. He buried his fingers in her hair, watched the curls grab at his forearm like a rose bush climbing a trellis. It seemed as though he’d wanted her all his life. She was the woman he’d dreamed about. He had no desire to rush his pleasure of her. He’d waited so long, and now he wanted to take his time and savor her.
He was aware when she first opened her eyes. He made no quick movements, did nothing that would startle her. Her eyes, large and blue, swallowing her face, reminded him of the deer in the Montgomery parkland. As a boy Stephen had been able to creep up on them; then he’d just sit and watch, and after a while the animals would lose their fear of him.
He touched her arm, ran his hand down it to catch her hand. Slowly he raised it to his lips, and as he put one finger in his mouth he looked into her eyes and smiled. She looked at him with a worried expression, as if she were afraid he’d take something more from her than her virginity. He wanted to reassure her but he knew no words could, that the only way to make her understand was to awaken her response to him.
He shifted so that both of his arms were free, and he felt her stiffen beside him. With one hand he held her fingertips to his mouth, touching the soft pads with his teeth and tongue. He ran his other hand across her ribs, hugging her waist, caressing her hip. Her body was firm, the muscles under her soft skin shapely and hard from use. He felt her draw in her breath sharply when he touched her breast. Very gently he let his thumb touch the pink tip. Even as he felt the crest grow firm under his touch, she did not relax. Stephen frowned slightly, realizing he was getting nowhere. All his gentleness had only made her more rigid.
His hand moved from her breast to her thigh. He bent his head and touched his mouth to her neck, then moved his lips down her shoulder to her breast while his hand played with the delicate shape of her knee. He felt her give a tiny shudder of pleasure, and he smiled as he moved to her left breast, his hands on her waist. He frowned as he felt her tense again.
He moved away from her. She lay on her back, staring up at him in wonder. He ran his fingertips along the line of her hair by her temple. Her hair was spread about her like a waterfall of liquid black pearls.
She’s different, he thought, different from other women. Special, unique.
He grinned at her, and with a quick jerk he tossed aside the sheet that covered her legs from the knee down.
“No,” Bronwyn whispered. “Please.”
Her legs were magnificent: long, slim, curvaceous. She’d ridden all her life, learned to run long distances up hills and through valleys. Her legs were sensitive. Step
hen realized it wasn’t his touch on her breast that had caused that little tremor of pleasure but his hand on her knee.
He moved to the foot of the bed, looking at her, enjoying the beauty of her. He bent forward and put his hands on her ankles, then slowly ran them upward over her knees and thighs. Bronwyn jumped like someone had just touched her with a hot coal.
Stephen laughed deep within his throat and moved his hands down again. He took one of her feet in his hand, then his lips moved to her legs. He kissed them, ran his tongue over the sculpture of her knee.
Bronwyn moved restlessly under him. Little chills of pleasure shot through her body, running down her arms, across her shoulders. She’d never felt like this before. Her body was trembling, and her breath was rapid and uneven.
Stephen roughly turned her over on her stomach and put his mouth to the back of her knee. Bronwyn nearly went off the bed, but Stephen’s hand on the small of her back kept her in place. She put her face in the pillow and moaned like someone in pain. Stephen kept torturing her. His hands and mouth explored every inch of her sensitive legs.
He wanted her so badly he couldn’t resist her any longer. He turned her over again, and this time his mouth sought hers. He wasn’t prepared for the force of her passion. She clung to him, her arms holding him in a viselike grip. Her mouth seemed to want to take the essence out of him. He knew what she wanted, but he also knew that she did not know.
When she started to push him down in the bed, her hands frantically running along his back and arms, he pushed her back. He mounted her, her legs opening naturally for him. She was ready for him. Her eyes opened wide, and she gasped when he first entered her. Then she closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and smiled. “Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes.”
Stephen thought his heart would stop. The look of her, her words uttered in a guttural tone, were more enticing than any love poem. Here was a woman! A woman unafraid of a man, one who could match him in passion.
He began to move atop her, and she didn’t hesitate to follow his lead. Her hands caressed his body, rubbed his inner thighs until Stephen though he might be blinded by the force of the mounting desire within him. Yet Bronwyn met him thrust for thrust, giving and receiving. When he finally did explode within her, he shuddered violently, the force threatening to tear him apart.
He collapsed on Bronwyn, sweaty, limp, and held her so tightly he nearly crushed her.
Bronwyn didn’t mind not breathing. For a moment she thought she must be dead. No one could go through what she’d just experienced and live. Her whole body throbbed, and she felt as if she couldn’t have walked if her life depended on it. She drifted to sleep with her arms and legs still wrapped around Stephen.
When she awoke, she stared up into his amused blue eyes. Sunlight poured into the room, and in a flash she remembered everything that had happened between them. She could feel her face filling with hot blood. It was odd that now she couldn’t seem to remember the feelings that had made her act in such an embarrassing way.
He touched her cheek, his eyes full of laughter. “I knew you’d be worth a fight,” he said.
She moved away from him. She felt good. Actually she felt the best that she had in a long time. Of course! she thought. It was because she knew she was the same. She’d spent the night with a man and she hadn’t changed. She still hated him; he was still the enemy. He was still an insufferable, arrogant braggart. “That’s all I am to you, isn’t it? To you I’m a wench to warm your bed.”
Stephen smiled lazily. “You near set it on fire.” He ran his hand over her arm.
“Release me!” she said firmly, then jumped from the bed and grabbed her green velvet chamber robe.
One quick knock sounded on the door, and Morag entered, carrying a ewer of hot water. “I heard yer quarrels all the way down the stairs,” she snapped.
“There must have been other sounds you heard,” Stephen said as he propped his hands behind his head.
Morag turned and grinned at him, her old face folding into so many wrinkles that her eyes disappeared. “Ye look well pleased with yerself.” She gave an appreciative look at the sight of him, his sun-bronzed skin against the sheet, the heavy muscles of his chest and arms hard even when they were relaxed.
“More than pleased, I should say. No wonder you Highlanders never come south.” His eyes roamed to Bronwyn, who was glaring at him with hatred.
Chris Audley appeared at the door.
“Are we allowed no privacy?” Bronwyn snapped as she turned toward the window, Rab at her side. She didn’t touch the dog, as she felt betrayed by him, too both last night and this morning when he’d allowed Stephen to…to…Her face began to feel warm again.
Stephen smiled at Chris. “She likes being alone with me.”
“What happened to your arm?” Chris asked, nodding toward the bandage crusted with dried blood.
Stephen shrugged. “A mishap. Now if the two of you are satisfied that we didn’t kill each other, perhaps you’d leave my wife and me alone so she could tend to my wound.”
Morag and Chris smiled at him, gave one brief glance to Bronwyn’s rigid back, and left.
Bronwyn whirled to face Stephen. “I hope you bleed to death,” she spat at him.
“Come here,” he said patiently, sweetly, and held out his hands to her.
In spite of her thoughts she obeyed him. He caught her hand and pulled her down to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. He rolled toward her, and the sheet slipped down, exposing more of his hip and waist. Bronwyn looked away, back to his face. She had to control an urge to touch his skin.
He held both her hands in one of his, then touched her cheek with his free hand. “Perhaps I tease you too much. You pleased me greatly this morning.”
He watched the slow flush stain her cheeks. “Now what may I do to please you, short of throwing myself from the window?”
“I would like to go home,” she said quietly, all of her longing sounding in her soft voice. “I want to go home to the Highlands, to my clan.”
He bent forward and kissed her lips as softly and as sweetly as a spring rain. “Then we shall go today.”
She smiled at him and then started to move away, but he held her hands firmly. Her face turned to coldness in an instant.
“You certainly distrust me, don’t you?” He looked at the bloody bandage on his arm. “This needs to be cleaned and dressed properly.”
She twisted away from him. “Morag can do it, and I’m sure it’d give her great pleasure, as she seems to lust after you as it is.”
Stephen tossed the sheet aside and stood before her. He pulled her into his arms. “I wish that were jealousy in your voice. I don’t want Morag to change the bandage. You made the wound, you must dress it.”
Bronwyn couldn’t move, could hardly think when he held her so close. She was remembering the feel of his lips on the back of her knees. She pushed him away from her. “All right, I’ll do it. I’m sure it will be faster if I get it done with than argue with you. Then we can go home.”
He sat down on the window seat, leaned back against the cushions, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was nude. He held his arm out to her, smiling as she avoided looking at him.
Bronwyn didn’t like his smugness, his easy self-assurance that his nearness had any effect on her. And worse, she hated the way his beautiful body kept drawing her eyes to it. She smiled wickedly as she ripped the bandage from his arm. Bits of raw skin and newly formed scab came away from the cut.
“Damn you!” Stephen yelled as he came up off the seat. He thrust his hand behind her neck and drew her to him. “You’ll regret that! Someday you’ll know that one drop of my blood is more precious than any angry feelings you carry.”
“Is that your fondest wish? I tell you now that you’ll not get it. I married you because it saved warfare within my clan. I do not kill you now because your old king would cause my clan grief.”
Stephen pushed her away so violently that she slammed against the
bed. “You do not kill me!” he sneered. Blood was running down his arm from the reopened wound. He stood and grabbed his clothes from the floor. “You think too much of yourself,” he said as he thrust his legs into hose and breeches. He tossed his shirt and doublet over his arm. “Be ready in an hour,” he said flatly as he slammed from the room.
The room seemed unnaturally silent when Stephen was gone, and somehow it seemed too big and too empty. She was glad, of course, that he was gone. For one brief moment she wondered who he’d get to dress the wound on his arm, then she shrugged. What did she care? She went to the door and called Morag. There was a great deal to be done in an hour.
They rode hard all that day and into the night. Bronwyn felt her heart and mind lighten the farther north they rode. She hated the noise and the many baggage wagons that followed them. To her Scots’ sense of economy, the wagonloads of goods were needless. A Scotsman would take what he wore on his back, what food he could carry in a pack. The Englishmen stopped at midday for a cooked meal. Bronwyn had been too impatient to eat much.
“Sit down!” Stephen commanded. “You’ll make my men nervous with your constant jumping about.”
“Your men! What of my men who wait for me?”
“I can only take care of one group of men at a time.”
“You can—!” she began, then stopped. Several of Stephen’s men were watching them with interest. Christopher Audley smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. Bronwyn knew he was a pleasant young man, but now no one pleased her. She wanted to get out of these cursed Lowlands as soon as possible.
They crossed the Grampians at night. They were low mountains interspersed with wide valleys. As soon as they crossed, the air seemed to grow cooler, the landscape wilder, and Bronwyn began to breathe easier. Her shoulders relaxed, the muscles in her face untightened.
“Bronwyn!” Stephen said from beside her. “We must stop for the night.”
Highland Velvet Page 8
