Bride for a Knight (25 page)

Raising his paw in acknowledgment, Somerled thanked her, then made haste to avail himself of his reward.

His just reward, if he did say so himself.

Much pleased, he deigned to ignore Mab’s hostile stare and finished off the gannet stew. He’d enjoy his remaining victory victuals—both platters of them—at a slower, more leisurely pace.

As befitted a great hero.

And he had no doubt that he was one.

Indeed, if he had two long legs rather than four short ones, he was quite sure someone would’ve knighted him for his most recent knight-like accomplishment.

Sir Somerled
.

He could almost hear the accolades. The trumpet blasts and horn blowing, the cheers from maidens fair.

Instead, he realized with a start, his horn tooting was only old Devorgilla’s fluting snores.

Poor soul, she’d fallen asleep on her three-legged stool beside her cook fire. Not wanting her to waken any more stiff than could be avoided, Somerled fixed his golden stare on her, working his magic until she stirred herself and, still sleeping soundly, returned to her plaid-covered pallet.

A penetrating look at her thin-soled black boots saw them slide easily from her feet. And one last stare tucked the plaid gently around her, draping her clear to the tip of her grizzled chin.

Satisfied, he decided he really should begin to think of himself as Sir Somerled.

He was, after all, the wisest, boldest, and most magical fox in all the Highlands.

He was the most successful, too.

A true champion, as his two platters of reward delicacies proved.

He just hoped he’d be as triumphant the next time.

Back at Baldreagan, darkest night curled around a certain stout-walled tower and a biting chill slipped through the wooden slats of the bedchamber’s brightly painted window shutters. Freezing autumn rain pelted those shutters, but the brilliant, jewel-toned colors shone fetchingly in the candle-and-torch-lit room, their romantic whimsy bearing yet another reminder that the chamber had belonged to Kendrick.

His private lair and love nest.

The scene, Aveline was certain, of many heated embraces and other lascivious delights. Kendrick’s bed-sporting exploits were legion, though a thoughtful soul might credit some of the wilder tales to hopeful female hearts.

Boastful female hearts, she suspected.

In truth, Kendrick could ne’er possibly have bedded all the lasses who claimed they’d enjoyed his favor. And ne’er had she actually encountered one of the countless bastards he’d supposedly sired throughout the neighboring hills and glens.

A great red-haired giant, though not quite as big as Jamie, Kendrick’s twinkling blue eyes and his quick-flashing smile could bedazzle at a glance. And if his high good looks weren’t enough, he’d possessed a merry tongue and a soft Highland voice almost too beautiful for a man this side of heaven.

Aveline shivered, the image of Jamie’s roguish brother having his way with angels almost making her smile, had it not been so sad.

He ought to be here still, wooing and winning
living
hearts.

Ravishing byre maids and knights’ daughters alike, whisking them away to his high-towered love lair and filling hours with naught but laughter, song, and uninhibited carnal bliss.

The deliciously decadent kind as hinted by the naked images painted into the innocent-seeming pastoral scene gracing Kendrick’s window shutters.

At first glance, it seemed a tranquil woodland landscape filled with mythical creatures and a fanciful distant castle. A closer inspection showed unclothed wood and water nymphs in a variety of suggestive poses, some even attended by handsome knights in equal states of dishabille.

Aveline shivered again, seeing the painted images as clearly as if she were standing in front of the shutters and examining them. An undertaking she’d already allowed herself, carefully inspecting each and every depicted pair until the possibilities were emblazoned across her mind.

Erotic possibilities.

Images of lust and bared flesh, limbs entwined and handsome faces awash with rapture. She just hoped her joinings with Jamie would be as joyous.

Willing it so, she pressed a hand to her breast, trying to steady her breathing, the thrilling sensations that spun through her each time she imagined herself and Jamie as one of the mythic pairs depicted on the shutters.

Ach, to be sure, Kendrick’s bedchamber revealed a man who’d savored his sensual pleasures. And this night, she hoped, he wouldn’t mind if she borrowed his love nest for her own.

A step she’d already taken in ordering a bath for Jamie, then setting out and lighting her finest beeswax candles. Aveline smiled and smoothed her hair. Faith, she’d even tossed a handful of pleasantly aromatic herbs onto the hearth fire. Preparations she’d finalized when she’d bolted the door behind the retreating army of kitchen lads who’d carried up a seemingly endless supply of steaming water pails.

She looked again at the heavy oaken door and the sturdy drawbar now slid so soundly into its socket inside the wall. The bolted door was more than just a shielding barrier for their privacy: it was a tangible sign of her new life. The happy and fulfilling existence she meant to seize for herself as James Macpherson’s bride.

His soon-to-be wife.

And in every conceivable way.

Aveline drew a deep breath. His notions about hurting her were absurd. Even innocent, she knew that nary a child would be born if a woman weren’t capable of stretching enough to let the babe slide out of her.

No matter James of the Heather’s great size, she doubted his manhood was larger than any smiling, gurgling bairn she’d e’er bounced on her knee. And with so many married sisters, she’d seen her share of newborn babes.

She just needed to convince Jamie that if bairns can come out of a woman, a man’s privy part will surely always fit in.

To that end, she completed the reason she’d kept her back to him so long, pretending she was waiting until the last of the kitchen lads’ loud, pail-clattering descent faded from the stair tower.

In truth, she used the time to undo her stays and laces. Taking her lower lip between her teeth, she mustered her courage and then let her gown slip to the floor.

Jamie’s sharp indrawn breath from somewhere behind her, marked her victory.

Her next triumph would come when she turned around and he glimpsed her standing before him wearing nothing but her near-transparent undershift.

And, she hoped, a seductive smile.

A look bold enough to rouse and excite him, tempting him into forgetting the night’s horrors and thinking only of the pleasure she wished to give him.

But if his eyes narrowed or clouded with disappointment, she’d retrieve her gown and re-don it. Then she’d bathe him as chastely as she’d tended the worthies who’d visited Fairmaiden Castle.

“They are gone,” she said, referring to the kitchen lads and their racket. “And you, my lord, shall now be treated to a bath like no other,” she added, turning at last.

Her pulse quickening at her daring, she eased down the straps of her shift, gently lowering the top piece until her breasts were fully uncovered.

Jamie’s brows shot upward and his breath snagged in his throat. His reaction seemed to please her for she made no move to cover herself. She simply stood where she was, her shift falling loosely around her hips and her breasts delightfully bared.

And, he saw at once, not just her sweet, rose-tipped breasts. Through the thin cloth of her camise, he could also make out the silky curls of her woman’s mound, a tempting triangular shadow just topping her thighs.

“Holy saints.” He knew he was staring, but couldn’t stop. “Sweet lass, do you ken I can see all of you?”

“To be sure, I know.” She looked at him, her chin lifting. “Would I have undressed for your bath if I meant to keep myself covered?”

Jamie hesitated, an unpleasant thought stealing into his mind.

Saints, now
he
was the jealous one.

“Did you bathe your father’s friends thusly?” he asked, damning the question, but needing to know.

She shook her head. “Nay, I was e’er fully clothed when seeing to the comforts of Fairmaiden guests.”

“I am glad,” Jamie admitted, his relief almost a living thing.

Humbling, too, for its portent. Truth was, he’d often lain with Gunna of the Glen on a pallet still warmed by another man’s rutting. Yet all he’d cared about was taking his ease.

Aveline was different.

He wanted her body, aye. But more than that he wanted her companionship and caring, her wit and intelligence. The way she could make him laugh. Her appreciation for the beauty of the great hills and moors they called their own. The respect she’d displayed for the Old Ones and the ancient ways by bathing naked at a sacred well, garbed in naught but her unbound hair and the silver of the moon.

Her kindness to his father and Hughie Mac touched him, too. As did the softness that came into her eyes when she knew he was missing his brothers.

And though he’d ne’er admit it, he loved the way she passed the best tidbits from her supper trencher to Cuillin or whate’er other castle dogs might come nosing up to her for a handout.

Jamie drew a deep breath, astounded by the clutch she already had on him.

As if she guessed his thoughts, she glanced at her naked breasts and then back at him, suddenly looking shy. But she recovered as quickly, sending him a bright, dimpling smile.

Stepping closer to the bathing tub, she swirled a finger in the steaming water, then turned away to fill a small earthenware bowl with violet-scented oil, carefully placing the bowl near the hissing, red-glowing charcoal brazier.

“Hot scented oil for after I’ve bathed you,” she told him, moving to the tub again. “That, and more.”

“More?”

“You will see.” She drew up a low three-legged stool and placed a small jar of soap and washing cloths onto its seat. “But first, I must see you. Out of your clothes and into the water.”

Jamie nodded, but he still wasn’t certain he wanted her to see him at all. It was one thing for her to be daring so long as his clothes hid the dangers, and quite something else for her to actually see that
danger
hanging heavy between his thighs, long, thick, and swaying.

Blessedly, he was still relaxed, but staying that way was proving a ferocious struggle.

Jamie frowned.

Aveline dipped her fingers into the bathwater again, watching him. “You were about to show yourself to me when Morag came abovestairs,” she reminded him.

“Sweet lass, this has naught to do with removing my clothes.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I am trying not to run hard, is what I’m doing. Think you I can get naked and into that tub, have you touching me intimately, and not wish to touch you in a like manner?”

She smiled. “Then do.”

“I can hardly breathe for wanting you and—” He looked at her, his jaw slipping. “What did you say?”

She studied him, her lovely face turning serious. “You did say we are so good as legally wed, did you not? That because of our plight troth anything we do isn’t a sin?”

Jamie nodded, unable to deny his own words, or the truth of them. Leastways to his way of looking at things.

Such as his conviction that she was his the instant he’d seen her gliding through that moonlit glade near Hughie Mac’s cottage.

Or that he’d been hers since that moment.

And anyway, come the spring, they would be man and wife in truth. Their union blessed and sanctioned by man, Church, and God. Until then, he’d personally slay anyone who dared try to come between them.

Be it man, dragon, or bogle.

Especially bogles. Wing-backed and haloed, ring-tailed or horned. He’d have done with whate’er variation of the beasties cared to come at him.

She tapped his chest, looking pleased. “Then,” she said, a dimple flashing in her cheek, “if you agree that we are as good as wed, get in yon tub and let us see what happens!”

Jamie groaned. She was the one who needed to be worrying about what would happen. He could already feel what was happening.

Or rather, what was stirring.

But it couldn’t be helped. Not with her rosy nipples so tight and thrusting, and her perfect little breasts jiggling so delightfully each time she swirled her fingers through his bathing water.

So he made short work of sword belt and clothes, tossing off every last stitch with a speed that would serve him wonders if he could duplicate it on a field of battle.

Full naked, he fair leapt into the tub. But not so quickly that he hadn’t seen her eyes widen in shock, the look of horror that flashed across her beautiful face.

Jamie’s heart sank.

She clapped her hands to her cheeks and stared down at him.

“Dear saints in heaven,” she gasped, shaking her head. “You—”

“I tried to warn you,” Jamie said, his world tipping, narrowing to her stunned face and the tears suddenly glinting on her fine, gold-tipped lashes.

He sank down into the heated water, damning his uncommon height, his over-long legs that made it impossible to scrunch himself deep enough into the wooden tub to hide what he’d known would shock and scare her.

And it had.

Horror stood all o’er her and he wouldn’t blame her if she fainted away in a swoon. Or crossed herself and ran screaming from the room.

Frowning, he grabbed a washing cloth and used it to cover himself. “Sweet lass, please dinna fret,” he said, searching for the right words. “I’ve told you, I will ne’er hurt you. There are ways—”

“Och, Jamie!” She dropped to her knees beside the tub and flung her arms around his neck, kissing him everywhere. His lips, his temples and brow, his eyelids and ears, even his nose. “Jamie, Jamie, ’tis not your size that shocked me,” she said, grabbing his face between her hands, her tears spilling freely now. “I knew to expect
that,
and am thrilled and excited to explore you most thoroughly!”

Jamie blinked.

His heart split wide and blinding heat slammed into the backs of his eyes. “By the Rood,” he managed, pushing the words past the thickness in his throat, “then whate’er made you go so pale?”