Border Fire(33)

At last he carried the tray to the bed, and she shifted her legs so that he could set it on the counterpane, which was something she never would have allowed at Brackengill. What civilized person ate in bed? But she said not a word until he handed her a thick slab of bread with a warm slice of rare beef atop it. Then, with deep sincerity, she said, "Thank you."

While she nibbled, trying to keep crumbs from falling into the bed, she watched him cut another slice of beef into strips. He popped these into his mouth, one at a time, chewing while he swabbed up beef drippings from the platter with a slice of bread as thick as the one he had given her. Plainly, he was hungry, too.

When she had finished her bread and beef, he took the tray away and set it on a chest near the fireplace. Snuffing the candles, he came back to bed. Already it was dark outside, but the fire cast a flickering orange-gold glow over the bedchamber, and when he climbed into bed, he left the curtains open.

"I want to see you," he murmured, sliding under the coverlets beside her. "Take off your smock."

Daringly, she said, "I thought you were to act the handmaiden, sir."

"Does your maid take off your smock?"

"If I tell her that she must, she does."

He chuckled again, pleasing her, for she had meant to make him laugh. She was coming to know him better, and that pleased her, too. When he reached for her smock, though, she found it awkward to keep changing position to let him take it off, and so she helped, sitting up while he pulled it off over her head. When she moved to lie back again, however, he stopped her with a hand on her upper arm.

"Don't move. I want to feast my eyes. Jenny lass, you have beautiful breasts. I begin to think that I have won a great prize in you." Bending his head, he kissed the soft rise of her left breast, making her gasp.

While her attention was focused on his moving lips, his right hand cupped her breast, startling her again, but when his thumb brushed across its nipple, she inhaled sharply, amazed by sensations stronger than any she had felt before. She wanted to touch him. Tentatively she moved her hand to stroke his bare shoulder, surprised at how warm it felt. Curious now, she stroked his arm, feeling its muscles tense beneath her fingers.

"Your hands are soft and warm," he said. "Mine are not too cold, are they?"

"No." The whispered word was barely audible.

"Ah, lassie, I think that I am going to enjoy marriage after all. Lie back now, and let me pleasure you."

Inhaling deeply, hoping to calm her fluttering nerves, she obeyed.





Chapter 12


"If foes but kenn'd the hand it bare,

They soon had fled for fear."

QUIN MARVELED AT THE softness of her skin. Her breasts were firm, high, and plump, her waist so tiny, yet her hips wide and womanly. She would bear children well, and he had a yearning to see those children. They would have sons-a dozen sons-and all strong, fine men of whom a father and mother could be proud. It was easy to imagine this bonny lass a mother of strong sons and beautiful daughters.

She lay naked beneath him, the glow from the firelight dancing on her skin. Her eyes were wide, and he knew that she remained wary of what lay ahead. It was a pity that she'd had no mother to prepare her for marriage, that she had not thought to ask Margaret, or that Margaret had not realized she needed teaching. At the same time, he was glad that he would teach her, that she would learn from no one else.   





 

His body ached for her. The temptation to make her his at once was almost overwhelming, but he feared hurting her. He admired her pride, the way she held her head high and looked men in the eye. Most Englishwomen of his acquaintance behaved more submissively. They kept their eyes downcast, their words soft and gentle. They seemed obedient. They were not all alike, though, for people were different everywhere, and a man who behaved gently one day could be anything but gentle the next. Surely, it was the same with women.

Still and all, Scotswomen of his acquaintance seemed different from Englishwomen. Their tongues were sharper, and they seemed more likely to speak their minds. Shrewdly, he realized that he was thinking of women in his family, and he knew that Margaret Scott spoke more sharply to Buccleuch when they were amidst kinsmen than she did when others were about. Perhaps that was all it was.

Yet Janet Graham had spoken sharply to him from the first. Was it because she had seen him as a captive and thus an inferior? Surely her manner toward him would mend now that she was his wife. Perhaps, like Margaret, she would speak frankly now only when they were alone or with close kinsmen, and would behave with proper, dutiful submission when others were about.

Impulsively, he said, "You sometimes remind me of my mother."

"Do I?" Her eyes seemed wider, larger than ever. "How so, sir?"

"When my father was still alive, she often spoke her mind to him. He told me that once when she thought there would not be enough food to last the household through the winter, she served his spurs to him on a platter."

"Godamercy, she cannot have expected him to eat them!"

"Nay, she expected him to put them on and go a-raiding. For years, our meat was nearly all English bred. In those days, our wealth, like Buccleuch's, lay not in gold so much as in the livestock we owned. That is a common state of affairs in the Scottish Borders, because men fear to plant or even cultivate their land. They believe the English have only to learn of a plowed field to raise an army of raiders."

"Well, you have outwitted the English, sir, for you have taken one to wife, but if you think that I shall ever serve your spurs to you for supper, you are mistaken. As I said before, your raiding days must stop. Surely, if both King James and Queen Elizabeth want peace, and if the two countries will become one when Elizabeth dies, you can begin to cultivate crops without fearing destruction."

"Can I, lass? Do you think your brother means to leave me in peace?"

She frowned.

"Your silence is answer enough," he said. "Sir Hugh will not forgive me for marrying you, or you for marrying me."

"Perhaps he will not."

Her sad tone surprised him. "I thought you did not like him," he said.

"Whatever gave you such a notion? Hugh is my brother, my only close kin, and I love him. We do not always agree, certainly, but we are siblings, sir, and it is human nature for siblings to disagree. I shall miss him fiercely."

"Then we must see if we can mend matters sufficiently to put you on speaking terms again," he said with a smile. "We will think about that tomorrow."

She smiled. "Tomorrow?"

"Aye, because now I want to think only about making you mine."

"You keep making me sound like property," she complained.

"Aye, well, perhaps it is so. How else would you describe a man's wife?"

"She is more important than his cows, I hope!"

Smiling, he touched a finger to the tip of one breast, making her gasp again. Wanting to demonstrate how easily he could stir her, he bent his head and took the nipple in his mouth.

She seemed to have stopped breathing.

He moved one hand, palm down, over her belly and lower to touch the soft curls at the juncture of her thighs. Tickling first the curls and then the opening they concealed, he inserted a finger and felt her stiffen, then relax when her body began to respond to his caresses.

She was ready for him, but he teased her a little more, until he heard her moan with pleasure. Then, shifting so that he could touch his lips to hers, he kissed her gently, then more possessively, exploring her mouth with his tongue while his fingers remained busy below. She stirred, stretched, and moaned more. Her hands clutched him, uncertainly at first and then with more confidence.

When at last he believed that she was aching for him almost as fiercely as he ached for her; he took her swiftly, knowing there was little he could do to protect her from the pain of that first time. He was sorry when she cried out but stifled the sound quickly with more kisses while he reached his own climax. Then, sated, he relaxed and held her close. Kissing her gently, he murmured, "It will not always hurt, lassie, I promise. Next time will be more pleasant for you."   





 

"Will it?" The lazy, contented look in her eyes surprised him. She stretched a little, and when he shifted so that her head lay against his shoulder, she turned her face toward him and smiled. "I thought it would be dreadful," she said softly, "but it was not. I think I might grow to like marriage, a bit."

He chuckled, kissing her lightly. "Do you, indeed?"

"Aye," she said.

He shut his eyes, and the next thing he knew, it was morning. When he awoke, she was curled like a kitten beside him, and he thought he could even hear her purring. It took a moment to realize that the purring came from behind him, and a moment longer to realize that a warm, furry body was stretched alongside his bare back, underneath the coverlet.

Kissing his wife's bare shoulder, he murmured, "Please do not tell me that your cat always sleeps under the covers with you."

"Of course not," she said, turning to look at him. "He sleeps at the foot of my bed at home but never under the coverlet."

"Well, he is under it now," he said. "His fur is tickling my backside."

She chuckled and turned over to face him, discovering as he had hoped she would that he was hungry for her again. Without another thought for the cat, he moved over her, taking care to move gently. Her lips tightened, telling him that she still ached a bit from the night before, but then they relaxed and her body welcomed his. He took his time, enjoying her increasing pleasure as much as his own, and when it was over, they both lay back, feeling pleasantly drained, and slept again.