Bride for a Knight (26 page)

“This.” She thrust her arm into the tub and ran her fingers down his hip and farther until she reached the long puckered scar marring the outside of his left thigh. “You ne’er told me you’ve had a wound seared. It grieved me to see the scar after what happened tonight.”

“Ach, lass.” Jamie leaned back against the linen-padded rim of the tub. “The scar is one I brought back from Crossgate Moor,” he said, blowing out a breath, wishing one great gusty sigh could banish the images of Neville’s Cross and its arrow storm of English longbows.

The shattering defeat and the incredible blow of Scotland’s young King David being captured and taken prisoner from right beneath the noses of the realm’s greatest nobility. And none of them able to do aught but look on in appalled horror as the English routed and slaughtered them, then plucked their hiding king from beneath the span of a bridge.

Shuddering at the memory, Jamie reached for his bride’s hand, kissing her fingers one by one, the soft, silky warmth of her inner wrist.

And as he’d hoped, the sweetness of her smooth, white skin helped chase away the shadow images of angry and torn flesh, bright red and streaming. Or cold and gray, once death claimed the countless poor souls who’d left their lives on that devil-damned Sassunach bog.

“I’d forgotten you were with the king at Neville’s Cross,” she said, her expression pensive.

Jamie shrugged. “Compared to most, I came away unscathed,” he said, truly believing it. “What saved me was the good fortune of riding with Robert, the High Steward. He commanded the left of the field and we fared better than most, having the luck of more stable terrain to fight on. Even so, we were still unable to stop King David’s capture.”

He looked down at his scar, then back at her. “After the carnage I saw that day, I can ne’er think of myself as having even been wounded in the fray. Truth be told, I canna even recall the moment it happened.”

“I am glad.” She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him, and this time her kiss was leisurely, soft and sweet, and full on the lips.

When at last she eased back, she smoothed her hand down his cheek. “It is best not to dwell on painful things we cannot undo or change. God was kind in letting you forget.”

“Ah, but I do remember the searing,” Jamie admitted, her caress already taking his mind elsewhere. “’Tis why it grieved me to brand my own da. I knew the pain I’d be giving him.”

“You also gave him life, did you not?” Aveline stood. “I vow he will be right pleased about that when he comes to his senses again.”

To her surprise, Jamie laughed. “Not pleased enough to apologize to Lady Juliana and Morag for threatening them with his sword, I’ll wager!”

Smiling back at him, Aveline leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Then I shall apologize to you for looking so shocked upon seeing your scar and making you think the reason was otherwise.”

He cocked a brow. “You truly are not frightened by that particular ‘otherwise’?”

“Frightened?” Aveline dipped one of the washing cloths into the little jar of soap and began to scrub his shoulders. “My only fear is that you might withhold yourself from me and”—her gaze slid to Kendrick’s painted window shutters—“I find myself eager to share pleasure with you.”

“Eager enough to remove your shift and join me in this tub?” He arched a brow at her again, the simmering heat in his eyes and the way his voice deepened sending delicious thrills all through her.

Making it impossible to say no.

“O-o-oh, aye,” she agreed, already reaching to shove down the camise.

But he shot out a hand, strong fingers encircling her wrist. “After you’ve finished bathing me,” he said, flashing a wolfish grin.

“Of course,” Aveline agreed, slipping away to fetch a flagon of sweet, spiced wine.

Returning to the tub, she handed him a filled chalice, watching as he sipped. Two heavy wax candles burned on a nearby table and the bright flames illuminated his naked body, casting an alluring pattern of flickering light and shadow across his broad shoulders and back.

Rivulets of water trickled down his chest and she followed their path, admiring the fine glint of his chest hair and how some of the droplets caught there, clinging to the smattering of wiry red-gold hairs and hovering like glittery little diamonds before breaking free and rolling lower.

Her gaze drifted lower, too, but this time he smiled and made no attempt to hide himself. Or his pleasure. The steadily increasing beat of the pulse in his throat bespoke his excitement, as did the rise of his maleness.

An answering pulse quickened inside her. Her heart thumping, she dipped her hand deeper beneath the water, letting her fingers glide across and then tangle in the thick coppery curls springing at his loins.

Her own loins went molten at the intimacy, especially when the backs of her fingers brushed against the smooth, silky skin of his thick, swollen shaft.

Aveline’s breath caught and her hand froze, her fingers curling deeper into his nether curls as his manhood twitched and jerked against her. And though she could scarce believe it, swelled and lengthened even more.

“Dear saints,” she whispered, looking down at the large, plum-sized head. Jutting well above the still-steaming water, a tiny glistening droplet of moisture appeared on its tip. Dewing moisture she knew had naught to do with the water droplets trickling down his chest.

She swallowed and wet her lips, fascinated. Aching to stroke and fondle him, yet too awed to touch such magnificent male perfection.

He must’ve sensed her hesitation, for he shifted in the tub, opening his thighs a bit more to give her a better view. Or greater access. Tingly heat swept her at either notion. Nay, he was definitely not hiding himself now.

Not that he should.

She was quite sure he was the most beautifully made man she’d ever seen.

Watching her, he reached to capture a loose tendril of her hair, curling it slowly around his finger. “Touch me,” he said, firelight reflecting off his own vibrant, auburn hair. “I’d meant to wait, would’ve abstained totally—or tried! But it is too late, sweetness.”

His gaze went to her little bowl of warming oil, its heady violet scent already rising. The drifting fumes perfumed the air, intoxicating his senses.

“’Tis too late for warmed oil massages, too,” he added, his voice turning husky. “Too late as well for the removal of your shift.”

He flashed her a smile, one that quickly spread into a roguish grin when her sapphire eyes deepened with her own desire and she stood to retrieve the bowl of oil anyway.

“There is another use for the oil,” she said, placing one foot on the stool and easing up her shift’s dampened skirt, her position leaving her fragrant woman’s curls but a handsbreath from his face.

“Sweet Jesu!” The two words escaped between Jamie’s teeth as he realized her intent. “Where’er did you learn such a wanton’s trick?”

“From my sister, Maili,” she explained, already dipping her fingers into the bowl. “Her husband is also quite well-proportioned, though I canna believe he is so large as you. Maili told me if e’er I were to wed such a well-favored man, I might rub myself with warmed oil before the first few couplings and thus ease the joinings.”

Jamie swallowed.

She touched glistening fingers to her sex. Holding his gaze, she began gently rubbing the oil between her legs, even applying some to the tender flesh of her smooth inner thighs.

It took Jamie all of a heartbeat to know what he wanted to do.

“Nay, lass, let me,” he said, thrusting his fingers into the bowl of heated oil. “I will rub you.”

And in ways that would make her far more ready for him than any scented oil, heated or otherwise
.

“Come closer,” he urged her, “and part your legs for me. Just enough so that I can see and touch you.”

And she did, stepping so near that her sweetness hovered just above him. The rich musk of her arousal flooded his senses, making him drunk with desire.

He touched his fingers to her then and a startled gasp broke from her lips. Pleased by the sound and the flare of desire in her eyes, he rubbed her, carefully massaging the oil onto her most tender, sweetest flesh.

She trembled beneath his caress, her own fingers digging into the folds of her shift as she held the bunched material well above her thighs.

“Holy saints,” she breathed, a great rippling shudder streaking through her when he ceased his feather light strokings and began sliding a slow, probing finger up and down the very center of her.

“Ach, lass, you are just beginning to explore pleasure.” At last, Jamie flicked lightly at her most sensitive spot. “This will melt you as naught else,” he told her, circling his finger over her quivering flesh.

Slow, deliberate circlings he kept up until she closed her eyes and began to rock her hips. She arched her heat against his hand, her hitching breath and the slick moisture damping his fingers letting him know it was time.

“I can wait no longer,” he vowed, seizing her by the waist and lifting her into the tub. “I am sorry, lass, I would that it could’ve been otherwise.”

“It is perfect,” she cried, looking down to where he held her poised above him. “You are perfect. Fully magnificent, and I would have no other.”

She wriggled against him, her slick female heat slipping across the swollen tip of his shaft, a sensation almost blinding in its exquisiteness. Jamie threw back his head and clenched his teeth, unable to keep his hips from lifting in response, the tip of his iron-hard shaft sliding right into her.

Not the long fluid thrustings he burned to give her, sure, deep, and smooth. This was only a first tentative sheathing, her slick and tight wetness taking only a few throbbing inches.

Or so he thought until she flung her arms around his neck and, kissing him, slid the rest of her sweet, clinging tightness right down over him.

“
Mother of God!”
he cried, his seed shooting into her even as he tore through her innocence. Her own precious little body jerked and tightened against him, the glory of her pleasure cries shattering him even more than the power of his release.

A wonder he would ne’er have believed possible.

Even if, in truth, she’d only taken half of him.

There would be time later to accustom her to more. And he knew now that she’d welcome each joining with him, for there could be no mistaking that her passion had burned as hotly.

But his wonder was the greatest, he decided, reveling in the feel of her, all soft and silky warm in his arms. His heart clenched, and he was certain he’d ne’er be able to have enough of her.

Never be able to hold her closely enough or slide deeply enough inside her, kiss her long enough or explore every sweet inch of her with his hands and lips and tongue. Live enough days to love her as endlessly as he wished to do.

And, in time, he hoped, make her love him.

She consumed him and ne’er had he felt such a burning need to make a woman his.

She was also still straddling him. Her sweet rose-puckered nipples pressed into his chest and her sleek female wetness proved an irresistible delight. He’d thought to wash and tend her, making certain he hadn’t hurt her. But already he was swelling again, each hot slick glide of her softness over his shaft, causing him to pulse and throb anew.

“You dinna ken what you’re doing, sweetness,” he warned, pushing to his feet and sweeping her up with him. “I can no longer be responsible for what happens between us behind closed and barred doors.”

“And beyond those doors?” She stepped out of her dripping camise and kicked it aside.

“Beyond them?”

She stepped closer, trailing her fingers through his glistening chest hair. “I know a fine woodland glade,” she began, letting her hand glide lower as her gaze slid to Kendrick’s erotic window shutters.

She looked back at him. “You did say there are many ways for us to be intimate?”

Jamie nodded, his throat too thick for words.

He’d followed her glance and knew full well what stood painted on Kendrick’s shutters.

The notion of enjoying even one of the shutters’ sensual pleasures with her almost robbed his breath.

“There are many ways for a loving couple to enjoy each other,” he said when he could speak. He watched her carefully, waiting to see if she’d respond to his unspoken question.

And she did, the comprehending light in her eyes nearly bringing him to his knees.

Her gaze flew once more to the shutters. “I hope you will show me all of those ways.”

“As you wish it,” he agreed, silently thanking Kendrick for acquiring the shutters.

She need never know how much he and his other brothers had ribbed Kendrick about his choice.

“Aye, lass, so it shall be,” he said again, just because it pleased him. “There is naught I would deny you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Y
ou did say there was naught you’d deny me.”

Jamie’s words came back to haunt him just a few days later. In fine Highland tradition, he put back his shoulders and folded his arms, determined to maintain his dignity. Even so, he couldn’t quite keep his lips from twitching and only the solemnity of the day kept him from laughing out loud.

That, and the great press of kinsmen and friends crowding Baldreagan’s bailey.

“Naught, you said,” his lady reminded him.

Jamie gave a noncommittal
humph
.

He should have known better than to trust a woman with such a broad and all-encompassing statement.

Aveline Matheson included.

Nay, her in especial.

Blessedly, she’d leaned close, pitching her voice soft and low so that only he could hear her. Still, knowing what sharp ears the MacKenzie lasses possessed, he was quite sure they’d heard her, too.

Likewise their puissant father’s hovering, ever-present guardsmen, however busy they were dashing about with travel coffers and all the other goods the Black Stag’s cosseted daughters deemed essential to their well-being. Jamie’s own da had surely heard as well, along with Morag and anyone else who’d gathered to bid farewell and good journeying to Baldreagan’s departing guests.