But why had Aidan told her all this?
At her apparent confusion, Aidan shocked her by saying, “I thought you’d want to know. To be kept informed.”
In all her years, Gillian couldn’t remember one time . . . even one . . . when her father had deigned to tell her, let alone her mother, anything of import about their keeping. Was it so different here in Scotland?
Sara is as involved in the affairs of Kenshire as her husband. But that is most unusual. Is it not?
Now, standing on high, she looked out at the horizon. Beyond the castle walls, rolling hills extended into the distance, still green despite the chill that hung in the air. Though they’d passed a small village on their way to Highgate End, it was not visible from here. Gillian turned in the direction she thought the village might be, but only the activity in the courtyard and the castle’s high walls were visible from this vantage point.
She’d spent the previous day fretting about what she’d say to Graeme, whether she’d tell him all. But the continued warmth she’d received from Aidan and Fiona had encouraged her. She could not protect her family, her sister, alone. This was her new home, and everyone had proved to be most understanding. She’d tell her husband everything and ask for his help.
In truth, she wished she’d been more forthright with Sara too. She’d scarcely let herself believe her family’s position was this strained.
When a hand touched hers from behind, Gillian pulled it back and spun around.
“Graeme!” Though travel worn, he was as handsome as the day she’d first spied him at Kenshire.
She looked back over the parapet. Nothing.
“Where did you come from. I—”
He reached for her hand again, and this time she allowed it.
“I thank you for assisting the men.” He nodded toward one of the guards in a nearby tower. “But I believe standing watch may not be the most suitable position for you.”
She reached up with her free hand, before thinking, and brushed it along his cheek. No longer smooth, the few days’ growth made him appear more fearsome. It tickled beneath her fingertips.
“How did you know—”
“I saw you up here,” he said, capturing her hand with his own. “Even if it were not for this”—he gestured toward her gown, a bright blue which could likely be seen quite clearly from afar—“I’d not have missed the sight.”
When he looked at her like that, Gillian felt her knees quake.
He took a step toward her.
She could feel the warmth of his body, and when he leaned in to kiss her, Gillian didn’t hesitate. His lips slanted over hers, gently at first, but then more insistent. She was just becoming accustomed to the feel of him when Graeme suddenly tore himself away. Then, without preamble, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along. They walked toward the tower he’d pointed to earlier, and then beyond it.
“Graeme? Where are we going?”
He didn’t look back. “Where we belong.”
That made no sense.
They were headed to the main keep. She remembered Fiona telling her this was called the armorer’s tower. She followed Graeme down the winding stairs, her heart beating harder and harder with each passing moment.
“Graeme, I need to tell you something,” she started.
He stopped, and Gillian ran into him. It was like hitting a stone wall. He didn’t budge. Instead, her husband caught her around the waist. Standing there, in the middle of the tower on a small platform with stairs above and below them, they didn’t speak. Instead, he told her with his expression all she needed to know.
They would talk. But not now.
“’Tis midday,” she said as he reached out to open a door. Once ajar, Gillian could see it was a secret passageway. Graeme ducked into it and Gillian followed. He closed the door, which was disguised as a part of wall, and continued to lead the way toward their chambers.
“The armorer’s tower was built years after the keep. There are many secret passageways,” he said, answering her silent question. “But this one was designed as a last defense for the lord . . . and now lady . . . of Highgate.”
They’d arrived.
Graeme opened the door to the lord’s chamber, pulled her inside, and closed it behind them. Except for the guards, they’d seen no one on their way here. Indeed, if that hidden passageway was one of many, one could move about the castle without notice. For some reason, the thought excited her.
“I’ve much to tell you,” she repeated as he pulled her toward him.
“And I you,” he said.
“Later.”
He’d had no intention of ravishing his wife today.
In fact, after the hellish two days he’d spent being betrayed, by Gillian’s father no less, Graeme had come home unsure of what he intended to do first. Speak with Aidan, assuredly. Formulate a new plan. Make his wife understand he did not blame her for the sins of her father.
But certainly not this. At least, not before he’d had a chance to announce his arrival.
And yet Graeme had found himself riding up to the gate at a more frantic pace than usual, and when he’d spied his wife on the ramparts, that flash of blue had instantly cheered his spirits.
And so he’d tossed all good sense aside and run to her like a lovesick squire. Not, of course, that he was in love with his wife. But he could not deny the urgent need that had only intensified each time they were together.
Their differences could wait. The fall of darkness could wait.
Graeme intended to make this woman his wife in truth.
As always, she responded to him so completely that it was a wonder he had not tossed aside his good intentions earlier. He wrapped his arms around her, and she did the same with him. When he lowered his lips this time, he felt the difference. This was the start of something he intended to finish.
“So soft,” he murmured.
Graeme captured her tongue then and gave her no quarter. Mindful that this was indeed her first time, he wanted to distract her from any pain she might experience. So he circled and pressed until his wife’s breathing became heavier.
He would seduce her, pleasure her, then make love to her.
Breaking contact with her lips, Graeme trailed a path of kisses to her ear.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered, lowering his mouth to her neck and not stopping there.
“I—”
Graeme smiled against her skin. His goal had been met.
“I don’t want you to be able to talk.” He kissed the valley between her breasts, thanking the unknown dressmaker for giving him such access. Cupping her with both hands, he squeezed gently as his mouth continued to deliver promises of what was to come.
Though Graeme had always relished the feeling of a woman’s pleasure, the jolt that came from his wife’s soft moans shook him to the core. He’d do anything to please her, to make her forget everything save his hands, his lips.
“So much . . . to tell . . .” She did not stand a chance. He was able to dip so far below the fabric of her gown his tongue nearly touched the tip of her breast. She might want to tell him something, but that something would have to wait.
16
He turned her around and began to unlace her gown at the back.
“Are you going to make love to me now?” Her traitorous body knew there were important matters to discuss. Urgent matters. But all she could think about was his lips . . . there. His hands like irons, scalding her and making her unable to form a coherent thought.
“I am.”
Once untied, the gown dropped on its own, her arms easily emerging from the flowing sleeves. Why wasn’t she the least bit nervous? Shouldn’t she be?
“Do you know what that means?”
She stepped out of the gown and turned. He tossed it aside in a heap.
His tunic joined it on the floor a moment later.
“How did you manage that so quickly? You couldn’t possibly—”
“I told you.” He lift
ed his hands, so large and powerful they could probably kill a man. “They’re quick.”
Gillian almost asked if she could touch him. Surely she didn’t need permission, but she suddenly felt quite shy as she stared at the ridges on his chest.
“You can . . . and should,” he said before he captured her lips with his own, somehow understanding. Whether she’d said it aloud or he simply knew what was in her mind, it hardly mattered. She took the invitation, wrapping her arms around his naked back and allowing herself the pleasure of being pressed up against him. His mouth slanted against hers, his tongue insistent that she give him her own, which she did, gladly. The swirling and thrusting nearly tore her in two—Gillian found herself pulling her husband closer, wanting more of him.
This kiss was different. The very thin fabric that separated them was nothing like the thicker velvet of her gown. This defense was fragile, taunting. It would not hold up.
When he pulled away, the sense of loss was immediate.
“I’d see you, lass. All of you.”
Gillian had never kissed a man before Graeme and had certainly never allowed one to see her naked. But oddly enough, she wanted to show herself to him. At her nod, Graeme lifted her shift and pulled it over her head in one quick motion.
The look in his eyes made her feel . . . proud. She did not attempt to cover herself.
“Beautiful,” he said just before he removed his trewes and stood before her utterly and completely naked.
“Oh—” She should be terrified. Certainly there was no way that would fit inside her. But instead, she wanted to touch it. Touch him. His legs were thick and muscled like every other part of him.
Gillian tossed away any vestiges of shyness and allowed her curiosity free rein. This man was her husband, and as he had said, more than once, the bedroom was not the place for reservations.
Even so, I can’t very well ask if I can touch it.
She opened her mouth, still staring, but before any words formed, he took her hand and guided it to him.
“Do you remember what I said?”
Aye, very well.
“In here, there are no secrets. No shyness. If you want something, take it.”
He wrapped his hand around hers, curling her fingers around his thick column before letting go.
Graeme moaned, his head tilting back and eyes closing. Even more fascinating than the feel of him beneath her was the realization she had power over him. When she moved her hand, she was in control. His eyes whipped open, and he reached out so quickly it took a moment for her to realize his intent.
Graeme cupped both of her breasts and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, making them peak. There were simply too many sensations. Her insides felt as if they’d melt away from her, the throbbing between her legs growing more insistent with every caress.
“What is happening?” she managed.
Graeme’s low growl sounded like pain and pleasure all wrapped into one. He lifted her as if she were a feather pillow and carried her to the massive bed at the other end of the chamber. Once he’d lowered her to the mattress, Graeme moved over her, the muscles in his arms bulging as he held himself up.
“Your body is preparing for this,” he answered.
When his mouth closed around her breast again, she reached around his back and attempted to hold on. To grasp and grab at anything to keep from falling under the spell that was Graeme de Sowlis.
He gave her breast the same attention as her mouth. And when he moved his hand down between them, Gillian pressed against him.
“You’re ready,” he murmured against her breast.
She could have told him as much.
When he nudged her legs apart, Gillian allowed it. Graeme lifted his head then, his eyes saying that he was sorry as clearly as if he’d spoken it.
But what did he have to—
His manhood pressed against her, and with his hand guiding him, Gillian suddenly felt filled, if just a tad. Sure, that was pleasant enough. If this was lovemaking, then . . .
“Ouch!” she cried when he entered her completely.
He kissed her then, his lips moving over hers more gently, more reverently, than before. Gillian concentrated on the feeling of his lips. Proud that she already knew how to touch her tongue to his. They circled and swirled, tangled together—
And then he moved.
Oh yes, he moved and it was glorious.
“It doesn’t hurt any longer,” she said, pulling away to tell him that. To her surprise, she wanted more—she wanted to be even closer.
Still propped above her, Graeme moved slowly, entering and then retreating. But it was not his movement or the knowledge that he was inside her—inside her—that stilled her.
It was his expression.
His hooded eyes and set jaw sent a shiver through her entire body. Suddenly, she wanted to meet his every thrust with one of her own. His eyes bore into hers, the connection they’d shared in the garden still very much present.
“Good,” he said, the tone like the lathering of soap, smooth and slick.
He moved against her, faster and faster, and Gillian, understanding, did the same.
“You’re holding back,” she said.
How do I know that?
“You are a virgin,” he said, moving even slower now.
“Nay,” she said, not allowing it. “Not any longer.” Mimicking his own movements, she circled her hips and watched his mouth open. Though part of her wanted him to kiss her again, Gillian also enjoyed watching his face. Knowing she was affecting him this way.
“Faster,” she instructed and didn’t wait for him to comply.
“Gillian, you don’t know what you—”
She was doing this to him. Giving him as much pleasure as he gave her. Finally, Graeme gave in to her silent plea. When he lowered his mouth to hers, she was lost in a haze of desire so strong she couldn’t believe she’d waited so long to experience it.
He filled her, moved with her. Kissed her and made her want to let go.
And so she did.
Gillian’s world exploded.
She gripped him with her fingers . . . her toes scrunched into balls as a wave of pleasure claimed her entire body. Pulsing and throbbing against him, she cried out again and heard him do the same. When he finally collapsed on top of her, she held on to him as tightly as possible.
For such a large man, he should have been crushing her. But he wasn’t. Instead, it was a sweet pressure, his legs entangled with her own. Still inside her, Graeme was not separate but a part of her.
“So . . . that was lovemaking?” she asked stupidly.
He pulled himself up and gazed down at her, those eyes intense enough to ignite a flame.
“That . . . and more.”
He pulled himself away, grabbing her at the same time and rolling her on top of him. She rather liked it here. Her husband’s body was so hard, it was rather like lying on a table.
Though much more enjoyable.
“More?”
Her cheeks warmed as he glanced down between them. When he looked up, the resolve in his expression startled her.
“That was you becoming my wife in truth. And I, your husband.”
“But we were married back at Kenshire.” Was that really not even a week ago?
“Married, aye. But wedded in truth now.”
She supposed he was correct.
“So we are stuck with each other?”
Though she said it in jest, a shadow crossed his face. So quickly, Gillian wondered if she imagined it.
“It seems so,” he said.
The tender moment between them had been banished by that one simple statement. The chief had returned. The man whom Aidan called inflexible.
Surely he knew she jested? She was about to tell him just that when he spoke her name, his voice full of both hesitation and resolve as he pulled away from her and placed her on the bed next to him.
“Gillian—”
“Aye?” She sat up and p
ulled the coverlet toward her. Or tried to, at least. Graeme swatted it away. No shyness between them.
“We need to talk.” He stood, the evidence of her innocence obvious on his manhood.
“Did it hurt?” he asked, looking down and moving to a small wooden washing stand. He dipped the waiting cloth into the bowl of water and wrung it out, the splash of water echoing in an otherwise quiet room.
“Not for long,” she said, watching as he sat next to her on the bed. Gillian assumed he’d use the cloth on himself, but instead he brought it to her.
“I apologize; the water is cold.”
He was right. But the cold didn’t bother her. Gillian stared, fascinated that such a large man, a clan chief and renowned warrior, could manage such a gentle touch.
He washed her, and then himself.
“You said we needed to talk,” she reminded him as he began to dress. This time, when she covered herself, he did not protest. Instead, he sat beside her on the bed and looked at her as if he were about to offer news she’d prefer not to hear.
“Well?” she prodded.
Graeme frowned. “I’m going to kill your father.”
Surely she had not heard him correctly.
He heaved a sigh. “I should say instead, I’d very much like to kill your father.”
“What happened?”
He’d said he needed to speak to her, but Gillian had been so concerned for Allie that she’d nearly forgotten about the Day of Truce. And then . . . well . . . they had not spoken much about either topic.
Though she knew he would never hurt her, the expression on his face was frightening. He looked nothing like the lover who’d ministered to her every need moments earlier.
“They set him free.”
She didn’t understand. “My father?”
“Blackburn was declared innocent of all charges.”
“Nay! ’Tis not possible. There were witnesses—”
“He evoked trial by local visnet,” he said simply, waiting to see if she understood.
She did.
Trial by combat had been the customary approach for accused murderers since the inception of the Day of Truce. But in Blackburn’s case, she’d assumed trial by hue and cry with witnesses to the crime would easily convict him. He’d been pursued and eventually turned in to the local sheriff, Graeme had said, which should have meant his conviction would be automatic.
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