The Iron Earl

by K. J. Jackson

  His look still centered on the back of the door, he debated for another moment. Food or maidenhead first?

  Lachlan turned away from the door only to find his answer.

  Her back toward him, Evalyn was already by the bed, the scraps of her boots absent, though the bandages still wrapped her feet. Her arms awkwardly bent to reach her upper spine, her fingers freeing the top buttons of her dress.

  Sex it was, then.

  He squinted in the low light that the fireplace afforded the room. Her fingers were shaking, slipping on the buttons as she popped them free. Straining, her elbow high, she could reach no more buttons.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, her look quickly scurrying to the corner by the fireplace. “If you would be so kind?”

  He stepped across the room, stopping behind her. His hands lifted to the row of black buttons, popping them free, one by one, watching her profile, trying to figure her. Of all things, he hadn’t guessed she would be so willing to beguile him into the marital bed.

  “Are you not hungry, Evalyn?”

  She looked to the table, then shook her head. “Not particularly—not at the moment.”

  “Are you tired?”

  “No.”

  His mouth tugged to the side as he stared at the twisted knot pulling the brown-red strands of her hair into an upsweep. “Do your feet pain you?”

  “No more so than an hour ago.”

  The last button popped free under his fingers and she immediately tugged the dress forward and off her arms, letting it drop to a puddle by her legs.

  Her chin dropped slightly toward her chest. “My stays, if you would unknot them as well, it would be most helpful.” Her voice even, it belied none of the shaking that had been in her fingers.

  He made quick work of the laces and, without preamble, she let her stays and chemise slip to the floor.

  Without glancing back at him, she crawled onto the tester bed sideways, flipping to lie down on the deep blue coverlet. Unpinned, her auburn hair fell haphazard about her shoulders and she settled her arms close and straight to her naked torso, then looked to him, a strained smile on her lips as she gave a slight nod. “I am ready.” Her look left him, fixing on the carved mahogany panel above.

  His head cocked to the side.

  No kisses? No words of seduction? No tantalizing build?

  Just her open nude body on the bed.

  How very odd. And efficient.

  His eyes settled on her breasts. Perfect mounds of sweet white skin, nipples already taut and pointed in the chill of the air. His cock jumped alive.

  She was exquisite, the scars and bruises merely existing to make the goddess human.

  Lachlan shrugged to himself. One more thing left to do and he may as well get to it with haste. They had to leave early in the morning if they were to make it to Vinehill before nightfall tomorrow.

  He stripped his clothes off, then moved to her, setting his right knee on the bed.

  She was a virgin, as expected. He could tell by the way her body tensed as he settled over her on the bed—the way her eyes stayed open, but locked onto some miniscule point in the wood above them, far, far away from his head.

  His hand went down, sliding to her inner thigh and separating her legs. He moved into place, hovering over her. “You said you were ready for this, but are you, Evalyn?”

  She nodded, no hesitation. “I am. Proceed.”

  If she wasn’t lying naked under him, her body open to him, Lachlan would deem that no invitation. But what did he know of taking a virgin? He’d only bedded women who were well versed in the bedroom.

  He set the head of his cock at her entrance, pausing. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

  He slid into her, her warm folds incredibly tight, wrapping him, and then he hit the barrier. A thrust, and he broke through, his shaft deep into her.

  He stopped his motion, his look intent on her unmoving face. “Does it hurt, Evalyn? Do you need me to stop?”

  “No. I am fine. Continue as you need to.” The words were wooden, but quick. Her eyes still managed to stay averted from him, even though he was blocking much of her view.

  Lachlan pulled out, sliding slowly into her once more.

  No reaction.

  Her body rigid, she didn’t move. Just lay there, her arms clamped tight to her sides like a stiff fish.

  He drove into her as gently as he could five more times.

  She didn’t move.

  He pulled himself out of her, shifting backward and moving to stand by the bed, his cock still rock hard but unable to come.

  Blasted awkward.

  For a long moment he stared down at her. At her wide eyes, now open to him, watching him. She wasn’t resisting. Not at all. And hell, she was beautiful. Her breasts perfect creamy hills, the dip of the smooth skin between them that traveled down her belly, her hips that offered just the right amount of flesh to grab a hold of during an onslaught. But she was also as pliable as the plank of mahogany wood above them.

  A brandy. He needed a brandy. He turned from her, walking over to the small round table laden with food and drink and poured himself a dram.

  “We are done?”

  “For now.” He tipped back the glass and swallowed.

  “That—that was not awful.”

  He turned to her. “You expected it to be awful? Is that why you wanted to get it done with so quickly?”

  “No, I…” She sat up on the bed, her hands angled behind her to support her torso.

  “Yes?”

  “I have been waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “For you to announce this was all a farce. A joke upon me you were playing with your men.” She spotted the blood on her inner thighs and quickly scooted forward on the bed until her legs dangled off the side. Onto her feet, she leaned forward, grabbing her chemise from the pile of clothes. Her face disappeared for a moment as she set it about her body. It only went down to her knees now, but she was covered to him once more. She bent, shifting through the scraps of cloth that had wrapped her feet, finding one, and then wiped the blood from her thighs.

  Her voice was small as she stood straight and adjusted the straps about her shoulders. “I wanted to get the business of this done with, to the point of not going back—either my humiliation or the consummation of the marriage. Either way it would be over. It is the waiting that is unbearable.”

  He nodded and set his glass down, then contemplated her for a long moment. He rapped his knuckles on the table. “Come, eat. You must be starving.”

  Evalyn gingerly hobbled to the basin of water atop a chest of drawers, rinsed her fingers, and then moved to the table. She began to sit before she reached the chair, swinging her backside into place just before she fell to the floor.

  Lachlan set one of the plates in front of her and she dug into the food before he sat across from her.

  He was accustomed to being in the nude when alone, so it took him a long moment to realize he’d just sat down across the table from her fully naked. He motioned toward his torso. “Do you mind if I don’t have clothing on?”

  Her fork full of asparagus spears paused halfway to her mouth and her eyes dipped down to his chest. For a second, she looked like she would protest, but then she shook her head. “If you are comfortable, then I will be so as well.”

  She was accommodating, at the least. Even though the tinge of red running up along the sides of her neck told him just how uncomfortable she was. Small favor that the table hid his still engorged member from view.

  Her eyes averted to the fire in the hearth across the room and she swallowed several bites of potatoes before looking to him. “Why is it that we are at an inn tonight? There is no storm.”

  “You would rather be in my tent with the men naught but six steps away?”

  A small smile lifted the corners of her lips. “No. It is just that I assumed we would be at an estate of an acquaintance of yours as you appear to know everyone of importance f
rom Lincolnshire to here.”

  Lachlan cut a bite of roast beef and slid it into his mouth. “It is my grandfather’s doing. The marquess has lived through too much unrest in his years. He was born during the Jacobite rising of forty-five and his father and a number of our kin died in the Battle of Culloden—on both sides of the sword. He’s witnessed from birth onward the upheaval of the land. So he’s spent his life forging alliances up and down this isle.”

  “To protect your lands?”

  “Yes. For the fiend of a man that he is, he’s managed to hold the Vinehill lands together. Kept our people from starving.”

  “He’s a fiend?”

  “He isn’t a rosebud.” Lachlan leaned back in his chair, tapping the tines of his fork on the edge of his plate. “My grandfather has always been a difficult man—at least since I can remember. I have heard tell amongst my aunts that he was once kind, but I’ve never witnessed it. He lost his wife and my father and mother in one horrible winter due to consumption. That us three bairns lived through it—my older brother, my sister and I—was a miracle.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was six. Sloane was a wee one. Jacob was eight. They said my grandfather was never the same after that winter. And he was left with three young bairns in his household to raise.”

  “He still interacted with you?” Evalyn asked.

  He shrugged. “Enough to make us into what he wanted us to be.”

  She took a bite of an asparagus tip. “What did he want you to be?”

  “Me, I was to be the soldier of the family. The one to bring honor to the name.”

  “And your brother was brought up to be the next marquess?”

  “Yes.”

  “What of your sister?”

  “Her, he wanted to make key alliances with, so she was to be docile and bonny and do as bade.”

  Evalyn chuckled. “I met your sister at Wolfbridge. He failed entirely on that score—except for her beauty.”

  Lachlan grinned. “That he did. As much as we fought it, Jacob and I fell into line with what he’d deemed for us. Sloane never did. And we helped her—Machiavellian so.”

  “But it sounds as though you had each other to depend upon?”

  “We did.” His smile spread. “Sloane used to love to climb the vines on the southern side of the castle. It used to drive our grandfather to madness, but we would always help her to do so.”

  “She would climb vines?”

  “We all did. The vines of iron, as they are known. And they are actually iron.”

  A bemused smile set onto her full lips. “What?”

  “There is lore about the time that the castle fell into Viking hands. To reclaim it, my ancestors scaled the vines that grew along the southern side of the castle in the dead of the night.” Lachlan took a sip of his brandy. “The vines were so sturdy, enough men made it up onto the different levels to invade and win the castle back from the Vikings. Two hundred years later, when the southern wall was rebuilt, one of my ancestors decided to commemorate the victory by having vines of iron built into the stone, which are now hidden under the live vines that still grow there.”

  The smile widened on her face. “That is fantastical.”

  He nodded, jabbing a chunk of potato and popping it into his mouth. “It is, and especially irresistible to mischievous bairns. Our governesses couldn’t keep us off that wall in the summertime. It was a game we played—Sloane, Jacob, our cousin Torrie and I—the Valor of Vinehill. We would storm the castle, climb as high as we dared and crawl in through the windows. It was always a competition.”

  “Who usually won?”

  “Sloane. She was the lightest and most agile of us. Plus the most stubborn. She could hang off the tiniest slip of iron for what seemed like hours. Torrie was the most timid, but the smartest—she could pick the perfect line up the wall and follow it without fail. Jacob and I spent much of the time daring each other to leap from spot to spot in the stupidest show of virility that ever was.”

  “Did any of you ever fall?”

  “Yes, all of us. Jacob did once from a too high spot and broke his arm. Grandfather threatened to tear the whole wall down. But by the next summer, we were back to our same antics.”

  She laughed.

  “It behooved us in that particular instance that Grandfather bothered very little with us. But then Jacob was eventually off to Edinburgh. Two years later I joined him there and soon after I was focused on entering the crown’s forces. We just stopped climbing at some point. I couldn’t tell you when.” He shook his head, the nostalgia of it making him pause.

  “The soldier in you explains much.” Her head bowed as she cut her roast beef.

  “What does it explain?”

  Her eyes lifted to him. “The inherent rigidness in how you’ve moved from place to place on the journey. What you expect of the men around you. It is disciplined and unrelenting. And you do not care for unexpected things.”

  He eyed her. “Such as?”

  “A rogue woman tagging along with the party and causing mayhem with every step.”

  His right cheek lifted in a smile. “Aye. You, lass, I’ve had to get accustomed to.”

  “It also explains why you’ve been so abrupt with me.”

  “I’ve been abrupt?”

  The impish glint in her gold-green eyes said he’d been much worse than abrupt, but she shrugged as she picked up a hunk of bread and began to tear a piece off. “Domnall said you lacked charm. And I would not disagree with him.”

  “I lack charm?”

  “He…mmm…” She tapped her forefinger on the table next to her plate. “He said you’re direct with women. Straight to the business of the matter.” She motioned to the bed with her hand clutching a bite of the bread. “I had hoped that was the case. And it was. I didn’t want you to have to cajole me into bed.”

  “So I do lack charm?”

  “Oh, no.” She looked at him, her eyebrows drawing together. “I did not mean to imply—what happened was not awful as I expected it to be, Lachlan, and I…” A burst of dark terror flashed across her gold-green eyes and her words stopped.

  “Why did you think it was to be an awful act?”

  She shook her head, then shoved the chunk of bread into her mouth, her eyes avoiding him.

  “Does it have to do with the man your father was to sell you off to?”

  Her look flew up to him, her eyes round.

  Lachlan sighed. “What the hell did that monster tell you of the act, Evalyn?”

  She chewed the bite of bread several more times and had to take a sip of wine to force it down her throat.

  She opened her mouth, but no words came forth. She took another sip of wine.

  With a slight nod to herself, her look dipped to the main platter of food between them, her eyes glazing over. The tip of her head nodded to the bed. “I didn’t know it could be as easy as that—very little pain.”

  Her lips drew inward for a long breath and Lachlan wasn’t sure she would continue. But then she met his eyes, opening her mouth, her voice tiny, wispy. “He told me there would be a blade involved. That he would carve my flesh as he drove into me. That he would smear the blood on my body. On my nipples. That he would bathe his…his…member with it and force it down my throat. That the fear in my eyes was exactly what was necessary and right. That he would tear me in two with his thrusts. That he would—”

  “Stop.” Lachlan’s fist slammed down onto the table, making the platters jump. His plate of food flew off the table, clattering onto the floor. “Stop, Evalyn. Just stop. And wipe everything that brute ever said to you from your mind.” His words were a growl.

  Her look skittered to the food on the floor and then jumped up to land on his fist, still clenched, still gripped in rage on the table. Her eyes fixated on his straining knuckles.

  Fear gripped her face. She wanted to run. To escape.

  With control he didn’t think he had, he managed to unclench his fingers and set his
palm flat on the table.

  With that one tiny motion, her look flickered up to his face, the need to escape almost instantly dissipating.

  It helped ease the growl from his voice. “Did no one ever tell you what is supposed to happen between a man and a woman, Eva?”

  A flush curled along the line of her cheekbones. “I—my maid, she was a year younger than me—she described a scene, but it didn’t make any sense. And what that troll said was so…so vicious in how he spoke of it. He knew what he was talking about, Lachlan. I never doubted it.”

  He heaved a sigh, his hand running through his hair as he leaned back in his chair, making the wood creak under his form. “Then we need to start this all over. All over. You knew enough to get naked and that was good. But from there, you need to strike from your mind anything and everything that was ever uttered to you on the act—from your maid—and especially from that bastard.” He leaned forward, pinning her with his look. “Can you do that?”

  For a long moment she hesitated and then offered him a skeptical nod. “I can try.”

  He reached out, his fingers sliding around her hand that still clutched a piece of bread, smothering it. Slowly, he pulled back each finger until he could pry the mangled bread from her grasp. “Now, we start again. With bellies full. Our minds clear. Yes?”

  Her look lifted to him, the gold-green of her eyes shining—almost in wonderment. A look so overflowing of innocence and timid trust that he almost smiled.

  For all she refused to trust, refused to hope—her innate nature was winning out. She had taken a leap of faith in latching onto him at Wolfbridge Castle and—damn—he didn’t want to do anything to destroy that. He liked that look in her eyes. Liked that she looked at him as if he were the only man in the world.

  And to her, maybe he was. She’d had one monstrosity of a man after another in her life. He wasn’t about to be the third.

  He wanted another go at her.

  He should wait. She would be sore. But his shaft had jumped back to life with the look on her face, the blasted appendage insistent after its earlier disappointment.

  Lachlan wavered, trying to read her gold-green eyes and the answer became suddenly clear. He wanted—needed—to fulfill every drop of cautious hope she was allowing herself to have in that moment. That life could be different. That life could bring pleasure instead of pain. That life could reward hope rather than vanquish it.