Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  Three quick breaths that made her head light and words blurted from her in a rush. A rush to get this over and done with. A rush to the pain that would cut across her chest when the disgust would appear in his eyes.

  Yet there wasn’t anything she could do now except tell Domnall before George did. “Yes. On me. In the act. He was on top of me and then he just stopped. Collapsed onto me. And I started screaming. Screaming and screaming. And his sons ran into the room.”

  “Bloody hell, Karta.”

  “There’s more.” Her eyes closed, her face tortured. “You have to understand, my husband rarely came to my bed—only when he was between mistresses. He didn’t want more children. His heirs were taken care of.” She stopped, taking a deep breath that shook her body. “He had tied my wrists to the bedposts. Wide. He’d always told me that was how he enjoyed it the most. With me lashed in place, captive under him. He never hurt me, so I accommodated his wishes.”

  Recognition flickered in Domnall’s blue eyes. “Dammit—his sons walked in on that?” His hand ran across his eyes and he shook his head. “That bastard—George—walked in on that?”

  She nodded, her eyes opening, though she couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t witness the revulsion in his eyes. She stared at her delicately lined secretary in the corner of the room. A desk that haunted her every day, for she had no one to write to. “They had to peel him off of me. All three of his sons were in the room.”

  The hot heat of humiliation tinged the back of her neck, spreading into her cheeks. “He was naked. I was naked except for my stockings.” She exhaled, the moment in time washing over her again in brutal mortification. “They saw everything. Everything of their father. Everything of me. And the damnation was swift and complete.”

  “Karta—”

  “It’s the real reason I was banished to Badenoch. You can imagine what happened after they found me like that.” A beaten smile pulled her cheeks back. “No one will touch me. Not a friend. Not a relative. Not another suitor. I’m a killer and a whore, and his sons made sure every contact they had knew that fact—and then the gossipmongers took over from there.”

  “So you ran? You didn’t fight it?”

  Her look whipped to him. “There’s no fighting it, Dom. It happened. There’s nothing to deny.”

  “Let me get this correct.” His jaw flexed. “A man—far too old and in no condition for taking his young wife in bed—ties her up, then dies on top of her, and she’s the villain?”

  Her chest tightened.

  She told him. Now she needed him to walk away. To not stretch the pain of this into minutes, into hours.

  Her fingers lifted, swiping at a tear that had escaped her lower lashes. “I’m a wretched whore. A killer. A pariah in society. It is how the world works.”

  “Not my world.” His voice was a low rumble, raw. “Not when you are the one destroyed by it.”

  Another tear slipped to her cheek. “Dom, no.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe them.” He took one step toward her, collapsing the space between them to nothing. “Tell me you don’t believe those bastard Leviton boys. For that’s what they are. Sniveling, weak little boys.”

  Her throat closed, unable to let air or words through.

  His hand lifted, his thumb caressing her cheek, wiping away the wetness before his fingers curled around her neck. “I am with you, Karta. No matter what ye believe. No matter what the world thinks. I am with you. It’s always been so. It will always be so.”

  Air broke into her lungs that she expelled in a gasp. A gasp that was swallowed by his mouth on hers. His body pressing into hers.

  It took her a full minute to realize he hadn’t walked away. Hadn’t looked at her with disgust. With scorn.

  He’d only looked at her with rage at the injustice of what she’d suffered. With love.

  It didn’t matter to him. It didn’t matter what happened. What she did. What the world thought she was.

  It didn’t matter.

  He was with her.

  And he wasn’t going anywhere.

  His arms clamped around her body, swallowing her into the mass of him and her arms snaked up, tentative, almost as though if she touched him he would jump away. Disappear.

  Her fingers wrapped around his neck, the cords of muscles under his skin twitching under her touch. He didn’t step back, didn’t push her away. If anything, the kiss deepened, his tongue exploring her, tasting her, drinking in the essence of her.

  He pulled up slightly, his hand cupping the side of her face. “I let this happen. I should have been there at the ball. I never should have let ye fall onto this path that has taken such joy from your eyes.”

  She stared up at him. At the regret palpitating in his dark blue eyes.

  His other hand lifted and he set her face between his hands. “It’s Christmas and I need a gift from you.”

  “A gift?”

  “Yes.” His eyes closed for a long second before his lashes opened, his gaze intent on her. “Give me you. Give me forgiveness for not acting sooner. Give me a chance to love ye like you were meant to be loved. Like I have always loved you.”

  His words shook her to her soul, sending every nerve in her body to fire. A smile lifted her mouth as she tightened her hold on his neck. “And what will you give me?”

  “Everything. Everything I am and will ever be.”

  Her breath stopped in her chest. “I don’t think I can accept that.”

  His eyebrows cocked.

  “Unless you accept the very same thing from me.”

  She pulled herself up to his mouth, kissing him with the very depths of her soul.

  He yanked her body hard into his and his hand rolled down her spine, rounding her backside. It sent tangs of desire deep into her gut, craving all his body could do to hers.

  Her heels flicked up and she took a step backward, dragging him with her. One step. Two. Her calves touched the side of her bed.

  Domnall yanked his head away. “No. We stop this now.”

  “What?” The word came breathless from her throat.

  He shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” She went higher on her toes, her fingers digging into the back of his neck. “I’m not the innocent virgin I once was. I—”

  “No. I will have no problem taking ye, Karta.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I’m stopping because I’m taking you back to abbey.”

  “Why?”

  “One, ye don’t cook and I’m starving. Two, I’m not going to let you out of my sight until springtime. Every time you’re alone in this snow ye manage to get tangled into some mishap.”

  She couldn’t argue that.

  “Three, and most important—there’s no one here to marry us.”

  Her head snapped back. “Marry us?”

  “Yes. I want ye, Karta. All of you, always.” His blue eyes pierced her, the love he’d always had for her resonating deep in his look. “I can choose what—where—my life is now. And it’s you—you are my life, if you’ll have me.”

  The thudding in her chest so hard, she could barely form the words to her tongue. She nodded. “I will have you, Dom. Always.”

  Chapter 12

  He stood next to her in front of the doctor with Rory and Bailey in the drawing room as witnesses. Thank the heavens they were in Scotland. The doctor was willing. Karta was willing. So he would make her his wife in this very moment.

  It had been torture, the ride back to the abbey. But for this—her properly in his bed—or not so properly—he could clamp down on his straining cock.

  He grabbed her left hand, clasping the delicate fingers into his palm. Her skin was still cold from the ride. Something he would rectify just as soon as this doctor managed to get his cravat straightened and marry them.

  One last blasted smoothing of his cravat and the doctor cleared his throat. “I’ve not done this before, so you will have to forgive me.”

  Domnall’s head tilted to the doctor, k
eeping his voice in check. “Just the few words is all we need, good sir.”

  “Right.” The doctor nodded. “Well then, face each other, I suppose.”

  Domnall turned to Karta and grabbed her right hand as well.

  The doctor inclined his head. “Domnall Greyford do you take Karta Williamson to be your wife?”

  “I will.” So easy, the words from his mouth. Such a quick and simple trade for the only thing he’d ever wanted in his life.

  The doctor turned to Karta. “Karta Williamson do you take Domnall Greyford to be your husband?”

  She looked up at him, the golden flecks of honey in her brown eyes glowing, shining with love. “I will.”

  A crooked smile appeared on the doctor’s face. “Well then, I suppose that is the whole of it? It seems as though there should be more—something akin to love, honor and obey, perhaps?”

  “That will do.” Domnall nodded to him. He’d witnessed enough quick Scottish weddings to know they’d done the most important part.

  The doctor shook his head a bit, wanting to say more, but then he shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I then pronounce you man and wife.”

  Domnall’s lips were on Karta’s before the man finished his words.

  “What the hell is going on here?” George’s nasally voice filled the drawing room.

  Domnall froze in place, his lips on Karta’s as he inhaled a deep breath. If he didn’t calm in that instant, he was going to injure Lord Leviton so grievously the man would be in an asylum the rest of his days.

  Control intact, Domnall lifted his head from Karta, noting her wide eyes before looking to George. “It is none of your concern, Lord Leviton.”

  George dumped the two pheasants he had strung over his shoulder onto the floor of the drawing room, their carcasses thudding onto the floorboards. “Don’t tell me I have no concern, you blasted oaf. You’re manhandling my property.”

  Domnall exploded. “Property—”

  “My lord—” With his hands high, the doctor tried to intervene, stepping toward George.

  “You don’t know what she is.” A sneer pulled George’s face tight as he pushed the doctor aside and advanced at Domnall. “You’ve let this murderous whore into your home and I have every right to her and whatever she thinks she’s doing here.” As quick as a snake he snatched Karta’s arm, yanking her away from Domnall.

  Her fingers jerked out of Domnall’s grasp.

  Too much. Far too much.

  Before she lost another step toward George, Domnall stepped in front of Karta and slammed his fist into George’s face.

  Crushing the man—he didn’t care. The bastard had dared to touch his wife.

  George flew backward with a squeal, his shoulder hitting the doorframe and sending him flailing. He landed on the dead birds, blood from his nose splattering across the wall, the floor.

  Domnall followed him, ready to finish the ass, when Karta’s hand clamped onto his upper arm.

  “Dom. No. Just let him go. He’s not worth it.” Her whisper, soft and pleading, broke through the fiery rage filling his veins.

  It wasn’t enough.

  With a high swing, he brought his fist down.

  He stopped it.

  An inch from the sniveling bastard’s head. He stopped.

  George wasn’t worth it. And Karta was worth stopping for.

  His fist opened and he grabbed the fold of George’s collar. Stepping over him, he dragged the man to the front door. He opened the door and picked George fully up, throwing him down the stone steps leading up to the abbey.

  “You’re walking away because of my wife, Lord Leviton. She’s the only reason you’re alive, so you will give her the respect she is due.” The words seethed though his clenched teeth. “If I hear of the slightest rumor that you or your brothers ever speak on her name again, I will come for you. If you ever set foot in these lands again or near the dower house, I will come for you.” Domnall leaned out over him, the wrath of a thousand demons raging in his words. “And when I come, I will have no control. You only get one warning, you cowardly sorry dung of a man. You have one hour to vacate these lands.”

  Without a word, George scrambled to his feet, slipping on the icy bricks of the walkway. His hands clasped against his bloody nose and he slipped his way through the snow toward the stables, blood droplets trailing in the white drifts behind him.

  Domnall never lost control like that. Never.

  But Karta had never been his wife.

  His fingers itched against his palm. Hell, he was going to follow the bastard and finish him.

  A hand, still cool, wrapped along the side of his neck from behind.

  “Dom.” Her voice was soft, cracking. “Step back. Close the door. Rory is already on his way out the side door to the stables. He’ll see George gone.”

  Domnall couldn’t move. Couldn’t move until George disappeared around the corner of the abbey.

  Her fingers curled along the bare skin of his neck. “Step back, Dom.”

  The fury still palpitating in his veins, he turned around to her, afraid of what he would find. Afraid she would now see him as the monster everyone always suspected him to be.

  His look landed on her face, on her brown eyes.

  Awe. Pride. Lust

  All of it, entwined with love in her blue eyes.

  She was home. Home with him.

  All he ever wanted. And he wasn’t about to leave her side for anything.

  He turned to her, this warrior of a man, framed by the front door and the landscape of cold white beyond. His muscles strained under his coat, his body shaking with rage. The hard cut of his jawline—solid, immovable, impenetrable stone.

  Strength she’d never seen him allow unbridled.

  Unbridled for her.

  She wanted him like never before.

  He hadn’t turned for but a moment before she crashed into him, her lips finding his. His emanating raw anger sent him on the attack, bruising her lips, crushing her body to his.

  She took it all, took everything he always was. Because now he was hers.

  He lifted her up, walking—stalking up the stairs as his mouth stayed ravenous on hers and he moved straight to his room.

  She realized the boorishness of it—leaving the doctor and Bailey standing with their gaping mouths in the foyer below—but she was no force against it.

  This—her and Domnall together—had needed to happen for so long there was no more denying it, no more delaying it.

  He crashed through the door to his chambers, slamming the door closed behind him.

  The door bounced back open with the force, and he pulled his mouth away from her as he leaned against the door to close it. She reached past his shoulder to latch it.

  “That took too bloody long,” he exhaled in a long breath.

  His hand shifted under her backside and she tightened her grip around his neck as she wedged her legs upward to wrap along his hip bones. “The wedding?”

  “Yes—the wedding—smashing the entitlement off of George’s face.” The growl in his chest vibrated against her breasts. “The whole of it.”

  “Too long?” Her words came out breathless, her air mingling with his. “How is that possible? It was five minutes traded for a lifetime.”

  “Five minutes is too long when all I can think about is ripping the clothing off your body.”

  “You aren’t about to woo me into bed?”

  “We’re not going to the bed. And you don’t like to be wooed. You like my body hard against yours. You like action. You always have. And you’ll like me turning us around and me taking you hard against the door.”

  A pang sparked in the depth of her, her core aching at his words, and a throaty laugh escaped from deep in her chest. “I think there’s a reason I just married you.”

  “You love me?”

  “Yes. But I love you because you’re the only person in this world that has ever taken the time to know what I like. How I think. You have always see
n me. Me beyond who my father is. Me beyond the pawn that I have been. To look past what others think of me.” Her voice trailed off on her last words.

  “No. I’ll not have that, Karta.” He walked over to the bed and plucked her body off his, then dropped her onto the side of the bed. He leaned over her, his voice a low roar. “I’ll not have those words, that doubt from your lips ever again—do you understand?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned from her, his fingers ripping through his cravat to loosen it and drag it free of his neck. Boots, coat, waistcoat, lawn shirt, trousers. He stripped down in front of her so quickly she didn’t even have time to blink.

  His bare backside to her, the glory of his skin, of his muscles taut, rippling along every hard curve of his body made her mouth water. Made her question how she was ever going to manage to please him for all his wonder.

  Her hands went down to her boots and she tugged them off, then sat upright. She expelled a held breath. “I thought we weren’t going to the bed.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I changed my mind.”

  Moving over to the tall dresser along the inner wall, he pulled free the top drawer. His fingers quick, he yanked out two long cravats of white cloth. “This should do.” He walked over to the bed, stopping in front of her, his manhood large and engorged and directly at her eye level.

  For all that her tongue was watering a moment ago, her mouth went dry.

  Her chin tilted up, her eyes wide. “Do for what?”

  “Tying wrists to the bed.”

  Her head jerked back. “No, I—”

  “Did you like it, Karta?” He leaned over her, his words low, dangerous. “Being tied up?”

  “I don’t—I don’t know—”

  “Did you like it?”

  Her eyes closed for a long breath. “I…I didn’t hate it.”

  “So I think you’re going to like this.” A smile, wanton, came to his face. “But I’m not tying you up. You’re tying me.”

  “I—what?”

  “You’re tying me up. Lashing me to the bed. You’re going to be in complete control of me.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “You were never meant to be tied down, Karta. You were always meant to be free. Your mind, your body, your soul.”