Authors: Margaret Moore
"Even if your explanation was accepted and you were absolved of murder, what of Eleanor? I don't know who would become her guardian then. Do you? Can you promise me she would be any safer?"
He lowered his weapon, and she watched as he seemed to physically contain his anger. "Then what, my lady, do you suggest?"
She forced herself to answer without regard for her own selfish desire, her longing for something that could never be. "You should marry Eleanor. That way, she'll be free of Percival forever, and you'll have what you seek in a bride. She'll bring you a considerable dowry and Percival's influence."
A strange expression flickered across his face, or perhaps it was only a trick of the light. "She's young and pretty, too."
She wouldn't let him see how those words hurt her. "Yes, she is. And a better choice than any of the other ladies here."
"Really?" he inquired, his temper clearly once more under his control. "Better than Joscelind?"
"Yes, because she'll make a better wife."
"Certainly she'd be a more placid one," he agreed. "But I might offend Lord Chesleigh."
"That was the chance you took when you issued your invitation —that you might offend the ladies and relatives of those you didn't choose. You must have considered that possibility."
"Yes, I did, and I believe I'll be able to placate Lord Chesleigh if I select someone other than his daughter."
She should have expected no less. Clearly everything he did was cold and calculated, determined by ambition and his own needs.
"Are none of the other ladies remaining here to be considered?" he inquired.
"I don't believe any of the other ladies are in the race, even if they're still in Dunkeathe."
"Oh? And upon what evidence do you base that conclusion? Are you able to read minds?"
"Because you're not stupid—or is the budding romance between Audric and Lavinia something you hadn't noticed?"
"Yes, I noticed, because I am not stupid."
"And I'm sure you have a reason for encouraging their romance."
He inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"That leaves Lady Priscilla and her giggle. I can hardly believe you'd pick her. I've seen you when she laughs."
"As it happens, I concur." He laid his sword back on the chest. "That also leaves you, my lady."
Was he trying to hurt her? "I don't forget, my lord, that I'm here only to prevent the Scots from complaining."
"That was before you entered my bedchamber wearing that seductive gown," he said as he strolled toward her. "Maybe you thought to trick me into marriage."
"I most certainly did not," she said as she backed away, appalled by the suggestion. "I don't want to marry you."
"I'm heartbroken."
At his callous response, her anger and frustration surged forth. "Go ahead, my lord, make fun of me," she said through clenched teeth, her back straight, eyes blazing. "Treat me with the same lack of consideration you've shown to all the ladies here."
His brows rose. "I've been very considerate."
"And magnanimous, too," she sarcastically retorted. "Inviting them here to parade before you as if you're a prize bull."
"I haven't done anything except say I want a wife and offer to choose one from those willing to make the journey to Dunkeathe."
"Are you really so blind that you don't see what you've done? That you don't appreciate the trouble you've brought to Eleanor? Or the strain you've placed upon all of the ladies as they compare themselves to each other? Did you ever consider how hurt they would be when they realized that they didn't please you, or that they couldn't compete with Joscelind or Eleanor—or even, apparently, with Priscilla?"
"It was not my intent to hurt any lady's feelings. All I want is a wife." He put his hands on his hips, the action widening the gap in his shirt, exposing more of his naked chest. "If they suffer because they don't suit me, that's not my fault."
"What a convenient excuse that is."
"What else would you have me do?" he charged, a hint of pique in his deep voice.
"That's not for me to say."
"Oh, don't try playing the coy maiden with me now, my lady!" he said. "I know you better."
"Or think you do."
"As you seem to think you know me, and that I'm some sort of lascivious scoundrel who would make love with a woman just because she has the audacity to present herself in my bedchamber." He ran his gaze over her again. "Even when she arrives in a gown like that." His expression shifted. "Even if I might be sorely tempted."
As her heart started to pound, as she grew more aware of his proximity and his state of undress, she licked her dry lips and sidled toward the door. "If I believe you would do such a thing, it's because I have good cause."
"Because I kissed you."
"Aye, because you kissed me more than once—a woman you would never seriously consider for your bride."
"A woman I can Y consider for my bride." He ran his hand through his hair and spoke with exasperation, as well as fierce pride. "Because I was born into a noble family that lost their wealth, and had to fight for everything I've got. I'm not like the other nobles here, born into wealth and privilege, a life of ease and comfort. I had to earn my money, and nearly everything I won went to pay for the care of my brother and sister. I had promised my dying mother I would take care of them, and I would die myself rather than break that oath. There were days I was soaked through from rain, and nearly starving for lack of bread, yet by the grace of God, I was able to live and succeed, to keep my family in some comfort and eventually win this land, as well as enough money to build my castle. I built the fortress I had always dreamed of, where I would be safe and secure and content. I spent nearly
everything
I had on it, believing I had yet enough to pay for the household and taxes for a few years yet, and if I chose to marry, I could do so at my leisure.
"But I hadn't reckoned on the Scots king deciding he needed more money for his army. Alexander's increased the taxes on my estate threefold, and I have little left. I must marry a woman with a large dowry, or I'll lose Dunkeathe. I'll be a penniless mercenary again."
His expression changed, to one searching, almost...desperate. "Can you understand why I can't let that happen, Riona? Can you appreciate that I've worked too hard to earn this reward and create this refuge to lose it now? If I did, it will be as if I've done nothing. Am nothing."
She heard the anguish in his voice, saw it in his dark eyes. This man, this proud warrior from a noble family, was revealing himself to her as he likely did to few, if any. His fear, his vulnerability, his loneliness and suffering, were being shown to her here, in all their humbling power.
Now she could see him as a frightened boy, beaten by a hardened soldier who tried to destroy all that was good and kind in
him. She could envision him as the young knight worried about his family and desperately trying to
fulfill
a dying mother's promise.
She could see Nicholas as he must have been but a few months ago, when he finally thought he'd achieved everything he'd ever wanted. How pleased and satisfied, how content and proud. And then word had come from the king and he realized he might lose it all with one signature on a parchment.
He was no falsely proud, arrogant knight who had no right to respect and
honour
, but a man alone and lonely, vulnerable and afraid, who had kept his promise. At that realization, the feelings she'd been trying so hard to deny, to explain away, to pretend didn't exist, arose stronger than ever.
"I do understand, Nicholas," she answered softly. Sincerely. She raised her hand to caress his rough, stub-bled cheek. "This estate, this castle, is your triumph and your glory, your hope and prize combined. I wish with all my heart that my dowry was enormous and my uncle the most powerful man in this kingdom, because if he was, I would do everything I could to win you and ensure that you could keep what you've worked so hard to earn."
Then, as he stared at her as if he couldn't fathom what she was saying, or doing, she brought him close and kissed him. Her passion and her longing surged forth, free and unbound. No longer would she try to rein them in. She would never be rich. Her family would never have power. But now, here, tonight, she could love him with all her woman's need and woman's heart, even if it couldn't be sanctified by marriage.
Morality, virtue,
honour
, scandal, shame, fear for the future— nothing mattered except him. He was all in all. No more would she deny herself the pleasure of being in his arms. She would willingly surrender.
With a low moan, Nicholas clasped her to him and his passion answered her own, fervent and strong, as he deepened the kiss. His tongue plunged into the warmth of her mouth, to swirl and twine with hers. He sidled nearer, pressing her firmly against his powerful body. His powerfully aroused body.
He was hungry for her, as she was for him. He, who surely could have any woman he wanted, wanted her.
As her lips moved hungrily over his, demanding the response that she craved, he kneaded her breast, exciting her yet more as her whole body seemed to weaken from the sensation.
He tried to slip his hand into her bodice. The gown was too dght, and the straining laces broke. She didn't care, and when the neck gaped and he plunged his warm hand inside, she welcomed his caress. His palm brushed against her flesh, lightly skimming her nipple. His hand was rough and callused—a man's hand, a warrior's hand—but never had a touch felt better, or more welcome. She moaned softly, quietly encouraging him,
until
he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Holding her gaping bodice to her breasts, she shifted back, not taking her eyes from him. He tore off his shirt, then his boots, tossing them aside. Then he removed his breeches.
He was naked before her, magnificent in the moonlight, and hers to love, at least for tonight.
Standing, she let the gown fall, exposing her body to his hungry gaze.
"You're so
beautiful
," he murmured, his eyes flaring with desire, and she saw in them the
confirmation
that he didn't think she was too old or not pretty enough, or too much the shrew. He appreciated her just as she was. He desired her, just as she was.
Excited, aroused, she eagerly climbed onto the bed and lay down, then raised her arms to welcome h
im as, with slow, deliberate motio
ns and a look that made her heartbeat race, he followed her onto the bed. He settled himself between her legs, his hips against hers, and she felt him, hard and ready. She was ready, too, and moist and anxious, as she pulled him to her, taking his mouth again with heated
fervour
.
Her passion soared, her longing increased. Her pulse throbbed, and nowhere more than where his erection pressed against her. She clasped her arms about him and kissed his chest, the skin salty as her lips touched and teased. When she found his nipple, she toyed with it with her tongue. He threw back his head and groaned, the sound like the growl of a lion, spurring her on.
With anxious need, her hands roved over him, feeling the shifting, bunching muscles of his back, admiring the power of his virile body. His hand slid smoothly along her ribs, and upward, to cup her breast while his lips trailed low and lower, along the
beating pulse of her neck, past her collarbone, skimming her warm flesh.
Then he sucked her nipple into his mouth. Moaning, whimpering with want, she twisted with the sheer pleasure he inspired. As he did the same to the other, she arched, eagerly offering herself to him.
Keeping his weight on one hand, his palm crept up her leg, closer and closer to the place where the heat seemed hottest, the demand greatest.
Gasping, she gripped his upper arms as he reached the moist place between her thighs. He pushed
slightly
with the heel of his hand, the pressure increasing her pleasure and her willingness.
Leaning down closer, his chest against her breasts, he pushed again.
"More," she gasped, no other word coming to her mind.
He shifted. Moved back. She wondered—
He licked her. There.
Her eyes flew open and she raised her head. But only for a moment, because as he continued to arouse her, she fell back. She bunched the covers in her fist as his sinuous tongue took her to new realms of excitement and desire, until the building tension broke and splintered and scattered.
As she lay panting, she vaguely wondered what happened next. If that was all he intended to do. If she should speak....
He raised himself above her—the powerful, virile lord of Dunkeathe. His breath came in rough rasps as he looked down at her, his
dishevelled
hair about his face and broad shoulders. "Riona, if you want me to stop..."
She shook her head.
"You know where this will lead?" he whispered hoarsely. "Where I want to go?"
She nodded. Her decision had been made when she kissed him in this chamber. "I want you to make love with me, Nicholas. Please."