He smiled at her tenderly.
“Shall we go?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good.”
Very gently, he led her away. Up the stairs and along the corridor to the western wing where their chamber was laid out. The great bedchamber. Their chamber.
Feeling her whole body shake, Amabel let him lead her to the arched door. In the doorway, she paused.
She looked up at him, feeling frightened.
He looked down at her.
Then his lips descended on hers, and she lost all awareness of anything else.
CHAPTER TEN
LOVE AT MIDNIGHT
LOVE AT MIDNIGHT
The doorway to the bedchamber was lit ruddily with the firelight.
Amabel turned to face her husband and parted her lips. He probed the entrance to her mouth with his tongue. It slipped inside, exploring her mouth. She felt it lap gently against her own and she moaned. He tasted sweet, like the last course at dinner, and she felt his arms, warm around her.
She pressed her body against his, amazed by how hard his body was. She had never been held so close by a man, and she had not thought anyone had such a hard, lean body. She moaned as he crushed her to him, and she heard him gasp. His lips had changed focus, and now they gently nibbled at hers, lapping in little hungry nips.
She moaned again. She could feel that touch in the oddest places, as if his mouth on hers lit fires all over her.
She pressed closer and was surprised to discover a strange hardness against her. It was close to the region of her belly, which meant it was somewhere in the region of his. She suddenly realized what the hardness might be and felt herself flush pinkly.
He felt her tense.
“What?” he whispered. His fingers ran through the fire of her hair, gently pushing back the veil.
“Nothing.”
He put his arms around her, burying his head in her neck. Then, slowly, they walked into the bedroom.
The bedroom was strewn with rushes. Walking on them, Broderick could smell their fresh, piercing scent. In that instant, he recalled the wedding night with Aisling. Harshly, he pushed the memory away.
Then Amabel moaned, and he was back in the present.
He turned to her and lifted the veil. Her hair glowed like copper. He smelled it. Washed and combed, it smelled of lanolin and water and herbs. It was a lovely smell – a clean smell. He ran his hands through the fiery satin and let his senses ignite.
“Amabel...”
She made a little sound, kittenish, that set his loins aflame. He wrapped his arms around her, and her slender body pressed to his.
“Amabel. Amabel. Sweet Amabel.”
He was shaking, he realized, his whole body lightly trembling as if with heat. He let his hands move and before he had realized what he was doing, he realized he was unfastening her gown. The dress slid slowly down, one side falling.
He stared.
The falling linen showed one round shoulder, pearl white. The skin was traced with blue and then the dress fell more.
He stared at her breast.
It was, indeed, full and slightly pointed, the nipple a pale ruby, stiffening in the cooler air.
He leaned forward and gently traced a finger down her breastbone. He heard her whimper, and he looked into her eyes. She did not look scared, and so he gently moved his hand. He cupped her breast. She gasped. Her eyes were wide with shock. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on those red lips.
Her breast was firm and full in his hand. Warm, plump satin, like a plush pillow from the Orient. He squeezed it and heard her gasp, then gently drew the nipple out between his fingers.
She gasped again, and her nipple contracted in his hand. He smiled.
“May I undress you, my lady?”
She looked up at him, gray eyes level.
“Yes.”
It was a whisper but it was a wondrous sound. He let the word ignite his passion and, with awe and tenderness, he peeled the dress back. It fell to her hips, exposing both breasts. They were round and firm and full in the light, and he had to restrain himself from burying his head in their fragrance.
He slid the gown lower, and then lower.
It pooled at her feet.
He could not take his eyes off her.
“My lady.”
She smiled.
That did it.
He bent and, feeling his whole body shivering, knowing he was dangerously close to spending his seed, he bent and lifted her to the bed.
His hands stroked her, and he heard her gasp.
Then all restraint was gone. Feeling his whole body catch fire, he stood and disrobed faster than he would have thought possible. Then, naked, he joined her on the bed.
That was when he saw her looking at him, frightened.
Hold yourself. Go gently. The lass is terrified.
It was not, after all, his first wedding night.
As he thought it, he wished he hadn't. The thought made him hate himself, hate what he was doing, how he felt. And yet he could no more stop it than he could will himself death.
Amabel looked at the man beside her on the bed.
All she could see was muscle. His chest was rippling, his arms corded, his thighs firm. His belly was a board, his calves rounded, his hands knotty with muscle.
She stared, eyes wide.
Then she looked down.
She had to bite her lip not to cry out. That was what the stories were about! The mysterious thing to which the cryptic references referred. That was “manhood.” She blinked at it. She felt a sudden shudder of fear. If that was what it was, surely, he would hurt her?
She tensed. He reached over and stroked her body.
“Whist, lass,” he whispered gently.
“Broderick?”
“It is well, lass. I'll no' hurt ye.”
She felt herself melt, then, under his hands. His lips moved over hers. She felt her body mold itself to his, her warm skin pressing against his cooler skin, her arms moving to hold him tighter against her. His mouth explored hers and then he moved lower, moving his lips to her throat.
She felt herself smile. The warm, clinging mouth exploring her neck so was almost the best feeling she had ever felt. She gasped as his hands moved over her hips and lower still.
Her eyes flew open in shock as he touched her in a place no one ever had. His knee moved between hers. She closed her eyes.
He moved lower, so that his body was positioned over hers, the throbbing manhood pressing down on her. His body was a weight on hers – a weight she was pleased was resting on her.
He looked into her eyes.
“Amabel,” he said gently. “Amabel.”
She closed her eyes as he kissed her. She felt her body press against his, her thighs parted by his own.
He stroked her hair. When he spoke, his voice was trembling. Higher than she remembered. Tense.
“Lass?”
“Broderick?”
He sighed. “Lass. I cannae do it. I'm sorry.”
Amabel frowned at him. “Do what?”
“I cannae... take you. It's not you. It's me. I cannae forget Aisling, and what she would say if she could see me now.”
His face was racked, and Amabel understood.
“You can lie here if you like,” she said gently. She stroked his hair. “Hush. Lie down. I will nae hurt you.”
He looked into her eyes. His own were damp with tears.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, my lady.”
She stroked his head. “Don't be daft, Broderick MacConnaway. Get some sleep.”
She lay down in his arms and pressed against him, and his breathing soon slowed.
She was more upset than she realized. But she was also relieved to be spared what looked painful. And, more than anything, she was pleased, more than she could say, to lie here beside him. Thinking that, she soon fell into a deep, contented sleep. She would have a lot to think about in the morning, but for now, she was
content to simply sleep beside her new man.
In the morning, when she woke alone, she felt a sudden pain stab through her heart. Her husband had left their bed on her wedding night and, much as she could forgive him, she wished she could release the thought that he did not want her as his truly wedded wife.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A QUIET TIME
A QUIET TIME
“...and so, I think I will be more an ally to him. A helpmate. Not quite as... as mother and father were.”
Amabel was sitting in her bedchamber – the one she had shared upstairs with Alina when they were girls and which she later occupied alone before the wedding.
Alina sat on the bed across from her. She frowned.
“Amabel? But... are you not enamored of him then?”
Amabel shook her head. “It's not that, Alina. I mean, I am. I'm not... Oh, I don't know!”
Alina reached across. Amabel felt her hand on her arm. She tensed, then softened. She covered her sister's hand with her own, pale tapered fingers almost identical.
“You seem a very good match to me, sister,” Alina said encouragingly. “And from what I have seen, he adores you.”
“I think he does.” Amabel sniffed, blew her nose on a handkerchief and shook herself. “I must simply be practical now. I do not need a... a lover,” she said, cheeks flaming redly. “I am Lady Amabel, and I will be a support to him.”
Alina raised a brow. “That I never had any doubt about, sister. I do think he is a lover, though. He loves you. Of that I have no doubt.”
Amabel sighed and let her sister's words heal the pain that squeezed her heart. She had understood, when Broderick had stopped matters on their wedding night. She had felt pity for him, caught in the dilemma of marrying her when he wished only vengeance for his wife. Her uncle had informed her a little of his story, and she had guessed most of the rest or pieced it together from hearsay.
But none of what she knew made her feel better.
The only thing that did, for the most part, had been her brisk decision to be his ally, not his wife. She was clever; she was knowledgeable. She could help him. She could advise him. She could help him win his vengeance. Then, at least, she would be part of his life. She had, it seemed, no other route into his heart.
“I will try not to consider how he feels,” Amabel said stiffly. “At least, not where I am concerned. I am of use to him. No more and no less. And I will be contented.”
Alina looked at her helplessly.
Alina's words, she had to admit, had soothed her greatly. She wanted to believe her, truly she did. But she could not let herself do it. To consider whether Broderick loved her was to face the fact that the only woman he had ever loved was his wife. Aisling.
And that meant that he would not love her. Not like that.
What she could do, though, was be a good friend.
“Amabel?”
“Yes, sister?”
“Would you like to go for a ride?”
Amabel sighed. “I do not know, sister. I am so confused about so many things. I think I would like some time by myself?”
Alina inclined her head. “I know. But I had thought that, since you will leave Lochlann so soon, we might spend some time together before...” She covered her face with her hand.
Amabel felt instantly miserable. “My dear Allie! Of course, I want to see you. We can ride if you would like to. But you must not say we will not see each other often. I want to see you every month at least. Or I shan't go.”
Alina laughed a little shakily. “I am not sure Uncle would approve of that, my dear sister. And Dunkeld is close, but not so close that I could make the journey often.”
“Nonsense,” Amabel said briskly. “We could organize something.”
Alina smiled and the two women embraced. Amabel felt her heart grow a little heavier with the added pain. She had just discovered she would be resigned to a lifetime of unfulfilled love with her husband. And now she had to face parting from the only other person she loved deeper than life?
She sniffed, feeling tears start. Alina passed her a handkerchief and they sat silently a while.
After a moment, Alina laid a hand on her shoulder. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded even.
“Well, at least there is one thing I cannot do if you are so far away...”
Amabel blinked. “And what is that?”
“Pester you for the details of what your husband has under his tunic.”
Amabel blinked. She covered her mouth with her hand, shocked. The two of them dissolved in giggles.
When Amabel sat up finally, stomach heaving with happy laughter, she sighed.
“I might be glad of that, sister.” she said, voice weak with laughing. “If naught else, it saves me the trouble of having to concoct ridiculous exaggerations, just to make things more interesting.”
They both laughed helplessly and when Amabel finally stopped, tears streaking her face, she realized that the happy release had gone some way to healing her.
Whatever happened and however much her husband's rejection wounded and upset her, she would always have Alina to talk to. And no one could stop her writing letters.
She left the room feeling happier than she had all day.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DISCUSSION FOR BATTLE
DISCUSSION FOR BATTLE
Broderick seethed. His day had started badly, waking in the early hours and unable to sleep. He felt terrible about what he had done to his wife, about his inability. He had known she would be upset and so he had slipped out of bed early and headed down to the stables.
After breakfast, his day had not improved. Duncan had planned to go riding, and Blaine had agreed to accompany him with a troop of men, all looking for escape from the autumnal confines of the castle. Broderick had been quite excited to attend, but it was not to happen. Lord Brien had other plans.
Now, Broderick stood in his office. He looked out through the back window, pointedly. He did not want to meet the old lord's eye. He knew that if he did, he would glare at him. And he could not afford to offend his newest ally. If he did, he would worsen everything.
“I am afraid I cannot let you return home yet. Not until this final raid is accomplished.”
“My lord.”
The two voices drifted out of Lord Lochlann's study. The door was solid oak and stood half-open, letting some sound drift into the corridor beyond. Broderick noticed it idly, realizing that if he were to give in and vent his temper, the whole castle would know it. What the earl was doing – treating him as if he were at his beck and call – was insulting and he could not stand for it, but at the same time, he had to address all matters respectfully.
Broderick cleared his throat. “My lord,” he began again. “I am not certain this agrees with—”
“Hush!” Lord Lochlann cut him off.
When Broderick stared at him, he rose and went to the oaken doorway, pulling it hastily shut. “I would not want to risk people overhearing this,” Lord Lochlann explained smoothly. “You can't be too careful. Important point, that.”
Broderick inclined his head, feeling a stab of irritation. He was five and thirty years of age! He had led raids before. He was not a bondsman, nor even war-chief of Lochlann! He was son of a thane, and a ruler in his own right. He found it frankly offensive to be ordered to his bidding, made to ride on raids whenever Lord Lochlann wished.
“And so?” Lord Lochlann raised a brow. “What is your answer?”
“I agree, my lord,” he said harshly. The raid was to be against the Bradleys. A powerful strike, meant to bring them down once and for all. He could not refuse to do so. This was exactly what he had always wished to do. Now the chance was finally at hand.
“Good.” Lord Lochlann smiled.
“Now, to the raid,” Broderick said quickly. “You intend to carry it out within the fortnight?”
“Never a better time... we cannot risk winter setting in. Besieging would be far too hard.”
; “I agree.”
They sat a moment or two longer discussing the strategy for the raid. Though Broderick was deeply involved, he found his mind wandering.
Amabel. His wife. He had woken this morning with thoughts only of her. He hated himself for not being able to carry out consummation. He was sure she was angry with him. But she also understood. He had no idea what to make of her! He had seen her at breakfast – that was, he had seen her arrive with her sister and cousin just as he was walking out.
Her manner toward him through the day had been a mixture of reserve and disinterest. As if she had decided that, since he could not cross all barriers, he no longer cared for her.
“You are confident in your ability to take a large fortress? One as large as Loch Craigh?”
Loch Craigh. The fastness of the Bradley house. To take their primary stronghold had been all that had kept him alive. The thought that he would finally realize that dream was unbelievable. All his anger toward the earl dissolved like dew on the grass.
“Yes.” He could hear the flat, cold resolution in his own voice and was not surprised the older man smiled to hear it.
“That is good. You are willing to leave soon?”
Broderick nodded. “Yes.”
The lord raised a brow. “You have only just married, you know.”
Broderick bit his lip. “Yes, my lord.”
The earl chuckled. “Well, I suppose if you are eager for battle and prepared to say farewell readily, I cannot argue with you. Suits me.”
He sighed. He had never had many women in his life – he had no sisters or aunts and his mother had passed before he was past five. He had married Aisling when he was five and twenty, and she had been the first woman he had ever truly talked to. And nothing they had discussed had prepared him for understanding his new wife.
I do not know what to do.
“...and so, we will culminate the march at the fastness of Loch Craigh?”
Heart Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 7
