Authors: Sophia Johnson
When he came to her, he would be naked beneath the robe around his shoulders. Family members and ranking noblemen would accompany him. They were there to see whether the couple had any hidden imperfections. No way would she be the main act in some medieval peep show! She’d not allow it, even if she had to fight him tooth and nail.
As they approached the room, Lady Maud chatted about how they had prepared it for the wedding night, no doubt believing Brianna had forgotten the rituals as she had that her name was Brianna.
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“We sprinkled rose petals on the wedding bed and tied herbs with silk ribbons to the draperies. Silver bowls hold samples of the most fruitful seeds we plant to ensure your union is blessed with many children.”
Brianna knew she would give birth to two sons. What would they say if she told them only two children would be forthcoming?
“Wedding chalices are on the table with a silver decanter of special mead,” Lady Cecelia said. “Each night, for a full cycle of the moon, you both must drink from it. It assures the wedded couple of an heir within the year.”
Elise opened the door, jolted to a halt, then threw up her arms.
“Blessed Virgin! Someone stole Brianna’s wedding night.”
“A wedding night cannot be stolen.” Lady Cecelia’s chuckle ended with a gasp when she peered over Elise’s shoulder.
They crowded around the door, gaping into the chamber.
The wedding preparations had disappeared. Nothing that belonged to Brianna was in evidence. They searched the room, but the only articles found were Elise’s own.
The mystery so preoccupied them, they startled when Damron’s resonant voice filled the bedchamber.
“I thank ye for escorting my wife, ladies. Ye need concern yerselves no longer. Brianna is in my hands now.”
Elise shrieked. Spinning around, she sent the privacy screen crashing to the floor. Moments later she landed on it.
Damron’s lips twitched as he helped her to rise and patted her head much as he would have a favored pet. His eyes blazed at Brianna, and with purposeful strides, he was soon at her side.
“My lord, this is improper,” Maud protested. “Everything is missing, and we have not yet prepared your bride.”
“Do not be troubled. I have changed the custom to better suit the circumstances. My wife believes I have been neglect-
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ful. Tonight I would change that. I am eager to serve as her handmaid. Ye need not fear I will be clumsy.”
Before Brianna could protest, he scooped her into his arms.
“Blast it. Put me down. I’ll not allow it.” She tried to wriggle free. “Why do you always have to prove your manliness?”
“Nay. Allow or not, as ye wish. I say what I will permit.
Ye will but agree,” he warned. “Soon ye will judge my manliness for yerself. I dinna doubt I am more than passably endowed to pleasure ye.”
At the door, he grinned at the women and bowed as easily as if he held an infant. “My wife and I bid ye good eve, ladies.
We will see ye at dawn.” His long strides carried them from the room.
“Put me down, Damron,” Brianna demanded. Her panic welled again. If she couldn’t control such a simple thing as this, how was she going to thwart his intentions?
“Nay, again, wife. Ye will go quietly, or I may change my mind.” He stopped, as if debating. “Perhaps ye prefer a public bedding after all? In Normandy, they sometimes arrange for guests to bear witness to the deflowering. Hm. Is that yer wish? It often adds spice to the husband’s
manliness
to prove to everyone his prowess.”
She gasped in horror. Oh, my God. He wouldn’t do such a disgusting thing. Would he?
“Do ye ken my meanin’?” He studied her face. “We are not so far from the stairwell that I couldna summon an audience.”
Brianna, her heart in her mouth, tried to scramble from his arms.
“Ah. Be that yer choice, wife?” Damron’s voice filled with soft menace.
Chapter 9
Damron would never permit anyone to witness their lovemaking. Knowing Brianna would constantly battle him over control, he did not regret using such shameful tactics. What was his would
always
be his. Picturing her naked and panting beneath him, his eager shaft engorged and pulsed.
She belonged to him. Unseen. Untouched by anyone.
He turned and lifted her higher in his arms. She stiffened and near screamed in panic.
“Please, Damron. Don’t do that to me.”
“Rest easy. We have but arrived at our chamber.”
He bumped the toe of his boot against the door, and Spencer opened it, his smile beaming. Damron entered and released Brianna’s legs, but kept her body pressed firmly to his. Sliding her down his length, his swollen tarse thrust against the apex of her thighs.
Suppressing a grin, he watched her face while she became increasingly aware of his bulging manhood. Her eyes were wide, astonished. Satisfied, he released her and looked around the room. All was as he ordered.
“I thank ye for so aptly following my directions,” he said to Spencer and Jeremy. He opened his weapons chest and
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gave each squire a beautifully wrought Scottish dirk. “Ye may rejoin the festivities. I willna need ye until dawn, Spencer.”
The young men thanked him, and with shy grins, bowed before leaving the room. Damron bolted the door behind them.
A cheerful fire burned in the fireplace, warming the chamber.
A fur rug lay before it, and a comfortable chair with a matching table stood close. The decanter of mead and chalices were on a small table beside the bed, as were the cakes and a silver bowl filled with the seeds that promised fertility.
He noted her reactions as she took in each item. He almost allowed a smile when she ventured a look at the bed. A rosy blush spread over her soft skin. His gaze followed it till it reached the edge of her neckline. His amusement faded when Galan’s pendant came into view.
Scowling, he removed his ceremonial sword and put it in his war chest. Her wary gaze followed his every movement. Slowly, he removed the clan brooch and let his tartan droop over the belt at his waist. His fingers loosened the silk ribbons of his shirt and removed it. She blinked and her fingers twitched as she eyed his bronze chest and the dark mat of hair that covered it.
He padded over to sit on the chair, conscious of her heated stare on his back. He removed his leather shoes, and the garters that held his stockings below his knees. As he moved, his clothing shifted and exposed his muscled thighs. She stared at them as he slid the stockings from his feet.
When he stood to unwrap the tartan, she gasped and turned her back to him.
“Ye will soon grow used to my body, Brianna. Would ye help remove my clothing?”
“I’d as soon unwrap a snake,” she whispered.
“No, my sweet,” he chuckled wickedly. “’Tis no snake, though it springs upright when it desires.”
He could imagine the blush that suffused her face. She kept her back to him. Grinning, he knew she dared not turn for fear
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he was naked. Spencer had neatly folded his robe atop the clothing chest, and Damron slipped it on. Soon after, he moved close behind her.
“Ye may look now, wife. I willna offend yer virgin eyes. Come, I have poured wine. ’Twill calm ye and give ye warmth.”
“It is quite warm in here. I’m not in the least cold.”
His lips twitched. “Hm. Then ’tis for me ye tremble?”
“I’d like wine, after all.”
Cautiously, Brianna turned to find Damron holding both goblets and wearing a black robe open to his waist. Dressed as he was, he looked less the medieval man. She blinked rapidly, took a deep breath and tried to appear calm.
When he handed her the wine, she took a healthy swallow. Glancing down, she saw his
manliness
was looking forward to bed sport, as it was called in medieval times.
How was she going to thwart physically becoming his wife? She couldn’t be intimate with him. What if she got pregnant? She couldn’t stand it if she had a child and her soul took flight again.
As Lydia, she had never become intimate with a man she didn’t love. Her friends had teased her about being old-fashioned. Physical closeness meant relationships to her.
Lasting
relationships.
God help her. She was in love with this man before fate whisked her here. Although the living man wasn’t as easy to love as the man of her fantasies, she couldn’t dispute her sexual attraction to him. More than she had ever felt for any man. A low groan escaped her. She could not let Damron possess her body.
Heavens to Murgatroyd! What if, in the middle of making love, her soul decided to flit back to where it came from? That poor early Brianna would be in for the shock of her life. She giggled.
Damron took the goblet from her hand and attempted to draw her close.
She balked. Dug in her heels like the sturdiest mule.
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“Stop. We must talk.” She hoped she sounded commanding.
“Lucifer’s moldy horns, woman, I dinna wish to speak. I would do far better things with my lips—all of which will pleasure ye.”
“You’ve proven we’re married, but I don’t
feel
married.” She backed up slowly. “
You
were there before the priest, not me.”
“I will summon a priest, if it will clear yer mind.” Step by step, he followed her, looking more masculine, dangerous and impatient by the moment.
“We weren’t married with our families present. Until we are, I cannot give myself to you.”
That was a good idea. Surely he could understand a woman’s sensibilities. She turned her head to judge the distance to the wall. Thankfully, it was still a good five feet away.
“I’ll feel we are living in sin, and I won’t do that.”
She took a giant step back. He glowered at her.
“Lucifer’s pointy ears! We are o’er a sennight from my land. I dinna intend to wait.”
He took a quick step forward, grasping for her.
Swerving, she avoided his hands and hurriedly stepped aside. All men liked to eat. His wife’s knowledge of his pref-erences would surely be important to him.
“We hardly know each other. I have no idea what you like to eat.”
“Eat? Lucifer’s stomach, woman.” As she scooted back, he made a swift grab for her. And missed. “’Tis not food I crave but ye in that bed.”
“Stop! My sister isn’t here. I can’t share your bed. She would deem it a mortal sin, she would.” Brianna’s head bobbed like her neck had given up trying to hold it aloft. Oh, God, even to her ears she sounded crazy.
“What?” he spluttered. “Ye want yer sister abed with us?
Lucifer’s . . .”
Her mouth gaped. Crude man! Had he been about to curse some part better left unsaid? She scowled at him.
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“You know my sister’s an abbess. How disgusting can you be to suggest such a revolting thing?”
“Enough! We will ha’e no more of this trumpery. Ye are but tryin’ to deny me.”
When she forgot to retreat, he grasped her shoulders and drew her close.
Do not anger him further, Brianna.
Nathaniel’s voice echoed in her head. Oh, Lord. Could the Welshman see and hear what was going on? Not thinking, she spoke aloud.
“Leave. You said you’d not intrude when I didn’t want you.”
I cannot see you. If you tell me not to hear your thoughts,
I will not. I leave now,
came the soft reply.
Damron hoisted her in the air until her nose was inches from his and glowered at her.
“Leave ye? Nae intrude?” Damron spluttered. “I dinna say I would leave when ye wished it, and I winna leave this room.
Ha’e ye gang wholly daft? Do ye ken what I say, lass?”
Huh? Hearing his thick brogue, she almost giggled and said no. He held her so close her eyes crossed. She leaned her head back to see more clearly, and wished she hadn’t. His eyes were squinted in fury. The veins in his temples throbbed.
“I’m neither daft nor deaf. I was telling my thoughts to leave and not intrude.” She patted his bare chest soothingly.
“It’s like praying aloud. We often did it at the abbey.” My, he felt good! And smelled even better. She was relieved to see the veins in his temples didn’t bulge as badly as before. She’d best get on with the rest of it.
“Will you please put me down? Could we have more wine?”
She smiled as sweetly as she could while he lowered her to the floor. She was thankful for one thing: that enormous bulge no longer tented his robe.
Lord, but he’s impressive.
He had been furious the day he waylaid her in the woods,
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but not as livid as he was tonight. Although his brogue was heavy, at least he hadn’t called her
henny
.
“Come. Let’s relax a bit,” she urged.
Pressing his goblet into his hand, she quickly sat on the fur rug beside the chair. Finally, he settled in the chair. After several minutes, she turned her head and found he regarded her much as he would some alien creature that had found its way into his presence. He sipped his wine, his hot gaze not leaving her.
She wished he would drink enough to make him mellow.
As they studied each other, his jaw jutted aggressively. His face finally lost its flush.
“My lord, you have won the battles in the chapel and in the study, and this encounter tonight. If you force me now, our life together will end as harshly as so many others have done.”
Damron slammed his goblet onto the table.
“‘End as harshly?’ What know ye of my first marriage? Who has been fillin’ yer ears with things that hasna to do with ye?”
“No one has mentioned a first marriage, but I didn’t believe a man of your age has never been married.”
She had forgotten Genevieve. She tried to look properly distressed.
“Blessed Saint Julia. I’m sorry for your loss. I shouldn’t have reminded you of it.”
“Julitta,” he mumbled. “Bleddyn said ’tis Julitta for June, not Julia. And I havna lost anythin’. I had the marriage annulled.”
“Then it couldn’t have been a happy one.” Her voice faltered when he bounded out of the chair.