“Ye aren’t afraid, are ye?” he asked. “Because if ye are…”
That got her attention. She opened her eyes and furrowed her brow. “Nae.”
She was afraid. He could see it in the way she sucked her lower lip under her teeth. But she wasn’t going to admit it. And he rather admired her for that.
“I can make the pain go away,” he said, “if ye’ll allow me.”
She looked doubtful. Then she gave him a nod.
Holding himself up on his elbows, he lowered his head to kiss her. But this time, he kissed her softly, tenderly. And when she answered too eagerly, he drew back. It was essential this time that she be completely ready.
It didn’t take long. Soon she was reaching for him. She clasped the back of his neck to hold him close. She gasped against his throat and arched up until her bosom grazed his chest.
Then, to his relief, she began grinding her hips slowly against him. He closed his eyes as a ripple of desire coursed through his loins. Even a virgin instinctively knew the dance of love.
The sweet friction was almost too much to bear. He clenched his teeth against his release as she sought her own.
When she finally stiffened, opening her mouth in joyous awe, he groaned her name and drove deep within her. Together, they shuddered out their bliss.
For a weightless moment, Ysenda felt like a hawk, soaring high in the sky. There was no more pain, only freedom. Then she dove through clouds of pure pleasure, plummeting down so swiftly that her wings shivered on the air.
It would have been a moment of perfect bliss…if only he hadn’t cried out her sister’s name.
The word struck her like a slap in the face, snapping her back to reality.
Bloody hell! What had she done?
Noёl, utterly spent, sank down upon her, careful to support his weight on his forearms. He heaved a contented sigh against her neck.
“Ah, lass, I’m so pleased to be your husband.”
Ysenda gulped, wrapping her arms around him in an awkward hug.
She didn’t know what to say.
She couldn’t even pretend this was his fault. She’d encouraged him. She’d been the one who had to have that goodnight kiss. If he hadn’t kept his promise, it was only because she’d led him to believe she was no longer holding him to it.
He’d done nothing wrong. He’d only made love to the woman he thought was his wife.
But Ysenda had committed a sin. She’d knowingly and intentionally consummated a counterfeit marriage.
“Are ye all right, cherie?” he murmured, lifting his head to look at her.
Nae, she was not all right. She’d behaved like a wanton. And she’d stolen her sister’s bridegroom.
But she didn’t dare confess to him. So she gave him a bleak smile and nodded.
He eased away to lie beside her, still holding her close.
“The next time,” he promised, “’twill be better.”
The next time? There could be no next time.
She bit her lip. She supposed she was ruined now. But she wouldn’t make Noёl pay the price for that. On the morrow, when her father came to his senses and handed over Noёl’s real bride, Ysenda would do the right thing, the merciful thing. She’d deny she’d ever bedded him.
The handfasting would be broken. Noёl and Cathalin would be free to wed. He’d whisk his new wife away to his castle in France. And Ysenda would probably never see him again.
She glanced over at the handsome knight with the dazzling smile and the kind heart. If he hadn’t drifted off to sleep, he would have seen the childish tears gathering in her eyes.
It was silly, she knew. But she wanted him for herself. She didn’t care that he wasn’t a Highlander. She didn’t care that he was Cathalin’s. She didn’t even care that she had nothing to offer him—no castle, no land, no title.
She’d given him her maidenhood already. And if she believed for an instant that he’d take it, she’d offer him her heart as well…for she was sure she’d fallen in love with him.
As mad as it sounded, it was true. Though she’d known him only a few hours, she knew he was everything she’d ever wanted in a husband. He was loyal, brave, sincere, fair. He commanded the respect of men and earned the admiration of women.
But her heart wasn’t what Sir Noёl had come for. He’d come for a political alliance. Besides, a man like him could have any maiden he chose. Why would he choose Ysenda when he’d been given the most beautiful woman in all of Scotland?
She turned away and sulked herself to sleep.
Chapter 5
Ysenda woke before the sun. In her sleep, she’d somehow wrapped her arms and one leg around her bedmate. She paled, realizing she had to untangle herself both from Sir Noёl and from the mess her father had created before it was too late. She also had to make sure nothing bad had happened to Caimbeul.
She carefully extricated herself and glanced at the man sleeping beside her. She couldn’t resist a fond grin. One side of his face was distorted where it was smashed into the downy mattress. His hair stuck out every which way, like a tree struck by lightning. His mouth hung open, and great snores issued forth. The noble knight didn’t look quite so noble now. And yet his unguarded sleep made her adore him all the more.
How pleasant it would be to wake up each day to such an endearing sight…to hear the reassuring sound of his breathing…to peruse the sculpted contours of his…
She almost choked when she beheld the bold silhouette poking up the linen sheet. How could that be? How could he be aroused when he was fast asleep?
Her cheeks flaming, she crept out of the bed before things could get worse. She cast one last despondent glance at the man she was leaving behind. Then she left the chamber to seek out her brother.
“Where is he?” she demanded. “What have ye done with him?”
The laird grimaced as her sharp words pierced his aching head. “He’s fine.” He shooed her away and continued to poke among the kitchen stores for something to soothe the pain.
She found the vial of willow bark extract and shoved it into his hand. “Father, listen to me. What happened last night was a mistake. Ye can’t go against the king. ’Tis…” She glanced around the cellar, even though it was too small to conceal spies. Then she whispered, “’Tis high treason.”
“Ach!” he scoffed. “The king won’t come marchin’ all the way up here to enforce one wee marriage.” But Ysenda detected a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. “Besides,” he said, uncorking the vial and sniffing at the contents, “’tis too late now.”
“But that’s just it. ’Tisn’t too late.” She licked her lips, hating to lie. “We didn’t…that is…there was a weddin’…but there was no beddin’.”
He screwed up his face in disbelief. “What?”
“The handfastin’ can be broken now. He’ll be free to marry Cathalin.”
He stared at her as if she were stupid. “He’s not marryin’ Cathalin.”
Ysenda’s heart plummeted. “But he has to. The king decreed it. Ye signed the papers yourself.”
“I’m not givin’ my land to a Norman, no matter what the king decrees.”
“But my laird…Da…don’t ye see? Ye’ve been given a second chance.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Ye wily wench. Ye refused him on purpose.”
“Aye, I did. I did it for the good o’ the clan. I could see ye weren’t in your right mind last night. And I knew if I didn’t—”
The back of his fist cracked suddenly against her cheek, rocking her head and making her stagger sideways. She caught herself on the shelf, knocking over a row of bottles that clattered on the stones.
She blinked in shock and worked her jaw, making sure he hadn’t knocked out any teeth. Her instincts told her to repay him with a solid punch of her own. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d given as good as she’d gotten from a man.
But for once she had to resist the urge.
After all, he was the laird.
He
was her father.
And he had Caimbeul locked away somewhere.
“How dare ye speak to me like that,” he snarled. “I know what’s best for the clan. And ’tisn’t havin’ a laird that’s not even Scots.”
She ignored her stinging cheek. Somehow she had to convince him he was making a mistake. “But Da, he must be a decent man. The king himself chose him. He’ll be good to Cathalin and provide for the clan as well as—”
“Nae, ’tis settled.” He took a tiny sip from the vial, wrinkling his nose. “Cathalin’s bridegroom, her Highland bridegroom, is due to arrive any day now. I’ll simply say we couldn’t wait any longer for their Norman knight, that by the time he arrived, her weddin’ had already taken place.”
“You’d lie to the king?”
“’Tisn’t a lie. ’Tis a stretch o’ the truth.”
“And what will ye tell Sir Noёl when this Highlander arrives?”
“He’ll be long gone. Your husband seems very keen to get home.” He toasted her with the vial, took a generous swig, shuddering at the bitter taste, then stuck the cork back in. “Ye know, ye should count yourself lucky, lass. In France, ye’ll be a proper lady.”
“But Sir Noёl will find out I’m not Cathalin.”
“Not unless ye tell him.”
Her thoughts raced. “And what if I tell him now?”
“Oh, I don’t think ye’ll do that.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’m holdin’ that hunchback pet o’ yours, and ye don’t want to see anythin’ bad happen to him.”
Ysenda clenched her hands at her sides. She wanted to think he was bluffing, that he wouldn’t do anything to harm his own flesh and blood. But she knew better. The laird had been wanting to get rid of his embarrassing son from the moment he’d first seen him.
Laird Gille chuckled. “Ye know, ye’re just like your ma. Strong-willed and weak-hearted. Don’t think I don’t know about your sneakin’ in tutors to teach that halfwit.”
“He’s not a…” She managed to stop herself, but only because she knew it was hopeless.
“Ye’ll do fine in France. And if ye get too headstrong for Sir Noёl’s taste, he has an army o’ braw lads at his command to keep ye in line.”
If he was trying to scare her, it wasn’t working. She trusted Sir Noёl completely. What she couldn’t anticipate was his reaction when he discovered he’d been gulled by her father…and by her, for that matter. Would he believe the truth—that she’d been in fear for her brother’s life? And if not, what would he do to exact revenge? Would he toss her aside and demand his true bride? Would he make war on the clan and lay siege to the keep?
A voice came from beyond the door. “Good morrow?”
Ysenda sucked in a quick breath. It was Sir Noёl.
Her father arched a brow. “Your husband’s callin’ ye.” He smirked. “Probably comin’ for somethin’ ye forgot to give him last night.”
“Cathalin?” Noёl called.
Ysenda winced.
Her father snickered.
“In here,” she called back, swinging open the door.
Noёl was even more magnificent than she remembered. He’d finger-combed his hair. His face was freshly scrubbed. He was dressed again in his dark blue surcoat, which set off his sparkling eyes.
Unfortunately, he looked nothing like a man who’d been forced to spend his wedding night in unrequited passion. And the memory of what they’d done washed over her like a warm wave, heating her cheeks.
“Ah. Good morn…son,” her father said. Somehow he managed to make the word sound like both an insincere welcome and an insult. He’d never called Caimbeul “son.” Not once.
“My laird,” Noёl replied with a nod. Ysenda got the distinct impression Noёl didn’t care to call Laird Gille “Father” either.
Already there was animosity between them. If Lord Noёl found out that the laird had tricked him, it would get ugly. She couldn’t afford to let that happen, not before Caimbeul was safe.
“Have ye broken your fast, Sir Noёl?” she asked, taking his hand, eager to separate the two men. “Are ye hungry?”
“Aye.” Noёl was hungry, to be sure. He wanted to feast on his wife’s lovely body again.
His wife. He loved the sound of that. And to think he’d been dreading meeting his Highland bride.
When he’d awakened to find her gone, he feared it might have all been a dream. But the rumpled sheets smelled like her—fresh, warm, and womanly—and that scent had stirred him to life.
Now, walking beside his lovely new wife, he had to resist the urge to sweep her up the stairs, toss her onto the bed, and make love to her…all day long.
“There should be bannocks in the bakehouse,” she said, ushering him out the door of the great hall.
The courtyard was still covered in white. But the sun had peeped out this morn. Icicles dripped from the thatched roofs of the outbuildings. The snowy expanse twinkled like crystals.
His bride was still in her slippers. So he scooped her up to carry her toward the bakehouse.
She squeaked, startled.
He grinned down at her. Then he noticed something that made his smile vanish. One side of her face was red, as if someone had clouted her.
He stopped walking and tipped up her chin to examine the mark. He clenched his teeth. “Your cheek—did someone strike ye?”
She frowned, tugging her chin away. “Nae,” she told him. “I probably just slept on it.”
He suspected she wasn’t telling him the truth. “Ye know that I’m your protector now.” Indeed, he was surprised by just how fiercely protective he felt. “If anyone touches ye, he’ll have to answer to me.”
Her eyes went all soft and dewy when he said that. But he was serious. Any man who laid a hand on a defenseless woman deserved to be beaten to a bloody pulp.
“’Tis very chivalrous,” she said. “But ye know I come from a long line o’ warrior maids.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Still, he had a hard time believing his wee wisp of a wife could fend off a grown man. If someone had struck her—and he suspected it might be her father—perhaps it was a good thing he was taking her away from this place.
He carried her to the bakehouse. As she’d promised, there were oat bannocks, fresh out of the pan. They were warm, buttery, and filling. He ate three of them. But he saved his last bite for her. He fed her from his hand, letting his fingertip linger on her lip.
He’d appeased one hunger, but the other still nagged at him. He stared at her beautiful mouth. Then, not caring whether it was proper in Scotland, he pulled her close, lifted her chin, and placed a soft kiss on her lips.
She responded at once, letting her eyes drift closed. Her lips were pliant beneath his as she dissolved against him. He pulled her closer, reveling in her warmth. Her arms traveled up around his neck. And then he felt a strong surge of lust in his braies, one he had trouble concealing.
She gasped lightly, and he knew she felt it as well. Without another word, he finished the kiss, nodded to the baker, picked up his bride, and headed back to the keep.
Thankfully, no one stood in his way—not her unpleasant father, not Noёl’s knights, not the Caimbeul lad. He climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to her chamber.
Then he stopped. Her sister was there, rummaging through Cathalin’s clothes.
“Oh!’ she exclaimed in surprise, looking back and forth between the two. “I…I just needed to…borrow a gown…from Cathalin. Is that all right…Cathalin?”
Ysenda had never felt more awkward. There was no question now. They were all conspiring together to fool the Norman knight. When he found out…
She glanced at him and gulped. Considering the breadth of his chest, his powerful muscles, and the formidable men who followed him about…she didn’t want to be there when he found out.
But there was nothing she could do about it now. As far as Cathalin, it seemed that as long as her sister was granted access to
her extravagant gowns, she wasn’t in the least perturbed that Ysenda might be swiving the man who should have been her husband.
“Cathalin?” her sister prompted again.
“O’ course,” Ysenda said. “Help yourself.”
She gave them a knowing smirk. “I can come back later if—”
“Nae,” she said. “We’re only—”
“Aye,” Noёl said simultaneously. “Come back later.”
Cathalin left with a wink, coyly waving the stockings she’d picked out.
This was a disaster. Ysenda had still hoped she could persuade her sister, if not her father, to see reason. Surely Cathalin wouldn’t wish to be the target of two kings’ wrath. But now it would be impossible to convince her sister that she’d never consummated the handfasting.
Noёl didn’t seem to note her distress. He had only one thing on his mind. And the longer Ysenda gazed into his smoldering azure eyes, the more she had to agree that nothing else seemed important.
What started as feathery, inviting kisses grew urgent and demanding. Against her better judgment, she began caressing his flesh and then grasping at his clothes. By the time they tumbled headlong onto the bed, they were already half undressed.
She told herself it didn’t matter if they made love again. After all, they’d consummated the handfasting. What difference did it make whether they coupled once, twice, or a dozen times? A lie was still a lie.
But the truth was she was too overwhelmed by desire to think straight. She wanted him. She wanted this. And when Noёl peeled off his surcoat and tossed it aside, the sight of him left her breathless.
There was no time for the play in which they’d indulged last night. They both knew what they needed. There was no reason to delay.
He pushed up her skirts and smoothly sheathed himself inside her. She welcomed him with shivering desire.
This time it felt like they were running together up the slope of a great brae. They panted with exertion as they neared the top. When they reached the peak, they paused to admire the beautiful glen below. Then they tumbled down the other side as fast as a waterfall, rushing over the rocks and diving into a deep, refreshing pool.
The Handfasting Page 5
