Always Mine (15 page)

He paced back and forth, visibly thinking. Finally, he looked like he’d come to a decision. Taking a deep breath, he stalked around her. She got to her feet, disliking his looming above her. They stood face to face. More aptly, face to chest.

“I know what ye are about. Ye think to confuse me until I forget why we came to this room. ’Tis not going to work.”

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His gaze bored into hers, and she feared he guessed her every emotion. Instead of railing at her, he turned her so her back was to him as he spoke.

“I dinna want open warfare in my bedchamber. I come to it for comfort and respite from troubles, not to fight another skirmish. I will wait to deflower ye until we have a proper ceremony afore Blackthorn’s priest.

“No one must learn ye are intact. Give so much as a hint, and I will take ye wherever ye are. Make no mistake. If ’tis in the front bailey on the ground, or in the great hall during a meal, that is where ye will lose yer maidenhead. Do ye ken?”

Brianna listened intently to his deep baritone and felt his steel will behind it. His body heat warmed her back.

“Have ye an answer for me, wife?”

“You agree not to bed me until we reach your home and are married before a priest? You’ll give us time to get to know each other?” She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Ye ken the outcome if ye break the trust?”

“I understood every word.”

I can manage him quite nicely. All it took was a little patience
to find the right arguments.
She was pleased with herself.

His soft grasp on her shoulders turned her to face him. She shivered and forced her voice not to quaver. “You needn’t help. I can manage.”

“Ah, little bride. Ye knew when ye wore black ye sent me a message.” He spoke quietly, but firmly. “I also let ye know what I felt about yer selection, if not in words, then by looks.

I promised I would disrobe ye this night, and I will. Ye should have thought before throwing such a challenge. Be still, so I may finish my task.”

He unhooked the beautiful girdle he had given her, and his hand circled her hips to gather the chain.

She eyed him as he strolled to her travel chest. She blinked hard and stared. His muscles flowed with power. He moved

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with graceful confidence in every step. Oh, my, he had beautiful feet. Never before had she seen a man’s feet and thought them anything but serviceable. As he bent to put the girdle in its wooden box, his robe tightened, accenting the muscular power beneath. Her hands itched to run them down his back and his taut, manly arse she’d glimpsed that morning.

I’ve never seen anyone move as sexily as he does. Maybe
it’s the wine that makes him look so appealing?
Desire flamed through her. It had been a very long time since she had felt that. Not since the night before Gordon’s last business trip.

Before the phone call from her friend the next morning telling her the truth. The thought cooled her blood. Were medieval men as unfaithful as modern males? Probably more so, since they rarely married for love.

As Damron closed the box, she remembered she hadn’t acknowledged his gift. “Thank you for the beautiful girdle. I’ve never seen anything like it. Was it crafted in London?”

“No, I had the trinket done in Glasgow. The chest has been in my family for many years. My Scottish grandmother loved turning wood into art. This was her finest effort. I sent for it at the same time.”

When he returned to her, he looked with distaste at Galan’s gift. On the pendant, three horses pranced around a circle.

They held their arrogant heads high with nostrils flaring and hooves meeting in the center. Their eyes were deep amber, emeralds formed the flying reins, and tiny rubies shaped their hooves.

“Ye will not sleep in another man’s gift.” His emerald eyes stared into hers, and his lips compressed. He lifted the gold chain free of her hair and slipped it over her head. After he placed it on the table, he came back to complete his self-imposed chore.

She stood on the rug facing the fire. He gathered her hair and spread it over her left shoulder, then quickly untied the

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black tunic’s lacing. She caught her breath, feeling the backs of his warm fingers on her sensitive skin.

He had considerable experience at the job. Was it from undressing his first wife? She scowled. Or his leman? A hot streak of jealousy shot through her. Had Damron kept his mistress close during his first marriage? Ha, in these ages it was the leman who undermined a couple. In modern times it became business
associates.

Gathering the black silk in his big hands, he lifted the garment over her head. She stood in the gold smock, uncomfortable in her near nudity. When he led her to the chair and she sat, she folded her hands over the joining of her thighs.

Going down on one knee, he slid her shoes from her feet.

He ignored her efforts to hide herself. When he reached beneath the smock to pull her hose down her legs, she saw his strong, tanned hands through the flimsy material. She jerked and blushed furiously.

“Be still. I ha’e no wish to tear yer hose.”

“If I may get a sleeping garment, I’ll put it on. Will you be sleeping on the rug, or would you prefer I slept there? It’s all the same to me, so you decide.”

“On the rug? Oh, nay, my lady. Neither of us will sleep anywhere but on that bed. I agreed I wouldna deflower ye. I did not promise to sleep alone. Ye must think me a great gowk if ye believe I would do so.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. A gowk?”

“A gowk, Lady, is Scots for a fool.”

“I’d never think you a fool. A little strange in your thinking, but never a fool.”

Damron strode to the bed and picked up the exquisite night garment resting there. He stared at Brianna standing before the fire. The flames highlighted every inch of her body with a fiery glow. He groaned. He wanted to explore all he saw, but he would stick to the plan he devised while they argued.

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This woman was different. Connor’s sister, Meghan, was the only other woman he knew who was close to Brianna’s personality. Both had fiery tempers, stubborn streaks and determination. Abbess Alana had spoken of Brianna’s honor.

Meghan and his mother had honor, but he had seen none such in any of the women of the royal courts. Mayhap the excesses of the courts corrupted them?

’Tis true, he wanted peace in this marriage. He would wait to learn what manner of woman she was. For certs, she was a challenge. Her strong will dared him to dominate her. To have her come to his bed willingly, he must needs outsmart her.

Over the coming nights, he planned to entice her body un-mercifully until she begged him to deflower her.

He looked at her and quirked his brow. She did not move.

He crooked his finger. She shook her head.

“Mmm. Ye are beautiful standin’ afore the fire, wife.” He lowered his voice and let it throb with passion. “Yer clothing vanishes as if by magic.”

Desire tightened his face. Looking embarrassed and shy, she came to him. As he removed the smock, her dainty breasts were bared for the first time. She covered them with her hands. He struggled to look unaffected while he held the sleeping garment over her head and waited.

She hesitated, then lifted her arms. Her eyes closed. Clench-ing his teeth, his hot gaze traveled over her as he lowered the gown. He quickly turned her so she would not see his lust.

His fingers spread through her chestnut hair. A rumble of pleasure sounded in his chest as the curls clung and spiraled around his fingers. He spread it across her back and over her shoulders and studied her firm bottom peeking through the material. His mouth went dry. He tapped her shoulder to let her know he was finished. She looked up at him, her brows raised.When he said nothing further and padded over

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to the other side of the bed, she sat on the edge of the mattress and waited.

He poured the special mead into the goblets and put them on the table. The honeyed brew was potent, but he no longer wanted to restrict her from becoming too mellow.

She jumped when he came to her, picked her up in his arms and strode toward the fire. He barely heard her mutter low,

“Heavens, he has a penchant for carrying women.” He sat in the big chair and settled her comfortably on his lap.

“You don’t need to hold me. I can sit somewhere else.”

“Lady wife, there are no other chairs, as ye well see.”

“I prefer sitting on the rug. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you I like to sit on rugs.”

“If ye wish to sit on the rug, do so.”

She started to climb off his lap. Holding her gown so it wouldn’t ride up, she wriggled closer to his knees.

A groan caught in his throat as her little rear squirmed against his suffering tarse. He stilled her movements and slid from the chair with her in his arms. After stretching his legs out, he leaned back against the chair.

“You needn’t give up your comfort, Damron. I can sit here by myself.” She frowned up at him.

“Nay, my love. I wouldna dream of it.” His voice was low and silky. He rolled his shoulders, causing the robe at his chest to open further.

She shifted to put her back more to him, hiding her body.

He uttered an oath and handed her a chalice. If she did not sit still, he might spend himself while she remained virgin.

He studied her dark brown eyes and silky chestnut hair, and offered a toast. “May we have a brawny heir with eyes as dark brown and rich as the earth, hair the color of the leaves at All Hallow’s Even, and the strength of his grandfathers.”

Touching his chalice to hers, he urged her to take a swallow.

She did, and added her own toast.

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“May we have a healthy, strong daughter with hair as black as the night, eyes as green as new leaves in spring and the wisdom of all her grandmothers.” They again sampled the mead. “We shouldn’t be drinking this now,” she added worriedly.

“If we dinna finish what they prepared for us this eve, we will insult the mead-maker.”

After several more sips, she stopped trying to hide herself and rested against his chest.

“I would tell ye about the people ye will meet when we arrive at Blackthorn. Would that interest ye?”

He started with his grandfather Douglas, and she became so engrossed in listening that she relaxed and continued to drink her mead. She did not notice when he refilled her chalice. He ran his fingers through her hair and spread it over his chest like a silken scarf. She didn’t protest.

He kept her thoughts occupied as he described everyone at his home. She nestled back against him, unwittingly giving him a heart-stopping view of her delicate breasts and the front of her gleaming body. As he gently explored her, his thumb teased a nipple. Her ivory breasts were small with beautiful rose tips. They were far lovelier than the heavy globes of his leman.

His heart pounded. She moved, causing his robe to open over his legs, but she was unaware of it. His blood coursed thickly through his veins. He gritted his teeth and called on his iron will for control to keep from ravishing his bride.

She did not notice when he slipped her gown from her left shoulder. He cleared his hoarse voice and continued talking, stopping occasionally to place soft kisses along her neck and shoulder.

His tongue slowly outlined the rim of the sweet shell-like ears that had captivated him since the first time he saw them. Tugging the dainty lobe between his lips, he suckled it.

She started to pull away. He stopped his tender assault and continued the story as if nothing had happened.

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After she again settled quietly, he ventured further. His hand stole around to stroke down over her neck and between her breasts, finally to rest on her midriff. He turned her so her back rested against his left arm. His right hand stayed where it was.

Diverting her attention by recounting his cousin Meghan’s humorous escapades, he ever so slowly nudged her gown down to her waist. It was a whisper of feeling she did not notice. She took another swallow from the cup he kept filled to the brim.

He rained soft kisses across her forehead, down her nose, and across her cheeks. His fingers ran through her hair and moved to the nape of her neck to caress her there, soothing her further.

Brianna was more relaxed and comfortable than she’d been since she awakened on the ground with the groom jumping beside her. Listening to Damron’s beautiful voice and sipping the mead, her limbs felt like creamy butter.

Hm. Mead was a most comforting drink. Not harsh like bourbon. It couldn’t have much alcohol in it. Wouldn’t she be unaware of her surroundings if it was? Her cup had barely gone down. She was pleased with herself for taking such ladylike sips.

Everything felt so right. So perfect.

“Tell me, wife, of yer own childhood,” Damron whispered.

She kept her eyes closed and concentrated to recall events she could relate. If she changed some of her memories, they would fit with the current time. She told him of the time she first saw his likeness, though he did not know it was him.

“When I was barely five years old, my father took me to visit a formidable castle. While there, I wandered off and found myself alone in a long solar. Several ink drawings lined one wall. One in particular caught my eye. It was of a man wearing clothing much like you wore today. I could not see his face.

“A warrior in a strange suit of armor stood beside it. I was very

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polite and asked him if he would lift me so I could better see the drawing, but he ignored me. I thought perhaps because of the armor, he couldn’t hear me, so I tried to climb up his legs to better talk to the man inside. I and the armor clattered to the floor in a dreadful bang. I screamed and cried, terrified that I had killed the invisible man inside.

“When my father found me, I kept saying, ‘I wanted to see!’ and pointing at the drawing. My father picked me up, and I saw the man in the drawing for the first time. I declared to Father, ‘He belongs to me!’ Then I began to cry and kept saying, ‘Why didn’t you love me?’ I couldn’t stop crying and begging the man to love me. It was not until the next morning when I finally quieted. Every year thereafter, I asked Father to take me to see the drawing, though I never again caused a scene.”