“Very well,” she said. “I will marry you.”
He grinned suddenly, clearly pleased with her answer, and now, again, he pulled the ribbon through his fingers and took her gently by the hand.
“There’s an old Scot’s tradition,” he explained as he laid the ribbon over her wrist, and then he peered up into her eyes long enough to explain. “A man and a woman pledge vows to remain faithful for a year and a day. At the end of such time, according to our laws, ye would be free tae leave me if it be your choice… However… if ye’ll have me, Elizabeth Louise, I will promise tae gi’ ye no cause tae go.”
Elizabeth’s heart pounded fiercely; she feared he must hear it as well. She nodded, and said, “I will.”
And now, again, his smile unfurled in the most stunning display of startling white teeth as he looped his ribbon about her wrist, then tied it carefully, covering her hand with his own. He said, “As this knot is tied, so, too, will our lives be bound.”
And then he nodded as though she was supposed to say something as well.
“Is that all?”
He chuckled richly. “For now,” he said. “Only one more thing…” He reached up to touch her lightly upon the chin, tapping it gently, and said, “May I kiss my bride?”
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth sucked in a startled breath.
The unanticipated question gave her a dizzy feeling in her head and a warm gush in the pit of her belly that didn’t have a thing to do with the hearth fire, nor the ale she’d drunk, nor even the whisky in her cranachan.
How had she come to this moment so unexpectedly?
She had left home intending to become a wife and mother to a young man, but here she was, feeling like a naive little girl… seated before a grown man… who was asking sincerely for her hand in matrimony. Nay, she corrected herself… they were already “handfasted”—married in the eyes of Scot’s law. Barbaric, perhaps, but simple, honest and sweet—as sweet as the promises he’d made her.
If you’ll do me the honor of becoming my bride, I shall promise to provide for you to the best of my ability and I will honor and cherish you as a man should honor and cherish his wife…
Nodding jerkily, Elizabeth held her breath as he lifted himself up from one knee to press his warm lips against her trembling mouth, and if she feared it would escalate to the marriage bed thereafter, she feared for naught. He drew back, smiling at her, and then rose to his feet, and limped over to the still steaming tub, reminding her again of his injury—not one, but two.
“We’ll make it proper once we’re home,” he said, giving her a reprieve, although truly, Elizabeth wasn’t overly concerned with propriety. In fact, had she been so, she might have run screaming from the room the minute he’d arrived.
Moreover, she was very well aware that if they didn’t consummate this marriage—here, and now—tonight, she was sorely afraid that everything would fall apart. After all, what if they returned “home” only to discover his brother, young as he was, meant to contest it?
And even if he didn’t, what about her uncle?
It seemed perfectly obvious to Elizabeth that James had intended for Callum to intercept her before she arrived at his home, but that didn’t mean Uncle Edward intended the same. For all she knew, James had carried out the last part of his mission entirely on his own.
All things considered, this “wedding” had turned out better than she’d hoped for, even if it wasn’t yet official in the eyes of the law.
There was simply no help for it; if she didn’t lie with her… husband… as a woman should lie with a man… it would be too easy to challenge the handfasting.
And then a thought occurred to her… a shockingly bold idea that was stunning even for her. She had a very good sense by now that he was too much a gentleman to avail himself of a woman’s body simply because he had a right to…
“May I?” she asked nervously, fiddling with the ribbon at her wrist—a wee scrap of cloth she really ought to remove, lest they brand her traitor for wearing it… and nevertheless, she shoved it higher beneath the sleeve of her chemise, emboldened by its presence.
“May ye what?” he asked, sounding confused.
“If you won’t call for a doctor, may I… see to your wound?” Her gaze fell again to the slip of ribbon still peeking from beneath her sleeve. “If I can help, I would like to.”
Callum swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone dry.
One wound was on his upper thigh, near his groin, the other on his shoulder. The latter was safe enough to show her, though he wasn’t certain he could trust himself to allow her to minister to either. Neither would it change the healing, or the past. Still, he considered her request, reaching down to test the water—warm though cooling by the moment.
God only knew, every part of him longed to wade into that clean, fresh water and inundate himself… It would be a shame to waste Little Joe’s efforts, not to mention all those buckets full of water. But the room was entirely too small, with nowhere to conceal himself… and neither would it be easy to partition, even if he dared to appropriate the bedsheets.
Moreover, he was quite certain Pitagowan didn’t have spares on a night like tonight. It was the first night of Hogmanay, after all, and the inn was filled with guests.
All the worse yet, he couldn’t bring himself to confess the need to conceal himself from the woman who was supposed to be his bride. That wouldn’t make a bit of sense, now would it? As far as Pitagowan was concerned, they were betrothed. So, in the end, he said, “Don’t worry about it, lass, I am fine.”
“But I must insist,” she said, standing.
“No,” Callum said more firmly, although having said as much, he still wasn’t certain how to handle the bath—a surprising quandary, considering that only a few hours ago he hadn’t any notion for how to assuage a blushing bride. And, aye… she was blushing—a very lovely shade of pink that he would dearly love to heighten…
Unfortunately, this was neither the time or place.
On the other hand… dirty as he was, he didn’t intend to crawl into that bed beside her with a week’s worth of stink on his person, and, in truth, if they were going to make this marriage work, there wasn’t any point in concealing himself from her. In fact, if he had his druthers, they’d share the bath together, but it only seemed proper he should offer it to her first. “Would you like to take the first bath?”
“Oh, no!” she said quickly. “Thank you. I can wait.”
“Sadly, I cannot,” Callum confessed. “There’s only one bed and I’d no’ repulse ye with my scent.”
“Y-yes… I-I… understand,” she said.
And then, for a very, very long awkward moment, they simply stared at one another—an odd form of checkmate—until there was nothing left to be done, but to show her his bum…
Chapter Eight
Truth be told, Elizabeth wasn’t sure why she’d declined the bath—wasn’t that that best, most efficient way to get them both undressed?
Indeed, it was.
And still, she didn’t know what to do.
Should she stay?
Should she go?
Should she turn her back to him?
Or maybe ask if he needed her help to undress?
In the meantime, there was a bath going to waste; and nevertheless, she wasn’t entirely prepared when he shrugged off his shirt and tossed it over to the bed beside her.
She opened her mouth to speak, not at all sure it was a protest, and then closed it again as he began to fumble with his trousers. The heat in her cheeks began to blaze.
“You might like to turn your head,” he said with a hint of a smile, and she did, at once, focusing her attention on the door, half anticipating it to fly open and to find Mrs. Grace’s disapproving gaze behind it. At the instant, though she hadn’t yet done a bloody thing to initiate her plan, she felt guilty as charged—or rather, as she might be charged. She was behaving like doxy, no less. Would he think her one if she did what she wished t
o do?
Lordy, she hadn’t the nerve.
Where now her fearlessness?
Where now her mettle?
Unwittingly, her gaze fell to the ribbon of tartan peeking out from beneath her sleeve, and she fiddled with the cloth, discombobulated.
“It rather surprises me that your cousin would allow you to travel so far alone,” he said conversationally.
“Oh, I’m not alone,” she reassured, and then she heard him slip into the tub, and immediately thereafter heard him heave a contented sigh. Sweet lord, the sound was nearly as intoxicating as the whiskey in her belly, though she wished now that she’d asked for more—at least then she might have the nerve to finish what she hadn’t yet had the courage to start.
“You’re not?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I came with my chaperone—Mrs. Grace. If it’s acceptable to you, she would like to stay on to help… when we… er… arrive… home.”
“Aye, well, tis ye’re home now, as well,” he said with a thickening burr, and then he heaved another sigh as he slid more fully into the tub.
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” she said.
“It is.”
He sounded so sure…
Trying desperately to rein in her nerve, Elizabeth nipped at her bottom lip, making it burn over the self-abuse, nervous, but loathed to confess it. She had always considered herself to be far more… fearless. It was infinitely more difficult than she had ever supposed… to speak to someone whilst in the same room… and not… look into their face—while they were loitering in a bath. But this wasn’t such a shocking thing, was it?
It used to be in the olden days… the lady of the house would bathe, not merely her husband, but his guests as well. It was really very innocent—except… it wasn’t. At the moment, she very definitely had an ulterior motive—did he suspect?
By now, the steam from the bath was beginning to thicken in the room… or mayhap it was merely that she felt overheated. The fire in the hearth must be blazing hot, and yet, she couldn’t seem to find it within her to even glance at the hearth, since that happened to be on the very same side of the room with her now naked groom.
Unexpected, though he found it, Callum was enjoying her company, despite himself. She was endearing, he decided, as he stared at her lovely, round backside.
He couldn’t help himself; he grinned, and then, the very act of doing so was startling, because it was the first time he’d smiled so genuinely in eight long months.
Ye gods, they were handfasted now, married according to common law. He hadn’t lied to her, and indeed, he would allow her the time and space she needed to decide on her own if she wished to remain at Dunmore, and more importantly to remain as his wife.
Lachlan, too, would respect whatever decision she came to, and Callum had every intention of leaving her chaste until they could all get into a room together to decide their fates.
The problem was… Callum wasn’t a saint, and though she was no longer revealed before the fire, he could still spy the tantalizing outline of her fine form beneath the diaphanous gown, and he fought a battle with his demons to confess as much.
In the end, he decided she needn’t know, since it would indubitably embarrass her. But God help him, she had a fine, fine form… a narrow waist his hands ached to cradle… a pert, round bottom that offered him an intriguing view of the shadow beneath… the very sight made him dizzy, and it wasn’t only from the heat of the water…
Really, despite her bashfulness, he sensed an inherent strength in the lass, evident even now in the set of her shoulders. Having committed herself to their union, she didn’t dress herself and leave in protest of his nudeness. Nor did she rail at him for having availed himself of the tub. She simply accepted the truth, and, just as he had, she’d honed in on the most favorable outcome.
Nay indeed, he wouldn’t rush her, nor push her into anything rash, but that didn’t stop his body from hardening, nor did it ease the discomfort of his sudden, unreasonable desire.
Bloody hell… here he was… on the eve of a new year, enjoying a nice, hot bath… in the company of his lovely new bride… and still he was honor bound to keep his todger to himself—hell and damnation.
How he adored those tiny curls at her nape… most likely not the effect of any iron. But rather, having been dampened by the weather, they were naturally curling.
“I was thinking… after my bath, should we summon your chaperone and tell her the good news? Maybe share a pint of ale with her?”
“Hmm,” she said, sounding confused. And then she added, “No, I don’t think so.”
“Why not, lass? Do ye plan to change your mind?” He hadn’t a clue why he said it so defiantly, but the very notion curdled the dessert in his belly. “If so, I should warn ye, I mean to hold ye to our bargain…”
Evidently, that was all it took to chase away her shyness; her gaze narrowed and she spun about to pierce him with an angry glower. Only the sight of his smile disarmed her, and whatever it was she was about to say, she thought better of it. “You’re jesting,” she said, with no small trace of relief.
“Indeed, I am.”
“That’s a very good thing,” she said, with a smile, and Callum lifted his brow, amused.
Good Heavens.
Elizabeth knew she ought to look away. Propriety dictated as much, and yet… and yet… she couldn’t seem to make herself do it.
And now that she was looking, she did so greedily, secretly thrilling to the sight of her husband’s male form.
His smile was achingly beautiful and his storm-blue eyes so full of mischief—like a naughty little boy, but there was nothing so little about him.
He couldn’t possibly have realized she would take such offense at his suggestion. She was a woman of her honor, and she wouldn’t back down—even if she did suddenly feel like flying out the door. At any rate, where would she go?
Not to Mrs. Grace, that much was certain. That was the last thing she would do as she didn’t want her chaperone to know anything until their vows were already consummated and there was nothing anyone could do to prevent it.
He scooched down now, with a knee lifted from the water, and otherwise buried to his chin. Steam rose from the tub, like fine ribbons of smoke, and much to Elizabeth’s dismay, her gaze found his shoulder and locked on the small puckered wound there. “Does it hurt?” she asked, well aware that his hand slid through the tub, in a direction and fashion she daren’t contemplate. “Yes,” he said. “Very much.”
“It appears to be healing,” she said. “What about the one on your leg?”
Chapter Nine
“Healing,” he said.
“Oh.”
Every last bit of good will Callum had mustered suddenly vanished with the steam rising from his tub. It had been far too long since he’d been with a woman and even now, as he brushed his hand across his cock to shove it down between his thighs to conceal it… white, hot desire pulsed through his veins, and heat rose into his unshaven face—another thing he meant to remedy. Until now, he hadn’t had any good reason to shave, but suddenly he had delightful visions of diving into her soft muff, curious for the taste of his wife.
His wife.
His wife.
His. Wife.
Before he could wrap his brain about that fact, and before he could warn her to stay away, she advanced upon the tub, setting his heart to pounding.
“I am no doctor,” she said. “But you might as well show me since I am now your wife. If there is anything at all I can do to ease your pain, I will certainly try.”
“You can’t,” he said, through gritted teeth and he would have thrust up a hand to hold her back, but he daren’t release the kraken in his tub. “Elizabeth,” he said, as she knelt, and the word came out of his throat with a tortured groan.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” she promised.
Callum groaned again, though she’d yet to even touch him.
“Where is it?” she demanded.
“Where is what?” Surely, she didn’t mean the beast between his thighs? That was hidden if only for the moment, but not for long, because even as the scent of her reached his nostrils, enhanced by the steam from the tub, his erection thickened and throbbed, threatening to free itself of all restraints.
“Elizabeth!” he protested again, as her hand dove into the water, and Callum twisted uncomfortably as she brushed his thigh.
Elizabeth didn’t know what got into her, but having reassured herself that this was the best course of action, she was now determined.
She didn’t wish to marry a boy. She wanted to marry a man—this man.
And neither was she entirely ignorant of what must be done. She understood the dangers of being in such close proximity with a naked man. In fact, that was precisely the end result she anticipated. She merely lacked the skills to know how to get what she wanted without asking for it, and no matter that she had always considered herself to be quite outspoken and yes, even intrepid, she didn’t anticipate the words that came out of her mouth.
“What?” she asked innocently. “If you won’t allow me to tend to your wound, I must help you wash. Therefore, I am searching for the soap.”
“That is my… leg,” he said.
“Of course it is—because you blocked my hand.”
“The soap,” he declared. “Is still in my hand.”
Elizabeth smiled coyly. “Oh.”
“You don’t want to wash me,” he said.
“Oh, but I do! It’s the least I can do.”
He frowned. “No, it isn’t.”
Elizabeth batted her lashes. “Well, I can’t very well sit about like an empty headed miss whilst you bathe,” she reasoned.
He was still scowling at her. “Of course, you can.”
“My lord, in case you didn’t realize, that is insulting,” Elizabeth said. “Women are not objects to be passively admired. I would therefore like to be of use,” she said more firmly.
A Very Highland Holiday Page 26
