Bride for a Knight

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  “Aye, that indeed. As intimate as a man and woman can be.” Jamie looked hard at her. “I will ne’er lie to you, lass. Dinna ask me questions if the answer will displease you.”

  Her chin rose. “Will you see her again?”

  “Nay, I will not.” Jamie shook his head. “That I swear to you. Leastways not for the reason I visited her in the past.”

  She looked doubtful. “Will you tell me what that reason was?”

  “Och, aye.” Jamie curled his hands around his sword belt, holding tight. “Truth be told, I must tell you.”

  Her eyes widened. “You must?”

  Jamie nodded again. Then he let go of his belt and reached for her, sliding his hands down her back and over the curve of her buttocks. He cupped them lightly and drew her to him, holding her just close enough so that she couldn’t help but feel the thick bulge of his sex.

  A problem blessedly at ease for the moment.

  Hoping her soft feminine warmth and delicate violet perfume wouldn’t alter that state too quickly, he glanced up at the ceiling again and sought the best words.

  “Back in the hall, you said you wished to speak to me about something important,” she said then, peering up at him, her eyes luminous in the candlelight. “Did it have aught to do with this woman? Or the MacKenzie marriage stone? I ask because Hughie Mac was telling the tale when you returned.”

  Jamie tightened his arms around her, squeezing her ever so lightly. “It has naught to do with those things and yet everything to do with them,” he said, sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her across the room to lower her onto the edge of Kendrick’s great four-poster bed.

  “The only thing this has to do with the MacKenzie stone is that I needn’t clasp your hand through a holed stone to know that our union will be mightily blessed,” he said, hooking his hands beneath his sword belt again and pacing before the bed. “All I need is the assurance that I won’t hurt you. That, and naught else is troubling me.”

  Aveline’s jaw slipped. “Hurt me?”

  She stared at him, confusion spilling through her.

  This was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “I do not understand.”

  He shot a glance at her. “You ken we are now as good as legally wed?” he asked, pausing beside the foot of the bed. “You are aware that we can lie together now, this moment, and no one would raise a brow?”

  Aveline nodded. His words caused a flurry of warm, fluttery tingles low in her belly.

  She wanted to lie with him.

  And she wanted more of his kisses.

  Mayhap even the all-over kind of kisses one of her sisters had secretly told her about one night after she’d imbibed too much spiced wine, claiming her husband loved nothing better than to lie between her legs and lick her.

  Aveline shivered.

  The notion had excited her when Maili had shared it. Now, after being held and touched and kissed by Jamie these last weeks, the thought of him doing such an intimate thing to her—actually getting down there and touching his tongue to her—shattered her.

  Truth be told, the notion filled her with such thrilling heat she had to clamp her thighs together.

  “Did you hear me?” he prodded then, watching her. “We are bound now. Before God, man, and all these great hills surrounding us. Naught between us is a sin, even though we will not wed till spring. Our betrothal ceremony sealed our vows. We are as good as man and wife.”

  “Aye, I know this,” she said, the tingles in her belly beginning to spread even lower.

  He came closer again, stopping just in front of her. “Then you will not object if we speak freely about certain things?”

  “‘Things’?”

  Aveline’s heart began to pound.

  She shifted on the bed, her mouth going dry. Saints preserve her if he’d read her thoughts. Half-afraid he had, she moistened her lips, sharply aware of his nearness, his clean masculine scent.

  She blinked, his braw good looks and his scent distracting her. “What things?”

  He stepped closer, so near his knees rested lightly against hers. “Man and woman things,” he said, looking down at her. “You have said you know about them?”

  She nodded. “My sisters have told me what happens at beddings and I have seen my father’s men coupling with the laundresses in the shadowy corners of the hall and sometimes in the stables.”

  “And you have seen unclothed men?” he asked, watching her.

  Aveline bit her lip. Scorching heat shot up her neck. Worse, wicked as it was, talking so openly about such things seemed to increase the hot prickly-tingly feeling between her legs.

  And she was finding she liked the sensation.

  She drew a slow breath, forcing herself to speak evenly. “Aye, I have seen my father’s men undressed. Mostly of an e’en and in the hall as they readied themselves for sleeping.”

  Looking down, she smoothed a fold in the bed coverlet. “I’ve also bathed a goodly number of my father’s loftier guests.”

  “But such guests would not have been aroused.” Jamie held her gaze, his knees still pressing against hers. “Have you e’er seen a man thus stirred?”

  “Only one,” Aveline blurted before she lost the nerve. “He was standing behind a tree near St. Bride’s Well when my sisters and I once bathed there. He was swollen, aye, and touching himself.”

  “Men do that sometimes, lass,” Jamie said, his tone tight. “It relieves their need. But committing such an act while spying on you and your sisters was inexcusable and I hope he was severely punished.”

  Aveline curled her fingers into the bedcovers and glanced aside.

  “He ran away before we could see his face,” she lied, unable to tell him that two of her sisters had flaunted themselves, deliberately lying half-naked in a patch of sunshine beside the sacred well.

  Jamie nodded, his fingers itching to curl around the neck of the dastard who’d taken such a cowardly means to find his ease. But he was also relieved his bride was familiar with a man’s body.

  Not taking his gaze off her, he unfastened his hip flask from his belt and tossed down a hefty swallow of fine and fiery uisge beatha. Highland water of life, a potent spirit well known for curing any and everything thought to ail man, including over-tight tongues.

  He offered her some, then frowned because he hadn’t thought to first fetch a cup for her, but she surprised him by accepting the flask and placing it immediately to her lips.

  “So you see,” she said after taking a sip and handing the flask back to him, “I know what to expect when we bed and I am not afraid. I also know you will not hurt me—that you’d never treat me as roughly as I’ve seen some of my father’s men use the laundresses and kitchen lasses.”

  Jamie cleared his throat. “That is not the kind of hurting I meant,” he said, not surprised by the flash of confusion in her eyes. “To be sure, I would ne’er treat you roughly. ’Tis my size that concerns me, see you? I fear hurting you because my man parts are overlarge.”

  To his surprise, rather than widened eyes or a scandalized jaw drop, her lips tightened and she avoided his eye, turning her head away to stare into the fire again.

  “Is that why you were so fond of the widow?” she asked, her tone warning him that she was irritated again. “Because she relished your great size?”

  Jamie sat down beside her on the bed. “I have told you why I call the woman a friend. She has a good and generous heart,” he said, knowing it to be true. “The reason I went to her was not because she was fond of me, but because I needn’t worry about causing her discomfort.”

  “I see.” Aveline plucked at the bedcovers.

  “I would that you do. My size has brought pain to more than one lass,” he explained. “This caused me so much distress that I stopped lying with women and saw to my needs myself in the way you saw the man in the woods touch himself. Though I ne’er did such a thing save when I was certain I was fully alone.”

  Needing to make her understand, he reac
hed for her chin again, turning her face so she had to meet his eye. “When I was urged to visit Gunna of the Glen, I was relieved to find a woman who could sheathe me with ease, fully without pain, and, aye, even take her own pleasure in the act.”

  Aveline’s eyes rounded. “You are saying you went to her because you could slide easily into her?” she asked, speaking more bluntly than she would have wished.

  “Aye, that was the way of it,” Jamie admitted. “There was no other reason. No heart feelings whatsoever, as I told you. I was pleased to have a woman I could lie with and not hurt.”

  “As you worry about hurting me?”

  Jamie nodded. “Ach, lass, you are so wee that I canna imagine truly touching you without breaking you,” he said, speaking as plainly as he could. “Even if resisting the temptation of you costs me my last breath, I willna cause you pain. There are other ways we can be intimate together. Other things—”

  “‘Resisting the temptation’?” She opened her mouth to say more, but to Jamie’s horror, her eyes suddenly started to glisten and she pressed a fist to her lips, blinking rapidly as she stared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted two heads.

  Or, judging by the tremulous smile curving her lips when she finally lowered her hand, looking as if he’d just handed her the sun, moon, and stars on a silver-gilt platter.

  “You make it sound as if you desire me,” she said, dashing the dampness from her cheeks, then frowning a bit when the tears kept leaking from beneath her lashes no matter how furiously she swiped at them.

  “By the Rood!” Jamie gathered her into his arms, holding her as tightly as he dared. “Have I no’ kissed you with enough passion for you to know how much I want you? How much you delight me?”

  He began stroking her back, soothingly he hoped. “Have you forgotten how much I enjoyed that one sweet glimpse of your breast?” he reminded her, his voice deep, growing husky with need. “Surely you know I’d love to see such beauty again.”

  “You want to see my breast again?” The words came so faint Jamie wasn’t sure he heard her.

  He pulled back a bit to look at her. “Perhaps with both nipples visible this time?”

  She stiffened at that, so he slipped a hand between them, allowing himself the pleasure of cupping her breast and rubbing a single finger gently to and fro across her delicate swells. Touching her exactly as he had in her father’s solar, only this time through the cloth of her gown.

  “M’mmm … ,” she sighed, melting against him. But she caught herself almost as quickly and reached circling fingers around his wrist, lowering his hand with astonishing strength.

  “My breasts are small,” she said, her eyes glittering suspiciously again. “That is the reason I fretted so much about the Glenelg joy woman. Gelis described her in great detail and I saw her in my mind, imagining her lush welling curves and huge ripe breasts.”

  Pulling away from him, she looked down, bunched her hands in her lap. “Nipples the size of my fists—”

  “Hah! And so they are!” Jamie threw back his head and laughed, a quick image of the widow’s large dark-hued nipples flashing across his mind.

  Ah, the hours he’d spent licking and sucking them. Or simply plucking and pulling on them, rubbing and toying, circling a fingertip endlessly around the wonderfully crinkled flesh of her large aureoles.

  Memories and images that stirred him not a whit.

  His man parts, usually so responsive when thinking of the joy woman’s bountiful charms, didn’t even twitch.

  Aveline touched his thigh. “So her breasts really are large and ripe.”

  “And yours are straight from heaven,” Jamie owned, meaning it. “Do you know, sweetness, that since seeing you in the wood, a thousand full-breasted, well-curved females could come flouncing their wares into this room and I would still see only you?”

  She looked aside, the color in her cheeks giving away her doubt.

  “’Tis true.” He leaned close to brush a feather-light kiss across her temple. “I am quite besotted.”

  Reaching for her braid, he began undoing it, letting the shimmering flaxen strands spill through his fingers until the whole gleaming mass cascaded about her shoulders, a riot of moon-spun silver tumbling down past her hips.

  Looking at her sitting on Kendrick’s bed, her unbound hair making such a bold statement of accepted intimacy, Jamie’s heart began a slow, hard thumping and his loins tightened.

  Not that he intended to touch her.

  Not in that way.

  He still had serious reservations about the like. But he could give her a soft, lingering kiss.

  “You are a prize beyond measure,” he vowed, finally releasing her.

  Holding her gaze, he scooped up a thick handful of her hair, looping the luxuriant strands around his wrist and then bringing his hand to his lips, burying his face in the glossy, fragrant skeins.

  “You take my breath,” he vowed, kissing her hair, rubbing his cheek against its silkiness.

  “And you please me.” She traced a finger along his jaw, the wonder in her eyes stopping Jamie’s heart.

  She was watching him kiss and nuzzle her hair, her lower lip caught between her teeth as he let his fingers glide over the laces of her gown.

  “You are lovely,” he told her, his hands aching to undo her bodice. “I have ne’er seen a more beautiful maid and will ne’er tire of looking on you.”

  Smiling now, she brought her own hands to her bodice, her slender fingers deftly working the ties. “If I please you, you can look upon me all you wish,” she said, the color in her cheeks deepening even though her words rang bold.

  “But I would see you, too,” she added, glancing downward.

  “Me?” Jamie drew a tight breath, more aware of her than was good for him.

  Aware of how much he wanted her.

  How easily she could make him lose control.

  Especially with the not-so-discreet direction of her gaze letting him know exactly what part of him appeared to interest her.

  Proving it, she reached out to touch him. Not there, only on his chest. But her fingers warmed him clear through his plaid, the pleasure of her touch stirring him even if her hand hovered well above his sword belt.

  “You tell me you’re worried you’ll hurt me,” she said, challenge thrumming behind every word. “Why not let me decide if I am afeared of your touch or nay?”

  Jamie frowned.

  “You do not know what you are saying,” he argued.

  She only smiled and reached again for her bodice laces, untying them until the top of her gown gaped wide and her naked breasts winked in the firelight, all creamy white, her rosy nipples already puckering.

  “Well?” She looked at him, waiting.

  “Well, indeed.” Jamie could only stare at her.

  Truth be told, he couldn’t even move.

  Ne’er had he seen a vision more lovely.

  And ne’er had he run hard so swiftly.

  So granite-hard, he was certain the slightest touch or movement would cause his shaft to snap in two. But then, he had hoped to begin acquainting her with his body tonight. He’d just envisioned an entirely different situation, had thought they’d progress slowly.

  He’d certainly thought to remain fully at ease and then perhaps brush casually against her, letting her feel for herself why such worries plagued him.

  Perhaps, too, he might have simply flipped aside his plaid, easing down his hose and braies just enough for her to have a wee peek. Then later, if the sight of him didn’t frighten her, he’d hoped to encourage her to touch and explore him—if she’d shown herself so inclined.

  Having her sit before him on a bed with her naked breasts all agleam and then expecting him to show himself to her, that was an entirely different kettle of fish.

  An unexpected turn of events that set him to reeling and made him want to clutch her to him so fiercely he feared he really would break her.

  “I am not fragile. Nor am I afraid of things that are
natural,” she declared, moistening her lips in a way that only increased his discomfort. “If you find pleasure in looking at me,” she added with a quick glance at her breasts, “then why would I not enjoy seeing you?”

  Jamie pressed his lips together and took a deep breath.

  She turned a look on him filled with more self-possession than he would have e’er dreamed in such a teeny lassie. But he could see it all over her, and she wore it well. So beautifully that just watching her proved a temptation he’d not be able to resist much longer.

  “I will touch you if you wish,” she said, as if she knew. “Anywhere it pleases you.”

  That did it.

  Like a man possessed, Jamie sprang from the bed and unlatched his sword belt, tossing it aside to clunk to the rushes somewhere behind him.

  His heart thundering, he kept his gaze fastened to the sweetness of her creamy, perfectly formed breasts and undid the great plaid brooch at his shoulder, swiftly sending it and his plaid sailing after his blade.

  Grinning now, he reached for the bottom of his tunic and began pulling it over his head. But before he could wrest it fully off, or even think about shoving down his hose, a rude hammering sounded on the door.

  “Hellfire and damnation!” He yanked down his tunic and glared across the room. “We need naught,” he roared, his brows snapping together when the pounding only increased. “Come back in the morn!”

  “’Tis your da,” Morag called anyway, her voice loud and unrelenting. “You’d best come. Now!”

  Jamie froze, the old woman’s tone icing his blood.

  “Go!” Aveline gave him a shove toward the door, began hastily redoing her bodice. “Morag would not be calling for you if aught wasn’t seriously amiss.”

  “That I ken,” Jamie swore, already striding across the room to unbolt the door and fling it wide.

  “Merciful saints!” he demanded of Morag, glaring down at her. The old woman’s eyes blazed and her hair looked wild, its straggly ends poking up in all different directions as if she’d been standing in a fierce winter gale.

  Jamie shot a look at Aveline, then turned back to Morag. “Lucifer’s knees,” he swore, “what has happened?”