Always Mine (32 page)

It was her fault Alana did not have the happiness she so deserved.

Bleddyn’s arm tightened around her while they made their way back to the table. “It is no fault of your own,
mo maise,
my beauty. Your father could not know Alana’s and my love was so intense when we were not full grown. He loved you both dearly and did not regret you were not a boy. If he could have foretold the heartbreak, I do not think he would have vowed as he did.”

Brianna’s chin quivered, her steps lagged. Damron rose,

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and the abbess stood and touched his arm, looking up at him with a sweet smile.

“May I see my sister to her bed? She is pale. It looks to have cost her much to please me.”

Damron nodded, bent and kissed Brianna lightly on the cheek and whispered in her ear, “We will deal later, wife.” His gaze bored holes in her back as she left the room.

Bleddyn moved to sit beside him. “What do you intend, Damron?”

“To lecture my wife that she may not humiliate me in any way. If not for yer words, my men would have viewed me as a gutless fool who couldna control his wee wife.”

Mereck dropped down on the other side of him. “She may have tried to take revenge, for she thought you prepared for your leman. Have you not thought of that?”

“Aye. ’Tis likely. But remember this. She is my wife and belongs to neither of ye.”

He strode from the room to find Alana leaving his chambers. She smiled serenely up at him and patted Guardian before she wished him a pleasant night.

Damron stood beside the bed and studied Brianna’s sleeping face. Tear tracks marred her creamy cheeks. She lay unusually still in her sleep. He picked up a cup from the bedside table, sniffed it and tasted the remaining drop of milk.

Alana must have added a mild sleeping potion.

He gathered his robe and descended to the bathing room to wash the coloring from his hair. And to be alone to think. He recalled the haunted look in Brianna’s eyes when she spied Asceline folded in the collapsed bed. And he remembered his wee wife had suddenly stilled on hearing he wanted to please someone.

Never had he known a woman to be so strong-willed as Brianna, who thought more like a man than a weak lass. He grimaced and shook his head. Huh! Meghan also was such a one.

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He wrung the water from his hair and shoved the dripping mass over his shoulders, then turned on his heels and returned to his room. He stripped off his clothing, slid between the sheets and gathered Brianna close.

Would she be pleased when guests began to gather on the morrow? He grinned, thinking of the beautiful dress his mother and the widows had sewn when Brianna was occupied. Preparations for the wedding feast were well under way.

The flaming crosses that gathered his people had all been delivered. Surprisingly, Meghan had not blurted out his secret.

In two days’ time, they would hold the ceremonies.

He would move Asceline to the village, until he could spare an escort to return her to Normandy.

Chapter 19

The skirl of bagpipes playing the Morgan ceremonial greeting startled Brianna as dawn broke. She stumbled to the window to watch Meghan and the family piper, Angus, who stood atop the gatehouse, welcome a line of visitors so long they nearly reached the woods beyond the castle wall. A standard-bearer, waving aloft the family’s colors, preceded each group cantering across the drawbridge.

Mari bustled about the room, her lively face split with a happy grin. “My pretty one, ye must prepare for yer guests. We have not had so grand a gatherin’ since . . .”—she shrugged and threw up her arms—“since I dinna know when.”

Damron stood inside the doorway and shook his head. “Last eve ye slept, wife, afore I could tell ye the time has come for the gatherin’.”

He sauntered over to her, his vibrant body moving with sexual grace. Brianna swallowed and tried to ignore the twinges in her nipples that shot sparks of desire to the pit of her stomach.

Damron’s lips lifted in a broad smile, and his eyes lost their usual wariness.

“They come to witness the weddin’ ye wished for with our families. After the feast, we will join in our old Scottish

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ways.” He bent his head and placed a warm kiss on the soft spot below her ear.

Shivers raced down her back. She could no longer deny the excitement coursing through her, though she tried to convince herself it was because she would witness firsthand the gathering of a clan. It was a lie. One look at the bed proved it, for her body clamored to be joined there with his.

“I would have ye bound to me in all ways, Brianna,” he whispered.

“Surely not today?” Oh, God, why did she have to go and lick her lips?

“Nay, Sunday. Two days hence. Mother and the widows have sewn yer weddin’ attire. All that needs to be done is the fittin’.” His face lit with a smile before he turned and left.

Her mind and heart were at war. The early Brianna’s love for him had lasted through the centuries, else why had she, as a child, felt he was
hers
from the moment she saw his likeness? She was still trying to calm her mind when she went below.

Alana came to stand beside her in the crowded hall, their shoulders brushing together. Damron stood at the foot of the dais, Jeremy beside him. The squire held a thick ceremonial staff carved with images of the sun, mountains, oak trees, deer and wolves.

Eric MacLaren led off the long line of guests to greet and pay their respects. He stomped up to Damron, grinned, then took the heavy staff and banged it on the floor. The blow re-sounded throughout the hall, making Brianna jump.

“Eric MacLaren, tanist for the MacLarens, brings the laird’s greetings and wishes for a fruitful union,” he shouted.

“The Morgans thank ye and yer clan,” Damron responded.

They cuffed each other’s shoulder, and then the next man in line moved up to take the staff. Some greetings were brief, like Eric’s, others long-winded and elaborate.

Names buzzed through Brianna’s head. When Meghan finally

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joined them, she helped Brianna and Alana sort out faces with families, as the hall filled with boisterous travelers.

“Most are Highlanders, with a sprinklin’ from the Central Lowlands. If the clan chief canna leave his stronghold, he sends his elected heir, his tanist. Those who travel the furthest dinna bring their wives because of the danger of kidnapin’.”

Now and again throughout the day, minor skirmishes erupted between men not on the best of terms.

Mereck stalked up to them, drew up to his full height and fixed the offenders with a gimlet stare. His fingers twitched as he caressed his sword hilt. They quieted. All were wary of provoking Baresark.

The next morn, Damron rose and pressed Brianna back onto the sheets. “Stay abed, wife. Ye should store yer energy for bed sport.” He gave her a noisy, smacking kiss on the forehead and, with a broad smile and a wink, pulled the bed drapes closed.

She awoke later and had a light meal of apple pasties and milk. The widows bustled into the room and began fitting her wedding outfit to her breasts and waist, and measuring the hem.

When they were done with the fitting, Brianna thanked them for working so diligently to surprise her. The sweet ladies were soon laughing and racing back to the solar to place the last stitches.

Mari helped her dress in both bright and light shades of yellow and wound yellow silk ribbons through her brown hair. They no sooner finished than Damron arrived to escort her below.

“Ye are most lovely, wife,” he murmured. “Come, we must seat ourselves. The guests have been at the kegs most of the day and need food or they will soon be wrestlin’ on the floor.

I have no wish to sport a bloody nose on the morrow. It seems to bleed much of late.” He rolled his eyes at her.

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Brianna’s breath caught, seeing Damron so relaxed, so at ease. And he had teased her about his nose! So many preparations had gone on without her knowledge. He’d put himself out a great deal to see their wedding planned to the last detail.

Happily, Asceline did not sit nearby, but at a table below the dais beside a blond-haired MacLaren clansman. When Brianna looked up, the man eyed her, undressing her with his hot gaze. The skin on her nape prickled. He pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes and stared at her cheek. Uncomfortable, she put her hand over the small scars, for she could almost feel his hands on her. When all had eaten, mummers, acrobats and musicians took their turns entertaining.

Brianna tugged at Damron’s arm. “Is that Eric’s brother who sits next to Asceline?” she whispered.

Damron glanced up and frowned. “Nay, ’tis Rollo, Eric’s cousin.”

The room became unruly as the mummers started rows between the most drunk of the men, who were more than happy to oblige. Damron signaled it was time for the ladies to seek their beds. He surprised her when he accompanied her to their bedchamber.

After they undressed, Damron blew out the candles and drew the bed curtains. He gathered her to him and cuddled her head against his chest. “Sleep, little wife. The morrow will be a long day.” He kissed her gently and soon snored.

Finally Brianna relaxed and slept. How long could he continue to fool his wee wife with snoring? As Connor had told her, he never snored. He had trained himself to be a very light sleeper, aware of the faintest sound.

Would wedding her afore a priest finally make Brianna a willing wife in his bed? These past weeks seemed like a lifetime of need to him, for whenever Brianna was near, his body

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reacted like a randy goat. He was forever adjusting his clothing to hide his rampaging sex. Each day he had spent longer and longer hours on the practice field. He never lacked for a partner, for the men did not try to keep their tongues behind their teeth, but needled him about his bulging sex.

Damron stroked Brianna’s hair as she slept. He wanted her to be well-rested come dawn, for he could not have her rebellious during the ceremonies.

He would be asking much from her.

Brianna awoke, hearing people bustling about. Who could be in her room in the middle of the night? She peeked through her eyelashes, just as her sister bent over her.

“Come, lazy bones, or you will be late for your wedding.”

Alana laughed. “You must bathe, and we are to help you dress.”

Brianna’s heart pounded. Her mouth went dry. Damron had done all she had requested that night at Ridley. She could no longer deny him. Her stomach churned. If she gave her heart to him, would she stay? Or would she be whisked forward to the future, leaving her heart—and Damron—behind?

“Here ye go, lovie,” Meghan said and placed the bathing screen for Brianna’s comfort. “Mari will feed ye and give ye a little watered wine to soothe yer spirits.”

Once Brianna had bathed and Mari wrapped a drying towel around her, Alana drew a wooden comb through Brianna’s hair, then used silk cloths to dry and rub the strands. She leaned back and inspected her work, then took a curl and stretched it out. When she released it, it coiled back again.

“Your chestnut curls are shiny and lively enough to delight the most fiery of lovers.” When Meghan burst out laughing, Alana shrugged her shoulders and looked sheepish. “I may be a nun, but I was a woman first.”

Alana and Meghan tied ivory ribbons around Brianna’s

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knees to hold her stockings. They slipped soft shoes on her feet and slid a lovely smock, a deep ivory color, over her head. Its long, trailing sleeves and hem were trimmed with roses made with ruby-colored thread.

Ladies Phillipa and Maud helped her don a light ivory tunic with wide, flowing sleeves, designed so the smock peeked from her wrists and through slits in the tunic’s sides.

On either side of the slitted openings, the widows had used sapphire-colored thread to embroider the trunk of an ancient tree. They had sewn curving patterns of the tree’s roots on the hem. The gold wedding girdle with rubies and sapphires that Damron had given her rode low on her hips. Brianna was sure the widows had designed the dress to enhance his gift.

“You will be a most beautiful bride.” Lady Phillipa wrapped her in a gentle hug and kissed her forehead.

“Dear Brianna, ’tis such a pity your mother and father could not see you today.” Tears slid from Lady Maud’s eyes.

Instead of a circlet, Meghan placed a garland of flowers on Brianna’s head. Ivory, blue and red silk ribbons trailed from it down the middle of her back.

Brianna felt her Nathaniel approach, and she bade everyone except Alana to meet them below. He had dressed all in black, his face again painted, looking savage and handsome at the same time. He smiled at Brianna, his dark eyes filled with moisture. When his gaze sought Alana’s, her eyes also pooled with tears. Brianna’s heart ached for all that the two of them had missed of life. Much as a father’s would, his strong arms embraced her.

“Come, your impatient husband waits.” He smiled and opened the door.

There stood Guardian, fresh from an early bath and looking quite handsome. Someone had fastened a garland of purple heather around his neck. The beast did not seem to mind. He nodded his great head and trotted to the stairwell.

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Alana walked beside him, with Brianna and Bleddyn following. Brianna came through the great doors into the sunlight, and cheers rang out from the people assembled to follow her progress to the church.

Connor, holding Angel’s reins, grinned at her. Grooms had braided the horse’s mane with silver ribbons, and bells hung from each. His freshly brushed white tail flowed, its tip touching the ground. Jewels studded his halter and a Morgan tartan lay across his back.

Bleddyn lifted her to sit as if she were on a sidesaddle. He walked beside her as Connor led the great destrier. Guardian started the procession, his steps haughty and proud. His great head swept from side to side, assuring his mistress’s safety.

Angel stepped with such gentle grace, Brianna could not believe it was the same horse she thought of as Lucifer.