Читать книгу Taming the Highlander - Terri Brisbin - Страница 11

Chapter Four

“I do not know what to do.”

Horrified that she’d let the words escape her mouth, Jocelyn stepped away from him. His size and strength and nearness unnerved her in so many ways and she needed some distance to keep her fears under control. That he allowed her to move from his grasp surprised her. Once a few paces away, she turned back to look at him.

“I would not expect it of you, lady. Someone who had never milked a cow or slaughtered a hog would not know how to do such a task when it was asked of them.”

Taken aback that he was comparing what would happen between them to the duties of a butcher or milkmaid, Jocelyn felt her mouth drop open. He held out his hand to stop any reply she would make and took a step toward her.

“I can see the argument building within you. Is this to be the way between us in all matters, then? I say something and you contest it?” His gaze grew dark as he spoke and his expression changed from smiling to intense.

Jocelyn considered his words before speaking. It had been that way since their first meeting, then in the hall at their meal, even now. She closed her mouth and found she had no words to answer him. Oh, there was an argument within her as he’d said, but the warmth of the room and his scent crowded around her and she remembered once more what awaited her. The heat of a blush flooded her cheeks and she touched them as she felt it.

“Ah,” he said, walking now to a small table at the bed’s side. He lifted the jug of wine there and poured some into two goblets. “I suspect that the true problem here is an innocent’s fear and not a wife’s challenge to her husband.”

He turned and held one out to her, waiting for her to take it. Jocelyn crossed to him and accepted it. Wine might soothe her nerves a bit and make the rest somehow easier to allow. Not that she had a choice. Her brother’s life, even the very life of her clan, all depended on her agreement to this bargain. If she were sent home in disgrace… She nodded in acceptance of the cup and then realized that she was inadvertently agreeing with his words.

He held his goblet up and drank it down in one mouthful. Over the rim of his cup, he watched as she tilted hers to her lips and drank it down as well. The wine slid into her stomach and she felt its warmth spread out to her limbs. Mayhap more would help ease the fear she did feel? Jocelyn held out her cup.

As he poured more of the wine into her goblet, Connor looked closely at her face. A deep pink filled her cheeks and a bead of sweat trickled down her brow. Aye, the fears of the innocent. In consideration of those fears, he poured a small amount in and handed it back to her. Wine to soothe her nervousness was one thing; a puking woman in his bed was another.

Connor put his own cup down and took a step toward her. The sooner started, the sooner finished, he thought as he reached out and lifted her hair in his hands. The woman nearly stopped breathing so he waited for her to swallow the last of the very strong wine before he came closer. Her cup had just settled on the table when he grasped the belt of her robe and, tugging her closer, pulled it loose. The garment fell away revealing a thin linen gown and her lush figure.

Jocelyn stiffened at first as he slid his hands inside the robe and took hold of her hips. In spite of her stance, she was soft in all the right places and he breathed in the scent of the oil she’d used in her bathwater. She was breathing, a good thing, but she stared off into the room above his shoulder.

“Put your hands on my waist,” he said.

She startled again but met his gaze. “What?”

“You said you knew not what to do. I am telling you. Put your hands on my waist.”

He wore a plain shirt and plaid, but he could feel the heat of her touch through it. And the trembling, which he forced himself to ignore. His body, tempted by the curves so close beneath his hands, readied itself admirably for what was to come. He waited for a moment and then drew her closer, sliding his hands behind her and pressing himself against her.

Her nipples tightened, whether in fear or anticipation he knew not, and he turned her slightly, rubbing his chest over hers. The gasp that escaped left her openmouthed, but he would not touch her there. Instead he leaned in to her and kissed the edge of her chin, and then kissed along the line of her jaw until he reached her neck. When her breathing became ragged and her fingers clutched at his waist, he knew he could proceed.

Connor released her from his grasp and lifted her hair from her shoulders. He kissed her neck and her ear and wrapped her hair around his fist, turning her head for easier access to the sensitive areas he discovered. He took the edges of the robe and slipped them off her shoulders. When she let her hands drop to her side, he pushed the robe to the floor.

Whether instinctual or simply protective, Jocelyn tried to cover her breasts as his gaze moved over her from top to bottom. She most likely had no idea of what the flickering light of the candles set around the room did reveal to him. The dark triangle at the top of her thighs enticed him to reach for it, but he waited. Stepping behind her, he began again at her neck, kissing and touching with his tongue and nipping gently with his teeth.

Waiting for some sign of resistance and receiving none, Connor moved the linen of her shift away from her neck and kissed the heated skin of her shoulder. She trembled now beneath his touch and her breathing became a series of gasps as he slid his hands around her waist and up until they rested just below her breasts. She leaned back against him and he took advantage of that movement to cup her and draw her back tightly. Jocelyn’s head fell back against his chest and he suckled there, on the sensitive skin of her neck as he touched her breasts.

She’d been kissed before. Aye, she’d even allowed Ewan to touch her breasts once, but nothing that had happened between them could have prepared her for this. In spite of the lack of love or even familiarity between them, this man was teasing and tempting her body in ways she’d never imagined. Her head had fallen back on its own to rest against the hardness of his chest once he covered her breast with his hands.

The sensations that his mouth created against her skin simply intensified the tightness in her breasts and the heat between her legs. The heat and the aching between her legs. And the wetness there. His fingers now teased the tips of her breasts to a tautness she’d not felt before and he cupped her in his hands and used his thumbs over them, rubbing and rubbing until they were hard.

It made her want…something. Something more. Jocelyn waited and hoped he would reveal the more of what they did before she asked him about it. Not knowing what to do now, she twisted the fabric of her gown and held it in her fists.

His hands were moving again and she held her breath as they slid down her thighs and caught the end of her shift. He tugged it higher and higher until she felt the touch of his fingers on her bare skin. He moved one hand back up until he held her firmly against him, over her stomach and cupping her breast. The other he used to caress the skin of her thighs and she bit her lip when he touched her belly just above.

The roughness of his tunic and plaid against her naked bottom and back and the strength in his arms and chest and legs as he held her in place intrigued her, for they were so different from the touch of his hand and his fingers as they approached the place that ached now. She could almost forget that this man was a stranger to her. That she was forced by obligation and need to marry him and not Ewan.

Ewan!

It should be him touching her so. She should be giving herself in this intimate touching and joining to the man who loved her and cherished her. Not to this stranger.

Everything within her tensed as she realized that by the end of this night all of her dreams would be gone. All hopes for a marriage made in love with a man whom she chose were gone. All hopes for living a life within a family who cherished her and appreciated her were over. Once this man, her husband, claimed her body, there was no hope.

She realized that he felt the change within her, for his hold on her tightened around her. His hands, which she now clutched in hers, stopped their sensual strokes and, although he kept his mouth near her neck, she could feel only the warmth of his breath and not his lips now. Jocelyn waited for his response.

“Hush now,” he whispered. “I mean you no harm.”

She allowed him to turn her to face him and met his intense gaze. His eyes flickered gold in the candlelight and the flames in the hearth threw shadows across the hard angles of his face. After feeling the strength of his arms while in his embrace, she knew that everything about this man was hard. Only his voice and his plea came softly to her.

“Come, let me do this the right way for a bride,” he urged in a velvety tone as he lifted her hand in his and led her to the side of the bed.

Once there, he leaned over and, with little effort, picked her up and laid her on the bed. As she watched, he loosened his belt and let his plaid fall to the ground. Jocelyn could not help herself as she looked down at the strong thighs now exposed below his tunic. She leaned against those thighs while he…touched her and knew the feel of them. Swallowing nervously, she returned her gaze to his face just as he climbed into the bed with her.

He had not bothered to pull the covers from the bed, so they lay on top and Connor moved over until he could stretch out next to his now-unwilling bride. She had not voiced her objections, but her body had told him with a certainty that they had reached an impasse in their trek toward consummation. Connor now faced the difficult task of stirring her passion anew so they could accomplish this duty and get on with their lives.

“Easy now,” he whispered to her as he put his hand on her leg and began to push her shift up inch by inch. He shifted onto his side so that he could lean up on his one hand while he rubbed her thigh with the other. When she did not soften beneath his touch, he changed his approach. She had liked the attention he’d paid to her breasts as much as he had. He would begin there.

Connor leaned over and touched his mouth to the tip of her breast, nuzzling it through the thin shift. He took her fullness in his palm and rubbed his thumb over the damped tip again and again until it formed a perfect bud against his mouth. Then he suckled it until he felt the tension in her begin to seep away.

“Aye, lass. Just think on the pleasure you feel and let me lead you in this,” he urged as he moved against her hip with the hardness between his own legs. Although at first she gazed at him with a haunted expression in her eyes, then she closed them and nodded.

Her body slowly responded to his touch now and soon he gauged her ready for more. Connor knew he was certainly ready and at the edge of his own control. This time when he eased her shift up and moved between her legs, she seemed to welcome his presence there. He slid his hands beneath her knees and lifted her legs up, bringing himself to the opening of her body that was now hot and wet and ready.

It was at the moment he entered her that the absurd thought struck him—this was the first time he’d made love to a woman that mattered in his life since he’d made love to Kenna more than three years before. Pushing past his new wife’s maidenhead, he could hear the voice inside of him begging for Kenna’s forgiveness for this act. His heart and soul screamed out that he was somehow being unfaithful to the vows they’d exchanged even as he moved to claim his wife’s body.

And he needed Kenna’s forgiveness for so many things and now it was too late. Too late for all of them.

Clenching his teeth as he filled Jocelyn’s body with his, he watched as a tear escaped the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek into her hair. Not daring to slow for a moment or risk humiliating himself by not being able to complete this duty, Connor pushed into her as far as he could and then slowly removed himself. Even knowing she was not enjoying this, he could not stop now. Finally after a few minutes, he felt his seed empty inside of her.

Out of breath from his exertions, he leaned over her for another minute or two until he could withdraw from her body. He wiped himself of the spent seed and her blood with the edge of the tunic he still wore and climbed from between her legs and off the bed. Gathering his plaid, he threw it over his shoulder leaving enough to cover the front and back of him, not taking the time needed to get it completely in place. He was only going to his chambers from here and no one would be in the corridor against his orders.

She lay unmoving in the large bed, her legs still spread apart until he touched her thigh while tugging the shift down over her. Her lips were clenched tightly together and her face was nearly as pale as the shift she still wore. All hints of the previous attractive blush were gone. The unexplainable and impossible urge to gather her close and soothe the hurt he had caused her was building within him, so he strode to the door of the room in three steps. Three very hurried steps.

He tried to speak but found his throat clogged with some emotion he chose not to try to identify. Clearing it, he spoke without looking back at her and with one hand on the latch.

“I will send Ailsa to you.”

“Nay,” she cried out, as she sat up, shaking her head at him. “Please send no one.”

“As you wish, my lady.” He nodded, accepting her words without asking any questions. Once in the hallway, he closed the door tightly and leaned his head against it.

Not certain what he was waiting for, Connor turned and left, deciding that he had much of the same strong wine awaiting him in his chambers that sat on the table within. He’d no sooner reached his chambers when the storm hit—bright flashes of lightning followed by loud crashes of thunder and torrents of rain poured from the skies over Lairig Dubh.

Somehow it felt right. He slammed the door behind him and found the jug where he’d ordered it left for him.

The door closed and she fell back on the bed, overwhelmed and exhausted by what had just happened between them. The hurried leave-taking and the grimace on his face told her of her failure without the need for words of recrimination.

Had she spoken Ewan’s name aloud? She thought not, but she’d repeated it over and over in her thoughts and in her heart to block out the identity of the man who truly claimed her body as his. When he ordered her to think on the pleasure, his voice and his face became Ewan in her thoughts. She imagined Ewan’s lips against hers and on her skin, suckling at her breasts, and his hands on her body, making her ache and throb as never before.

Only the piercing, burning pain had ruined the imaginary scene in her mind and the grim expression in her husband’s eyes as he plunged into her confirmed the truth—she belonged to him now and he was not pleased.

The place between her legs both ached and stung now and Jocelyn looked around the room to see what she could use to clean herself. Her robe lay on the floor where he’d dropped it so she picked it up as she made her way to the table near the hearth. As she took another step, wetness gushed down her legs. Without anything to use, she tore off the bottom of her shift and used it to wipe her legs of the blood and seed.

Realizing her shift was beyond saving, Jocelyn pulled it off over her head and dunked it into the jug of cold water on the table. Squeezing out most of the water, she washed herself as best she could, shivering as she did. Once clean, she rolled a piece of the shift up, soaked it in the water and then pressed it between her legs…there. Although a shocking feeling, it soothed the area and she repeated it a few times until the burning disappeared.

Finally, she slipped into the robe, wrapped it tightly around her and tied the belt to keep it in place. Jocelyn approached the bed and knew she could simply not climb back onto it. She would have to face it—and him—soon enough, but for now she wanted to avoid both, so she tugged the top blanket off and threw it aside. Then she pulled off three more blankets and two sheets and made her own pallet in front of the hearth. It would be warm enough for her and she would face the rest in the morning.

It was only later, when the storm raged outside and the sound of the winds and rain and thunder grew louder that she let out the emotions she’d been holding within her. The terror of being given to this man, the heartbreak of leaving her family and her one true love behind, and the hopelessness of her future all poured out of her even as the clouds poured their storming rains on the castle and keep.

Rolled in a cocoon of bed linens and exhausted by the physical and emotional price she’d paid for her brother’s safe release, Jocelyn drifted off to a sleep unbothered by the reality of her life now. And her dreams were filled with the face and the touch of the man she loved.

The darkness and warmth suited her, Jocelyn decided when she heard someone moving around her chambers. Tempted to lift the layers and layers of bed linens she’d wrapped around herself in the deepest, coldest part of the night, she remained still and kept her eyes shut tightly. She knew from the previous attempts to rise that her head would throb and the room would swirl uncontrollably and she would be forced to vomit again.

No, the dark and warmth and keeping her body still suited her just fine. But, the voice softly calling her name became more insistent.

“Lady? Lady Jocelyn? Are ye well?”

It was the old woman who’d assisted her in so many ways, but still, the aches and pain and unease in her belly tempted her to ignore the woman’s call.

“Lady? Should I seek out the laird?”

“Nay!” she called out, pushing the coverings aside. Spying Ailsa leaning her old, crooked frame over to nearly the floor to speak to her, Jocelyn shook her head and then paid the price she feared. She was fortunate that Ailsa was perceptive enough to recognize what was about to happen and grabbed the pot quickly.

It was some minutes before her stomach eased and she could lay back. Ailsa soothed her with soft words and a cool cloth to her brow.

“Lie back, lady. It will pass.”

“’Twas the wine,” she whispered, trying to explain to the servant.

“Spoiled?” The maid picked up the jug from next to her on the floor and sniffed at it suspiciously. Her decision was said with a shake of her head. “Smells fine to me, lady.” The woman turned the jug bottom up and not even a drop trickled out. “Mayhap the amount was the problem and not the quality?”

Jocelyn did not respond—there was no need. With the cloth back in place, the noise of the awakening keep seemed to recede. Ailsa coughed lightly, gaining her reluctant attention. There would be no way to stay here, cocooned away from everything, and everyone, that she wanted to avoid for the rest of her life.

“Lady, I called for a bath and it will arrive shortly. Mayhap I could help ye to the chair to wait for it?”

“I would rather stay where I am, Ailsa.”

The knock at the door told her that would not happen. Sliding the cloth from her face, she met the woman’s gaze for the first time. Old though the woman may be, Jocelyn had recognized Ailsa’s steel will at their initial encounter. Now, too worn out by the night before to resist, she accepted the hand held out to her and climbed to her knees and then to her feet. Her head complained with each move and her stomach felt as though it might rebel as well. Closing her eyes once more, she allowed the maid to guide her a few steps to the chair and sat down there.

As though she knew the effort it had taken her to manage even those few steps, the maid arranged the robe she wore over her lap and stepped away without saying a word. Jocelyn let her head tilt back and rest on the back of the chair. Ailsa’s gasp forced her to look.

The torn and bloodied chemise she’d left in the corner on the floor was now in Ailsa’s hands and a look of horror and piety filled her eyes. Jocelyn’s stomach twisted.

“Lady…” Ailsa began softly and then she paused, lifting the apron from her skirt and wrapping the bloodied garment and setting it aside. “Have ye need of our healer?”

Jocelyn could not find the words to answer. Other than the effects of too much wine, which had successfully blocked out the other parts of her that had hurt, she thought she simply needed more sleep and that promised bath. She shook her head.

The old woman looked around the chamber and tsked. It had the appearance of being the site of a battle. The bed torn apart. The linens spread on the floor. The jug on the floor. Her own disheveled condition could not help but add to whatever the woman was thinking.

At her gesture, Ailsa nodded and began cleaning and straightening the chamber, apparently ignoring the others who waited outside the room. Another knock and Ailsa crossed to the door, opened it, whispered some instructions and closed the door again, returning to what she’d been doing.

As Jocelyn watched, the bed was stripped and, with the efficiency of many years’ practice, made once more in a matter of minutes. There was a hesitation when she’d lifted the blanket stained with her blood, but Ailsa simply put it aside with the other bundle and finished the task. When the room had been brought back to some condition that pleased the maid, she stood back and nodded.

“Rest there, lady, until I return.”

“I am fine, Ailsa. Truly,” she said, although her tone did not even convince her of the truth of it.

“They will not enter until I give them leave to, so close yer eyes and rest. I will bring something to soothe yer belly from the wine. Then ye will feel stronger and ready for the bath.”

With barely a sound, she exited and Jocelyn was left alone in a room with no sign now of what had occurred the night before. Only the pain in her heart which would not be repaired as easily.