In Bed With A Stranger(13)

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."