Adrienne Basso (20 page)

Her heart surged with hope at the notion, but she realistically dismissed it. Most likely it was Alec who had gone to the trouble of making her comfortable—and he had done a fine job.

Three large rugs cushioned the majority of the dirt floor while lengths of gossamer fabric had been draped from the pole supports to cover the canvas walls. They added a splash of color and elegance and a surprising air of romance. There was a table and two chairs in one corner and a raised bed covered in luxurious furs in another.

“How did they ever find a bed that size around here?” Edna asked in astonishment. “And how did they get something that large through the much smaller tent opening?”

Grace eyed the tent flap and shrugged. “They must have erected the tent around it.”

She stepped forward, running her fingers over the soft pelts, then pushed downward, testing the firmness of the straw mattress. Perfect. Firm, yet there was some give. Two pillows, side by side, were placed at the top of the bed. Grace inhaled. The intimate setting brought on a rush of longing, and a stark reminder of what was missing in her marriage. Turning away, she caught sight of the final item filling the tent—a round, wooden tub.

“Och, how marvelous,” she cried. Though it had only been a week, it felt far longer since she had been able to take a proper bath. She had made due with washing from a basin of cold water each morning and evening. Adequate, but not ideal.

Edna eyed the tub dubiously. “Ye cannae be thinking of bathing in here? Ye’ll catch yer death of cold.”

“Not if the water is heated,” Grace replied. “It will warm me through.”

“Ye’ve a husband now to keep ye warm,” Edna clucked.

Aye, a husband. A husband who has little interest in sharing my bed.

Ewan had not openly confessed his regret at their marriage to her, but his actions spoke for themselves. Thinking about it brought a sinking sensation to the pit of Grace’s stomach. Feeling agitated, she twisted a bit of fabric at the end of her sleeve until it grew tight around her wrist, bringing numbness to her hand.

Why had everything changed so suddenly? When Father Mark had said the final blessing at their marriage ceremony, an odd sense of rebirth had washed over Grace. If not for Ewan, she would have spent the rest of her days locked behind the walls of the abbey. Instead, she was being given the hope of a new life and a partner with which to share it.

Abruptly she let go of the fabric. Her fingers tingled as the blood once again rushed through her veins.

“I believe a hot bath is exactly what I need to shake off this melancholy,” Grace said decisively. “Instruct my husband’s man-at-arms to have the tub filled with hot water as soon as possible.”

Edna snorted with disapproval, but a glare from Grace had the maid following orders, though she grumbled with every step.

In little more than an hour a seemingly endless line of men arrived, a bucket of hot water in each hand. In no time the tub was more than half full. Billowing clouds of steam rose invitingly from the water and moved through the tent.

As Edna continued fretting and clucking her tongue in worried disapproval, Grace disrobed, then twisted her hair into a knot and pinned it atop her head. The sides of the tent shook as a breeze blew. Feeling chilled, Grace scrambled to the tub.

Gingerly, she dipped her toe into the water, gasping at the heat. Knowing she would get no sympathy from Edna, Grace stalled for time. She scampered back to her small trunk, impatiently shuffling through the contents until she found a sack of dried herbs.

She tossed them into the water, grit her teeth, stepped into the tub, and quickly sat down. The water rose to her shoulders. Hunching forward, Grace tucked her knees under her chin and took a deep breath while she waited for the temperature to become bearable.

“Shall I scrub yer back?” Edna asked.

“Nay,” Grace answered, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. ’Twas odd that the extreme heat would cause such a reaction, but she knew the water would cool and be far more comfortable soon. “Just leave the pot of soap and washrag within my reach.”

All was pleasantly quiet after Edna left. Reveling in the warmth as it seeped into her bones, Grace rested her arms on the top of the tub, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. The pleasant scent of sage and lavender permeated the steam that danced upward from the water, assaulting her nostrils and further relaxing her.

“Is all to yer satisfaction, Grace?”

At the sound of Ewan’s voice, her head snapped up. Instinctively she brought her arms forward to modestly cover her breasts, sending a wave of water sloshing over the edge of the tub. She opened her mouth to shout at him to leave, but then stopped. They were married. He had every right to see her naked body.

Grace slowly unfurled her closed fists. Drowning out the small voice of doubt in her mind, she lowered her arms, then brazenly arched her back. She felt the cool air immediately on her exposed breasts, felt her nipples pucker. Yet she refused to sink below and hide herself.

Ewan spoke not a word. He stood still as a stone and stared, his eyes first widening in surprise and then narrowing. In disapproval? Disgust? Desire?

Perplexed, she watched him, anxious and fearful of his next move. The awful thought that he regretted their marriage, regretted having her as his wife, intruded and Grace nearly allowed herself to shrink beneath the water.

Their eyes met and locked. Grace swore she could see his Adam’s apple dip as he swallowed. His reaction gave her courage.

“Alas, the tub is too small to share, but I invite ye to partake of it when I’m done. The water will still be warm and fairly clean.” Teasingly, she lifted the washrag and began soaping her breasts, using long, massaging strokes.

He cleared his throat. Even from this distance Grace could swear she saw beads of sweat on his brow. His eyes were bright now and intent on her every move.
Should I rise from the tub and walk toward him? Or should I wait for him to come to me?

As Grace was uncertain she possessed the nerve to be so brazen, it was more of a rhetorical question. Her heart was fluttering in her chest, her breath was coming fast, and for the first time in more years than she could recall, she felt alive with excitement.

She shut her eyes and gathered her composure. If she could not bolster the nerve to go to him, then she must figure out a way to get him to come to her. Now. Before the moment was forever lost.

Ewan was speechless. His mind swirled with erotic thoughts as he beheld Grace’s lush, moist, coral lips, her sensual smile, and glittering eyes. Who was this seductive creature who met his gaze with a bold challenge and unflinching eyes? Who stroked her creamy flesh so invitingly, teasing all his senses, driving him near to madness?

The bulk of her hair was pinned atop her head, but several long tendrils of it had escaped to curl enticingly about her neck and shoulders. He smashed his lips together tightly as he imagined pressing them against that vulnerable spot on her neck, then traveling lower. Licking, tasting, biting.

Desperation pressed in on him. All he could think about was taking her in his arms and kissing her. He wanted to feel her next to him, her breasts flattening against his chest. He wanted to rub his aroused flesh against her softness, to kiss her creamy, pink skin everywhere. To trace the pouting cleft of her sex, first with his fingers and then with his tongue. To make her whimper with need, cry out in satisfaction.

His groin tightened as lust unfurled deep in his gut. She was beguiling. Bewitching. And all his.

Yet he could not claim her. Not yet. Not here.

These past few days had been as near to hell on earth as Ewan could imagine. Wed to the woman of his dreams, yet unable to consummate the union. He had struggled mightily with his conscience over that decision, but honor had prevailed.

Grace was a noble lady, gently born and gently reared. No matter that she was a widow and not an untried maiden, no true lady deserved to be taken in a crude tent after enduring hours of hard riding in the cool, misty rain.

Nay, Grace deserved a proper bed, with feather ticking and scented, silken sheets. A blazing fire, a candlelit chamber, and above all privacy. She deserved romance as well as passion, respect as well as desire. Ewan wanted much more than a swift, crude coupling with her—he wanted to gain her trust, enflame her senses, and win her loyalty.

Leave! Now!
It was the only possible course of action if he had any hope of keeping his vow to wait until the proper moment to consummate this marriage. All he need do was turn around and start walking.

A moment passed. And then another.

He didn’t move.

“I’ve missed ye, Ewan,” she said quietly.

He felt his brow furrow in puzzlement. “I’ve been by yer side each day.”

She shrugged, making the water ripple in the tub. It lapped against her nipples. He followed the movement, imagining what that creamy flesh would taste like in his mouth, how the nipple would harden and pebble when he teased it with his tongue.

“Aye, yer body has been beside me, but yer laughter and teasing smiles are gone,” she said. “Ye’re distant and vague. Most days I feel as though I’m intruding upon yer life and it saddens me.”

Ewan blinked in surprise. She spoke the words plainly, without accusation or self-pity. Guilt swamped him. He had vowed to make her happy, not bring her distress.

“Ye are my lady wife. I respect and honor ye above all others.”

“But ye do not want me,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Not want ye! Christ’s bones, all I think about is ye.” Losing the tight grip on his emotions, Ewan strode purposely forward. As he neared the tub he was enveloped in the heady scent of lavender, sage, and woman.

“Do ye regret our marriage, Ewan?”

“Nay!”

Grace’s head dropped back and she cast him a woeful look. “Then will ye at least give me a proper kiss?” she asked solemnly.

Her inviting request sent a bolt of lightning through his gut. Succumbing to the hunger too long denied, Ewan growled and reached for her. Pulling her wet body from the tub, he scooped Grace into his arms, savoring the feel of her naked flesh sliding against his.

Ewan’s lips claimed hers in a long, hard, punishing kiss. He kissed her deeply, thrusting his tongue into her warmth. A startled whimper escaped her lips and then she returned his kiss eagerly, weakening his knees with the promise of her passion.

Ripples of pleasure tore through him. He cupped her breast with his palm, thumbing the nipple. Her breath hitched as it hardened and he could feel her entire body start to quiver. He continued playing with her for a few minutes, stroking her tender flesh with reverent care and wonder.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders and arched into him, pressing against his erection until he was aching with desperate need. He slid his hands down her wet body, caressing her curving hip and thigh, then moving between her legs. She gasped and lifted her hips, offering herself to him.

’Twas pure torture. He could not bear it. Her passionate response made him forget his plan to be noble, to wait until the setting was right. Grace’s excitement roused the beast inside him; one that would demand satisfaction if he allowed it to take control.

Letting out an angry growl, Ewan pulled away and drew in a labored breath. “Enough! We must stop or else I’ll lose control.”

Grace’s head fell forward. Her breath wheezed in short bursts, warm and moist against his jaw. “I think I would enjoy that very much,” she whispered in his ear, before lowering her lips and nipping along his neck. “Feeling ye lose control.”

Ewan shivered and yanked his head back. “Ye dinnae understand. We need to wait fer a proper time, a proper setting. By all the saints, ye are a lady, Grace!”

“Fie, how can that possibly matter?” Her expression turned grave. “I’ve no wish to hear any details of yer past female conquests, husband, yet I find it difficult to fathom that ye’ve never bedded a
lady
before.”

Upon hearing her indignant words, the ground beneath his feet seemed to shift. He was doing this out of respect for her. Yet she seemed almost angry at the gesture.

Ewan shook his head in confusion. He felt as green as a lad with his first lass. Though instead of trying to get the female into his bed, he was working far too hard to keep her out of his bed. Bloody hell, the world truly had gone mad!

“Grace, ye are not just any lady, ye are my lady wife. I cannae take ye while my men sleep so near and we’ve only the thin fabric walls of this tent to muffle the sounds of our lovemaking. ’Tis disrespectful to ye.”

“I had no idea ye were such a prim and proper man. Nor was I aware that yer soldiers are so sensitive,” she replied tartly.

The sarcasm surprised him. She should be pleased at his sacrifice, for it was a great one. Instead she seemed . . . annoyed?

“Why do ye not understand?” he asked. “I need to protect ye, all of ye, and that includes yer reputation.”

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “We’ve never done more than kiss. How do ye know I’ll make any noise when we couple?”

The wicked laugh bubbled up inside him. “Och, love, ye’ll wake the heavens with yer cries of passion and mine will bring the devil himself up from Hades.”

“Boastful claims, sir. Have ye any actions to prove yer words?”

’Twas not only what she said, but the saucy way she spoke that shattered Ewan’s resolve. Honestly, why should he be so concerned about her delicate sensibilities when she obviously wasn’t?

“If that’s a challenge, Grace, then it shall be well met.”

Ewan’s lips met hers in a whispered kiss and then the floodgates broke. Encircling her wet form in his arms, Ewan carried his bride to the bed.

He laid her on her back and climbed above her. He bent his head and touched his mouth to her nipple. Gently at first, slowly. The moment he heard her moan of encouragement, Ewan pulled the nipple into his mouth. Flicking the tip of his tongue back and forth, he suckled greedily.

Grace’s entire body jerked. Ewan moved his tongue in a steady circle. His lips and tongue teased her unmercifully, then moved lower, across her soft belly. He pushed her legs apart and Grace’s fingers sank into his hair. He kissed the inside of one saintly thigh, then the other, teasingly working his way toward his ultimate goal.