Authors: Sophia Johnson
On reentering the hall, he tensed. Brianna sat next to Galan laughing up at him, her face flushed with pleasure. Her head was near touching his shoulder. When she leaned forward to speak with Elise, her neckline moved slightly, baring the top of a perfect golden breast.
He stalked up behind her, his footfalls unheard in the noisy hall. His hand slipped beneath her hair to the nape of her neck.
Steely fingers clamped around it as he urged her to her feet.
She tried to dislodge him. He did not budge. He turned her, his arm following her around until she faced him. Pulling her tight against his chest, he bent his head close to hers. Anger roiled through him as he hissed the words between his teeth.
“If ye value yer life, dinna e’er again display yer charms to another.”
Chapter 8
Damron’s warning struck Brianna like a burning, palpa-ble thing. His hand gripped her head, and to anyone else, he must have appeared like a husband anxious to be alone with his wife.
Anger and defiance simmered in her. This flesh-and-blood man had the strong character she had sensed in his likeness.
But with it came a domineering and ruthless manner. She couldn’t remember anyone or anything that affected her more with such conflicting emotions.
Damron’s eyes glittered as he removed her circlet and veil, then bent slowly, his lips hovering so close to hers she felt their warmth. His thrilling scent enveloped her. He, that living man from the drawing, made her breasts tingle with anticipation, her pulse race with longing. Why did he wait? She began to quiver, then gasped. Her breath caught.
’Twas for that he waited.
Hot lips claimed hers, his tongue plunging into her mouth to conquer hers, asserting his possession.
Anger flashed, tamping physical desire, that he would kiss her so in front of everyone. She thrust at his chest. When she couldn’t budge him, she stamped on his foot.
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In reprisal, one hand shifted to the small of her back. Holding her motionless, he ground his hot, turgid sex against her stomach.
She understood his message. She stilled.
His kiss softened, changed.
The tip of his tongue explored the corner of her mouth, then moved to trace her lower lip, tugging it between his teeth. In no hurry, he nibbled softly.
His breath was sweet. He tasted of wine and mint.
The kiss deepened with eager passion, sending waves of moist heat to the joining of her thighs. Her knees quivered.
His arms tightened, a pleased growl rumbling from his chest.
Connor’s hearty laugh and men banging their pewter tankards on the tables finally reached his ears. He eased his face from hers and lifted his head.
Brianna drew a deep, steadying breath and clasped his shoulders. How could Damron so quickly spark passion in her? Never had she felt such a heated response, not even to Gordon’s expert lovemaking. She must put distance between them.
“Take your hands from me.”
“Are ye certain ’tis what ye wish?”
Studying her flushed face, his mouth spread in a slow, secret smile. She knew he had not missed the tremors that ran through her, the softening of her lips. Nor the quaking of her limbs. And they all had pleased him.
Brianna twisted toward the room. He removed his support, yet his arm hovered just inches away. Her knees buckled. His arm snaked around her waist to steady her while he gave a short bow to the room, thanking them for their applause.
His dark brows arched over sparkling green eyes filled with laughter. On releasing her, his hand brushed her breast.
Seeing his gaze change from laughter to smoldering, sensual heat, spoke of the physical union he would expect in a very short time.
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Her heart vaulted to her throat. How could she have ignored that vital intimacy he would demand from this marriage? Medieval men took their bride’s maidenhead seriously. If she was lacking one, disaster awaited her in the wedding chamber.
“Blessed St. Elizabeth,” she exclaimed, surprising herself.
When did I start blessing saints?
“Nay, not St. Elizabeth, Brianna,” Elise corrected. “’Tis the month of June. Julitta is your favorite saint for this month.” Her head bobbed as she continued. “Is your memory still scrambled?”
“It has been many years since you have mixed your saints and their months,” Bleddyn chuckled. Seeing the question on Damron’s face, he explained. “When startled, Brianna calls on her favorite saint born in that month. She and Elise began this practice when they were children and surprised by a special happening.”
“Huh. Brianna has called on other than saints lately.” Damron’s tone turned husky. “What upset ye, wife?” He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Or mayhap ’tis naught but impatience for the marriage bed? Hm?”
The tip of his tongue traced the shell of her ear. She could not stifle a soft gasp or the flutter in the pit of her stomach. Her thoughts were of the bedding all right. But not with impatience.
Fear best described it. Why couldn’t she sense if the early Brianna and Galan had engaged in more than petting?
She stilled as her Nathaniel leaned close and murmured,
“Do not be afeared, Brianna. Damron is the mate God intended for you. Do not anger him unduly, and he will go gently with you.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?” While looking into his eyes, she mouthed the words, for the tips of his fingers touched her lips in a signal for silence.
“I have ever read your thoughts.” He smiled at her. “Do not be afeared. I will not intrude when you do not wish it.”
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The tumultuous arrival of tumblers amid the beating of tabors and the wail of a hirgorn, the Welsh trumpet, interrupted them. The clamor in the great hall rivaled any sports bar in New York City on a late Friday evening.
Damron’s jaw tightened as he watched Galan. The man’s gaze never strayed from Brianna. Damron had not wanted the burden of a wife. If he had not sorely needed extra men and the coins he could draw from her estates, he would have defied both kings.
Every day he remembered the horror of seeing the muti-lated bodies of his father and brothers, and Connor’s parents.
The raiders had meant to take Damron’s family hostage, but Blackthorn’s men had fought too fiercely. He would not allow anyone under his protection to meet such a death.
Though he had no wish for a wife, now that the two kings had saddled him with one, he would not allow any man to intrude. He guarded his possessions jealously. Genevieve had taught him why he should. Brianna was
his
. He must needs remind Galan of that. While the acrobats cleared from the room, he leaned toward Brianna.
“Wife, I wish ye to sing for me as ye did last eve. Let us say it is a farewell to yer maidenhood. And to yer loving swain.”
His gaze narrowed on the handsome young man.
“Please, Damron, don’t be cruel. This evening is difficult enough for Galan.”
“I insist. This will be the last ye will sing with him.”
Damron edged his voice with steel and showed no hint of sympathy. “I have bid my wife sing for us,” he said as he stood and faced the room. “’Tis a farewell to her past, and a salute to her future as my lady in Scotland. Sir Galan will accompany her.”
Taking Brianna’s cold hand in his, he helped her to rise and led her to the center of the room. When he again sat, he beckoned his and Connor’s squires to him.
Cecelia and Elise played lively ballads for the singers until
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the guests demanded the love songs Brianna and Galan did so well. Their voices gathered strength as they became engrossed in the music.
Galan began the song that had caused Damron to bolt from his chair the night just past. He tensed his legs to rise, wanting no further display of emotions as had happened afore.
Bleddyn’s gravelly voice halted him.
“Patience, Lord Damron. You already have much to regret.
If you wish love in your bed, go gently. Do not push her.”
Damron settled back and did not answer him. When the melody ended, Galan began another arrangement he had not sung before. It took but a few words for Damron to realize it was Galan’s goodbye to the woman he loved.
Too late now, Damron regretted his harsh demand. He watched a tear steal down Brianna’s lovely cheek. When they reached the last verse, the two magnificent voices blended.
The time has come to bid farewell,
The life we planned is not to be.
Your love will ever live in my heart,
Your precious memory to comfort me.
As the words faded, Galan removed a gold chain and large pendant hanging close to his heart. Light glinted off the stones as he placed his gift around Brianna’s neck to nestle between her breasts.
His trembling hands freed her hair and spread the shining brown curls around her shoulders. The backs of his fingers caressed her face, and his thumbs wiped the tears from her cheeks. He ignored those pooling in his own eyes.
Damron tried to rise. His lower body refused to move. He glared at Connor, believing he had placed heavy hands on his thighs to hold him to his seat. No one touched him.
“Come, my friend,” Bleddyn said close to Damron’s ear.
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“You have blundered badly. Let them say their good-byes without interfering. They are hurting for each other.”
’Twas the mystic who controlled him!
Damron seethed as he listened to their quiet words.
“Be happy, love. Do not worry for me.” Galan placed a soft kiss on her brow.
“Nor you, me. I will come to no harm. Don’t sorrow but begin a new life.” Her arms slipped around him in a fierce hug.
The room thundered with men stamping and yelling their appreciation, while their ladies daintily wiped moisture from their eyes. Brianna curtseyed and Galan bowed to the room, before they made their way back to their table.
Damron rose, free now, his body tense. He took her arm to help her to sit.
“I’ll never sing for you again. I promise you,” she murmured.
Brianna did not look his way, but he knew her vow was meant for him. Her words stabbed his conscience. His spite-ful demand had cost him much. The beauty of her voice would have been his greatest treasure.
The guests, becoming more boisterous as they consumed large quantities of strong ale and wine, began shouting for the bedding to begin.
Damron studied Brianna, watching her reactions. Nay, she was not as William had said she would be. She was far more.
True, no subservient lass but a challenge, one he could not easily dominate. Mayhap even a woman he would grow to respect as he did his mother.
She drew in a deep breath. He suspected she thought of those people who would come into the bridal chamber to view their naked bodies for flaws. Aye, she panicked at the thought. Noting Galan’s taut face, Damron knew he also dreaded what was to come. It would be a knife in his heart seeing his love prepared to accept another in her bed.
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Brianna’s face grew ashen. Her eyes widened in alarm. It was the first time he had seen her truly frightened. He rubbed his chin, studying her. Mayhap she feared the bedding ritual as much as the marriage bed? Rising, he took her fingers and urged her to her feet.
“’Tis time for ye to go above, wife. I will join ye shortly.”
He escorted Brianna, along with the women of her family, to the foot of the stairs. Connor joined him there. Both faced the room, ensuring none of the rowdy celebrants followed.
The guests called ribald suggestions on how Damron could ensure his bride screamed with pleasure this night.
If he was man enough. What with him wearing skirts and all!
He took their ribald humor gracefully. With a meaningful look toward the lord’s table, he urged the baron to signal for the next entertainers to enter.
A troupe of actors performed a bawdy play that depicted a blushing virgin avoiding her lustful mate. A man, with a huge wooden phallus making a tent of his tunic, chased a buxom woman. Her heaving breasts diverted the guests’ attention. Their antics soon filled the room with laughter until the skit was over.
When it came time to escort Damron above, he bowed low and raised his hands for quiet.
“I must disappoint ye, good people, but I am well able to divest myself of my garments. With the help of my bride.” A gleam lit his eye, and he licked his lips and wriggled his brows. The men responded with catcalls and hoots.
“Let us see proof yer tarse and ballocks be manly enough to satisfy a lusty Saxon woman,” a bearded knight yelled.
“Aye. Mayhap they be as scrawny as a starved hound,”
hooted another.
Bleddyn and Connor joined him at the foot of the stairway.
Damron’s hearty laughter filled the room as he waved and turned away. He was intent on waylaying his bride. His tartan swayed as he took the steps two at a time.
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Standing close beside the stairway and looking upward, a portly woman shrieked with glee. “Blessed saints! Why, ’tis like a destrier’s. He be more’n ample to please his bride. Aye, and many a longing wench, too.”
Damron shook his head, chuckling, then sobered as he thought of what was ahead. Spencer and Jeremy would have carried out his instructions to the letter, he was sure of it. He smiled with satisfaction.
’Twas time to show his wife what he planned to do about her wedding attire.
Brianna’s legs wobbled. She fought to control her trembling. Virginal thoughts didn’t frighten her. She had found great pleasure in her sexual life with her husband, for that had been the only successful part of their marriage.
If Damron had been a man in her future time, she would be more than willing to be his wife in more than name. Eager even, for she’d had many fantasies about him over the years.
However, that Damron was the man in the drawing.
What frightened her was this dominating man who so obviously looked forward to making her his wife. And the circumstances. She’d read enough about medieval ceremonies to know what to expect.