by Mary Wine
She felt a touch of guilt for the way she was nearly flattened against the wall. “I did appreciate ye coming for me.”
He nodded and rotated his arm again. Helen suddenly realized why.
“Yer arm is stiff from holding me head.” The chamber was so small that she was already at the bedside by the time she thought to question her impulse to help him. It was too late by that point. Their gazes locked, and she felt her insides quiver. She cupped his shoulder and pushed him back. He went, only because he wanted to. Beneath her fingertips, she could feel just how strong he was under that shirt.
She liked the way he felt.
It was a shocking thought that left a hot trail across her mind. One that was sprouting with new, wicked ideas. She battled them, trying to focus on what needed doing. He let out a soft, male sound of enjoyment as she started to rub his shoulder and arm. He rolled over, giving her better access to his back as she sat down on the bed next to him. The ropes groaned as they took the weight of both of them, but held.
She was intent on her work and didn’t realize Marcus had fallen asleep until she heard his breathing deepen. A sense of accomplishment filled her, lifting the corners of her lips. He wasn’t a man who let his guard down easily, yet he’d fallen asleep next to her. What did that mean? She shied away from deciding just what and started to stand.
Pain suddenly went through her scalp. At some point, Marcus had grasped a handful of her hair and pulled it up to his nose. A tingle went through her as she looked at the way he was clutching her hair. So simple and yet somehow intimate in a way she’d never expected. This was so lacking in sin and flesh. Yet it struck her as being purer than any declaration of flowery compliments might have been.
However, she was stuck. She tried to pull the strands from his fingers, but he had wound the length around them and closed his hand. Helen debated waking him, but that seemed a very poor way to show her gratitude. The long hours on the road were taking their toll on her too. Her eyelids felt too heavy to hold open. So she crawled over him and lay down beside him.
Marcus was warm, and his hold on her hair didn’t allow her to move away from him. She only had another moment to contemplate the wisdom of sleeping with him before sleep claimed her.
* * *
Marcus opened his eyes and considered Helen. It wasn’t his way to be dishonest, but the sight of her next to him might make him consider changing his ways.
The only light in the room was from the fire. It cast a red and orange flicker over her. He’d never seen so much of her, and his cock hardened. The chemise she wore was new but of soft linen that lay across her curves like liquid. He could see the little beads of her nipples and had to force himself to reach for the bedding and pull it up and over them both.
Damn, but he liked the way she smelled. More than one woman had chased him through the years—although it was fairer to say they had been pursuing his position—and those females often applied lavender oil or honey or some other essence to their skin. He leaned down and inhaled the scent of Helen’s hair.
His cock began to throb.
There was some hint of amber from the soap she’d bathed with, but nothing else. No, that was an unfair thing to think. There was plenty more. She smelled like sunshine and strength. He wanted to nuzzle against her. Combine her scent with the taste of her, and he wanted to stroke her until she let him cup her sweet breasts. His mind was full of the progression of what he craved, the appetite she seemed to build in him, the one he was gaining a new understanding of as he lay there and cradled her close while letting her sleep. It was a strangely erotic experience, a new one for him. He savored it because there was one thing he knew for certain: Helen wasn’t going to make it easy to catch her.
But then again, he had to admit to enjoying that facet of her personality too.
* * *
It felt good to be touched.
Helen let out a little sound of contentment and rotated her head so whoever was stroking her might reach more of her skin.
Delightful.
Little ripples of enjoyment moved across her skin, waking her gently while she enjoyed the warmth of the bed. Normally her toes were chilled and getting up was the only way to warm herself because the fire would have gone cold during the night.
Today, she smiled as her bed was deliciously warm and inviting to linger in. She slid her fingers along the warmth beneath her and froze when she heard a husky chuckle.
Marcus grinned at her when she opened her eyes and looked into his face, her eyes as wide as full moons.
“What are ye doing?” she demanded.
“Well now, lass.” He tried to contain his mirth. “Ye’re the one lying on top of me.”
She was. Helen looked down in horror to see that her fingers were splayed on his chest. With a little cry, she rolled away from him and right off the edge of the bed. Marcus laughed. For the second time that day, she was stunned. She’d seen the man amused before, but this was pure and freely expressed. He wasn’t hiding behind his control, and she got the distinct feeling it was a privilege to see him in such a private moment.
“I could get accustomed to waking up to ye in me bed, Helen, and that is a fact.”
She’d edged her way around the foot of the bed as he sat up and put his feet on the floor. His expression tightened, his lips thinning as he looked at her. “Aye, ye’re a handsome woman, and I’ve a mind to order ye some of that fine cotton to make yer chemises out of. So I can see through it when ye venture near the candlelight in the evenings.”
Helen wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep him from seeing through her linen chemise. “That would be pure waste.”
“Aye,” he agreed as he sent her a grin that made her blush. “I’d much rather ye wore naught at all when we’re in private.” He crooked his finger at her. “Come back here, lass. Let me pet ye some more.”
She shook her head.
“Ye were enjoying it.”
He was still sitting on the end of the bed, but she heard the determination in his tone. She realized he was gripping the sheeting in his effort to remain poised there, to make it her choice. That idea burst on her like spring after a hard, long winter. It was ripe with opportunities that she’d only dreamed about.
“What game are ye playing?” she asked. “Are ye trying to have me before yer father has me sent on me way? Make a mistress of me so me ruin will be complete?”
That had to be it, and she would be wise to remember the facts of her circumstances.
“Ye’re wrong about that.”
There was something in his tone that made her take him more seriously. She turned to make eye contact with him.
“I never kept a mistress because I am no’ the sort of man who ruins a woman’s name simply so he can have her in his bed whenever he wants her,” Marcus informed her gravely. “I know what happens to discarded bedmates.”
“At least the females,” she added.
“Aye,” he agreed. “And me father was too busy laughing to say anything else. He considers ye a fine match for me. So.” He patted the bed beside him.
“Ye’ll no’ be taking the last thing I have of me own.”
“I would have rolled ye onto yer back and kissed ye until ye kissed me back if taking was what I had on me mind, Helen.”
He was speaking the truth. She heard the frustration in his voice, but he sat there, looking both ridiculous and appealing. He was suddenly more tempting than any man she’d ever seen. All of her senses felt awakened by him and heightened now that she’d taken the time to notice how good it felt to be in contact with him.
Kissed by him…
“Aye, that is so, and I’ll likely be damned for me weak will,” she admitted before she found her skirt and lifted it over her head.
When she looked up from lacing the waistband closed, she found Marcus standing in front of her
. His expression had gone serious and she felt something inside her tighten, as though he was going to say something vitally important.
“I’ll no’ renounce ye if ye are no’ a maiden, Helen.”
She felt her cheeks catch fire.
“I could hardly blame ye for taking what comfort ye could when I dropped ye here and never looked in on yer circumstances.”
“So ye think I turned slut?” She reached up and slapped him. As small as the chamber was, the sound was loud. “I’ll have ye know, Marcus MacPherson, that I am stronger than anything ye might ever do to me, and I will no’ be shaming meself or squandering the one gift I have left to give to the man I choose.”
His cheek was dark where her hand had struck him. The chamber was silent for a long moment as he looked into her eyes, seeking proof to support her words. She’d acted brazenly, but she stood tall and faced him, ready to take whatever retribution he decided was hers.
What he did stunned her to the core. Marcus MacPherson, War Chief of the clan, opened his arms and lowered himself before her. She caught sight of a wink sent her way as he straightened before scooping up his sword and heading toward the door.
“In that case, mistress”—he paused with his hand on the door latch—“I suggest ye get below and have a good breakfast. We’ve a courtship to begin today, and I can assure ye, best to make sure ye have all the strength ye can muster.” Determination glittered in his eyes. “I promise ye shall need it.”
* * *
“Wife or bride?”
Marcus stiffened, hearing his own words coming out of his brother’s mouth. Bhaic was leaning against the passageway wall, clearly waiting for him.
“I suppose it was too much to hope that ye’d let me be.” Marcus passed him and went toward the newer section of the castle where his chamber was.
“Well now,” Bhaic said, “seems that leaving the castle open to having its defenses known would be a terrible oversight. If Helen is still a bride, well, just as ye said when I brought Ailis here, there is an issue that needs attention.”
“I know what my reasoning was when ye brought Ailis here,” Marcus replied, cutting his brother off. “Helen does nae have a father who can ride out against us.”
Bhaic offered him an unrepentant shrug.
“Actually, I was waiting about to see if she killed ye when she found ye in her bedchamber.”
“It was yer wife who showed me the way last evening.”
Bhaic was surprised by that. “So does that mean ye plan to keep her?”
Marcus drew in a deep breath and sent a hard look toward Bhaic. “Ye think me that great a fool? That I’m blind to what ye have with Ailis, and do nae notice Helen draws me attention as no other female ever has? For whatever good that is, considering she loathes me.”
“Some would say justifiably.”
Marcus growled. “I was ensuring peace.”
“I know that,” Bhaic answered.
“So does she.” Marcus stopped as they approached the more inhabited portions of the castle.
“So where is the difficulty?” Bhaic asked seriously.
Marcus shook his head. “The same thing ye once told me concerning yer bride. How did ye put it? ‘I’ll no’ take me rights when she is worn down by a day that has been too long and I have no’ courted her.’ Well, Helen has had a long year due to me trusting that Duana would see to her needs. I’ve no right to expect her to trust me. That’s something I’ll have to earn with effort.”
Bhaic had been listening intently, but his lips split into a smirk as Marcus finished. “So, are ye saying ye plan to court the lass?” His tone was thick with disbelief.
“What is so amusing about that?” Marcus demanded. “Am I some sort of beast who can no’ show a woman she is worthy of winning over?”
“Beast?” Bhaic was trying to talk through his snickers. “Maybe no’ quite that bad, but ye are…well…rough around the edges.”
Marcus offered his brother a grin, the same one he often sent his sibling right before he sent his fist into his jaw.
“Am I being less than helpful?” Bhaic asked.
“Aye,” Marcus snapped, but stopped and thought for a moment. “Where did ye take yer bride that night ye two snuck away?”
“The astrologer’s house,” Bhaic answered.
“Ah. To see the stars. The lasses like that sort of thing.”
“Well, I do nae suggest it in yer case. The only way up to view the sights is a ladder,” Bhaic said. “Helen will kick ye right off it or pull ye down when ye offer her a hand. Either way, ye’ll end up with yer fool neck broken.”
Marcus grunted. “Ye and Ailis were lifelong enemies, and she did no’ kick ye.”
“Aye,” Bhaic agreed. “But she never hit me with a pitcher either.”
His brother meant it as a cutting jest, but Marcus slowly grinned. He reached out and patted Bhaic on the shoulder in mock sympathy. “Well now, do nae be too jealous, Brother.”
Bhaic sent him a look that would wither a lesser man. Marcus enjoyed it before he took off down the passageway again. He’d court Helen. It couldn’t be that difficult.
* * *
“Helen.”
Laird Shamus MacPherson had called her name. He was seated in the middle of the huge table that sat on the high ground in the great hall. His captains were in places of honor beside him. Ailis was there as well, one seat away from the man, because the one beside her was reserved for Shamus’s son.
Helen rose from the bench where she’d sat down to enjoy her midday meal and lowered herself.
“Since yer husband is off in the training yard, allow me to welcome ye to the high table.”
Several of Shamus’s captains didn’t care for what their laird said. Their eyes narrowed at the sight of an outsider being giving such an honor.
“Thank ye kindly.” Helen spoke evenly, fighting for a measure of meekness she knew she fell short of achieving. “I am—”
“Skittish.”
Marcus came up behind her, his voice booming over the heads of those enjoying their meal at the lower tables. Which was a great many people. The MacPhersons were one of the largest clans in the Highlands; their retainers alone numbered more than three hundred. There was a rumble of male amusement from those watching.
“Ye’ll need to be attending to that condition, me boy,” Shamus remarked, to the growing delight of his men. “Or ye’ll get thrown when ye try to ride her.”
Helen felt her cheeks heating as the hall erupted into laughter. She lowered herself and turned to leave, only to end up facing Marcus. He reached out and grasped her hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing the back of it like a gallant knight. It earned him a few chuckles before she snatched her hand away.
“Enough,” she muttered under her breath.
“Am I no’ impressing ye?”
Helen rolled her eyes, earning a chuckle from him.
“I suppose that allows me only boldness to achieve me goals.”
He didn’t allow her time to decipher the meaning of his words before leaning over and kissing the side of her neck.
“That’s it, me lad!” Shamus pounded the table in approval. “Get a whiff of her scent. Make sure she has a reason to want to let ye into her bed!”
The MacPherson men were laughing hysterically. Helen took the opportunity to dash around Marcus and out of the hall.
“Christ, woman.” Marcus caught her by the elbow. “Do Grants nae jest?”
Helen turned on him, her skirts flaring out and showing off her ankles because she moved so fast.
“What the devil is yer quarrel with me now, Helen?”
“Me?” Helen demanded. “Ye dare to say I am the one acting ridiculously?”
“Aye,” he confirmed. “Running as if yer skirt is on fire.”
Helen seethed. She po
inted at him, her finger only a few inches from his chest. “I warned ye before. I will nae be subject to a public display where ye take liberties with me person. I am no’ a slut.”
“Ye’re me wife,” Marcus said firmly. “I was showing ye affection, courting ye.”
“Ye put yer hands on me right there in the hall like a woman ye hired for the night in a tavern,” Helen declared. “As ye told me, I’m assumed a slut because of my lack of relatives here.”
“Ye are the first woman I’ve ever courted,” he replied, defending himself. “And ye are the one who reminded me that I offered ye to me men. Madam, I am making certain that matter is corrected. No’ a single one of them will make the mistake of trying their hand at ye.”
To his way of thinking, it was a sound reason. Or at the least, not an unkind gesture on his part.
“Ye have no right to do such a thing,” she argued. “Because ye know I want an annulment, and ye owe it to me on account of the fact that I saved ye from committing an atrocity.”
They were nose to nose, their breath rasping between their teeth, and while they were intent on each other, Helen suddenly felt as if her mother had just caught her sneaking bread before the meal was blessed by her father. That guilty little tingle on the nape of her neck. She turned her head and Marcus did too, so both of them ended up staring straight into the eyes of Father Matthew Peter.
The priest was red-faced and had clearly stormed across the courtyard to pull them apart. Helen felt her belly do a flip. All of the youths practicing in the yard had stopped and were staring at them, while the steps behind them were crowded with women and girls who had come out of the hall to enjoy the spectacle they were providing.
Father Matthew Peter opened his mouth and shut it several times. He never managed to speak. Instead he stuck his arm out, pointing toward the church. Helen turned and started toward the church, and then had to bite her lip as she realized the good father was staring at Marcus with his arm still extended toward the church. There was a collective hush in the yard as those watching waited to see what Marcus would do. Women were covering their mouths with their hands to remain silent while Marcus and the monk stared at each other.
