His response was to rip her gown. He dug his fingers into the material and pulled. The fine cloth tore easily, revealing the sweet curve of her hip and the secrets of her sex. Secrets, she would deny him if he let her.
Well, it was not going to come to that. She might despise him, but she was going to be his wife in more than name only.
Sourly, he rose up over her, positioning himself, ready to use force if necessary. A bead of his seed wept from him. He was so primed, the deed would be quickly done—but it was not how he wanted it.
He had dreamed of so much more, and yet this was all she offered.
And then the scales of outrage and insult fell away when he realized she was shaking. She was afraid.
Of him?
Or of what he could do to her?
Breccan lowered himself to her side, studying her and seeing her anew.
“It isn’t me, is it?” he asked. “You are afraid.”
She didn’t answer, she didn’t have to.
He rolled out of the bed, a fluid, swift movement as if he couldn’t wait to put distance between them. He frowned at his obvious sign of desire even as it lost its drive. His manhood was a belligerent character, but even it had not wanted rape.
She’d heard him move away. For a second, she appeared confused; and then she’d opened her eyes. She sat up, gathering her nightdress around her. She was blushing. Tara Davidson, the woman who set all male hearts racing, was actually very modest. Here was something else he knew about her that others didn’t.
He reached for his breeches. The torn gown embarrassed him. He’d lost control. He prided himself on never losing control. He was not like his father. He pulled his breeches on and fastened the top button.
For a long moment, they took each other’s measure. She broke the silence first.
“What is the matter? Are we going to do this?”
“You tell me. Why are you so afraid?” And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he asked, “Or are you just averse to me?”
Her eyes widened. She shook her head, then stopped. Her brows gathered. “You are a big man,” she whispered, then added, “They say it is painful, especially, the first time.”
Breccan experienced a mixture of emotions. On one hand, he could understand the fear of the unknown. He had heard that the first time could be very painful for a woman.
Furthermore, Jonas’s obnoxious claims aside, Breccan knew he was well favored, a characteristic that usually worked to his benefit. But it did not now.
He was not one to sow his seed everywhere. However, he’d had lovers. There had been a young widow in Aberfeldy who had gone off to marry another man. They had parted on good terms, and there had been a few others.
But he’d not bedded a virgin. He’d only been with women who were willing and knowing.
And he could understand her concern. Tara was petite when compared to him.
“Aye, I’ve heard that it can be,” he answered her, not that he’d been thinking that way when he’d entered the room. He was as selfish as the next man.
“Then let us do it now and be done with it,” she answered, lifting her chin like a brave soldier preparing to go to war. “I want it done now. Then I won’t have to worry about it again until I need to give you a second child.”
“You won’t?” Breccan echoed, wondering where she’d taken ahold of the idea that they would share a bed only for the act of creating children, not that he didn’t consider that a good goal. Still, he liked pleasure. He opened his mouth, ready to correct her impression, then he closed it again.
This afternoon, she had told him a great deal about herself when she’d shared that she was a motherless child. He understood what it meant to lose a parent and, if it had not been for his mother, or his uncles, he would be half the man he was.
She couldn’t claim to have a father. Everyone knew the earl of Tay felt little obligation to his daughters. He didn’t know about her sister, but he’d heard rumors about the Lady Aileen. She was a divorced woman, and she’d married the man that Tara had been betrothed to. This was not a doting sister.
Breccan was a big man, but he had a bigger heart, and he now saw Tara in the same light that he would a motherless kitten. She may have been feted and lauded in London, but she didn’t understand what truly mattered between a man and a woman.
He wasn’t certain he did as well.
But because of his father, he’d done some thinking. He’d watched other men, those who truly valued their wives. He wanted their relationship for Tara and him, but he sensed that, in the same way care had to be taken to properly train a colt, care must be exercised to bridge the divide between being just a lovely plaything or becoming a woman full born.
And it was on his shoulders. She was his wife.
He was feeling his way now, uncertain and yet determined. He pulled the covers back, then took off his breeches.
Apparently, she had not noticed his manhood before, but she did now. The color left her face, and she looked away. He didn’t blame her. It was not a pretty thing right now.
As it was, his little guy began to stir.
Breccan climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his waist before he embarrassed himself and sent her flying to the corner of the room to escape him.
But he couldn’t let her be afraid. He wouldn’t.
He patted the bed right beside him and said to his wife, “Come here.”
Chapter Ten
Tara stood, her arms across her body as she held her nightdress together. “I should change.”
“No.” The word shot straight out of Breccan.
He’d had a glimpse of thigh. Oh, God. She was delicious.
It would be a kindness to let her remove her torn clothing. It might also be the only way to cool his hot blood.
But if he let her move away from him, if he let her keep barriers between them, if she thought she could maintain her distance, then they would never have a child.
He also surprised himself by wanting something more from her than what he’d anticipated—he wanted her respect. He yearned for her companionship. There was a pull between the two of them that he could not yet name although she didn’t seem to be aware of it.
However, if he let her keep scooting away, there might never be anything meaningful between them.
And he certainly didn’t want fear in her eyes.
“Stay on the top of the covers, if you wish. I won’t—” He paused, uncomfortable, but then forced himself to say it, “I won’t attack you. That is not how I want things between us.”
“Then let me change.”
“No, lass. We are part of the most intimate union there can be between a man and a woman. I can’t let you have room to run. At some point, we must learn to deal with each other.”
She flipped her hair over her shoulder as if denying what he said.
“Then change,” he told her, “but I’m not leaving the room. This is my bed, Tara. We are to share it.”
“That is a strong invasion of my privacy.” The small line of worry appeared on her brow. He was growing accustomed to seeing it. It marred the perfection of her features, but enhanced them as well. Here was the true woman—
What if I become ugly? she had asked.
He could have told her, she would never be ugly in his eyes. He’d vowed to care for her, and so he would.
“I don’t mean to cause discomfort, Tara, but at some point you need to let me earn your trust.”
“Like you attempted a few moments ago?”
“You test a man.” He could feel his temper, and it took all his patience to not lash out at her. “I deserve some scorn, but you must also see your own part.”
“I was willing,” she argued.
“It is not willing to be frightened out of your wits. I didn’t understand at first. I thought . . .” He let his voice tr
ail off. Breccan was not in the habit of expressing himself. He’d learned that sometimes the less said, the better—and that might be the case with her.
But then she challenged him. “You thought what?”
Did he dare share the truth? He’d look like a fool.
But if he expected her to risk feeling safe in order for him to earn her trust, should he not put some of himself into the game?
“I thought you were mocking me,” he said.
“Why would I do that?”
“Och, lass, don’t be thickheaded—” The word was out before he’d thought of the insult he was paying her, and he immediately raised his hand to beg for quarter. “I don’t mean that. You are not thickheaded. I’m not good with my thoughts and my mouth.” He ran a frustrated hand over his face.
“You shaved.” Her statement sounded as if she had just discovered the fact.
“Aye. You wanted it.” He was surprised she had noticed, and here was proof of how panicked she had been.
She studied him with a slight frown, then said, “It changes you.”
“For the better, I hope.”
There was another moment’s pause, then said answered, “Yes, it does. You have a strong face.”
She said it as if it was a compliment. Another beat of silence, and she admitted, “I am frightened.”
“Of me?”
Tara shrugged; he understood what she held back. “You shocked me.”
“I’m a bit shocked at myself.” Now it was his turn to ask the difficult question. “But you were afraid before I came in the room and said a word. Am I that distasteful to you?” Because if he was, they were done.
To his relief, she appeared genuinely stunned by his question. “It’s not you.”
“Then what frightens you?” he asked softly.
She shifted her weight, and answered, “The housekeeper, Mrs. Watson, told me what to expect. I mean, I understand about animals, but I didn’t realize that people were the same way.
Breccan considered that. “And when did Mrs. Watson explain this to you?”
“Yesterday evening.”
He looked at the room, silently cursing all people protecting their daughters. He’d heard of this before. The idea was the less known about the marriage bed for young women, the better.
But at sometime, someone had to explain—and Breccan wished the earl and his staff had chosen a better time than right before the marriage ceremony.
“I was warned that it could painful,” she said. “I’d heard about the pain before, but I never understood why.”
“Ah,” Breccan answered because she seemed to expect a response from him. But he was also wondering if this had more to do with her than reasonable fears. His lovers in the past had been eager. But he’d met men who complained that their wives were not warm and willing. These women did not enjoy the intimacies.
Here was a new fear for Breccan to consider. If Tara was not willing, he’d pack her off to London posthaste.
At the same time, he was fair enough to realize that what happened between them now would set the tone of their marriage.
“I’d also heard your male bits were very, very large,” she said, whispering the last words.
For a second, the label “male bits” startled him. Who had ever heard of such a silly name for proud and noble manhood. At the same time, he could see how a suggestion of size would concern her on top of her other fears. “Who told you that? Jonas? I’ll tan his hide.”
“I overheard two women discuss it.”
“They were discussing my d—?” Breccan caught himself. “Male bits,” he finished.
“You are blushing,” she noted.
And so he was.
Breccan threw his legs over the side of the bed, turning his back to her. He kept the sheet discreetly across his lap—thank God—because his male bits were acting up. Again.
He looked over his shoulder at his wife. “I want you to know I don’t show myself to everyone,” he said.
“All right,” was her uncertain answer. Then she said, “They predicted you would split me in half.”
“What?” Breccan jumped to his feet in outrage, carefully keeping the sheet around him, which meant he could not stray from the side of the bed. “I wouldn’t hurt you. I’ve never hurt anyone. At least, not that way. And I couldn’t hurt you. It is the way God made us.”
To his surprise, she’d placed the back of her hand over her mouth to hide her smile, her torn nightdress momentarily forgotten—by both of them.
“What is funny?” he demanded.
“You are still blushing.” And she started laughing.
Breccan could have roared his outrage, except no sound was more musical than Tara’s laugh. It was like the chiming of the finest bells, or the music of angels.
He stood transfixed.
Her laughter slowed as she realized he stared. She tried to silence herself, and he wanted to tell her no. He wanted to urge her to laugh forever.
Now, she was the one to blush, as if she knew what he was thinking.
“We’ll do fine together, Tara,” he said. “But I’ll not rush you. When we make love, I don’t want there to be fear, only desire.”
She didn’t believe that day would come. He could see it in the play of emotions in her eyes . . . and yet, he had roused her curiosity as well. She’d let her gaze linger over the hard planes of his chest.
Breccan climbed back into bed. He stretched. “Come, Tara, let’s sleep.”
Her gaze swept to the pillow beside him.
“I’m not going away,” he said. “We must learn to be at ease with each other.”
Again her brow furrowed with indecision.
Breccan closed his eyes, seemingly uncaring what decision she made—which was not the truth. He wanted to jump this hurdle between them. And if she had a doubt, all she had to do was look at his wily rod, which, with a mind of its own, was begging for release. If he wasn’t careful, not even the covers would hide it.
A minute went by. Then another.
He struggled to hide his annoyance. He was trying everything he could to regain her trust, but it was hard. Or, at least, he was hard—
The mattress gave as she sat upon it. She hadn’t moved the covers but lay down on top of the counterpane.
He looked to her. She was on her side, her back to him and as close to the other edge as she could be without falling out of bed.
Breccan willed himself to patience. If he was wise, he would go to sleep. Certainly, he’d done enough throughout the day to overtax every bone in his body.
She didn’t move, but he sensed she was awake.
And, finally, he could not take it any longer. “Are you asleep, Tara?”
There was no answer, but he could see her clinging tighter to her portion of the mattress.
“I know, I can’t sleep either,” he said as if she’d answered him. He knew too well how silence could become a wall between two people. He’d seen it in his parents.
He drew breath and released it. He rolled over toward her, punched his pillow, sighed again.
She remained inert.
Breccan stared at her back, willing her to face him.
There was the silence of the room but not the gentle breathing of sleep.
“I think I liked you better when you laughed,” he said. “Or when you were teasing about blushing. That is the way I want things between us, Tara.”
Her shoulders tightened as if she had crossed her arms, shutting him out.
But Breccan would not be deterred. “I’ve never been called friendly. It’s a way to protect myself. When you come from a clan where everyone sneers when they say your name, you learn to keep your guard in place. Then there were the stories about my father. That was a difficult period of time for my mother. She was hurt.”
It wasn’t a distance he wished, but trust took time to build.
Rolling onto his back, he studied the ceiling for a moment. He’d meant what he’d said about wanting her to become accustomed to him—and he wasn’t about to fall asleep as long as she was awake.
“When I had trouble sleeping, my mother would tell me stories.” The memory was a good one for Breccan, and it helped to take some of his attention off his silent bedmate.
“She was from the north,” he said. “They have these animals that live in the water. They call them selkies, and she said they often could be seen swimming in the sea or on a sunny day basking on rocks. But, Mother, warned me that things weren’t what they seemed. She said that the selkies might look like seal creatures, but at special times they can take off their skins and become as human as you and I, except the men are very handsome and the women more beautiful than can be imagined.”
He could hear his mother’s voice as she’d spin the story.
“It is said that if a man can steal a selkie woman’s skin, then she is his to do as he wishes. They love the sea, but, from time to time, they dance upon the water in their human form, and that is when a young fisherman caught himself a selkie wife. Oh, she was very lovely, fair of hair and skin, with blue, blue eyes.”
Eyes as blue as Tara’s. He could picture them in his head, expressive eyes that reflected every emotion going through her being. It was very easy to see his new wife as the selkie in his mother’s story.
“He captured her,” he repeated, which was what he’d done to Tara. He’d claimed her in the only way one such as himself could have captured a mystical creature. “And he hid her selkie skin from her by locking it in a trunk. He wanted to keep her forever.”
There was movement on the other side of the bed. Tara shifted her body weight and repositioned her head on the feather-down pillow. The mattress had an indentation in the center for where he usually slept. Even her small movement drew her closer to him.
Besides, the bed was not that big. He could feel her body heat, knew that she listened.
And then, as if to prove him correct, she turned her head on the pillow and looked at him with somber eyes. “What happened after the fisherman captured the selkie?”
The Bride Says Maybe Page 12
