Tempt Me With Kisses (14 page)

And that it pleased him.

She would have backed up if she had had anywhere to go other than out the window.

“My imaginings fell short,” he said as he came farther into the room.

I don’t think mine will
.

His utterly masculine presence made her very aware that her bodice was untied. One gentle tug, and it would fall, exposing her body clad only in her very thin silken shift.

She struggled to be calm, or at least look it. “What are you doing here, my lord?”

Passionate heat seemed to shoot out of his sapphire blue eyes, catching her directly. “I came to fetch my bride.”

Her mouth dried. It wasn’t fair that one simple statement and a pair of blue eyes could have such an effect on her, and her whole body. It was as if every muscle clenched, including those in her toes.

She must be serene.
Act
serene. “I am not quite prepared.”

“No?” he asked, his eyes seeming to shine even more. “May I help?”

Only if you want to see me swoon
.

Despite her efforts to be calm, a hot blush crept up her face. “My bodice needs to be tied.”

“Turn around.”

Swooning was a definite possibility.

Telling herself not to be so silly, or inflamed, Fiona slowly turned so that her back was to Caradoc, her future husband, who was going to marry her this day, and that night make love to her in the bed she could see out of the corner of her eye.

Not now. Of course not now.

Still trying to be calm, she swallowed hard when his hands pulled the lacing tighter at the back of her gown. His breath warmed the bare nape of her neck and his knuckles brushed her flesh.

Deciding to take a chance on a forgotten dream seemed like a simple thing compared to having to act as if his presence and touch did not affect her as it did.

But only until tonight. After the marriage was consummated, she wouldn’t have to act the ignorant virgin bride. Then he would not wonder why she was not, or demand to know about her past.

When he was finished, he did not step away. For what seemed an eternity, as her breathing became erratic and her whole body tensed with anticipation as if she were being pulled from above and below, he simply stood behind her.

Then his strong hands took hold of her upper arms and his lips brushed across the back of her neck.

Oh, sweet merciful Mary
!

If that could make her feel this way, what thrilling wonder would the wedding night hold?

His mouth slid lower, to the edge of her gown. Delightful waves of pleasure washed along her spine, all the way to the soles of her feet.

Ignoring her blossoming need became a Herculean task when his lips found the slope of her neck where it joined her shoulder. With exquisite, torturous leisure he feathered the tiniest of kisses there as with equal slowness he drew her back so that her body was flush against his.

He was as aroused as she.

She stepped forward, out of his grasp, away from his lips and his kiss, and the sensation of his mouth on her warm and willing flesh.

She forced herself to speak. “You are too forward, my lord. I am not yet your wife.”

She turned to face him and saw the blatant desire still lingering in his face.

She wished she could tell him how he thrilled and aroused her. She wished she could confess all that she had done so that there was no secret between them forcing her to act contrary to the heated longings of her heart and her body.

Yet caution held her tongue. When they were safely wed, then she would gladly give in to the passion he aroused, and she would rouse an even greater passion within him. She must, certainly for the first night. She had to distract him so that some things would pass unnoticed.

“Forgive me,” he murmured.

She hated this ruse she was perpetuating. She hated Iain for making it necessary.

She hated herself for having been so gullible.

Wherever the blame lay for this deception, it did not lie with Caradoc.

“You were too forward,” she admitted with a small, shy smile, “but I liked it. I fear you could seduce me here and now with very little effort.”

That was as true a thing as she had ever said, even if her choice of words belied the overwhelming hunger and desire he inspired within her.

“That is an effort I am willing to make,” he said, his voice low and husky.

He didn’t have to make an effort. He was seducing her right now, just standing there and looking at her. Iain had cajoled and pleaded and begged at the last, until she had finally given in. Caradoc needed to do none of that.

Feet came pounding up the stairs and in the next moment, male voices muttered in loud whispers outside the door.

“What is it?” Fiona asked nervously, moving back to the window’s edge.

Caradoc ran his hand through his hair, mussing the smooth waves. “My friends have already been into the ale. Maybe the
braggot
, too.”

Fiona had heard of
braggot
, a potent Welsh blend of mead and ale. The voices did sound rather the worse for drink, and the men obviously believed they were whispering. If so, it was a whisper that could be heard across the courtyard.

“If they’ve been drinking
braggot
, they’ll pay for it tomorrow,” Caradoc noted without so much as a hint of sympathy.

She had heard that, too—that the resulting sickness from drinking too much of that brew was misery itself because it was so sweet. “Why are they here?”

“It’s the bidding. They’ve come to escort us to the wedding.”

Fiona wasn’t delighted by the prospect of an escort of drunken men, but these were Caradoc’s friends and countrymen, so she held her tongue about that. “Are you not going to open the door?”

“Not yet.”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“They are supposed to sing a verse of a song that they’ve made up,” he explained, “about us or our wedding or some such thing. Then I am supposed to sing back. Then they will answer with another verse, and so on.”

“For how long?”

“Until they’ve run out of verses.”

“How many are there?”

“It depends how many they’ve made up.” He shrugged. “It’s a custom.”

If it was a custom, she didn’t dare to question it.

He swore softly. “I hate singing.”

Shocked, she stared at him. “But you’re Welsh.”

“Not every Welshman can sing.”

“You have a lovely speaking voice.”
That alone could seduce a woman
.

He did not appear to appreciate the compliment. “I am…” He gestured at his ear, seemingly searching for an explanation. “If it’s just a chant you want, I can do that, but anything more, I can’t get the proper pitch.”

She could imagine how humiliating that must be in a country whose people prided themselves on their musical ability. She had heard that Lord Rhys was so proud of Welsh accomplishments in music and poetry, he had started a competition called an
Eisteddfod
, awarding honors and prizes for music and poetry, too.

“Oh, hail the bride and groom within,” Dafydd suddenly sang in a very pleasant, mellow tenor, slightly muffled by the door. “We come to give you joy, and you must answer—
What
?” he demanded peevishly, interrupting himself. “That’s what we said. Bran-Bron came up with that line, and me the next.”

An unintelligible mumble followed.

“Don’t tell me what I said. I know full well it was about him…” Dafydd’s voice became incoherent, and it was clear from the harsh whispers that they were arguing.

Caradoc put his arm around her shoulders in a companionable gesture that delighted her. “Thank God, they’re so drunk, they’ll never remember the verses, and I won’t have to sing. Now I’ll send them on their way, or we’ll be here all day.” He raised his voice. “Since you louts have no song or subtlety, leave it and wait for us in the hall.”

“Caradoc!” Jon-Bron called.

“What?” he bellowed back.

“Not fair, that,” Jon-Bron loudly slurred. “We’ve got some fine verses all ready here. Took us all night. Give us a little time, will you? If Dafydd would quit being so stubborn about it—”

“I’m not stubborn. I’m right, that’s all.”

Caradoc gave Fiona a wry, long-suffering look that brought a sympathetic smile to her face. “Who is guarding my castle, Jon-Bron?”

“Oh, you know. Some of the lads.”

“Leave me alone, you men. I am busy with my bride and we don’t wish to be disturbed for a little while yet.” He bussed Fiona’s cheek with a hearty smack. “I hope they heard that. Then maybe they’ll leave us in peace.”

“Do you really want them to go?”

“Don’t you?”

If he didn’t want such an escort, that was all she needed to hear. A plan presented itself, and she acted upon it at once.

“It sounds as if they are right up against the door,” she whispered, taking his hand and pulling him until they stood close to the door, yet far enough away that it wouldn’t hit them when it opened.

Turning him to face her, she reached out with one hand and pushed down on the latch. The next moment, without one word of warning, she threw her arms around Caradoc, pressed her body against his and kissed him passionately.

The door swung open and the men all gasped as one.

She scarcely heard them as Caradoc’s mouth moved with incredible, wonderful leisure over hers. His lips seemed to tease and cajole, promise and deliver at the same time. Her whole body softened, limp with desire, in a way that was certainly not planned or feigned.

Caradoc broke their kiss and if he hadn’t been holding her in his powerful arms, she would have wobbled.

Still holding her, he looked at his friends, who were staring wide-eyed and openmouthed. He raised one brow. “
Now
will you leave?”

“Sorry, Caradoc, sorry!” Dafydd muttered, stumbling back and nearly knocking Bran-Bron over.

Caradoc caressed her back, the sensation of his broad hands on her body promising even more than his lips.

“I will see you below,” he said to his friends. “Is Father Rhodri here yet?”

“Aye, aye, he is.”

“Good. Good-bye.”

Caradoc put his hand on the door and gave a slight shove. It swung slowly back, but didn’t latch, so they could clearly hear the noise of several pairs of feet stumbling drunkenly down the stairs.

Caradoc pulled her close again and looked down into her upturned face. “Interesting plan.”

She wanted to kiss him, but she restrained herself. She dare not be any bolder until after the wedding night, she told herself.

Then, as she continued to look at his shapely lips, she decided she could tease and cajole a
little
. “I thought so.”

“They’re probably telling everybody about our amazing passion,” he said, his deep voice low and amused.

Unfortunately, his comment did not amuse her, for suddenly her clever plan didn’t seem so very clever. She could easily imagine what condemning things Ganore and Cordelia would say, and passion or anything other than base lust would not enter into it.

He inched closer so that she could feel his hips and thighs against her. “No need to look so worried. I will take the blame, if blame there be. And now those men will all think twice about why I am marrying you.”

She felt a little better, and then her dread was forgotten as he bent his head to kiss her again.

Just as his lips met hers, the door swung open. Rhonwen stood there, a bucket of water in her hands.

“Oh!” she squeaked, and the bucket fell to the floor, spilling its contents across the threshold.

“I’m so sorry!” the little maid cried, her face bright red. “I’ll… I’ll get a cloth to wipe it up,” she spluttered before she turned and ran away.

“Stranded by a flood,” Caradoc remarked with astonishing aplomb, while she felt as if the very floor beneath her was starting to give way.

His lips slowly, seductively, curved up into a smile. “What shall we do until we are rescued?”

At least a dozen ideas burst into her brain, each one more exciting than the last.

But practicality—or at least the reminder that some people would dearly love to find fault with her—forced her to lock those ideas away. For the time being.

“I think if we stay up here alone any longer, my reputation will be in complete tatters,” she observed, successfully sounding much cooler than she felt.

“Aye, that could well be,” he agreed. “Then I suppose we should go and get married.”

The next thing Fiona knew, he had put one arm around her shoulder, another under her knees, and picked her up.

She threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying you over the threshold. Backwards, I know, but you don’t want to get your gown wet, do you?”

Since she didn’t, she let him carry her through the puddle and out the door, but once they were past that obstacle, she tried to wiggle out of his arms. “I would prefer to walk.”

He only held her tighter. “I won’t drop you.”

“It’s not that. This isn’t very dignified, and Ganore will probably start a rumor that I am too feeble to walk.”

“Ah, you may be right. Later on, I may not be so dignified, but for now, I will.”

He set her down, letting her slip along his body in a way that sent new waves of desire unfurling through her.

With great effort, she managed not to kiss him.

He held out his arm to escort her. “And I wouldn’t want anybody to think there’s anything wrong with your legs.”

Nervously twisting the silken coverlet in her fingers, Fiona glanced again at the single candle burning in the stand. She had blown out the others just before she had gotten into bed. How long ago that had been she could measure by the difference between them, and the candle still flickering.

Caradoc had said he didn’t intend to linger after the wedding feast, but that had been before the dowry wine had been served. From below, she could hear the sounds of men’s voices raised in song, and she had to admit he was right about his singing. His voice was the tuneless drone.

At least they were married—or at least partly. They wouldn’t be considered irrevocably wed until the marriage was consummated.