He didn't give a damn about a midwife's inspection. But it was the custom and he'd be acting like an uncivilized ruffian to refuse her request for tradition to be honored.
"Join the others. Now."
She pulled in a harsh breath, clearly annoyed with his tone. But she kept her lips sealed and even lowered her head slightly before turning and climbing to the top of the hill. Brodick remained where he was, taking a moment to fill his chest with the night air. It didn't do much to cool his blood.
But that wasn't something to lament. Or so most of his fellow noblemen would say. Having a hard cock for your wife was surely the least of worries considering how ill matched most noble union s were.
He shrugged as his own thoughts failed to fend off a sour disposition. His cock was hard and he wasn't in the mood to be placated by counting his blessings.
What he wanted was to investigate just how much more passion was locked up inside his English bride. That damned face veil had hidden quite the surprise. Her unpainted face was like discovering ripe strawberries in the dead of winter. Her kiss was just as sweet as those same tempting fruits. Letting her go was a test of his discipline and he'd come very close to failing it.
Still … it was a fine feeling indeed to know that he craved his wife. Even if his cock was throbbing and bound to ache for the next hour, at least he wouldn't have to worry about how he was going to breed her. Too many grooms made wedding contracts that benefited their people but ended up with limp cocks when they got a look at their brides.
His was standing stiffly at attention, eager for the consummation.
He chuckled as he began moving toward his men.
Well now, it was a surprise that he was going to enjoy full well.
That it was.
She'd never guessed that a man might feel so good pressing up against her, never even considered such an idea since she was forbidden lovers. It was like discovering a hidden treasure of feelings locked deep inside her.
Anne snorted.
'Twas more like stumbling across Pandora's box. Keeping everything inside was the best course of action. Failing to do that might seal her fate.
Still, she couldn't quite banish the memory from her thoughts. Maybe that proved Philipa correct; she was like her mother.
A wanton.
She scowled, grateful for the darkness. Her mother loved her father. It was a curse, that emotion. Love wasn't a wise choice for anyone. It drove men insane and drew women away from their families. Many doctors labeled it an affliction similar to insanity.
She couldn't think of her mother as deranged or her siblings as the product of insanity. There had to be more to it, something that was yet to be understood. It was the age of understanding after all. Men were sailing the ocean and bringing back tales of new lands inhabited by savages.
She should be able to resist the longings twisting her belly. Every inch of her skin was alive with heightened sensation. She was keenly aware of how soft the fine chemise was against her. For the first time in her life, she detested her stays. They felt too tight against her swollen breasts.
Lust …
She lifted a hand to cover her mouth, her breath lodging in her throat. Arousal was nipping along her body, flowing through her blood like a slow-acting poison. Being a virgin didn't mean she was ignorant. She knew the realities of the marriage bed, and had since she was half grown. But lust was another matter altogether. It led many a woman to ill consequences.
So why did it feel so good?
She should be able to ignore the tingling in her breasts. Banish from her mind the memory of the way it felt to be held against his body. Instead the sensation persisted, dancing through her mind like fairies intent on leading her into the forest where she would dance forever.
Supper was a quiet affair. The night closed around them, the fire a welcome friend. More oat cakes were offered to her, their dry texture making her grateful for the full skin of water. She shivered as the wind whipped through their campsite. Most of the men had buttoned their doublets now, including the sleeves. They pulled part of their kilts loose, wrapping the wool around their bodies to keep warm. As far as practicality went, she was beginning to understand why they wore kilts. The Celtic standard dress required no sewing and could be adjusted for warm or cold weather. All-in-all a rather ingenious way of dressing.
"You'll be wanting this tonight, ma'am."
The thick cloak that she'd spent last night huddled in was offered up by another man. This one considered her with dark eyes. She took the cloak and he tugged the corner of his knitted bonnet in respect.
"I'm called Druce and we're cousins now by yer marriage." He watched her wrap the cloak around her shoulders, his expression pensive. "On account of yer husband's father and mine were brothers."
So he was a noble-blooded man as well, yet still riding with the rest of the men without any finery to set him apart. She found the lack of arrogance in her escort a refreshing change. Each man earning respect instead of expecting it because of who his father was. They were every bit as strong and capable as their retainers.
She found it quite admirable.
Possibly too much so, because she was battling the urge to like them. As a people, she found the Celtic men more appealing than she had ever thought she might.
"Thank you."
"No need to fret about sleeping out in the open. There'll be a good watch posted. Scotland isnae as wild as you might have been led to believe."
"I have faith in my father's judgment."
Druce offered her a grin. "That's the way to think of it. You're a good daughter to trust yer sire. He's nae sent yer off with barbarians, no matter what ye may have heard."
Her cheeks warmed slightly. "Well … gossip should not be believed. It is rarely true."
He chuckled at her. Druce pointed towards the ground. "Ye'll want to settle in and get some sleep. Brodick will have us up at dawn. Mark my words."
All that much better for getting me to his bed.
Her thoughts were sordid. She laid the blame on Brodick. Before he'd touched her she'd never known lust. Now it wove along her bloodstream like wine, diluting her better sense.
She walked over a spot a few times, feeling for stones with her feet. She kicked a few of them out of the way before lying down, using the cloak to shield her from the dirt.
There was the sound of metal being drawn and she sat up, her heart freezing. The flicker of the campfire flashed off the blade of the earl's sword. He held the thick handle in one hand while untying the strap that held the scabbard to his back. It came free and he replaced his weapon in the protective leather before taking a last look around. He was deadly serious as he noted each of his men before nodding approval. He turned, aiming his attention toward her. Anne was suddenly grateful for the deep hood of the cloak; it gave her means of shielding herself from his probing eyes. His lips were pressed tight as he sat down next to her.
Too close to her.
He placed his sword on his right side before jerking his kilt up to cover his back.
"Relax, wife. It is the normal custom for married couples to sleep alongside one another. I don't see why ye're so tense considering yer fondness for traditions."
His lips twitched and she shot a glare at him that she didn't even care if he disliked it or not. His humor was misplaced.
Brodick lay down but rolled onto his side facing her. He propped an elbow against the ground and let his jaw rest in his hand. He lifted a dark eyebrow before using his free hand to pat the dirt next to his large body.
"Come lay by me, Wife." Thick amusement coated his voice as his lips twitched again. He patted the ground, taunting her reluctance. His brogue had thickened and mischief sparkled in his eyes.
"Unless I frighten ye too badly."
She lay back, shutting her eyes to ignore him. He chuckled at her and the sound ruffled her pride. She lost her will to keep her eyes closed.
"You think too much of yourself, my lord. You are but a man, no different from many, many others."
She kept her voice low but he heard her. Instead of taking offense at her insult, he grinned. He reached across her body, keeping her shoulders pinned to the ground as he leaned close to her face, hovering above her lips. Tense anticipation tightened around her as she felt the brush of his breath on the delicate skin of her lips.
"It will be my pleasure to introduce ye to the differences, lass." He pressed a firm kiss against her mouth. It was hard and inescapable, his chest keeping her in place as his mouth took what he wanted from her.
But it felt good. The kiss blew against the coals of the passion he'd sparked in her by the river. When he lifted his lips away, her breath was uneven.
"I'm looking forward to being in a more private place tomorrow night. There be a world o' difference between knowing the men around ye and knowing a husband."