My Fair Highlander

The man landed on his backside at the foot of the bed. He lifted a surprised look toward her that sent victory surging through her.

“I told you no!”

He rose up, looking larger and more muscular than she’d noticed before. Determination shone brightly from his eyes, and his hands planted themselves on the edge of the bed, each fingertip pushing the soft surface in.

“And I want yer boots, lassie, and what a Scot wants, he takes.”

This time he pounced on her. His huge body sprung off the floor, cutting through the air before he pushed her down onto the surface of the bed. Jemma flung her arms up to resist, slapping at him, but he rolled her over onto her belly to trap her arms again.

“Ye are definitely a wildcat, Jemma Ramsden. Are ye sure yer mother did nae take ye in, because I’d swear ye had Scottish blood flowing through yer veins.”

“I’m English, you troll! English! Do you hear me? Go and find yourself some Scots girl who likes this manner of rough wooing, for I detest it.”

A hard hand landed on her bottom in response. The breath rushed out of her chest as outrage filled her. She shook with her rage, bucking against the hold he had on her.

“I heard ye sure enough, and most likely half the maids in the kitchen, too. Ye need taming.” He slapped her bottom once again before flipping her skirt up to find her foot. He gripped one and began pulling the leather lace loose that held the buttons closed.

Gordon having both hands on one foot allowed her to roll over and kick at him with her other foot. She planted one kick solidly on the back of his head, breaking his grip on her foot.

“I do not need taming! You need to learn some manners. This is not courting.” She tried to roll over the edge of the bed, but a hard arm hooked around her waist and lifted her up. Gordon dropped her back in the middle of the bed and pushed her thighs wide apart. He shoved his back against her spread body and leaned his weight down on top of her belly and chest.

“It’s my form of courting, lass, so ye’d best do some better planning if ye intend to outfox me.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at the canopy above the bed. Shock held her in its grip because she was indeed on her back and spread wide with a man between her thighs. He pressed his lower back against her mons and belly to keep her pinned. She’d never had anyone touch her in so private a place before, and even his back sent a pulse of awareness through her. Her face flamed but her pride refused to give up the battle. Gordon yanked the lace free and pulled one boot off her foot. He held it up for a moment like a prize.

“A bare foot will nae find the stable floor such an easy place to travel.”

Jemma reached forward and grabbed his bonnet. One yank tore the thing off his head, gaining a snarl from him. “A bare head will not care for the cold weather, either.”

“I should have spanked yer arse a few more times.”

He flipped over and caught her hands. With ridiculous ease he pressed her arms down on either side of her head.

“But I find that I like this sight of ye beneath me too much to turn ye over.”

She bucked, trying to dislodge his weight, but all the motion did was compress the pleats of his kilt against her spread sex. She gasped and froze, because sensation rushed up her passage and into her from the contact. Her skirts were raised, and there was nothing but the thin linen of her chemise shielding the opening to her body. It would be too simple for him to take her. But the worst part of it was how much her body seemed to enjoy the contact; her clitoris was throbbing, eager for him to move against her again.

“I won’t wed with you, even if you rape me.” She was frightened, more so than she cared to admit. It was a deeper emotion than the one that had filled her while facing down the English knights. She didn’t want Gordon to value her so lowly that he would force himself on her, and she didn’t want him to try for fear that she would yield.

But she had no reason to hope for such mercy.

“If that was my thinking, I’d have done it the first night ye were here so that I could face yer brother with the fact that yer virgin’s blood had stained my sheets already. There would have been no reason to walk away from ye last night, either. I could have saved myself the torment of craving ye most of the night.”

His hands released her wrists and pulled the linen cap off her head. He jerked the tie off the end of her braid and ran his fingers through the strands to free them. He didn’t jerk his hands through her hair, but combed the remains of the braid out with careful stokes that didn’t pull her scalp even once. His control over his strength astounded her, but it also touched her with a sense of tenderness.

“Why didn’t you?”

Jemma could have bitten her tongue in half, but she could not take the words back. Gordon finished freeing her hair and lifted a hand full of it. He buried his face in it, inhaling the scent, which brought to mind how tender he had been with her last night. There were extremes inside the man, much like herself.

“Because I plan to court ye, just as I told ye.” He raised his face away from her hair, and his expression lacked the mocking arrogance she had seen so often on it. Now his blue eyes were filled with something deeper, something that sparked hope in her that he wanted more than her fertile body for his seed.

“I’ve been watching ye race that mare across the edge of my land for months. Every damn person wearing me colors knows that I’ve turned me back on things that I should have been doing to go up there and catch a glimpse of ye. So when yer brother’s bride made her way onto my land, it was too tempting to bring her here so that I might negotiate with yer brother for the chance to discover who ye are.”

“But all we do is fight.”

He growled softly and covered her lips with one of his hands. “Nay, lass, there is something else that we do very well, too. Kiss, and I’m wanting to discover just how far that passion runs in ye.”

He lifted his hand away from her mouth and pressed his lips against hers. It was the kiss that she had been longing for since the last one they had shared. This time he didn’t tease her but took her mouth with a hungry motion that pressed his lips against her with enough pressure to force the breath from her. Something about his strength drew her closer to him, and enjoyment blossomed inside her. She wanted to move with him, mimic his motions and learn the skill of kissing.

“That’s right, lass, kiss me back.” His voice was deep and hungry. His hands pushed into her freed hair to hold the sides of her face steady. The tip of his tongue swept along her lower lip before gently probing her open mouth for entry. She shivered, her body pulsing with needs that raced across her mind too quickly to be sorted into any manner of understanding. She could only experience them and bask in the delight trying to drown her. But she craved more, needing to touch him in return instead of waiting for him to decide where to stroke her. Hunger made her bold.

She sent her own hands up into his hair. It was soft and silky against her fingers, bringing another form of bliss to her senses. But she craved his hardness, her hands seeking out his shoulders and the hard muscles that covered them. His tongue speared down into her mouth, sliding along her own, and her passage suddenly became the point of focus for all the desire coursing through her. At the top of her sex, her clitoris began to throb with the same tempo as her racing heart. Her body was too full of needs to remain still. Her hips lifted, seeking out more pressure against that throbbing point.

“Exactly, lass. We seem to please each other when we stop talking.”

He leaned down to press a soft kiss against the swell of one breast where it was uncovered above the top of her dress. She jerked, too overwhelmed by the amount of sensation to contain the response. His fingers followed, smoothing over the tender flesh before delving into the valley created between her breasts by her stays. The hooks that kept her bodice closed took him little time to open. He pushed the wool aside to leave her corset open to his gaze. He found the tie that held the front of her stays together and released the knot with a quick motion of his fingers.

“I want to know what ye look like, lass. The idea has haunted me.”

She should tell him to stop. Her mind told her to forbid him to continue unlacing her bodice, but her body demanded that she remain silent.

“We bring out the extremes in one another.”

His fingers froze for a moment and his eyes flashed with hunger. “Aye, lass, we do. Just think of how much better it might become.”

He pulled the sides of her stays apart. She shivered when the air brushed across her breasts with naught but thin linen covering them.

“I wouldn’t know.” And she lost the battle to remain still, her hands coming up to cover her chest. She really couldn’t stop him from doing what he pleased with her, but there was a part of her that trusted him not to force himself on her. She wasn’t even sure where that idea had come from, only that she could not see the man who had taken the time to smell her hair as a savage who would take her innocence by force.

It was a fragile trust, but one that made it possible to fend off the fear that was trying to steal into her mind.

“Trust that I know that, lass.”

“I’m trying to.” Her voice became a whisper. There was no way to hide her uncertainty. But approval flickered in his eyes, giving her enough confidence to continue staring at him.

Trust him? She chewed on that thought.

He leaned down and kissed first her right hand where it cupped one breast. Beneath her palm her nipple was hard and aching for its turn to discover what a kiss felt like against its peak. But Gordon moved to her other hand to allow his lips to linger on it. He moved lower to where her chest rose and fell with her breathing. Another kiss landed on her belly, the warmth of his mouth easily making its way through the fabric of her chemise to her skin. Sensation ripped through her, drawing a sound of delight from her lips. But it also raced down to her passage where hunger renewed its grip on her.

Gordon nuzzled against her chest, kissing and moving upward until he gently dislodged her hands with his head. Once again her fingers were in his hair, and he turned to tease the side of one breast with his lips. She quivered, anticipation drawing her muscles tight. She had never been so aware of her nipples. The soft pink tips were alive with need so hot, her chemise felt heavy and suffocating. Gordon slid one hand up her body, crossing over her ribs, and then cupped the soft mound of her breast before his lips took command of her nipple.

She arched up off the bed, unable to remain still. There was too much heat, too much sensation to endure. A thin cry escaped her lips, and she heard an answering growl from him that made her fingers curl into fists in his hair. The fabric of her chemise became wet, sticking to the hard point of her nipple. Gordon licked over it, teasing the sensitive point through the fabric before reaching up to grab the neckline of the garment and pulling it down to expose her flesh completely.

“So sweet, lass. Like summer berries.” He lifted his head and watched her face while his thumb glided over the wet tip of her nipple for the first time with nothing between their skin. “That’s a favorite thing of mine, summer berries. Something that I enjoy feasting on.”

His voice dipped down until it became husky. His eyes darkened, but she gained only a momentary glimpse of them before he returned to her exposed breast. She felt his breath passing over the wet skin of her nipple, rippling across skin a hundred times more sensitive than she could ever recall it being. His hand gently closed around the soft mound of her breast, pushing the hard tip upward in offering. Gordon took that tempting morsel between his lips, sucking the entire nipple into his mouth while Jemma gasped with shock.

It felt too good. Pleasure surged through her, wiping away any doubts that still lingered. Her hands slid down to his back where they might press him toward her. His tongue flicked over the tip of her nipple, back and forth while he continued to suck on it. She arched up, her back joining the effort to make sure he knew she wanted him to continue. She was suddenly too hot with the wool of her skirts and his kilt between them. Her fingers plucked at the fabric of his shirt but couldn’t pull it down so that his warm skin might be hers to touch. He slid one arm beneath her waist and pulled her tightly against his body before rolling over onto his back. The bed shook, and Jemma ended up straddling him with her knees sinking down on either side of his hips. He gently pushed her up so that she sat upright, and that pressed her body weight down on her open sex and the little bead of her clitoris.

“Gordon—”

“I want to see ye, lass.” He found the tie that held her waistband closed. He worked it through the eyelets quickly before sitting up and pulling her skirts right up her body and over her head. He tossed them over the edge of the bed and lay back down on his back with his hands working on the padded roll that helped support her cartridge pleated skirts. It followed her skirts onto the floor and he reached up to tug her open corset down her arms.

“Much better.”

“Is it?” Her chemise was free to flow around her body now but the fabric was thin, allowing the light to illuminate her curves. The neckline had risen back up to cover her breast, but the wet fabric was translucent.

“Aye, lass, but not quite perfect yet.”

She shivered, seeing the truth of what he craved in his eyes. She had never thought about whether or not her body was attractive. The knowledge that Gordon wanted to bare her and see what she looked like without anything to shield her sent a shiver down her body. He felt it, and his hands landed on top of her thighs, moving in soothing strokes along them. It was pleasing, the feeling of his hands on her legs, but at the same time startling. She nibbled on her lower lip with indecision.

“This is perfection.” His hands slid all the way to her knees and beneath the edge of her chemise. He continued on up her thighs, his hands against her bare skin. It was too much, and she stiffened, pulling one knee over his body.

“Ye need to learn to trust me, Jemma.”

His voice was deeply serious. He captured her waist and lifted her up once more to set her down on her back.

“You cannot expect me to simply do what you command. Not when we are talking about—”

“About being intimate?” He pinned her down with his weight but didn’t move up her body so that their faces were even. Instead he remained lower on the bed, his hands returning to her thighs to stroke them with even motions.

“You are not my husband.” She didn’t say it unkindly. “I cannot shame my father. Understand that, please.”

His eyes flashed with something that looked like a challenge. “Ye think I do nae comprehend honor? Marrying ye is the simple way to gain what I want, lass. This is no about that. ’Tis yer trust I want to earn at this moment.”

He raised her chemise, pushing the fabric up to bare her thighs. His hands slipped back down along the length he’d uncovered until he cupped each knee, his fingers spreading over each one before gripping lightly.

“But making ye mindless with pleasure when ye don’t have to lie in me bed and submit to me touch, now that’s the challenge I’m taking up, too.”

“That’s sinful talk.”

He pushed her thighs apart with the grip on her knees, spreading her once more and keeping her that way by placing his body between her open thighs. She gasped as the night air brushed against the folds of her sex. A small portion of her chemise still covered her mons, but it held very flimsy protection against the determination glittering in Gordon’s eyes.

“It’s honest, and isn’t that more in keeping with God’s law than everyone pretending that touching doe nae feel good?”

His hand moved over her belly, rubbing and kneading the place that was so full of excitement.

“Tell me ye don’t like having me hand on ye, or better still, prove yerself the creature I believe ye to be and tell me the truth.”

He rubbed her belly again, and pleasure rippled through her. It was deep and hot in a way she hadn’t even imagined her body might feel.

But she liked it and craved more of it.

“I can see the enjoyment shining in yer eyes, Jemma, just as ye can see how much I like touching ye.” His hand slid down to cover her mons. She gasped as pleasure spiked through her. It was hard and forced the breath out of her lungs. Her clitoris pulsed with sensation that was almost acute.

“I can smell how hot yer body is for mine.”

His hand slipped over the edge of her chemise to gently stroke the folds of her sex. Just his fingertips touched her first, but she jerked with the contact because it was so strong. A bolt of need tore into her so strongly she whimpered. Her hands fisted in the bedding beneath her, and Gordon had to press his other hand down on top of her to keep her in place for his fingers.

“Tell me, Jemma, tell me to stoke yer sweet flesh some more. I promise ye, it gets even better.”

“Better?” Her voice was harsh and breathless, but her clitoris begged for what he promised. Her question gained a flash of his even teeth as he smiled and made another pass of his fingertips across her slit. This time, he slid two fingers into the folds and swept them down to the opening of her body. He only touched her clitoris through the twin folds of her sex, but that sent a flame of pleasure up her passage.

“Aye, better, lass. Shall I show ye what pleasure it is that couples defy the Church to gain?”

“Yes.”

She felt as if she might die if she didn’t know the answer. Her heart was pounding so hard, her hearing became nothing but a rushing of her own blood. Her back arched, trying to lift her hips up so that she could gain the pleasure he hinted at. She wanted it, craved it so greatly that nothing else mattered.

“I want it, Gordon.”

“Then ye shall have it, lass, from my hand.”

She craved attention on her clitoris. The little button throbbed at the top of her sex, making her mindless with need.

“God, ye’re wet.” Now his voice was raw with need. She heard it and knew exactly what it was. He pushed her chemise up to bare her and leaned forward to suck on her clitoris. His mouth was impossibly hot around the sensitive nub. But she didn’t have time to care that she might be burned. He sucked on her clitoris and worked his finger in a small circle around the opening of her passage. The motion pushed her over the edge into a swirling pool of pleasure that was so intense she felt it tearing her apart. It was blinding and almost deafening, but she still heard her own cry echoing off the ceiling. Every muscle tightened, straining toward his mouth. The walls of her passage clamped down while the pleasure broke deep inside her.

She lay there, boneless, unable to move anything except to draw in breath. Her chest rose and fell in shallow motions because she lacked the strength to draw deeper breaths. Gordon sucked a few last times on her clitoris before raising his head to watch her. Smug satisfaction gleamed from his glittering eyes before he crawled up the bed to lie beside her. His arms gathered her close while she struggled to regain enough strength to think once again.

She didn’t want to. All of the fight that had been coursing through her before was completely gone, and in its place was a contentment she couldn’t recall feeling in far too long. She felt as if she was exactly where she should be.

Which made no sense at all.

But her body was glowing with delight, hands reaching out to touch him because it felt so very right. His kilt brushed against the tender skin of her inner thigh, making her open her eyes to look at him.

“You didn’t take any pleasure.”

He was still fully clothed, and he moved the moment she spoke, sitting up and pulling her remaining boot off. That action recalled their quarrel to her thoughts. He stood up but turned and tucked the bedding around her in a tender action that confused her.

Extremes again. Tender and hard. She confessed to enjoying both.

“I don’t understand you.” Or my own responses to you.

He looked down at her, as if his gaze was memorizing the sight of her. Satisfaction glowed in his eyes when he was finished.

“Trust is nae something that can ever be demanded, lass. Too many men think that what they have from their brides is trust when it is actually fear. Frightened by their fathers and clergy, they lie on their backs and submit, all the while cringing. My first wife was that way and I swore that I’d never repeat the mistake of taking a woman that was a feared of being with a man to me bed again.”

“You have a wife?” Jemma felt her skin turn icy in a flash of horror.

“Nae. I had a bride who could not enjoy being a wife, so I let her go to a convent when she begged me to. She says she is very happy there, and the Church dissolved our union in favor of her becoming a bride of Christ.”

Jemma sat up, her eyes rounding with horror. She held the bedding tightly against her body to cover her nudity. The bed rocked, and a hard hand cupped her chin.

“Do nae look like that, Jemma. Ye have nae been whipped and broken with the notion that women are placed in this life to service men without any pleasure for themselves. Yer passion is natural, the way God designed ye, and I want ye just like that.”

“So what was this? Some indecent test? To assure you that I would be passionate enough to please you?”

He chuckled, a harsh sound of male victory that was too arrogant for her pride to tolerate.

“Aye, it was. Part of courting is discovering what manner of woman ye are. I don’t want to discover my bride hates the very idea of touching after the priest has blessed us.” His expression turned dark. “I’ve already done that once. Nae again.”

So he was not repentant one bit, even if she found it unsettling. “This is not part of courting.”

His eyes flashed at her. “It is for me. I am not some beardless boy content with soft kisses, and ye would be dissatisfied if I trailed after ye begging for yer attention. Ye are too much of a wildcat for that, Jemma. Part of ye needs to be taken.”

“Then why stop short of making sure that I am ruined for anyone else?” Maybe she shouldn’t have asked that question, but it was one that burned for an answer, eating away at her until she could not resist the need to know.

He released her chin and caught her hand in his. With a controlled pull, he drew her hand beneath his kilt and pressed her fingers against his cock. His flesh was hot and rigid beneath her fingertips, and she couldn’t suppress the shiver that went through her.

“Feel me, Jemma.” Sharp and commanding, his words were edged with unsatisfied desire. “Open yer hand and feel just how hard my cock still is.”

“That is indecent.”

“It’s natural. Admit that ye wanted to touch me as freely as I was touching ye. With nothing between us, only skin and pleasure. Lying there and being touched is not enough for ye is it . . . wildcat?”

It wasn’t. She had yearned to feel him . . . so much so that the craving had almost consumed her.

Her fingers opened and closed around his member, the hot flesh too tempting to ignore. Need ate at her, blurring the line between right and wrong until there was only hunger and what she wanted to satisfy it.

“That’s it, close yer hand around me staff and watch how much it pleases me.”

His nostrils flared and his eyes filled with delight. His length was hot and smooth against her hand, but it was also hard, the length rigid and swollen. She slid her hand up to the top of it and felt a thick ridge that crowned it.

“That is what yer passage was wet and eager for. My finger was but a tiny offering compared to what ye really hungered for.”

He stood up, pulling his cock from her grasp. A ripple of satisfaction moved through her, reminding her that he had fed her hunger while keeping his.

“But why did you not take me?”

“Because I intend to wed ye, and I want ye kneeling beside me because ye know that I am yer match, not because ye believe I ruined ye. I want yer trust and yer surrender, and nothing else will do to satisfy me.”

He picked up her other boot and walked toward the door, but he turned to look back at her.

“If ye still want to fight with me over the issue, Jemma, be very sure that I will meet ye on the field as many times as ye insist before ye consent to wed me, but I will nae give ye what ye truly crave until ye are my wife.”

He opened the door and shut it with a solid sound behind him. She sat poised on her knees once more in the center of the bed, completely stripped of everything that she had believed important in life. Everything she had been back at Amber Hill meant nothing here.

But did she want to return to being that girl?

Jemma sat down to contemplate that question because it was a very good one, considering that she did indeed like being pleasured like a woman. She looked around the bed and saw not a place to rest, but a place to feed the throbbing in her passage. It was lonely now that Gordon was gone; she felt the chill that had nothing to do with the open windows and everything to do with her choices.

Surrender?

Her pride bristled, but she couldn’t quite reject the idea altogether because he had been correct in one thing. There was a part of her that enjoyed being challenged when she tried to cast his advances aside. Deep down in that place where she enjoyed his strength was something that wanted to shout with joy because he had not taken her, and kissed her in spite of it.

But more important than all that was the spreading glow of contentment that came from the fact that she was still a virgin. She ached for his possession and could not have reproached him for taking her when she asked him for it. The warm feeling wrapping around her came from the fact that he did indeed have honor, an unbending sort that kept him from taking her just because passion had been licking her unmercifully.

Trust? Well, that was growing, and she feared that there was nothing she might do to hinder it.

Anyon was waiting on him again.

The sight of her did nothing to soften his mood; in fact it sent him to growling. His mistress smiled. Somehow, he’d failed to notice that the woman was very crafty. She knew him better than he believed and had used that knowledge to secure herself a position in his bed. Now that he was thinking about it, he had never asked her to be his mistress, but he knew that everyone thought she was. After all, he had done nothing to prevent it being said.

“Anyon, I do nae want to be unkind to ye, but I will seek ye out no more.”

She fluttered her eyelashes, but the motion only struck him as another ploy to bend him to her will.

“I’ll be marrying Jemma Ramsden.”

Anyon offered a disgusted look. “Why would ye wed a woman who just tried to run away from ye?” She walked toward him, her body wiggling in all the places that normally pleased him. Tonight even the extreme amount of cleavage she had on display failed to snare his attention. His mind was full of the soft rose-colored nipples he’d left behind the chamber door. Thinking of those buds sent a fresh bolt of need through his cock.

Anyon pressed her hands flat on top of his chest and rubbed her breasts against him. “Ye deserve a woman who values ye. I would nae shame ye.”

“Enough. I told ye, I’ll not seek ye out again.” He clasped her wrists and set her away from him. Anger flashed in her eyes, but she lowered her lashes to conceal it.

“I will nae set ye out, Anyon, and I’ll see ye settled with enough coin to get yerself a husband who pleases ye.”

“The only one who pleases me is you, Gordon.”

He didn’t care for the sound of his name on her lips. How had he never noticed that she used his name to secure her own position? There was no hint of wounded feeling in her eyes, only taunted ambition.

“And ye’ll mind how ye address me from hence forward. Ye were nae pure when ye came to me, Anyon, and ye are the one who came to me.”

“Something ye seemed plenty happy about at the time.” Anyon failed to keep her temper under control, and it flashed at him.

“As were ye, but it is past. I’ll have a bride very soon, and she shall be yer mistress.”

Anyon laughed. “You may call her what ye will, but that weak-kneed creature will never be my mistress. She’ll hide in her chambers or run away from ye, mark my words on it. Then ye’ll be back looking for a woman who does nae whimper because yer grip is too tight.”

“Anyon—”

She blew out a hard sound, interrupting him and not caring if it was a slight to his authority as her laird. “I am a woman, Gordon, and that is what the beast inside ye needs. That girl will never satisfy ye. Never.”

Chapter Six

“Tell me about the girl Gordon was wed to.”

Ula jerked her head about, looking more startled than Jemma had ever seen her.

“Who told ye about Imogen?”

It was clear that the housekeeper wouldn’t tell her a thing unless she answered the question in a way that she deemed acceptable. The warning in her eyes spoke of loyalty to her laird. “Gordon did. He said he was wed and that the girl is now a nun. I believe this is a matter that I need to know about if he is considering marrying me.”

“The laird should have told ye, but I agree that ’tis something ye have the right to understand.” Ula drew in a deep breath and looked about to make sure they were alone. “The girl was no good at being a wife, did nae care for it at all. She cried until her eyes were puffy every time he told her he intended to enter her chamber. She claimed that bed sport was sinful, and the awful truth was that she believed it.”

“Many think that. Why do you say it is awful?”

Ula stopped looking tired for the first time. The housekeeper placed her hands flat on the top of the stack of ironing she had been working to fold.

“That poor girl had her thoughts twisted beyond what normal parents do with their daughters. I’m no talking about instilling a healthy respect for remaining pure, that is right, but Imogen took to lashing herself every morning after the laird left her.” Ula lifted her face and shot Jemma a hard look. “’Twas a horrible sight what that girl did to herself because someone twisted up her thinking. She could nae tolerate knowing that she enjoyed being a wife. Her back was a bloody mess when we discovered what she was about.”

Ula stopped and drew in a deep breath. “The laird was a kind man when he let her go. I know men who would have set a guard on that girl to keep the dowry she came with. Her own father knew she wanted to be a nun but forced her to wed because of the alliance it would gain him with the Barras clan.”

It was a sad tale but not an uncommon one. Marriage was a business first. It was strange the way the world worked. A poor girl was granted the right to marry where her heart led her, but she longed for the better life that came with being born to a higher position. Those born to better, to titles, often discovered themselves envious of the chance to decide whom they would have affection for.

“I’m glad to see that ye are nothing like Imogen. The laird has refused to open any of the offers sent to him from other clans. He claims that he cannot stomach the sight of ink on parchment when it comes to marriage. Ye’re different, lass. He’s taken with ye because he set his eyes on ye. ’Tis a good thing for the laird, and ye being kin to our neighbor makes it a good match for the Barras.”

So simple, unless someone, anyone recalled that she had not lent her agreement to the match. Of course it was not needed; she might be wed by the clergy with only her brother’s word on the matter. Her dowry would be handed over, and Gordon would have the right to keep her on his land any way that he deemed appropriate.

I’m not being fair . . .

She truly wasn’t, but knowing that didn’t bring her any peace. It should have, for Gordon had treated her more than kindly.

“Yer thoughts are too troubled.” Ula handed a stack of linens to her with a quick flick of her hand to indicate a large cabinet that stood open for them. It would be locked when Ula was finished ironing what had been washed the day before. There were enough linens to change them out with fresh ones from this storage cabinet, but it was kept locked because fabric was expensive.

“Ye need some work to keep ye from turning matters over in yer head the way ye do.” Ula considered her for a long moment. “Go and fetch up the laird’s shirts that should be drying along the back of the west tower, and tell me if those laundresses are working or lying on the slope sunning their noses.”

It was only midmorning, so it would be best if the laundresses were working. Jemma decided that she wouldn’t care to have Ula cross with her. Such was a good thing in a housekeeper. If she failed to keep a tight fist around everyone drawing pay from the laird’s coffers, there would be dark times ahead for the castle. More than one great noble family had found themselves bled dry of silver by servants who spent more time resting than working while still expecting their pay. Ula didn’t seem to be the sort to allow laziness to flourish under her watchful eye.

Jemma made her way from the north tower where she had been working with Ula. The west tower was used for washing because the sun would shine on it last, allowing time for washing in the mornings. Laundry was left hanging all night if the weather was fair, and she heard dry cloth snapping in the breeze when she came around the side of the tower.

“I warned ye, ye English whore!”

Anyon was in a rage, the girl shoving at Jemma before she realized that an attack was imminent. The force of it sent her tumbling down the slope with its harsh stones that scraped and cut into her hands and face.

“I warned ye that the laird was mine!”

Anyon came down the slope after her, aiming a vicious kick at her head before Jemma regained enough of her senses to move. Pain shot through her neck and back, but she snarled and rolled out of the way of the next kick the girl sent at her.

“Enough, Anyon! I am not going to fight with you.”

“That’s because ye think yerself so much better than me, but ye aren’t! Ye’re a slut, and I will nae let ye take Gordon from me.”

The edge of the river was mere inches from her nose and the ground muddy beneath her hands when Jemma tried to push herself off the ground. She staggered to her feet, wondering why Anyon seemed to be waiting for her to stand. Her ignorance ended when the girl lifted her skirt and stuck her foot directly in the center of her belly, shoving Jemma into the water.

Jemma fell into the river, and the water rose up around her, burning her eyes and nose as she struggled to push her head back above the water’s surface. Her muddled senses caused her to flail about in the water, trying to decide which way was up.

A hard hand hit her between her shoulder blades. The blow was harsh and sent her remaining breath out in a whoosh that filled the water in front of her eyes with white bubbles. Anyon didn’t stop there. The girl held her down, pushing with all her weight to keep Jemma beneath the water.

She should have been frightened, but her temper rose in a burning rage. The water cleared, allowing her to see Anyon’s ankles. Reaching out, she grabbed one and used all the fury that was burning in her to yank it out from beneath the girl. Anyon fell back into the river with a huge splash and a startled screech.

Jemma stood up, gasping for breath. Her lungs burned and her vision was blurry from the soap left in the water from the washing. Strong lye soap that made her eyes tear.

“Stupid whore!”

Anyon came up out of the water with her fingers curled like talons. She launched herself at Jemma like an animal attacking.

“You still want to fight? Well, I won’t stand and let you drown me, that’s for sure.” Jemma balled up her fist and sent it straight toward Anyon’s face.

Pain exploded in her hand, but Jemma carried through with the blow. Anyon howled with outrage, but her neck twisted and she fell into the water with a snarl. The water suddenly splashed all around her as men plunged into the river between them.

“That’s enough out of ye, Anyon.” One of Gordon’s captains hauled his clanswoman out of the water with a disgusted frown while she kicked and fought them. Someone gripped her arm, and Jemma shrugged it off.

“I don’t need restraining. It wasn’t my idea to fight, but I’ll surely not stand idle while someone is attacking me.”

Jemma turned and discovered that the laundresses that Ula had set to working along the riverbank were lined up watching her. More men came around the tower at a dead run with a couple of women trailing them, telling her how they had known about Anyon’s attack.

But there were far more standing and watching.

That was the blow that hurt most of all. Jemma wiped the water from her eyes and took a second look. These were Anyon’s friends and blood. The fact that Anyon had tried to drown her didn’t seem to distress any of them too greatly. None of them had tried to stop her.

Of course not, she was English. No doubt most of them had lost kin to her countrymen.

“What manner of devil play is this?” Gordon’s voice made all the women flinch. Their eyes widened as they turned to face their laird. He came around the corner and swept the scene, his keen gaze stopping when his attention landed on her still standing knee deep in the river.

He snarled something in Gaelic and turned a furious look on Anyon.

“Put her in the stocks. She’s to be lashed.”

The laundresses gasped, gaining them their laird’s attention. “And the lot of ye will join her for standing about while this savageness was being done.”

“I don’t need you to rescue me, Laird Barras.”

Gordon turned an incredulous look on her, and the laundresses gasped in unison once more.

“Oh, enough of that gasping. The lot of you seemed to be sturdy enough to watch one of your own try and drown me; I hardly see why you are so shocked by a few disagreeing words now.”

Jemma trudged out of the water. Her legs felt weak as though they might crumble beneath her at any moment. She drew a deep breath to fend that off.

“No one disrespects my orders, Jemma.”

Gordon was furious, but she refused to bow her head. “Of course, but I need to make it clear to your clanswomen that I do not need anyone coming to my aid simply because I am English. I took care of Anyon well enough, and I will defend myself if any of them find it necessary to attack me, even if I do find it horrible to harbor such hatred for complete strangers based only on where they were born.”

Several sputters arose from the laundresses, and Jemma turned her head to glare at them. “Do you deny it? There is nothing that you object to in me but the fact that I was born ten miles from here on land that is considered English. It is naught but something you learned from your—”

She lost focus of what point she was attempting to make, her mind simply going blank. Shutting her mouth, she stared back at the laundresses until she forgot why she was looking at them. Turning her head, she discovered Gordon standing only a foot from her.

“Well, as you see, I handled everything myself. I meant no disrespect of course.”

“Aye, of course.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Her thoughts began to turn hazy. “I believe so . . . hmm . . . what did I say again?”

His blue eyes suddenly fascinated her. He caught her arms and she sighed, because it was the most perfect moment. His gaze settled on the top of her head, and he reached up to touch her, triggering a startling pain that spread through her head.

“Yer head needs stitching, Jemma.”

She offered only a soft mutter before everything became a blur of morning sunlight. Bright and perfect with each point of light shattering into a brilliant display of colors that she smiled at.

“So why is she still sleeping?”

Jemma winced and opened her eyes to see Gordon pacing. He didn’t pace like any other worried person she’d ever seen walk the floor. Gordon stalked. His feet taking huge steps that covered the length of the bed she lay on in three short strides. He froze when he noticed her looking at him.

“There, ye see? Exactly as I said. The girl is fine. She was lucky to sleep through the stitching.”

Gordon grunted. Ula stood near the bed along with another woman who had white hair. She seemed unimpressed with her laird’s disgruntlement.

“Leave yer head be, girl. I had to stitch ye up, but it’s in yer hair so the scar won’t bother ye any once it’s healed.”

“Stitched me up?” Jemma didn’t stop, but reached for the throbbing spot on the top of her head. She fingered it gently, wincing at the pain that bled out from the light contact.

The woman grunted. “Ye don’t mind very well. Maybe the laird is right to be suspicious. Could be her mind is wounded.”

“My mind is not wounded.”

Gordon snorted, but there was relief in his eyes. “She sounds quite normal to me. Ye have my gratitude for yer service, Vanora.”

“Seeing the lass well is enough for me. Do ye want me to get on with inspecting her so that ye can marry?”

“I didn’t promise to marry him.”

Vanora turned a curious stare toward her. “Well now, girl, if that’s so, I wonder where ye get the idea to argue so publicly with the laird. I thought surely ye were his bride, and even then, I still wonder how ye thought to escape being chastised for such. But if ye are nae his bride-to-be, well, I believe that Anyon will have a bit of company in the stocks.”

“Give us a moment alone.”

Ula and Vanora both inclined their heads before leaving the chamber.

“I shouldn’t have argued with you in public, I know that, but I’m not saying it to avoid the stocks, either.”

“Then why are ye saying it, lass?” Gordon crossed his arms over his chest, looking far too forbidding. It was another glimpse at that part of him accustomed to being in command.

“Because it is true. This world needs its rules. Without authority there would be nothing but lawlessness.”

His expression softened, but that only drew her mind back to what had happened the last time he was alone with her in the chamber.

“That doesn’t mean I agree that Anyon should be lashed on my account.”

He growled at her, low and deep, leaving no doubt that he was growing frustrated with her.

“Since ye just agreed that rules are needed to maintain order, ye can nae disagree with me having her lashed. She tried to drown ye.”

Jemma sat up and felt her muscles ache with the effort. She tried to conceal the pain, but Gordon read it off her face and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“She’ll be getting those lashes, and those who stood there watching will be paying for it, too. I won’t stand for having the women of this castle acting like a pack of wild dogs.”

“To what end? Punishment will only make your people detest me more. Besides, I gave her what she deserved and I hope she has a bruise marking her face.” Jemma crawled to the edge of the bed, determined to make her point to the stubborn man. “So you can save your pampering, Gordon Dwyre. I have no need of it.”

“Well now, Jemma, that would leave me only tenderness and passion to give ye.” His eyes flashed with hunger as his hands cupped the sides of her face. “I suppose I could yield to yer desire if ye agree to become my wife.”

“But why would you want to wed me? Your people detest me.” She shook her head but stopped abruptly when pain shoot through her skull. “All you and I do is fight when we are alone.”

And end up kissing . . .

Her cheeks burned with her thoughts.

“That is nae the reason ye hesitate to agree, Jemma. I would know yer reason to resist our union.”

His eyes filled with challenge, but she shook off his hands to stand up.

“You want to know my reason? Well, sir, I don’t believe I know it myself. You brought me here only a few days past and set me here to deal with your mistress while taking away my boots to keep me from leaving. The hallway is rather chilly in the morning on bare feet, I can tell you. However much you might say you are outraged, I notice that you said nothing of sending her away. Did you soothe your desire last night with her once you left me? That would account for her temper this morning.”

Gordon crossed his arms over his chest. “She would have been content and smiling if I’d taken my hard cock to her yesterday. We had words last night that I should have realized might enrage her.”

Jemma felt her eyes widen. “You admit that you went to her last night after leaving me?”

Gordon shrugged, his body looking far too relaxed for the topic. Jemma felt as if her emotions were going to burst through her exterior and send her lunging toward him just like Anyon had attacked her. She was jealous and had no idea how to deal with it.

“I’ll tell ye straight that she was waiting on me when I left ye last evening, and offered herself to me.” He lifted a hand and pointed a thick finger at her. “But I didna use her, which accounts for her rage this morning. She’ll receive her lashes, and that will make an example to anyone else who might think to argue against who I bring here as my bride. Ye’ll be mistress here.”

“You mean I will be your wife.”

His forehead creased with confusion. “My wife will be the mistress of this castle. They are one and the same.”

“I don’t believe so. Those that you enjoy your riding with will always be considered more powerful than the Englishwoman you bring home for her dowry.”

He shook his head, but there was anger burning in his eyes. “Didna I prove anything to ye yesterday, Jemma? ’Twas yer trust I was hoping to secure by leaving ye a virgin.” He snorted. “I can see that has nae happened yet, but I swear that I will have ye one way or another.”

“Is that a threat?” She tossed her head and squared her shoulders. “Well, I am not frightened of you Gordon Dwyre.”

Only the way you make me feel.

He closed the distance between them, one hand cupping her chin in a firm hold.

“Which is why I promise ye that I will be sharing yer bed tonight. Ye aren’t afraid of me because ye feel the same attraction that I do, ’tis a powerful thing and neither of us will be happy until we stop denying it. I wanted to give ye time to become accustomed to it, but I will nae have yer place here questioned again.”

“Don’t you dare try to protect me.”

“And why not?” he snarled through his clenched teeth at her, obviously frustrated. “Not only am I laird here, but I brought ye here, Jemma, so protecting ye is a point of honor.”

“Would you allow me to step between you and any man that threatened you?”

He drew in a sharp breath. “I would not.”

“It is the same thing when you insist on stepping between me and your clanswomen. I’ll deal with the women who try their hand at intimidating me, and I want you to stay out of it. There will be no lashings unless I order them.”

“That would only be yer place if ye are my wife, Jemma.”

“Our courtship is not a classical one, grant me my will, Barras, even if you don’t agree it is my place to insist on it. I don’t want you sheltering me.”

He stiffened but held his next words back. Jemma watched him fight back the urge to order her to accept his will. She was asking too much for the world that they lived in. A woman’s place was beneath the authority of a man. She might also end up in the stocks with her back lashed for saying that she did not want to follow that natural order. It was considered unnatural and obviously something that needed to be cured.

Gordon suddenly chuckled. It wasn’t a nice sound but one of contemplation.

“I’ll grant the women mercy because I see that the only way I’ll earn yer trust is to recognize that ye need some of the same things that I do. Ye need to know that ye aren’t helpless, ’tis something I can see the value of. That is the reason we’re so drawn to each other, Jemma, we’re very much alike.”

“I disagree.”

He snorted with male amusement. “Exactly my point. Ye disagree because ye do nae care for me telling ye what to think. I like to keep me own counsel, too. Ye can speak yer mind freely behind closed doors, lass, but when it comes to the others ye will recall what ye said about this order coming from there being rules.”

“So I will remember my place? Is that your warning?”

“Nay, lass, my promise to ye is this. Ye may have the Church’s blessing or not, but be very sure that I will be back to make sure ye have no doubt who eases my cock tonight.”

He hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her against his body while his mouth claimed hers in a hard kiss. There was nothing tender or teasing about it. His mouth demanded submission, and hers opened to allow his tongue to thrust deeply inside. Her passage ached for the same treatment. She wanted to be filled and all of her ignorance destroyed forever.

“You have no right.”

He snorted before releasing her. “What I am is honest, Jemma. Ye are a good match, but the thing that has me saying to make yer peace with wedding me today is the fact that even though I can nae see yer breasts, I know yer pink nipples are hard. Ye long for me as much as I do for ye, and I have the experience to tell ye that it will nay be easing. We’re drawn to each other, and nature has her way of being stubborn. I’ll be at the church at dusk.” His eyebrow rose. “And in yer bed by dark. I swear it to ye, Jemma, ye will be mine tonight.”

The door slammed shut behind Gordon, making Jemma flinch.

Excitement burned along her limbs and pooled in her belly. Her clitoris throbbed with longing so intense it stopped only a tiny bit short of being painful.

In yer bed . . .

She shivered as she recalled his words. The rest of the day’s events paled and fell aside as she became absorbed with recalling the deep timber of his voice. He was correct, her nipples were hard. The woman in her wasn’t interested in the reasons why she didn’t want to wed Gordon, and worse still her mind offered up the fact that he was far more accepting of her nature than any man she might hope her brother contracted.

But would Gordon remain that way? It wasn’t the way men expected their world to be. It might just be that the burly Scot was once again employing a clever strategy to gain what he wanted before he closed his hand into an iron fist and lowered it upon her.

But even that fear wasn’t a good reason to not marry him.

There was always the chance that Gordon was exactly as he appeared and that would be a far better husband than she might have dared to hope for. The reason was simple, she did desire him. So much so that she had to admit that she doubted her ability to send him away tonight if she refused to marry him. His kisses were intoxicating, and she knew that he would kiss her.

Someone knocked on the door, and it opened almost immediately. Ula pulled both sides of the doors open, and two boys carried a bathing tub in.

“I can bathe in the kitchen.”

Ula snapped her fingers at the boys who had stopped with the tub only halfway into the chamber. They jumped and hurried to finish their task.

“That wouldn’t be fitting for the mistress of this castle.”

A line of maids entered, and every one of them lowered themselves before hurrying to lay out things to please even the most noble lady. One added wood to the fireplace, poking at the thick layer of ash to get at the coals. Soon there was a crackle and pop of wood catching fire. Lengths of linen were laid out carefully before the growing flames so that they would be warm and cozy when she finished bathing.

“I’ve fetched up a few dresses that belonged to the laird’s mother. Silk does endure well, it seems. The styling is a bit older, but yer dress is showing a little too much wear for a wedding.”

“I still don’t mind going below to bathe. It is a great deal of effort to haul water.”

Ula snorted. “I only wish I could set some of these over-prideful maids to carrying water. I believe it would do them well for it seems there is too much unkindness to suit me. A bit of hard work will fix that.”

The maids kept their heads down, but that didn’t stop them from cutting quick looks at one another.

“But this tower has a water line, ’tis a fine comfort.” Ula pointed toward the window with pride ringing in her tone.

One of the lads opened up a set of shutters that did not reveal a glass window. This one was open to the afternoon air, but the opening was dipped in the center and one of the lads placed a copper trough into that spot, forming a deep “v.” It was long enough to reach the tub, and he reached out the window to pull on a rope that ran very close to the wall. A small wooden pitcher appeared on that rope, and when he kept pulling, it went over the top of the pulley wheel to spill its contents into a wide pan that extended past the window. The water rushed down to the low point in the window opening, into the trough, and then into the tub. Another pitcher was fashioned to the rope and then another. The boy worked the rope, and the chamber was filled with the sound of running water.

“How clever.”

“Aye, it is. One of the lads thought it up to save his hands from wear.”

The tub was filling rapidly, and one of the maids came through the door with an iron basket full of glowing red coals. She angled it carefully through the chamber, making sure to avoid touching anything. The basket had feet on it, and she slid it beneath the tub. A second basket was carried in to join the first one, and Ula went over to the tub to begin stirring the water about. The iron baskets almost touched the bottom of the tub. Since the tub was made of copper, the heat from the coals began to warm the water quickly. The lad finished filling the tub and tugged on the corner of his knitted bonnet before he and his partner left the chamber. The maids took their chance to scurry out behind them.

“Good for naught.” Ula sent a shake of her head toward the door. “A few lashes would have done them good. Ye are kinder than I, but even if ye are my mistress, I’ll tell ye straight that I think ye should put Anyon out. That girl is trouble, and she is no done upsetting this house, mark my words.”

“It’s not entirely her fault.”

Ula grunted and walked over to help Jemma begin taking her dress off. The tub looked very inviting. Her skin felt as if it had sand clinging to it, and that was entirely possible.

“Being unhappy does nae give her the right to attack ye. That is her fault.”

“I know.” Being mistress would mean making hard decisions. Ones that made her no friends. Yet that was the cost of making sure that a castle was run well. A noblewoman wasn’t anything if her holding didn’t run smoothly. If laziness was tolerated during the summer, there would be empty bellies in the dead of winter when the food stores ran dry. Gordon was charged with seeing to the protection of the castle, but she would be expected to make sure the kitchens ran smoothly and that her husband was not cheated by servants who failed to earn their pay.

That was the reason most men contracted a bride years before they intended to wed them. They wanted a woman who was raised to know the skills necessary for running a castle. Many a noble mother had dangled the account books of her own estate beneath the nose of a daughter’s prospective groom, proving that her daughter came with expert knowledge on how to run an estate.

She realized she was looking forward to having the workload again. She had run Amber Hill for years until her brother brought his new bride home. It had been right to turn over the books and the authority to her, but that had left Jemma with even less to keep her from riding.

Another rap came from the door. Jemma hugged her arms around her bare chest and looked over her shoulder to see Vanora making her way into the chamber once more. A prickle of anxiety crossed her skin, raising it into gooseflesh. It was normal enough to have a midwife such as Vanora look at her before she went to her groom. An age-old practice that protected women from accusations of greedy men who wanted to collect dowries by claiming there was something wrong with their wives once the marriage was consummated. It could take years for divorces, and all of that time the dowry might be kept.

“Well, I can’t look at ye with yer hands up like that.” Vanora made a motion with her hand. “Let me see ye, girl. Ye’re not the first bride I’ve taken a look at. The sooner started, the sooner finished.”

It was a practical idea but one that Jemma found little comfort in. Vanora made a slow circle around her, her keen gaze sweeping her from head to toe.

“A good bath and ye should please the laird,” Vanora announced with an approving grin.

Ula pulled the baskets of coals out so that the bottom of the tub would not burn her. Jemma went into the water gratefully. At least it felt as if something was covering her, even if it was transparent.

Different pieces of soap were laid out on a small table near the tub. The aroma of flowers drifted up to her nose, and she reached out to pick one up. It was scented with rosemary. Jemma reached for another and discovered the smell of heather mixed in with the soap. The third one was spicy cloves from gillyflowers. She kept it and began to run it along her arm. Ula watched her with a keen eye, noticing every detail.

Another knock on the door and two maids entered. They didn’t consider their presence during her bath anything to worry about. No one would think such a thing. Privacy was something only traitors and plotters craved to cover up their sins.

But she had become accustomed to being alone. Jemma bit her lower lip and sat still while Ula directed the maids to begin washing her hair. They worked carefully around the new stitches in her scalp while still more maids entered with the dresses Ula had spoken of. She closed her eyes but could hear the footsteps all around her. Nervousness and excitement brewed inside her until she was flooded with a combination of the two emotions. The sun seemed to be arching toward the west remarkably quickly today. Maids flowed in and out of the chamber. They brought her trays of food that she left untouched, and warmed cider that she only sipped. The dresses were tried on, and then more women appeared with their sewing boxes in hand to begin stitching quickly on the one that was selected.

A hush remained, and Jemma realized that she was the cause of it. The staff was waiting to see what sort of woman she was. No one wanted to be the one who chattered too much and gained the displeasure of the new mistress. Everything felt as if it was rushing too quickly toward the moment when she would be expected to make her choice.

You’ve already made it and you know it, she told herself.

Knowing that didn’t ease the tension. It tightened and filled her with anxiety while Ula brushed her hair until it shone. The dress was a soft blue silk with velvet edging. The neckline was square and the sleeve had thick cuffs that turned back to lay against her forearms. Ula looked at the hat that came with it but shook her head. It was a style once favored by Catherine of Aragon, built high to represent the desire to achieve heaven’s favor.

“I don’t understand the court fashions at times, but ye do nae need a hat since it is yer wedding day. It’s a pity there is no ivy left, everything has turned to color now.”

“I don’t need decorations.”

Ula nodded approvingly, and the housekeeper raised her voice just a bit when she answered so that every maid in the chamber was sure to hear.

“A wise thing that is, knowing that decorations are naught but a waste of resources.”

The last thing set out for her was a pair of silk slippers. Jemma stared at them for they appeared too fragile to be anything but a figment of her imagination. But she stopped before stepping into them.

“Gordon took my shoes away.” Saying the words awoke her temper—she was still quite displeased with the manner in which the man had tried to keep her inside his fortress. But her cheeks also heated with a blush as she recalled just what had happened when he took her boots off.

“I wouldn’t be calling these shoes, they are more slippers, and pretty as they might be, they are quite useless for much more than supping and dancing.”

Of course, court ladies would have slid their slipper-clad feet into over-shoes that kept the delicate silk creations from being soiled on the way to their banquets. Costly Persian carpets would have been rolled out to cover the hallways so that they might step out of their over-shoes and onto carpet that would not mar their pretty slippers.

She wasn’t going to wear them.

Turning around, she walked toward the table and picked up a hand mirror that lay there.

Was she pretty? She really had never contemplated the question. Her father had told her she was fair beyond all others, but he was her father.

“Ye will please the laird.” Ula spoke in a soft tone.

“Hmmm . . . perhaps.” Jemma placed the mirror carefully back on the table. “But will he please me?”

There was a collective gasp from everyone in the room except for Ula. The housekeeper held her silence for one long moment before erupting with laughter. She slapped the top of her skirts and continued to shake with amusement.

“I do believe the laird may have met his match. ’Tis a grand day indeed.”

Gordon couldn’t recall when he’d been so nervous in the past. His shoulders tingled with the strain, every muscle tight with anticipation. Would she come? He debated the alternatives if she didn’t appear.

But the truth was, he wanted Jemma to walk down to their wedding of her own free will. Part of him needed it more than he wanted to admit. Trying to tell himself she was a logical choice for a bride didn’t change the fact that he yearned to see her submitting by choice.

That was something too many men didn’t understand the value of. It was something that they failed to see in their own mistresses. Part of what drew them away from their marriage beds was the freely given affection a mistress offered. She embraced a man because she wanted to, not because of some contract. Many would tell him he was insane to want that from a wife, and there was a possibility that they were correct, but that wouldn’t keep him from hoping. He looked toward the door and sighed when it remained empty.

He ground his teeth against each other and moved down the aisle. He wasn’t abandoning his ideas, but he would have her tonight.

Even if that was outside the bonds of matrimony.

Jemma took a deep breath and tried not to turn and look at all the women watching her. She could feel their eyes on the back on her head, but she kept her pace slow and steady as she crossed the courtyard.

Gordon suddenly appeared at the doorway of the church, his face a mask of disgruntlement. She stopped, staring at that expression and trying to decide what to do next. Her firm decisions didn’t hold up well against that dark expression. She stood in place, trying to recall what her reasons were for joining him.

But his eyes suddenly lit with joy. There was no other way to describe it. The emotion erupted clearly in those blue centers before his lips parted and his teeth flashed at her in welcome. He held out a hand with his palm up in invitation. Jemma took a step forward and frowned when she lowered her foot onto a sharp stone. His smile faded but not completely as he closed the distance between them.

“Are ye losing yer courage now when ye are so close? Where’s the spirit that got ye this far, Jemma?”

“It is annoyed by being barefoot.” She kept her voice low so that her words did not drift to those watching. The men along the curtain wall had turned to witness the moment, and the priests filled in the doorway to the church while the nuns peeked through the stained glass windows.

Gordon’s eyes filled with wicked merriment, something that she was beginning to understand was a major facet of his nature.

“Brides used to wed in their shifts to demonstrate their submission to their groom.”

His hand was still out, and she placed hers in it before digging her fingernails into his skin. He choked on his amusement.

“Well, I suppose that if you see naught wrong with every man seeing my body through the thin fabric of my chemise . . . I believe the light is just right to shine through and show every curve I have.”

“Barefoot is submissive enough.”

“Too much for me.”

His hand closed around her, and his expression became pensive. “Then why did ye come, Jemma? Somehow, I doubt it was my promise to return to yer bed even if I believe that ye know I mean to do exactly as I said.”

She raised her face and stared at the joy that was still glittering in his eyes. Her heart absorbed that single emotion and cradled it close.

“You are correct that I am not here because you promised to take my innocence tonight. Maybe I am here because you left me a virgin last night.” She offered him a guarded look. “It is possible that I do trust you even if I detest the idea of wedding you barefoot.”

“I rather like the notion.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “It means I’ll be able to undress ye so much faster.”

She dug her fingernails into his skin once again, but the priest narrowed his eyes at them both.

“Are ye ready, lass?”

“As ready as I am ever going to be, I believe.”

Gordon took the first step, leading her by their joined hands toward the church and the priest waiting to bless their union. She forbade herself to think, trapping her emotions down beneath all the reasons why taking her vows was the correct thing to do.

And in an impossibly short amount of time, she was wed.

Chapter Seven

The Barras clan was waiting for them when they made their way out of the church. Jemma was astounded at the number of people crowded into the yard. They were straining to see her and Gordon, fathers lifting their sons up to sit on their shoulders while rows of children stood on the few wagons dotting the area. A cheer rose when they followed the priest out of the sanctuary. There had not been one inch of pew space left inside, either. The small procession that preceded them included the altar boys; one held up a crucifix and one held a small painting of the Virgin Mary. The priest followed while swinging the incense burner to spread the fragrant herbs over those who came to see their laird wed.

They were led all the way to the great hall and then inside. The priest remained until she and Gordon sat at the high table. The man gave a final blessing, and the hall erupted into cheers. Jemma couldn’t contain her smile because there was just too much merriment surrounding her. The cheering died down and the music became louder, and her toe began tapping beneath the silk skirt of her dress.

“Ah, something that pleases ye.” Gordon reached out to capture her hand beneath the table. He gave it a soft squeeze. “I’ll have to be remembering that.”

Large platters were brought toward them from the long tables in front of the hearths. The cook was turning back linens draped over the food to decide the order it was to be served in.

It was far more effort than she had anticipated. While she had been bathing, there must have been a flurry of activity in the kitchen.

Gordon squeezed her hand once again, and she turned to discover him watching her.

“Did ye think I’d just take ye upstairs straightaway without celebrating?”

Her cheeks heated because she had been completely focused on the next important part of marrying.

The consummation. Her mind offered up the fact that tonight she would do far more than feel his cock. She could expect her groom to remove his clothing. That idea deepened her blush, and the warm fingers clasping hers gently stroked her fingers.

“As much as I’m eager for that, lass, ’twould be a blackguard that did nae offer ye a wedding feast.”

“But there was so little time.”

He leaned in so that his words remained between them. “Aye, there was indeed, but look, Jemma, it seems that everyone is very eager to lend their effort to making tonight special for us.”

“I did not expect such, but thank you.”

One of his eyebrows arched arrogantly. “Have I given ye the impression that I do nae know how to celebrate, Jemma? Well, that is something that is going to have to change.”

His tone suggested that he was more serious than teasing. Her eyelids fluttered because it was another hint of tenderness she had no idea how to accept. He released her hand and a moment later cupped her chin to raise her face. His eyes simmered with happiness.

“I can see that it is definitely something I am going to have to work on proving to ye, for I care not for the fact that ye doubt me.”

“There has been little happiness between us.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Aye, well, it was a wee bit of an intense moment that I found ye in, Jemma.”

Another cheer went up, and Jemma turned to see that men were pushing the tables back to clear a large section of the floor. The moment they completed their task, couples flooded the area and began dancing. Several men and even some women were gathered together with their instruments to provide music for the dancers. There were handheld drums, flutes, violins, and Scottish bagpipes. They blended together in a lively offering of music that kept her toe tapping.

“Do ye play any instruments?”

“Yes . . .” Jemma stumbled over her response because she realized that Gordon was making an attempt to know her. It surprised her because she suddenly realized that she had never taken any time to attempt to talk to him, either.

“I play the mandolin. My father enjoyed the soothing sound very much.”

“Would ye play for me?”

Her lips tugged up at the corners, and she had to fight the urge to lower her lashes again.

Sweet virgin . . . she is simpering, he thought.

“If you like. Is it possible to have my things brought from Amber Hill?”

Gordon looked slightly uncomfortable for the first time. “Aye, ’tis something I should have seen to before, but I confess that I was distracted by ye too much to consider that ye had not even a clean chemise.”

“Ula brought me what I needed.”

He grimaced. “Aye, and slipped a few barbed words into me ear when she made mention of the fact.”

Jemma couldn’t resist laughing. Just a low sound of amusement that gained her a scoffing sound from Gordon.

“Do nae start laughing at me. That woman knows how to strip the flesh off a man without muttering a single word that ye might be able to take offense at.”

“I have noticed that, but that is her experience rising above our own.”

“It is that, lass, I hope ye’ll be considering that valuable.”

Jemma suffered another jolt of shock hitting her. He hoped? So the man was not going to usurp her authority when it came to the running of the house, even if he disagreed with her choices?

“I have never disrespected ye, Jemma.”

She snorted and lowered her voice. “You spanked me and took my shoes.”

He offered her a cocky smile, one that flashed his teeth at her.

“Now that was just playing, lass. I admit that placing my hand on yer bottom was quite enjoyable.”

“Playing?”

Jemma kicked him beneath the table, but her bare foot took more pain from the blow than his shin did with his knee-high boots to help protect him. He chuckled.

“Ye see? There is evidence as to what I am saying . . .” He leaned toward her and she was too curious not to do the same. There was something about the man that was far too hypnotic. “Ye like to play, too, which is why I indulge ye so often.”

Jemma pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. “You toy with me too often, sir.”

His expression turned sensuous, and his eyes filled with dark promise. “I’ve only just started, lass, but it would be a poor groom I am to take ye above stairs the moment the priest finished the blessing. Ye might think I only think of two things in life, fighting and riding.”

Jemma smiled sweetly at him. “Do you mean to say that you do think of other things?” She kept her tone innocent and honey coated, exactly as her nurse had once instructed her.

He snorted and then laughed out loud. He tipped his head back and let his amusement bounce off the ceiling. Heads turned to glance at them, and Gordon picked up his tankard and raised it toward the assembled company.

They cheered and grabbed their own mugs, everyone tipping them back to drink long and deep. Gordon slammed his mug down and pushed his chair back.

“Come, wife! I want to dance with ye so that ye are too tired to lead me on a chase around our bed tonight.”

His words gained hearty approval from those who heard him, and they were happy to repeat what they heard to those who weren’t close enough. Jemma blushed as the men all cheered on their laird and the women offered her tiny smirks.

“You are incorrigible.”

“Aye, lass, I am.”

But he still knew how to play, and that was something she realized she had missed. Amber Hill had been too structured, a necessity while her father was ill, but she couldn’t recall the last time she had danced anything but slow pavans.

Gordon pulled her into the middle of the dance floor, and the music picked up its tempo. The dancing was Gaelic with some of the younger girls rising all the way up onto their toes. They pulled their skirts up to show off the quick motions of their feet, and the men roared with approval while clapping in time with the musicians. Everyone joined in, from the young to the old. Even Ula passed by, her skirts held in her hands while she wove in and out of the men. There was flirting and boldness such as Jemma had never seen in her dancing instructions. The dances were not the orderly Italian steps she had been taught in case she went to court. They were more like the ones danced at festivals outside the walls of Amber Hill.

Gordon pulled her along, but she took to the beat of the music well, reaching down to grasp her skirts and pulling them up as the young women had done. The stone floor was smooth and cool against her bare feet.

Ula danced by and caught her hand to pull her along. The housekeeper wove and dipped through the men while women joined them, forming a long line of linked hands. The musicians played faster, and Ula pulled Jemma toward the doorways. A snarl and growl rumbled from behind her, and she turned to see Gordon being held back by his clansmen.

But it was done with a great deal of jesting. Gordon would frown, but he couldn’t maintain the harsh expression for more than a couple of seconds before his lips returned to smiling.

“Here now . . . I think he needs a bath, lads!” Kerry shouted over the noise the other men were making.

“A cold one!” someone else added.

Ula pulled her down the hallway before she heard any more. The noise coming from the hall became a blur of male excitement. But it was drowned out by the laughter of the women escorting her. They giggled and crowded around her, all the time sweeping her toward the stairs, but not the set that led to her chamber. They kept going until they entered the west tower. There they took her up the stairs, passing three floors before they pulled her into a chamber.

Without doubt, it was the laird’s chamber.

A huge space, it took up the entire area between the walls of the tower. They were on the top floor, and the ceiling was covered with arches that made for a breathtaking view. Candles cast their flickering orange and scarlet light over the rugs covering the floor. Persian ones and also thick fur ones. The chamber itself was round, with glass windows set in all the way around it with only two-foot sections of stone to interfere. Thick curtains, which undoubtedly cost a huge amount of money, hung on either side of those windows.

She didn’t get the chance to look at the room anymore. The older women clustered about her, gently unlacing her dress. They lifted her unbound hair up carefully while the silk and velvet garment was removed. The scent of rosemary touched her nose and the sweet fragrance of flowers. She could see the younger, unmarried girls pulling the heavy bed covering back to expose the sheets. They folded everything down to the foot of the bed, leaving only the creamy expanse of the bottom sheet. Vanora peered at it, reaching out to run her hand over the smooth surface before grunting with approval.

Jemma blushed and felt her limbs quiver. Nervousness assaulted her in a flurry, threatening to buckle her knees.

Vanora would be back at sunrise to look at that sheet. It was an ancient custom and one she had seen played out many times at the village that clustered around Amber Hill. When the merchant’s daughters married, the next morning there would be a stained sheet hanging from the window of the house or there would be deep disgrace for the bride and her kin.

She didn’t fear disgrace. No, the anxiety that flooded her came from the knowledge that there would be a stain on that sheet come the morning. For all the playfulness Gordon had displayed in the past couple of hours, it was passion that had led them to this night. He would have her, and his cock was no doubt hard with hunger right that very moment.

She sat down while someone brought a basin forward to wash her feet. Hushed bits of conversation drifted to her ears, but she was far too absorbed with contemplating her groom.

Cool water splashed over her toes, drawing her attention to the women eagerly preparing her for her wedding night. She’d missed out on helping brides in the past few years, and she discovered that her memories were those of a little girl, because as soon as her feet were rinsed and dried she was pulled to her feet and her chemise plucked right off her.

A soft sound of shock passed her lips. That drew more attention to her.

“Make a path for Vanora.”

The women tending her parted, and the old midwife crossed the floor toward her. Jemma tried to remain poised, but it felt impossible to remain still. She wanted to cover her breasts with her arms, but forced them to remain at her sides. She mustn’t act as though she had anything to hide. Gossip was a vicious thing, and brides suffered from it more than others. If she refused to have the midwife inspect the entire chamber to her satisfaction, there might be talk that Jemma had hidden chicken’s blood somewhere to stain the sheets.

The midwife stopped in front of her, and the chamber went silent. The women behind her lifted her hair to show there was nothing hidden. Jemma forced her hands to open wide, her fingers spreading for Vanora’s gaze. It took every bit of nerve she had to remain still, but every wife in the room had tolerated the same on their wedding night, so she stood steady. She would not cringe like the pampered Englishwoman many of them called her behind her back. She would show them courage.

Vanora took a linen square from a nearby table and ran it up the inside of her thigh, across her sex and down the opposite side before pulling it back to look at and confirm that she was not having her monthly flow. Several woman stood on their toes to see the surface of that fabric. One of them was Ula. Jemma felt her cheeks sting because her blush was so hot, but she waited for the midwife to send her to bed.

Vanora nodded. “I am well satisfied. There will be no talk or ye shall answer to me in front of a priest.” The midwife turned to point a finger toward some of the laundresses who were standing in the back of the chamber. They were not helping at all, but there to watch with suspicious eyes. “Mind me well, for I am not so convinced that mercy is the way to instruct ye on decent behavior. Now be gone if ye have no help to offer. The mistress has tolerated far too much from ye already, but she has done so with courage. Wag yer tongues about something true for a change.”

There was a hushed silence, but a good number of the women surrounding her turned to glare at the ones standing near the walls. The laundresses did not hold up well. They hurried out, pushing on one another to escape.

That did not leave her alone. The chamber was still full of nearly thirty women, but the mood changed. They smiled and led her toward the bed.

“Come now, before the men show up with the laird.”

Someone had strewn late autumn herbs across the sheets. There were no flowers, but the sweet scent of heather and peppermint filled the air. Ula pulled up the covers to protect her modesty, and not any too soon. They heard the men escorting her groom from several floors below. They were trying to sing a bawdy tune but kept losing the rhythm because they were laughing too hard.

No one truly knocked on the doors, they ran into them, making a racket while trying to sing out the next line of their lusty song. Two of the women pulled the chamber doors wide open to admit the pile of chanting, kilt-clad males. They snickered before thrusting their laird forward.

“Be gone!”

They didn’t mind him very well. The group rolled back into song, several of them swinging their mugs back and forth to help keep time. It worked rather well, and they belted out the final few lines of the song. The women didn’t care much for their tune. They began to beat the group back toward the door, and the men grabbed them to take along with them out of the chamber. Ula was the last to leave, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Bloody lot of trouble.”

Jemma got a good look at her groom and laughed. She couldn’t hold it, Gordon Dwyre was soaking wet from his bonnet to his boots. Water dripped from the pleats of his kilt making a ring around him. He frowned at her.

“Ye’re nae helping matters, woman. The water was cold, and I bathed this afternoon.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe their goal was to clean you, Gordon. More, I think, to slow you down.”

She pushed the bedding back and stood up. His mouth shut with a click of his teeth. His expression became tight as though he was in pain, but in his eyes she could see hunger flickering. Those flames reinforced her courage. She strode slowly toward him, actually enjoying the way his eyes followed her every motion. The sonnets that she had read in a book of love suddenly made sense. This was what they meant when they spoke of not being able to look away. Gordon was devoted to her, and it was more than lust. Something else in his eyes shimmered brightly.

Approval, yes, but there was also relief. A relief born from the experience of his first marriage that had seen him entering his chamber to discover a woman cringing beneath his bed sheets.

“Yer more beautiful than words can express, Jemma. Thank ye for wedding me.”

She reached up to open the first button on his wet doublet. The fabric was stiff and resisted.

“We are well suited.” The button opened, and she began to work on the next one.

He cupped her chin and raised her face so that their eyes met. “I wed ye for more than the facts that might have been written on a parchment, Jemma.”

The words were tender. So tender and unexpected. Her heart eagerly soaked them up, refusing to allow any doubt to wipe them aside. He leaned down and kissed her. The fingers that had been opening his doublet turned into a fist that pulled him closer. She was no longer concerned about her lack of clothing; it seemed perfectly suited for the moment. What bothered her was the stiff fabric held in her closed hand. But his kiss was too delightful to postpone. She mimicked his motions, opening her mouth and tilting her head so that their lips fit more snuggly against each other. She even teased his lower lip with the tip of her tongue as he’d done to her in the past, taking a gentle pass along his lower lip. She felt him jolt, and then he pulled away from their kiss, confusing her.

Gordon snorted. “It is not that ye displeased me, Jemma. Quite the opposite.” He stepped away from her completely, and the action allowed doubt to invade her thoughts. Her arms rose up to cover her breasts.

“I suppose I can nae expect ye to understand what I mean.” He was busy unbuttoning his doublet with hands that moved far faster than hers had been.

“Then try explaining it to me.” Her voice was whisper soft, and she didn’t care for how vulnerable it sounded.

He surged out of his doublet and tossed it onto a chair. When he looked at her she gasped, because what she had thought bright about his eyes before was nothing. His eyes glowed now like the harvest moon. Hunger was a living force in them.

“Yer boldness makes me want to meet it measure for measure, lass, and I swear I hate these clothes right now for they keep me from holding yer lovely body against mine.”

“But isn’t it a wife’s duty to tend her husband?” Jemma wasn’t sure where her boldness came from, only that it restored her balance, allowing her to uncross her arms. One of Gordon’s eyebrows arched in question.

“Are ye toying with me, lass?”

“Maybe. If I am, it is something I have learned from you, I believe.”

He pulled his belt open, and the soggy wool of his kilt slumped to the floor in a wet heap. “Good, I like to think that we shall be fine playmates.”

Jemma barely heard what he said. His shirt was the only thing shielding his body from her gaze. Since it was wet, it molded to him like a second skin. The fabric was translucent, allowing her to see the darker hair that grew on his chest. The man seemed to be composed mostly of muscle. It ran down from his broad shoulders to a lean waist and on to powerful legs.

But his cock held her attention. It pushed the fabric of his shirt out. Ridged and swollen, the shaft was thick and long.

“Have ye changed yer mind?”

The hint of tenderness in his tone struck her as pity. Jemma didn’t care for that because if she took even one morsel of it, she feared she would be reduced to shivering with dread. She had wanted him before, so much so that she had been angry when he left. That was the fact that she held fast to, and she forced her hesitating feet forward to lift one of his wrists up so that she might untie the cuff.

“Yer courage is astounding, Jemma.”

She lifted her eyes to see appreciation filling his. He reached out and combed one hand through her hair, beginning at her scalp and drawing his finger down to the ends of the recently brushed strands. For such a simple touch, it sent a spark of anticipation down her body.

“Close yer eyes.”

She hesitated, and he slid his hand back into her hair near her head. He closed his grip on the delicate strands gently, but it was enough to dispatch another ripple of enjoyment through her.

“Close yer eyes and feel for a moment, without yer sight to interfere.”

“Oh . . . I see.” But in truth she didn’t. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and he pulled on her hair just a tiny bit more. Without the distraction of what he looked like, the sensation felt as if it were doubled. It raced down her spine and into her belly where it awakened the passion that had been sleeping since the last time he lay with her. Everything happened much faster this time, her body recalling in detail the intense pleasure that he had produced with his finger and mouth. She was eager for more, her clitoris beginning to awaken.

“That’s the way, lass, trust me.”

Though she wasn’t cold, when his hand left her hair she felt the loss of its heat.

His heat.

All across her body, her skin was demanding to be touched. She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts and her belly, and even over the curves of her hips. The idea of it was intoxicating. Her senses became heightened, and she clearly heard the slump of the wet shirt as it dropped to the floor. Excitement rippled across her skin, and she opened her eyes, unable to remain still.

He caught her up against him before she got a clear look at his body, his mouth seeking hers out to press a demanding kiss against it. Passion burned brightly inside him, which his kiss reflected. He captured the back of her head in one large grip, holding her captive while his mouth pillaged hers. His tongue thrust deeply inside, stroking along hers, and her passage begged for the same attention. She felt empty again, and this time the need did not build slowly. It burst into flames that tormented her as much as they pleased her. Jemma reached for his shoulders, her hands seeking out the warm skin she had longed to feel against her own.

He swept her off her feet and carried her toward his bed, the laird’s bed, and that sent a shiver of dark possessiveness through her.

“Did you bring Anyon here?”

He laid her down on the heather-scented sheet, one hand lifting her hair up and out of the way so that it would not become trapped by her back.

“Nae.”

His voice was gruff, and it was darker in the bed with only a teasing flicker of candlelight making its way to them. That only heightened her senses once more. She heard tiny sounds, such as her own heartbeat. She lifted one hand to press it against his chest. Beneath her fingers she felt the steady beating of his heart, and her lips rose into a smile.

“Exactly, lass, we are nae so different when all of the trappings of this world are taken off us. Here, our bodies fit together very nicely.”

“We’ve yet to see about how well you will fit.”

“Ye’re the boldest virgin I’ve ever heard of.”

She settled against the sheet and felt him rising above her. He remained on his side, lying next to her, but she felt small and petite compared to his harder and larger form.

“Or did I build a desire in ye for more of the pleasure that I gave ye the last time we were in a bed together?”

His voice was husky but playful. “I believe the word you used was trust.”

He reached out and trailed his fingers over the mound of one breast. She shivered as pleasure spread out from that touch.

“It is something I value greatly, lass.” He gently cupped her breast, forming his hand around the tender globe. Her nipple drew tight until the top was a hard pebble that eagerly anticipated his kiss. “Something that I plan to put to good use tonight.”

“I suppose that I am hoping that is so.”

He tilted his head, raising his attention up to her face. “Ye question that? Why? I know that ye were pleasured the last time I touched ye.”

His pride was slightly wounded; she heard it in his voice.

“You did, but I believe you have something else planned for this evening that I have never experienced, so the only thing I may say is that I hope it is so. But I seem to recall that doing this pleased you.” Reaching for his cock, she closed her hand around it. The flesh was silken soft, but the staff itself hard. He drew in a stiff breath, his expression becoming strained. Jemma moved her hand to the top of his shaft to where a thick crown circled the head. She touched it gently, feeling it and listening to the sounds of his breathing.

“Ye have a wickedly clever hand, lass.”

“Ah, does that mean that my actions meet with your approval . . . my lord and husband?” She offered up her last few words as a test. There were plenty of men who liked to hear such from their wives; some who demanded it.

Gordon opened his eyes. “Leave that bit of expected speech for when there are others about to hear ye, lass. That has never been my way with ye when we’re in private, but I can understand ye wondering about it.”

“I see. Aren’t you afeared that I will become bold if you do not keep me in my place?”

He flashed her a wide smile that was full of mischief. “I believe I’m dreading the fact that ye might be meek, madam. There is something that I fear. Truly I do.”

“We could not suffer such, not fear from the Laird Barras himself.” She moved her hand back down to the base of his cock, watching his face to see what he did in response.

He made a soft sound beneath his breath, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. “I’m suffering, lass, but ’tis a pleasant sort of suffering.”

She moved her hand up and down his shaft, gaining a sort of rhythm. He growled softly, rolling slightly more onto his back to offer her access to his length. Apparently his cock was as sensitive as her clitoris. Her gaze moved to it. The head was swollen and crowned with a small slit that held a drop of fluid. Bringing her hand back up to the top, she ran her thumb over that slit, her skin slipping easily across it. Another moan rumbled up from his chest, but it was not nearly as hungry or passionate as he had driven her to.

Of course, he had been using his mouth on her, too . . .

Before she considered the idea any further, Jemma leaned down and opened her mouth and licked the head of his cock.

“Sweet virgin’s tits!” His huge body jerked, bouncing on the bed and pulling his cock from her grasp.

“Gordon . . . such words will see you in the stocks.”

He snarled while glaring at her. Jemma rolled up until she was poised on her knees in the middle of the bed. “Didn’t you like that? I enjoyed it when you used . . .”

“When I sucked on yer clitoris, aye, I recall it well.”

His cock looked more swollen now, the head ruby red. “Men don’t enjoy the same?”

He laughed, low and deep. “They do, lass, but I don’t trust my control to last if ye took to Frenching me. I’d likely spill my seed.”

There was a tone in his voice that told her he found the idea very appealing. Her pride latched on to it, craving an opportunity to be the one commanding his pleasure.

“I’ve heard that men can spill more than one portion of seed in a night.”

He stiffened, his eyes filling with bright hunger. “Aye, that’s a truth.”

“Then I do not see any reason for you to argue against my Frenching you, unless you were not sincere in your claim that you have no care for a submissive bride behind closed doors.”

“That word is nearly enough to unman me, coming from yer lips, lass.”

But not enough? She grabbed the challenge and stretched out toward him on all fours, walking her hands across the surface of the bed until she lowered herself onto her stomach. The candles turned his skin crimson, and she used both her hands to cup the sac hanging below his member.

“Since we are newlywed, I believe I should confess that I have never been satisfied with being nearly good enough at anything, Gordon.” She stroked her fingers up the soft skin encasing his cock, lightly teasing it as he had done with her sex.

“I’ve always admired those who seek excellence, lass.”

His breath was becoming rough. Closing her hand around his thickness, she leaned forward and trailed her tongue over the top of it again. She felt him shiver. The little response fanned the flames of her determination. She licked his cock again, this time with more than just the very tip of her tongue. She leaned in closer and allowed her mouth to open wider so that more of her tongue connected with his cock. Fluid had returned to the slit, and it tasted slightly salty when she ran her tongue over it. She could hear him breathing roughly, but it wasn’t anywhere near the same mindless condition he had reduced her to.

Lifting her head, she looked up at his face. “Tell me how to French you.” He snorted at her request. “Why not tell me? I don’t know because bed sport was something I expected to learn from my husband, not from the local light skirts.”

His hand grasped the back of her head, and his lips thinned into an expression that was almost harsh until she recalled how tight her own emotions had been stretched when he was sucking her.

Is he on that edge?

“Open yer mouth and suck some of my length inside.”

She swallowed hard and shivered. Excitement brewed once again in her belly. It was strange how hearing the words made her quiver with anticipation. Her hands stroked his member, drawing another snort from him.

“And do that with yer hands.”

She looked back down at his cock and opened her mouth. She had already tasted him so there was no hesitation in her. Relaxing her jaw, she took the head between her lips while her hands played up and down the portion that was still outside her mouth. His hand tightened on her hair, and she heard his breathing become small pants. His hips thrust toward her mouth, driving his cock deeper and then withdrawing in shallow thrusts.

He groaned. Low and deep, it was a sound that confirmed he was as flooded with pleasure as she had been. That knowledge sent a flicker of heat through her clitoris. But she wasn’t ready to allow him to reverse their roles yet. She allowed more of his cock to penetrate her mouth while her hands closed around his cock in an imitation of her passage clasping the entire length. He snarled something beneath his breath, his hips quickening their pace before the fingers in her hair tightened and his hips drove his cock into her mouth in a hard motion. She felt the warm spurt of his seed bathe her tongue and flood her mouth. His body shook while he let out a savage-sounding moan.

He pulled her head away from his cock, but she continued to stroke it with delicate touches while he drew in rough, rapid breaths. His face was drawn into a hard expression, but he opened his eyes and she witnessed the pleasure shimmering in them. His lips suddenly parted to display a smile at her. The expression, full of promise, sent another ripple of intense excitement through her being.

“One good Frenching deserves another, woman.”

He hooked an arm beneath her waist and flipped her onto her back in one powerful motion. The amount of strength the man had was frightening, but he controlled it expertly. The bed shook beneath her back, and Gordon lunged right over her to come up between her legs. He slid his hands up the insides of her thighs, sending pleasure through her, and then pressed her legs wide. He did it with just enough strength to allow her to feel like he was indeed reversing their roles. His hands held her thighs wide to expose her sex while he raised his head up to look at her stunned face.

“I’m going to enjoy tonguing yer pearl, lass.”

“My what?” Her voice was a croak because she’d never imagined that husbands and wives talked so much about bed sport.

His hand moved to her spread sex, gliding up the center of her folds to the top where her clitoris was unprotected now. He pressed his thumb down on top of it, gently moving the finger in a tiny circle.

“This little pearl, sweet wife. The only one that I truly care to see on ye. I’m going to enjoy giving it a great deal of attention.”

The man was not boasting idle promises. He leaned forward and captured her clitoris between his lips. She cried out because it was even more sensitive than she had thought. Arousal had seeped into her while she pleasured him, and now it was like dry tinder and his mouth the spark.

Her hands became claws, pulling at the bedding. His lips sucked, and the tip of his tongue flicked back and forth across her clitoris. She couldn’t seem to pull enough breath into her lungs, her chest heaving to try to keep pace with her accelerating heart. Her hips lifted to his mouth, seeking out enough pressure to fling her into that same pleasure pool as before. This time she knew her destination, and her body was even more eager for the culmination.

“That’s it, lass, raise yer hips and demand yer pleasure.”

He trailed one fingertip down the center of her spread fold to gently circle the opening to her passage.

“Take yer pleasure from me, Jemma.”

His voice was strained, as though his control was being tested. She lifted her eyelids to look at him and discovered hunger glittering in his eyes. She watched his fingers take over working her clitoris, pressing and rubbing it. She lost the ability to keep her eyes open, the pleasure becoming too much to ignore in favor of anything else. She closed her eyes and felt her body tighten, each rub from his fingers intensifying the pleasure. He leaned forward and replaced his fingers with his mouth, muttering something against her clitoris that vibrated against the sensitive point.

Pleasure ripped through her, pulling her into a moment filled with nothing but blinding delight. It raced out to the farthest points of her body and then back to her belly where it bathed the hunger gnawing at her in satisfaction. Her cries echoed off the arched ceiling and the canopy stretched over the bed. He trailed his fingers back down to the opening of her passage to gently tease it. She felt empty and as though she wasn’t yet truly satisfied. He allowed one finger to penetrate her, just a small amount, but the walls of her passage instantly registered it and how good it felt. The motion recalled her to the task in front of her. That thing that had been so much talked about.

Taking his member inside me.

For certain she had heard more coarse words for it, but she could see the hunger in his eyes and feel it still glowing in the deepest part of her. She was still needy, still yearning for something more.

“Are ye ready, Jemma? Ready to become me wife?”

His voice was rough and coated with need as great as her own. She lifted her arms in invitation.

“Come to me, Gordon. Be my husband.”

He growled and pulled his fingers from her passage. Rising up, she caught a glimpse of his rigid cock and shivered. But he crawled up to cover her, and his warm skin connected with hers to send a flood of contentment through her, as though it was something she had always yearned for but never realized she needed. Her hands rose to clasp his shoulders, and she felt the first touch of his cock against the opening of her body. It slipped easily against the wet skin, nudging its way . . .

Gordon suddenly froze, his head tilting sideways. The windows all vibrated with the ringing of bells. They increased in volume as more of them joined. He let out a vicious curse, and a second later she lay alone on the bed.

“What is it?”

“Trouble.”

He cast one look back at her and snarled something else that would have gotten him locked in the stocks for cursing. He grabbed the heavy coverlet and tossed it up the bed to cover her. Someone pounded on the chamber doors a moment later.

“Enter!”

Two of his captains burst into the room. “Fire in the village.”

“Assemble the men.”

His captains didn’t waste any time delivering their laird’s orders. They quit the room in a flash while Gordon stalked toward the far side of the chamber. She hadn’t realized the maid had set out his clothing in case he might have to dress quickly in the middle of the night.

It was his duty to protect his people. Such was a dangerous task that was so often bathed in blood. He pulled a shirt on and stepped into a pair of boots. Bending one knee, he laced one quickly and then the other. A kilt was already pleated along a table built at an angle. The length of tartan evenly placed and a belt running beneath it. He placed his back in the center and tugged the ends of the belt around his middle.

“Stay right there, exactly as ye are.” He leaned into the bed and pressed a hard kiss against her mouth before turning and grabbing his sword on the way out of the chamber.

Jemma heard the doors close, and her eyes filled with tears. She failed to keep them from falling, the salt drops falling down her cheeks to wet the sheets. She wept for the chill that crept over the chamber and for the moment that they had been denied, but most of all she cried because of the fear that dug its claws into her.

The fear that she might become a widow before she sampled the joys of being a wife.

Gordon smelled the smoke the moment he set foot outside the tower. He took the stairs two at a time and gained the top quickly. Kerry was looking through a spy glass at the bright orange glare below them. It wasn’t in the village but one of the farmers on the outskirts.

“I suspect that would be the work of those bloody English.”

“The ones I granted mercy to.” Gordon took a quick look through the glass before passing it back to one of the men standing nearby. “I warned them that there would be no second chance of that happening again. Mount up!”

Every lad over the age of five was already helping to saddle horses. They came running in their night shirts to lend assistance to their clan. Gordon’s foot touched the ground, and his stallion was tugged toward him. He offered the animal a firm pat along its neck before swinging up onto its powerful back.

“Open the gate!”

There was a groan as the chains were wound up and the iron gate began to rise. The Barras retainers didn’t wait for it to finish; they ducked their heads across the necks of their horses the moment the iron gate was high enough for them to ride beneath. The sound of the horses’ hooves combined with the night. They streamed out of the castle, uncaring of the darkness. Nothing was more fearsome than they.

Chapter Eight

Jemma rubbed her eyes at dawn. Sleep had proven elusive, and she was already out of bed when Ula arrived. The housekeeper was without her customary smile this morning, her lips slightly pinched instead. But she was also not alone, for several women followed her.

“Don’t bother, Ula, there is no stain on the sheet. We hadn’t . . . um . . . the bells interrupted . . . us . . .”

Jemma stumbled over her words, never having imagined that she would have to explain the lack of blood on her wedding sheets. She would have laughed indeed at anyone who told her such a tale, but there was naught amusing about knowing that her bed was as clean as it had been the night before. Being English in a Scottish castle was not the place for any bride to try to explain pristine sheets on her first morning as a wife. At the very least, her marriage was unconsummated. Anne of Cleaves had found herself divorced for the same circumstance.

“I see. ’Tis nothing to fret over, Mistress. The laird will return.”

“I shall pray that he does.”

Jemma shivered, feeling the icy dread that had been her constant companion since her father died. Ula was worried; she read it off the housekeeper’s face. Gordon should have returned before sunrise. Other maids came into the chamber and set to work dressing her. Jemma stood still out of shock and the dread that felt like it might stop her heart with its grasp. He would return, she had to believe that.

Why?

Was she so foolish as to have allowed affection for him into her heart?

Jemma scoffed at herself. There had been nothing allowed. That was the difficulty with tender emotions; they slipped past every defense like poison in a goblet. You never knew that an assassin had gotten close enough to snatch your life away until you felt the evil concoction eating away at your insides.

But evil was a harsh word. Jemma hugged herself and crossed the chamber to look out the windows. The maids had opened some of the glass panes just like shutters, allowing fresh air to sweep through the room. It carried the scent of fall and blew out all the traces of smoke left from the candles that had burned last night. She had never imagined sleeping in such a grand room; it was something from a tale of a palace somewhere far away. Not something she might actually step into. It was easy to see far into the distance.

The view did not ease her mind because there was no sign of the Barras retainers nor their laird.

Her heart longed to see them, and that only made her more unhappy. Dread unleashed its tension on her. Like any storm there was no way to block out the chill completely, because even standing in front of a fire you felt its icy touch on the back of your neck.

She followed the other women to church where the priest sent out prayers for the retainers and laird. But her thoughts were centered on the man she worried so much about.

“Come along, Mistress, best to keep busy; that will pass the time better.”

Ula was correct, but her voice betrayed that the housekeeper was no happier about waiting than Jemma was. They began to work, racing the end of the season to make sure the castle was prepared for the ice and snow. Every work room was piled high with dried fruits, oats, and grains. Men worked on the hen houses where the birds would roost during the winter while providing eggs. The birds were still being allowed to graze on the drying hillsides, and the young girls were sent out to find their eggs with large baskets to carry them back to the cook.

The afternoon turned dark long before sunset, black clouds dominating the sky. They huddled together while the wind ripped at her skirts. Jemma climbed up onto the hillsides to call the last of the girls back. They struggled to bring their heavy baskets with them, and she reached for two that were full of fresh eggs. With abundant food, the hens were laying twice a day.

“Go on now, it’s going to storm.”

The girls needed no further urging. They grabbed the front of their skirts and ran toward the side gate that led into the yard behind the curtain wall. Jemma followed but at a steady walk to ensure that she did not crack any eggs. She stopped outside the gate, hearing Ula’s voice raised on the other side of the stone wall.

“Are ye mad? Allowing the mistress out without an escort? The laird will nae be pleased, mark my words.”

“The way I hear, my laird will be plenty grateful to be rid of her. The sheets were white this morning. She’s a slut. An English slut that we have no need of.”

Jemma gasped. Thinking that it might be said was different from hearing it. Her face heated with a blush, and tears stung her eyes. She drew in a stiff breath and raised her chin, refusing to allow those tears to fall. She blinked them away and stepped boldly through the gate. The man arguing with Ula jerked his head around when he noticed her and his eyes narrowed in distaste. Thunder boomed in the hills above them, loud enough to make conversation impossible.

It was better that way. Kindness seemed to have abandoned her. Ula reached for one of the baskets, and they carried them both into the kitchens. The long rooms that served as kitchens were bustling with women coming in to avoid the rain. The cook snapped at them when they began to chatter, making the room an impossible place to concentrate.

Anyon stood near one of the hearths with other laundresses, all trying to dry their skirts. The girl smirked at her as she carried the basket toward a long table where the cook was laying out her ingredients.

“Better be careful that ye didna break any. The cook likes to hand out slaps.” The laundresses snickered.

Jemma raised her chin and shot a firm glance toward Anyon. “Well, I suppose that would be better than being ambushed for no reason beyond spite.”

Anyon propped her hands on her hips, and the action pushed her breasts out. “Ye see, there’s the problem with the English, they never did know how to fight.”

“Enough, Anyon, I have no time for pettiness.” Jemma turned her back, but the girl raised her voice.

“Oh, yes, I forgot. Ye have to be off to think of ways to get the laird to share yer bed since he could nae stomach the sight of ye last night long enough to plow ye.”

Jemma turned to face the girl once more. If she wanted to be mistress of Barras castle, she could not hide.

“But he was in my bed when the bells rang, not seeking out yours.”

Anyon stiffened but closed her mouth when the majority of the women working at the long tables refused to cross the laird’s new bride, even if the sheets had been clean this morning. They looked down at their work, abandoning Anyon to her temper.

Jemma raised her chin, casting a glance around to make it clear that she expected her words to be obeyed by all. “I was raised in England and therefore under the Protestant church. Since this is a Catholic nation, I expect that Christian values shall be used in this castle. My wedding-night celebration was interrupted. Any who claim any other reason for the lack of a stained sheet this morning will have the privilege of telling your laird that charge against me when he returns.”

Eyes widened, and several gasps made it past the hands attempting to smother them. Tension drew the muscles along her back tight, but Jemma remained firmly in place. She swept the room, aiming a hard look at anyone who did not lower their eyes when she met them. Only the cook stood up to her, the older woman staring back at her for a few moments. The woman wiped her hands on her apron before speaking.

“Aye, Mistress.”

Jemma turned around and felt everyone staring at her back. But she maintained her dignity, leaving the room with her chin level. Many a noble bride had failed to take her house in hand when she arrived. Failing to do so would earn her nothing but a staff set against her.

Jemma scoffed at herself. Her words might have ensured that the Barras staff was indeed set against her, for Anyon was one of their own. But a sharp slap came from the silent kitchens, a solid flesh-upon-flesh sound that Jemma could not mistake. The cook was clearly a woman of her word, and it would seem that Anyon was learning that the hard way. A flurry of work sounds followed, chopping and dishes connecting with the hard wood tabletop. The cook resumed issuing orders, but there was not one word in response.

“I’m glad ye put that girl in her place.” Ula nodded with approval. “I’m ashamed to claim her as kin.”

The thunder cracked above their heads so loud it felt as if it shook the very air. Jemma shivered, something raising the hair on the back of her neck. It was more than the wind, something other than the storm raining its fury down on the towers. She could feel the hate being directed toward her. It was thick and choking, frightening her with its darkness.

“I hope it brings peace. That is all I seek, Ula.”

The border land . . .

“Damn miserable rain.” Curan Ramsden offered his opinion in the place of a greeting. He pushed the visor up to expose his face. “Makes a man want to seek out his home and family.”

There was no mistaking the barely concealed threat in his tone. Gordon turned his hand over to feel the rain pelting them and shrugged. “Ye have spent too much time in France if ye find this weather disagreeable, my brother by marriage.”

Curan held his emotions behind a tightly controlled expression. It was admirable because not every man learned to hide what he was thinking so well. The only hint was the way the man’s stallion jerked its head, clearly feeling the man tightening his thighs around the saddle.

“Is that so, Barras?”

“Yer sister did me the honor of becoming my wife yesterday.”

There was a flash of something dangerous in Curan’s eyes. It was something Gordon knew about the man, that he was a noble who took action rather than talking. Curan was a knight who backed up every word he spoke.

“Yesterday? And you failed to invite me to the ceremony.”

“I had yer permission.” Gordon returned the baron’s stare, refusing to back down. Jemma belonged to him. “That was always my goal, and I told ye plainly.”

“But did my sister agree?” Rage edged each word.

Gordon leaned forward. “She did.”

Curan glared at him, holding his next thought while lightning flashed around them. The thunder came next, and Curan’s expression looked just as fierce as the rumble sounded. “But you have no way of proving that, Barras, seeing as how you moved forwards without sending someone to inform me of your impending wedding so that I could ask Jemma that before the vows were taken.”

“I do nae send any men out without a full escort with yer English knights roaming these hills looking for me queen. They nearly ended yer sister’s life, and fired one of me farms last night, dragging us both out here to enjoy the weather.”

“Your point is well founded.”

Gordon nodded, accepting the slight easing of tension between them. “Ye are welcome at Barras Castle to ask Jemma yerself.”

“That will not resolve my question now that the deed is done.” His eyes narrowed with judgment. “Nothing can.”

“Well now, lad, that’s where ye’re wrong.” Gordon watched his neighbor’s face register surprise. Unlike most men, Curan waited for him to continue instead of blurting out another comment that would delay him gaining the answer he sought.

“I married yer sister and took her to bed, but the attack on my people took me away before I consummated the union.” Gordon felt his frustration peak once again, but he offered Curan a smirk. “Ye might recall that little challenge from yer own attempts to celebrate yer wedding with pretty Bridget.”

“And you have no issue with sending my sister to me outside your walls to tell me she is pleased to be your wife?”

“If that is what is needed.”

“Possibly.” Curan’s reply lost some of its edge when his eyes lit with satisfaction. “I am pleasantly surprised, Barras. I didn’t believe there was a way for you to prove the matter to me; I stand corrected.”

Gordon nodded, feeling the tension release between his shoulder blades. He valued his neighbor’s goodwill even if there was little the man might do to reclaim his sister. It was a harsh fact but one he realized he’d have resorted to if it was the only way to keep Jemma.

“Then I’ll leave ye now, Ryppon, for I have a bride to seek. Ye might recall the feeling.”

“I do, Barras.”

“And as much as I like ye, I’d appreciate some time alone with me bride before ye come to visit.”

“Something else I understand.” Curan considered his next words. “A few days.”

He’d never enjoyed hearing three words so much. But Gordon couldn’t let her go now. Not after last night. She had come to him, cementing something inside him that refused to bend. Like mortar it was solid now, unmovable deep inside his chest. He didn’t know what it was, only that the idea of not seeing her waiting for him was unendurable. It was more than the desire to bed her. He wanted to smell her hair again and taste her soft kiss when she leaned forward to press her lips against his of her own free will. That was the gift that filled him with tenderness when he’d always considered such emotions merely the stuff of sonnets, the babbling of insane men.

Maybe he had just gone soft, Gordon didn’t care. He tightened his hand around the reins, and his stallion pawed at the ground, eager to begin covering the miles between them and home.

Home, aye, that was what he craved, and was what Jemma made Barras Castle feel like now.

The bells rang again well after sunset. Jemma sat in her chamber unable to stomach returning to Gordon’s. She pulled a brush through her hair, lifting it gently so that the heat from the fire could help it dry. She felt on edge while she waited.

Would he want her tonight? Or would he decide to rest before taking up the challenge of consummating their union? Both were valid questions. In truth she knew very little about Gordon, his likes and dislikes or his expectations of their marriage.

She knew full well that the man desired her body.

Was that lust? For certain it was, but was there more between them, some deeper emotion tugging them together? She felt like there was.

Many would brand her foolish for thinking such.

But her brother loved his wife Bridget. There was no way to deny it, because she had witnessed it. The Church would tell her love was insanity, a sickness that needed healing, but she had seen how her brother and his wife looked at each other. If that was suffering, she would give herself into its keeping willingly.

She felt Gordon before she heard him. A tingle brushed over her nape and down her back. It rippled over her skin, and her nipples contracted until they were hard points behind the dressing robe she wore. It was her only garment because she couldn’t seem to bring herself to dress any further when she was so newly a bride.

But not yet a wife . . .

She drew the brush along her hair again and felt his attention shift to the motion. There was not much light in the chamber, only the fire casting deep scarlet shadows onto the floor near the hearth. Gordon stepped out of the darkness, looking for all the world like some highlander from legend. His hair was curling slightly and held back from his face by a thin braid. His knees peeked out from beneath the pleats of his kilt, and his doublet was missing. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and tied at the shoulders, exposing his forearms. There was such a raw appearance to the man, as though he could survive anything the rugged Scottish hills gave him.

“I approve of yer attire if not the place that ye choose to wait, lass.” He reached up and pulled something from his bonnet. “But I brought ye a token of my affections to soften yer heart toward me.”

It was a small stalk of heather, the flowers delicate and the scent teasing her nose with sunshine and afternoon breezes. The fragile stem didn’t fit with his powerful body, but that was what sent her lips upward in a smile. The fact that he had taken the time to bring her something that most men thought silly woman foolishness. Girls wove flower wreaths, but men preferred the beauty of a good sword. The stock was cool against her fingers, and she trembled for it was such a tender gesture. One she had never imagined.

“Ah, does that smile mean I shall not have to carry ye to my bed?”

“Only if you wish to.”

He chuckled and reached out to grasp a handful of her hair. He dropped to one knee and held it against his face while he inhaled its fragrance.

“I didn’t put any perfume in it. Some ladies do.”

“Do nae become one of them. I daydreamed today about the way ye smell, and I enjoyed every moment of it, but the reality is far better, I assure ye.”

He stood up. “Come and greet me with a sweet kiss of welcome, wife.”

She placed the brush aside and rose to her feet. “A sweet kiss?”

“Aye.”

Jemma felt her belly quiver and her knees threaten to collapse, but she mustered her determination and closed the distance between them. She noticed how much larger he was than her; somehow that fact impacted her more deeply now than it had before. Laying her hands on his chest, she smoothed them up and over his collarbones until she gently clasped the top of his shoulders. Rising up onto her toes, she placed her mouth in contact with his, pressing her lips until they sealed against his.

“Welcome, my lord.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and promising. “How very innocent that was.”

“I am innocent.”

She moved away from him, but he followed her with slow steps that were a chase of sorts.

“Nae that innocent, lass.”

Her cheeks burned, but her lips remained curved, only this time her smile was a wicked one and he wore one that was its reflection. She wove her steps in an uneven line, unsure why she was moving away from him. Her body certainly wanted to be closer, not farther away. But she kept walking, looking back over her shoulder to watch the way he followed. His keen eyes roamed over her, watching the sway of her hips and the way her unbound hair flowed. She moved deeper into the shadows, and her highlander pursued her.

“Are ye ready to be caught?”

Her throat felt tight, anticipation making her breathless. She nodded, and he quickened his stride. His arms slid around her, bringing her into contact with his body. One hand cupped the back of her head, and he lowered his face to press a kiss against her mouth. This one was sweet but full of budding passion. It built in a steady increase of heat, the tip of his tongue teasing her lower lip before he demanded she open her mouth for a deeper taste. His tongue thrust down to stroke across her own only once before he broke away from the kiss and offered her a cocksure grin.

He bent and lifted her off her feet. “I could say something sweet, but I confess that the truth is, I plan to take ye to me bed and have my way with ye.”

“Oh, wait.”

His arms tightened around her and his expression told her he had no liking for her words. Jemma placed a hand on his frown, smoothing it with her fingers. He shivered, a barely noticeable response but it shook her to her heart.

“I mustn’t leave my gift behind.”

He lowered her feet to the floor, and she went back toward the fireplace where the sprig of heather lay near her brush. She closed her hand around it gently for it was a treasure, brought to her by a hand that should have crushed it. Instead he had controlled his strength to bring something of little value but great importance.

It was a token of his affection.

“Now I am ready.”

“What is that?” Jemma wasn’t sure how she might have missed such a thing. It was huge.

“A bathing tub.” Her husband encircled her waist with one of his thickly muscled arms, pulling her back against his body. Her head brushed beneath his chin, feeling as though she had been molded perfectly to fit next to him. The tub in front of her was like three tubs all placed side by side. Only it was a single tub and someone had already filled it with water. The window near it was open, displaying glimpses of the moon that the clouds allowed through. Coal baskets placed beneath the tub brought gently steaming water.

“It’s far too large.”

“Well now, lass, I’ve heard that before, but I do assure ye that ye’ll find the size to yer liking.” He was teasing her, and her cheeks turned red when she realized he was insinuating something else entirely. She jabbed one of her elbows back into his ribs.

“I wasn’t talking about that, sir.”

“Ah but ye were thinking about me cock.”

“I was not.”

He nuzzled against her neck, placing a kiss against the tender skin. Pleasure rippled down her skin, making her smile just because he was near. The warmth of his body was so pleasing she would have been content to remain standing so long as he was there.

“Considering how we parted, my mind has been returning to the very moment I heard those cursed bells ringing. Can I not hope ye were thinking about it, too? Dare I admit that the idea of hearing ye confess that would bring me much happiness?”

“I was thinking about you.” The words rushed right out of her mouth with no consideration at all. What was there to think about? He made her happy, why should she deny him the same?

His arm tightened, and he pressed a harder kiss against her throat and then several more. “Sweet English wildcat, come share a bath with me.”

“Share?”

He released her and pulled his shirt over his head, baring his body. There was an arrogant look on his face, one that spoke of experience she discovered she was jealous of.

Jemma crossed her arms over her chest. “Not if you invited Anyon into that tub.”

He laughed, and she felt her temper simmer. “I mean what I say, Gordon. I’ll not be the next in line for your riding.”

He closed his lips to contain his amusement, but his eyes were still filled with mischief. “Ye’re jealous, Jemma.”

“You may be certain that I am, sir. Why is it I am forced to stand bare while every inch of my body is inspected and the bed, too, all for the sake of proving that I am innocent, yet my groom is allowed to ride often?”

His eyes darkened. “ ’Tis unfair, I agree, but I suppose it is a matter that men kill over jealousy, lass, and I swear that I feel like I’d gladly choke the life out of any man who touched ye.”

“Barbarian.” She sniffed at him. “Take your bath alone.”

He placed his hand over his heart. “I swear to ye, Jemma, I never had another woman in this tub.”

“On your honor?”

His voice had turned somber. “Aye, lass. Now take yer dressing robe off. I want to see if me memory is playing tricks on me or if ye are more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever met.”

His gaze was fashioned on her, unwavering and completely devoted. Excitement flowed through her, waking from where she had thrust it down when fate had taken him from her. Reaching down, she pulled the single tie that held the dressing robe closed. Rolling her shoulders sent the heavy garment slipping down her arms, past the curve of her hips, and down her legs.

Gordon watched her intently, his keen eyes following the fabric as it bared each new part of her.

“Ye are stunning, Jemma, and ye are mine.” His raised his attention back to her face. “And I enjoy that fact, lass, more than I can tell ye.”

He swept her off her feet, cradling her against his chest, and carried her to the tub. He lowered her gently to make sure the water wasn’t too hot. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and he chuckled.

“Aye, it’s a fine thing, isn’t it?”

He knelt down to move one of the coal baskets out from beneath the tub.

“Where did you find such a thing?”

He lifted one leg over the edge and then the other, sinking down into the water next to her. The water level rose as he displaced a large portion of it. The tub wasn’t just wide, it was deeper than any other she had ever seen, but she realized why when Gordon leaned against the back of it. The side of the tub rose high enough to support his back. He sighed and offered her a satisfied look.

“’Twas made here by one of my own blacksmiths. I read about one in a book brought back from the holy land.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “It told a tale of a sultan who had one of these for traveling. It seems the man liked his concubines to attend him at all moments.”

“Right in his bath?” Her voice had turned husky and low, but she couldn’t help but be captivated by the forbidden topic. Gordon reached down and grasped his cock.

“Aye, lass. Those Moors teach their concubines that men can nae experience pleasure unless the female rides him to it.”

“You are toying with me . . .” But the idea was exciting her. Her passage was alive with need and her clitoris begging for the chance to try what he was suggesting.

“Ye’re sitting in the tub, are ye not, lass?” He reached out and captured one of her feet. “That book had many suggestions, Frenching a woman among them.”

He began to rub her foot, working over her arch with small kneading motions.

“And it also mentioned pressure points that build passion in a woman.”

“On her foot?”

“Aye.” His fingers worked some more. “Here I believe.”

He pressed and rubbed and sensation shot up her legs. It tingled and awakened feelings that twisted through her.

“Such a book must be forbidden by the Church.”

“Ye can be sure of that.” He reached for her other foot and treated it to the same massage. Her body was growing warmer, the water suddenly becoming too hot for her taste.

“But ye want to know what else was in it, don’t ye?”

“Yes,” Jemma answered quickly, drawing a cocky smile from him.

“Ah well, the book mentioned a few things about nipples.”

He pulled her forward and right up onto his lap. She squealed because the hard length of his cock pressed against her slit, the folds of her flesh opening to lie on either side of his thick member.

“Now put yer hands behind ye so that yer sweet breasts are thrust forward to please me like a good concubine.”

“That would be brazen.”

“Aye, and ye sound breathless with the idea, wife.”

She was. Hunger was flooding her, and her own thoughts were helping to drive it. He grasped her arms and gently folded them behind her back. Her breasts did thrust out toward him.

“Ah, the perfect picture of submission. Ye know those Moors insist on their concubines being slaves to their every desire. Will ye stay there, waiting for my touch with yer little pearl pressed against my cock?”

His hands cupped her breasts, the water making it a delightful sensation. His fingers smoothed over her skin, and he lifted his fingers to drip water on the top of her breasts where the skin was still dry. She made a low sound of approval, and he offered her a male one in return.

“Sweet, sweet wife. I am looking forward to the winter.”

She laughed. A single sound but her cheeks brightened once more. She felt pretty. It wasn’t due to flowery words or thoughtful gifts, but the feeling stemmed from the look in his eyes and the way his attention was focused on her breasts. He was still happily toying with her breasts, thumbing her hard nipples and spreading his fingers out around the tender mounds. Soft arousal continued to build inside her, making her more and more aware of the hard flesh pressing against her clitoris. It became an effort to remain still, her hips wanted to twitch and move. She bit her lower lip but lost the battle to remain still.

“Aye, I could nae agree with ye more, lass. A bit of action is called for.”

He moved his hands down to her hips, cupping her curves with his hands and pressing her down onto him harder. He thrust his hips up in soft, tiny motions that moved his cock against her slit.

“Gordon . . .” She was truly breathless now, the motions of his hips rubbing against her clitoris. The pressure from his hold on her hips kept his member against his body and away from the opening to her passage. By thrusting up and holding her steady, his hard flesh worked against her slit, rubbing back and forth. Pleasure spiked up into her. The water splashed against her breasts and nipples while he continued to thrust. She couldn’t maintain her position and reached for him as need began to force a moan past her lips.

“Gordon . . . stop . . . before—”

“Take yer pleasure, Jemma, I want to see ye cry with it.”

There really was no choice. She was powerless to hold it back. Her thighs grasped his hips, making sure that their bodies were even tighter against one another. He thrust faster, and she felt her fingers clawing into his shoulders. The cry he desired broke from her lips as pleasure tore through her. It raced into her, where it became a glowing knot of tension that held for one blinding moment and then broke apart into tongues of white-hot flame touching every part of her. She gasped, and her head lowered onto his shoulder. Her heart was beating too fast, and the hands holding her hips were almost too tight, but they held her steady while she drew in rapid breaths and felt her sanity return.

He cupped her chin and raised it to meet his eyes. They were full of bright need that made the water feel cold.

“I enjoy pleasuring ye, but the next time ye cry out, I am going to be deep inside ye, Jemma.” He leaned forward to press a hard kiss against her mouth, his hands raising her up so that his cock sprang up to position itself for entry into her body.

“Not yet.”

She reached forward and clasped his cock while scooting down to sit on his thighs. The water made it easy to work her hand up and down the thick staff. His face tightened as she moved her hand faster. His cock grew harder, and his hands gripped the sides of the tub until the knuckles turned white.

He suddenly caught her hand, forcing her to stop. “Enough, Jemma. I want to be inside ye.”

His eyes were bright with need, the same hunger that was coiled up inside her belly.

“Not here. We need to go back to the bed.”

She stood up and stepped out of the tub before he realized her intention.

“Come back here, wife. I’ve waited too long to claim ye.” His voice was strained, and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“No. In the bed.” The frustration on his face drew a soft laugh from her.

“It’s not comical, wife. The moment is now.”

Jemma tried to compose herself, but failed. His demands reminded her too much of how need made her feel. She enjoyed knowing that he was just as susceptible to passion for her; in truth she was proud of her ability to push him to that edge. It fortified her confidence and made her bold enough to stand completely nude in front of him. He liked her in such a way, and she enjoyed seeing his enjoyment.

Her husband growled.

“Admit it, Gordon.” She plucked up a length of toweling and wrapped it around her nude body to prod him into following her. Her action drew a fresh round of snarls from her companion.

“With all your boasting of how much riding you do, it is amusing to consider how difficult it has proven for you to . . . gain the saddle . . . in this instant . . .”

She laughed again but backed up when he rose from the tub. His body was magnificent. His chest was thick with muscle that continued down to a lean belly and thighs that were defined with ridges. He reached down and grasped his own cock, his fingers stroking it and drawing her gaze to the swollen flesh.

“Now, lass, it is not only the stallion that wants to cover a mare. The mare leads him on a merry chase to fire up his appetite before allowing him to mount her.” He climbed over the side of the tub and didn’t bother to use the toweling set out for his pleasure. The water streamed down his legs, the candlelight making him glisten.

“Ah . . . the chase . . . well then . . .” She unwrapped the toweling and tossed it aside. Gordon’s face split with a smile. He spread his arms out wide and bent slightly at the knees. The man was ready to lunge at her. The knowledge sent a crazy twist of excitement through her that was rooted deep inside her feminine nature. She turned and ran.

She heard his wet feet slapping against the floor, but they dried too quickly, leaving her no way to gauge how close he was. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she couldn’t control the need to look back over her shoulder.

Gordon’s face was a mask of savage pleasure. He offered her a growl moments before he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She squealed, but he laughed heartily and spread one large hand over her bare bottom. He turned and covered the space to the bed with quick strides. She bounced in a tangle of limbs when he tossed her onto the sheets. His body rising up over hers looked impossibly hard and demanding. Her teeth bit into her lower lip as nervousness invaded her. He placed a knee on the bed, crawling up to join her.

“Do nae lose yer trust in me now, lass. That would wound me more surely than an arrow.”

He placed one solid knee between her thighs, and she flinched in spite of every bit of confidence he had built in her. His expression tightened, his eyes filling with concern.

“I do have faith in you, Gordon.” Jemma lifted her hands, reaching for him. He lowered his weight, spreading her thighs with gentle motions of his hands before allowing his body to settle on top of hers. A soft murmur of enjoyment crossed her lips. There was something intensely satisfying about having his weight on top of her, something that she had never expected.

“’Tis something I treasure, lass.”

He framed her face in his hands and pressed a kiss against her lips. It began as a slow motion of his mouth against hers, but his passion burned too hot to maintain the slow pace. His kiss became harder, more demanding, and she opened her mouth to allow his tongue to penetrate. Her body ached for the same thing, and her thighs rose up to clasp his hips in invitation.

She felt the head of his cock nudging at the opening to her passage again. Her hands tightened on his shoulders as he began to move forward. It was slow but steady, his hard flesh tunneling into her softer core. Her head arched back as pain began to burn along her passage, hundreds of pinpoints of pain where the skin was refusing to stretch.

“Easy, lass, ye can take me. ’Tis the way ye were made, to take my length.”

His words were soothing, but her body still hurt. His hips pulled back and thrust into her once again. This time his cock split her, burrowing into her in spite of the resistance her body offered him. His flesh was harder and it pressed onward, opening her passage with a slow thrust that sent the breath rushing out of her lungs. He withdrew again, offering her relief from the worst of the pain, and she dragged a deep breath in but it went rushing back out when he thrust smoothly into her again. This time his cock traveled deep, the hard flesh lodging itself all the way inside her. The bed beneath her back kept her in place, making it impossible to move away. She was forced to endure the burning pain while her passage adjusted to being penetrated.

Yet the pain subsided fast. Jemma opened her eyes when she realized that there was naught but a dull ache remaining.

“Aye, lass, that’s the worst of it.” He pulled his length free and then thrust forward again. This time, without the burning pain, she was free to feel his hard member stroking along her clitoris. It produced a spark of delight that traveled to where her passage echoed it when his flesh was once more deep inside her.

“And now, I’ll introduce ye to the best of it.”

He began to thrust in slow motions, but there was still a hard edge to each stroke. Jemma heard herself moan, and she couldn’t have controlled the sound if she had tried. Her body was completely focused on the hard flesh tunneling into it, her passage eagerly taking him now while her hips lifted to ensure that he penetrated deeply each time. There was no reason to think or even keep her eyes open. She wanted to sink back into the pool of sensations produced by the action of their bodies moving together.

“That’s it, lass, work with me, show me the pace ye like.”

“I will . . .”

His breathing was turning rough, and his hands twisted in her hair. His thrusts came faster and harder, shaking the bed beneath them. But she enjoyed the pace, her body eagerly meeting it. Pleasure tightened inside her with each deep penetration from his member, the sliding motion of his withdrawing building a growing desperation to have him impale her again. She lifted her hips up, almost frantically seeking out his next plunge. Her heart raced and she could feel his pounding when he pushed his length deep inside her and their bodies were pressed tightly together for a moment.

The pleasure he’d given her with his mouth paled to the delight boiling inside her now. This was deeper and more intense. Her hips bucked off the bed to take his next thrust quicker, and when he pressed completely inside her it burst, forcing a cry from her lips. She arched, and her thighs grasped his hips while the sensation tore through her, wringing her body and bathing it in satisfaction. Gordon plunged a few final times into her with rough thrusts before he let out a harsh sound and she felt his body pulling taut. Deep inside she felt his seed spurting out to soak into her womb. The hot stream of fluid triggered another soft contraction of pleasure from her body. This time her passage tried to milk his member, tightening around it to pull his seed forward.

The pleasure reduced her to a quivering mass of muscles. She lay on the bed, uncaring if her hands were flung out like a broken doll. She lacked even enough strength to pull them closer to her body. She only had the will to breathe, her chest rising and falling in deep breaths while her heart beat with hard motions beneath her breasts.

A soft kiss was pressed against her lips before Gordon rolled off her. He slid an arm beneath her waist and pulled her against his side. Her head was pushed down onto his chest, and she heard his heart rate matching her own.

“I swear it is going to be the warmest winter ever in this chamber.”

Jemma smiled, but she wasn’t sure if it was due to his words or the soothing strokes his hands were making over her, long passes of his hands over her back and along the curve of her hip. Gentle strokes that were tender, so tender she felt tears stinging her eyes because he certainly didn’t have to be so caring; he was her husband not her lover.

Maybe he could be both . . .

Jemma tried to hush her inner voice. It was a dangerous idea, one that promised her heartache if it did not blossom. But she failed because there was already too much tenderness between them. She could not shut the doors to her feelings; they felt as if they were blocked open.

“Why did ye insist on the bed?”

Gordon sounded sleepy, but his hand froze on her shoulder. “I did nae think to ask ye before. Ye had a reason, yea?”

Jemma buried her face against his chest, hoping the man would think her exhausted. She didn’t want the tensions of the day to shatter the moment.

“Tell me, Jemma. I will nae have ye keeping things secret from me that are important to ye.”

“And I do not plan to be a wife who whines to you of every trifle.”

He drew in a stiff breath because it didn’t take him long to deduce what her reason was now that passion wasn’t distracting him. “Who questioned yer virtue?” His tone was hard now, and he sat up, taking her along with him to sit her next to him. He cupped her chin and raised it before giving her the chance to do it herself. His pride was wounded, and it shone in his eyes.

“That is it, isna it, lass? Who spoke against ye?”

She shook off his hold. “Don’t treat me like a child, Gordon.”

“Then answer me like a woman who is nae trying to hide the answer.”

She shrugged. “It does not matter who spoke, what is important is how many listened.”

He frowned. “’Twas Anyon. No one else would dare or worry about yer place here so much.”

Jemma scoffed at him and tried to move off the bed, but she froze when she caught sight of the sheet. Bright red blood marred its surface, drawing a shiver from her in spite of her desire to see exactly this.

“I am going to put her out.”

“You will not, Gordon Dwyre.” Jemma didn’t care if her tone was something no wife should use with her husband. The Church would chastise her for it, her brother would disapprove, but none of that seemed to matter. Her dealings with Gordon had always been poised on the border of uncivilized behavior, and it was a truth that she enjoyed it.

“There are rules beyond the confines of this chamber, Jemma, that you know must be observed. She was my mistress, if ye may even call a few tumbles by such a title. She is to be turned out.”

He stood up and stalked across the chamber to swipe something off the floor.

“Those rules are exactly why I am telling you that she shall not be turned out by you.” Jemma followed him, determined to gain her wish.

“Ye are nae making any sense, woman.”

“Exactly.” He snorted at her triumphant tone. “You do not understand because running the house is a woman’s duty. I would not comprehend many of the things that you order your retainers to do because I am not a man and was not raised to understand the duties that are yours. So I tell you again, Gordon, leave Anyon be. I set her down and will do whatever else is needed.”

He drew in a stiff breath, his expression remaining inflexible. “Except that Anyon is nae causing trouble over her duties, she’s questioning my devotion to the vows I took with ye.”

He shook her dressing robe out with a snap that betrayed how much his temper was still burning. He held it open for her, and she lifted one arm with confusion turning her mood dreary.

Was he going to send her back to her old chamber now that he’d had her?

She couldn’t help but think it. Too many couples that wed for the same reasons they had slept apart.

Well, she would not whimper. She was a woman now, not some child wed too early because of her fortune and her groom’s taste for a girl in his bed who would be simple to dominate because she was too young to know her own thoughts. She would also speak her mind even if it displeased her groom. Her heart ached, the tenderness that had been hers but a few moments ago now wilting.

“I am your wife, Gordon, and I shall do whatever is necessary to run this house. Your doubt insults me. Do you want a wife or a pampered princess who is useless besides her ability to take your seed?”

He cursed. Jemma held her chin steady while she knotted the tie to keep her dressing robe closed.

“’Tis something I understand, lass, the need to know yer word is respected.” He picked up his kilt and wrapped the fabric around his waist a few times before tossing the rest of the fabric up and over his shoulder. It lacked the normal pleats and wasn’t as accommodating to his stride, but he seemed to care little about that. He yanked the door to the chamber open and grabbed a rope that hung next to the threshold. He yanked it several times before turning around and sending the door shut with a hard motion that slammed it.

“I’ll grant ye that, lass, the need to nae be thought too weak to command those under yer authority.”

“Thank you.”

He laughed, and it was not a kind sound. Gordon covered the distance between them, and she was able to see his expression once again. It sent a shiver down her spine because this was not a man to cross, not in his current frame of mind. Something dangerous glittered in his eyes.

He lifted one finger and pointed it at her as the sound of booted feet began to pound on the stairs leading up to their chamber.

“But be very sure that I will be setting the matter clear as far as me men go.”

Whoever was on their way up the stairs didn’t stop to knock on the chamber door. They pushed right inside, and Jemma found herself stepping back into the shadows the edges of the chamber offered because her confidence in being so scantily covered did not extend to anyone except Gordon. Two of Gordon’s captains tugged on the corners of their bonnets and kept their gazes on their laird while they waited for him to tell them why they had been summoned.

Gordon pointed toward the bed. “There seems to be some discussion about my bride’s purity. Ye will witness the fact that she came to me a virgin and that there was no blood on the sheets this morning as I did nae jump on her last night the moment the doors were sealed like some beardless boy that does nae know how to stroke his bride’s passion. We were interrupted last night before I got to deflowering her and I am nae happy to hear there has been talk to the contrary.”

Several women entered the open door in time to hear their laird’s words. One was the cook that pressed her lips into a hard line. The woman slept in the kitchen and had clearly come straight from her bed, for her long hair was hanging down her back in a single thick braid.

She joined the captains near the bed and lifted a candle lantern high to illuminate the sheets. Jemma stepped back farther into the shadows, tears prickling her eyes. It was ridiculous to cry over such an expected thing. Being English only meant she dare not overlook any detail. Brides suffered such exhibitions all over the world; it was very unwise to allow it to upset her so.

“Now begone and make sure it is known that I will nae have the matter questioned.”

“Aye, Laird.”

The captains offered Gordon a tug on their bonnets before quitting the room. The cook snapped her fingers at the other maids who had arrived behind her, and she herself pulled the soiled sheet from the bed while they brought forward a clean one.

“Leave the sheet on the table since it is raining.”

“Aye, Laird.” The cook did as instructed before snapping her fingers at the maids once more and shoving them toward the door. It closed behind them in a hard sound that drove a spike through the last of her heart.

She shouldn’t expect anything different. It was the way things were and the world was an imperfect place. Mustering her strength, she walked toward the door, intent on playing her part, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to stop and lower herself before leaving. It was too submissive, and Gordon would know it was false.

Well . . . the doors were shut so she would be herself while behind them.

For the moment all she truly craved was an end to her duties as bride.

Chapter Nine

“Where are ye thinking to go, Jemma?”

That dangerous note was still in Gordon’s voice. Her fingertips had not yet even touched the door.

She turned to discover him moving toward her. “Clearly we are finished consummating our union. I wish to sleep.”

He stopped a single stride from her and aimed a hard look at her.

“Ye sleep here.”

“But—”

He didn’t care for her hesitation and he acted upon that displeasure just as quickly as he had always done, scooping her up and carrying her to where he wanted her. He reached into the bed and yanked the tie open before reaching behind her to pull the dressing gown up and over her head with one powerful motion of his arms. She was dropped back onto her knees with nothing except her hair to cover her.

“Here, Jemma. Ye want me to respect yer authority over the house, then ye shall accept my will when it comes to how to manage me men.” He tore his plaid off and crawled into bed with her. His cock was hard once more, and she shivered because no matter how much her feelings ached, she desired him.

“Ye sleep here, in the place that I never brought Anyon or any other who was not my wife.”

He pulled her up against him, binding her to his larger body with solid arms.

“That will send the message to my men that there is no doubt who is mistress here.”

He pressed a hard kiss against her mouth, demanding compliance with one hand cradling the back of her head to hold her still for the ravishment. Sweetness flowed from the kiss, soothing the raw emotions that had sliced at her. His cock was hard against her, but Gordon finished their kiss and lay down behind her. He bound her to his length with strong arms, tucking her head beneath his chin and pulling the bed covers up to cover her. One of his feet tucked over hers, but he did nothing to try to relieve the swollen cock that was hard against her bottom.

He sighed, nuzzling against her head and inhaling the scent of her hair.

“Do not think me harsh, Jemma. Men are different from women.”

Confusion settled over her, but the trust that she had felt so strongly overwhelmed it. The corners of her mouth tugged up into a satisfied grin. His body was so warm against her, his arms so tender, and the night the perfect shield against the harsh reality that sunrise would bring.

“You never brought anyone here, to this bed? Not even your first wife?” Her voice was soft, and she heard him sigh behind her.

“I changed chambers after I gave Imogen her wish to join a convent. I could nae stomach sleeping in the bed she detested so much.”

“You wouldn’t call Anyon your mistress?”

He snorted. “A mistress is a woman a man has affection for, Jemma. All I did with Anyon was take what she flaunted beneath me nose. I see that she was scheming now, but I did nae at the time.”

A hint of weariness reflected in his voice. As laird there were many times that women had tried to secure what they wanted from him by offering him tumbles.

“I shall have to make sure I flaunt myself before you often so to keep you from noticing any others.”

She heard him draw in a stiff breath. Jemma nibbled on her lower lip while she waited to see what his response might be. Many a bride had also been forced to face the fact that her husband would wander where he pleased, with whom he pleased, and she would be expected to remain silent upon the matter of his indiscretions.

“’Tis something I will look forward to, lass; indeed, I will mostly likely dream of it tonight.” He groaned. “Now go to sleep, Jemma, else I lose the restraint to keep out of ye while ye are yet so tender.”

He stroked her hip and she allowed her eyelids to shut. There was comfort and tenderness in his embrace, and she allowed it to carry her off into slumber.

“Mistress?”

It was Ula who woke her. Jemma rubbed her burning eyes and tried to focus her thoughts. Her mind was a foggy mess that defied her demands to clear.

“Ye have missed service, but the laird bid me allow ye to sleep. It is growing late now.”

Jemma opened her eyes and saw the sunlight shining in the open windows to make large bright rectangles that stretched across the floor. She sat up and gasped when the bed covers fell down to her waist, allowing her breasts to be seen.

“I’m so sorry for sleeping so late. I can’t imagine why I did.”

Ula was more composed than Jemma. The housekeeper held up a chemise that she eased over Jemma’s head and arms to cover her before she stepped out of the bed.

“It has been an eventful week for ye, Mistress. I imagine ye are in need of a few hours of rest now that things are more settled.”

Ula raised her voice so that the maids working in the chamber were certain to hear her.

“Ah yes, things are far more settled now, Ula.”

There was a splash of water and then the sounds of flowing water. Jemma turned to see one side of the huge bathing tub hoisted into the air by a pulley that she had not seen hanging from the ceiling last night. There was a thick hook holding one end of the tub, and one of the maids pulled on the rope to lift the tub. On the opposite side of the tub was a lower point in its rim. A gutter was fitted against it while a smaller opening in the wall was revealed at the floor level. One maid pulled on the rope raising the far end of the tub while the other held the gutter in place and all the water rushed out to flow down the side of the tower.

So clever.

“Ye may have bathe every day, Mistress, no matter what weather.”

Ula was making a point of addressing her as Mistress.

“The laird has gone on to help rebuild the home that was burned two nights ago. He’ll return tonight.”

“Of course. It is good to hear that he is seeing to his people.”

So she would see to her duties as well. Jemma took one last look at the bed, smiling when she considered how much she longed for the shorter days of winter because it promised longer nights with Gordon.

She was a wanton. There was no doubt but she was happy. In fact it felt like a bubble of contentment encased her. There was nothing she found distasteful, not even the flapping of the soiled sheet in the wind from outside the chamber window.

She hurried off to the church, and the priest frowned at her for missing service, but he welcomed her into the sanctuary and began a quick service for her. Only the nuns and younger priests were in attendance, but as she was Mistress of the castle, they stopped their duties to stand and observe the service. Jemma took the Mass, sipping from the golden chalice and taking the small piece of bread he offered. She refused to quibble over the fact that such a service was illegal in England. She was married to a Scot, and women often had to be more practical than men when it came to adjusting their thinking. A princess such as Mary or Elizabeth Tudor might be allowed to place their foot firmly on the floor and refuse to bend to the whim of their royal father, but the rest of the country had to live in peace with the favored church.

The great hall was nearly empty, but the maids there lowered themselves when she passed them. The cook began snapping her fingers, and the little popping sounds echoed in the mostly empty hall. Maids brought forth a fine meal of cereal and fruit along with warmed cider that had been mulled with cinnamon. Jemma took a moment to inhale the scent of the costly spice before sipping at the drink. She would have to tell the cook not to use such expensive things on common days. But since the cider was served, she savored every drop and chewed on the small brown piece of cinnamon.

Another snap popped from the long worktables, and Jemma turned to see Anyon gaining the cook’s attention once again. This morning Anyon wore her linen cap correctly. It was tied securely beneath her chin like the other maids’ and her hair was tucked up into its gathered back. Although Anyon’s chemise was tugged up to cover her breasts more properly, the cook was still riding the girl unmercifully. With another snap from the cook’s fingers, Anyon carried a small copper pitcher toward the high table where Jemma was seated.

The girl’s lips were white from being pressed so tightly together, but she lowered herself before carefully refilling the cider mug. Jemma felt her stomach sour, but she clamped down on her own pity. Anyon had spent too many days acting as a better to everyone, and now she would have to face those she had spit in the face of.

But the unease in Jemma’s belly persisted, so she rose from the table and went to find the estate books. It was time to begin the duties of a wife.

Gordon wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled. The afternoon sun was bright with no sign of the rain that had blanketed the countryside yesterday.

“Whoa there, laddie, who’s that dreaming the day away?”

It was Kerry who teased him. His captain tossed up another bundle of thatch before climbing up to help him secure it to the roof supports.

“Ye’re jealous, Kerry, and I’ll tell ye straight, ye have every right to be.”

“Och now, that’s unkind. Just unkind in the worst way.”

Gordon bent over and felt his back give a twinge of discomfort for the number of hours he’d been working on the roof. They were nearing the top of the house now, and soon he’d have the right to ride home to the woman he’d been thinking about since he left. The sound of children drew his attention. He straightened back up to see the family’s four youngest playing in the yard. They wore bright smiles while they watched their new home being built.

“It will be a blessing to have a few of those following ye around.” Kerry shot him a smirk. “Hopefully all girls, because if they’re boys, the poor sods will look like ye, and that would make them ugly creatures for sure.”

“Kerry, I have a fine memory, and ye are going to marry someday.”

“I could never choose between all the lasses that adore me, Laird. ’Tis a fact that I can’t bear to give up any of them in favor of the other.”

Gordon bent back over. “Ye just wait, Kerry, the Church is going to lock ye in the stocks yet and nae release ye ’til ye repent and wed.”

“Not if I keep slipping the priest the wine he likes so well.”

Several men snickered in response because their priest was a plump man in spite of his vows of poverty. His robes were fuller than most of their kilts, but the man was fair, taking what was offered and only taxing those who could afford it. There had been worse clergy on Barras land before.

A sharp whistle drew Gordon’s attention back to the ground.

“Rider coming up fast, Laird!”

Every man stopped to watch the youth riding his horse like the son of Satan himself was chasing him. Dust rose up behind the horse in a dull-colored trail.

“That’s young Travis.”

“Aye.” Gordon climbed down from the roof, his neck muscles tightening. Travis was only twelve and not yet old enough to ride out with the retainers. But the lad could sit a horse and stay in the saddle better than some of his men. If someone had sent the lad out, time was essential.

“Laird, yer bride is ailing!” Travis began yelling before he even stopped his horse. The animal walked in a circle, trying to cool off. The youth pulled hard on the reins to turn the animal so that he was facing his laird again and might be heard.

“The cook suspects poison.”

Jemma opened her eyes and stared at the blurry haze in front of her. Voices surrounded her, but she couldn’t seem to force her brain to make sense of the sounds. It was almost as if she had suddenly been taken off to a land where no one spoke English. Everything moved too slowly, swirling around her in nightmarish motion. She wanted water, but her hand shook when she stretched it out, her strength failing her before her arm reached out far enough to gain any attention. Instead her body felt like it was falling through the air. Down, down, and still farther down. She waited for the pain that would be hers once she hit the bottom of the abyss but it never came, because she never stopped falling.

Gordon threw someone out of the way and didn’t know who it was. He didn’t care, either. His room was full of people once more, only today they lacked the sense of joy that had been present on his wedding night. No one was doing much but watching and waiting. His attention shifted to the priest, and Gordon felt his mouth go dry.

The priest was already there. His vestments on and his lips muttering the final words of last rites. He finished, and the assembled people all raised their hands to cross themselves. Two of the church nuns knelt near the bedside, their fingers moving on their wooden rosary beads while they concentrated on saying prayers for the woman lying there.

“I’m very sorry, my son.” The priest passed him by with two younger priests in training following him.

Several of the maids began wailing, the sound driving a stake through Gordon’s heart. He staggered, lacking the strength to cover the remaining distance to the bed.

How could she be gone?

“What are ye crying for?” The cook burst through the door, her hands full with a steaming pot. “Get out of my way, ye useless lack wits!”

“But the priest gave the mistress her last rites.”

The cook scoffed and kept moving toward the bed. “Well, that’s well and good, but no one’s dead yet so stop yer whining. I don’t abandon hope so quickly, else I might have sent half of ye back to yer mothers on the second day ye served in this house.”

The cook suddenly noticed him. “Good, a pair of hands that are strong enough to help me.”

“Help?”

“Aye.” The cook reached into the bed and whisked the covers away from Jemma. Her lips pressed into a hard line. “She’s too hot beneath all of this. Poor lass has enough to deal with without being smothered.”

The lack of bed coverings allowed him to set eyes on Jemma. He stared at her and watched her chest rise and fall. It was a shallow motion, barely noticeable, but it filled him with strength.

“Get out! Anyone who isn’t helping, get ye gone from this chamber!”

There was a flurry of motion toward the door. Several shrieks came from those trampled in the frantic crush of bodies trying to obey the laird’s commands. Gordon dismissed them from his mind. He ripped the bed clothing even farther away from his wife, throwing it toward the nuns.

“Gordon?”

He gasped, sitting heavily on the side of the bed. Jemma’s eyes were open just the tiniest amount. He reached out to grasp her hand.

“Aye, lass, I’m here.”

She nodded and opened her mouth, but nothing came out except a dry rattle of breath. Her face was the same color as her chemise and her lips bloodless.

“Sit her up now, Laird, as gentle as ye would a babe.”

Gordon realized that he was afraid to touch her. His hands shook, and he discovered he was grinding his teeth while he reached for Jemma. Her eyes remained on him, giving him the strength to slip his arms beneath her shoulders and raise her up.

“Now support her head. I forgot that ye have most likely never held a babe.”

“I hope to.” He shifted one hand so that it clasped Jemma’s neck. She felt too delicate, too small now. The woman who had wrestled with him had somehow vanished, and left in her place was this mere whisper of life. But it was the most precious thing he had ever felt. Gordon gathered her up, placing one of his bent legs behind her and sitting behind her to make sure she was steady.

“What do ye plan?”

The cook was stirring something into her pot. Steam rose from it and a bitter scent. He suddenly frowned. “And why don’t I know yer Christian name? Everyone calls ye Cook.”

“Because I detest me given name, but to say so would be to disrespect me father, so call me Cook. ’Tis a better name than the one I was baptized with, for sure.”

The cook pulled a small ladle from the waist tie of her apron and used it to measure out some of her brew into a pitcher. It was the smallest pitcher in the house, a pewter one used for serving cream.

“We need to help her drink, or she’ll be a ghost by tomorrow for sure.”

The cook gently placed the dimpled part of that pitcher against Jemma’s mouth and tipped just one spoonful of the fluid against her tongue. Gordon’s wife jerked and lifted her chin.

“Forgive me, Mistress, for I know ’tis a bitter concoction.”

The cook placed another measure of it in Jemma’s mouth, and this time she swallowed it. Gordon felt sweat trickle down the side of his face. Every muscle felt as though it was tight enough to snap. The cook kept placing spoonfuls of her brew inside his wife’s mouth until Jemma sighed.

“Better . . .” Jemma turned her head to rub against him before her eyes slid closed and her breathing became shallow. So shallow it sent fear through him once again.

“That will have to do for the moment.”

The cook stood up and blew out a long breath. Her eyes swept Jemma from head to toe, and her face became clouded with serious thought.

“That was an antidote?”

“It’s something I learned when I was a young woman, but I don’t know if it will be doing the job needed.”

Gordon gently laid his wife down and pulled up just enough sheet to cover her.

The cook continued. “Ye see, we don’t know what was used to poison her, so I don’t know if what I mixed up was what she needed or if it came too late. The mistress was working on the books, and no one knows how long she was ill before Ula discovered her. It’s possible that the evil person behind this has already done the wicked deed by stealing her away from us.”

Gordon felt a shiver go down his spine. Anger flashed through him like a spark through black powder. Rage exploded inside him, and the helplessness in his wife’s pale face only made that anger burn hotter.

“Anyon.” He snarled the word.

The cook’s eyes went wide, and horror clouded her face.

“Tell me, woman, why do you look like that?”

The cook wrung her apron with nervous hands. “I sent the girl to serve the mistress cider this morning. I thought it would impress upon her the place she needed to learn was hers. I never thought Anyon had evil in her heart.”

“That bitch tried to drown my wife earlier this week.”

“Lads fight and then they drink together when their tempers have cooled, Laird. I thought Anyon just needed a firm hand to teach her to be content with what God had given her. I never thought she’d turn to murder. It still baffles me; I’ve knelt in church beside her. How could that be—how could so much evil be right there and none of us see it?”

Gordon ground his teeth together. “I don’t know.” He forced himself to think, to make his mind work despite the rage burning in his gut.

“I don’t know, but I do know this. Someone did this foul deed and I am going to see them hanged for it.”

Chapter Ten

“The Baron Ryppon is on the road with his men.”

Gordon turned and followed Kerry up to the top of the wall. He looked through the spy glass and inspected the flags being carried by the men preceding the baron. Those flags danced wildly because Curan was riding hard. The horses were lathered, and his men were stripped down to only breastplate armor and helmet to lighten them.

“Allow them through!”

There was a hustle along the walls, his men filling the positions in spite of his order to allow the English force to enter. He couldn’t blame them for that, inviting an English party of knights inside the curtain wall would have most of his Scottish neighbors questioning his sanity.

He felt on the verge of losing his mind. He could feel the rage melting his principles until he was nothing but a savage willing to strike out at anything that might have been responsible.

That was not the way to trap the guilty. He knew it and was trying desperately to maintain his wits. Descending the stairs, he went to meet his friend. Desperate times called for equally desperate measures. There was no one in the castle he might trust. Whoever had poisoned Jemma was one of his own. It infuriated him, it sickened him, but it was the truth.

Curan was out of the saddle and moving quickly to meet him.

“She still lives.”

“I want to see her, now.”

Gordon grunted and turned with an English baron following him. His father was sure to rise from his grave tonight for the fact that he was making an English army welcome in his home, but that was a torment Gordon would gladly suffer if he gained what he desired.

Jemma.

That was it. He needed his wife and didn’t want to think about the very real fact that she might not live to see the next day.

Gordon held up a hand and pushed the chamber doors open slowly to keep them from making noise. Whispers came from inside where the nuns were still on their knees praying. They took shifts with their other sisters, an hourglass set on the bed to mark their allotted time.

“Send them out, Barras. We need to talk.”

“Aye.” Gordon crossed the room and stood near the bed. One of the sisters lifted her face. He pointed at her, and she looked at the hourglass.

“Go, Sister. My wife’s brother would be in private with his sister.”

The nun hastily crossed herself and grabbed the hourglass. “The English are heretics. You should keep them from her and save her soul.”

“That sounds as though you are judging me, Sister.” Curan stepped up closer to the bed and eyed the nun. She grabbed her fellow sister’s arm and pulled her off her knees.

“God will judge us all.”

“Yes, He shall.” Curan leaned forward with his response, and the nuns slipped on the floor because they tried to run so quickly. The chamber door burst open as they hit it hard. Curan shrugged.

“I seem to have forgotten how to deal with nuns.”

“I hear being raised in England has that effect.”

Curan knelt down, and his armor shifted and filled the chamber with the soft sounds of metal moving against metal. He sat his helmet aside and reached for his sister’s hand.

“Open the bed drapes, I need light.”

Gordon slid the drapes back to allow the afternoon light to illuminate the bed. Jemma’s breath was the only sound in the room, and it was far too faint. Her brother lifted her hand, tilting it so that the light fell on it.

“What are you looking for?”

“A blue tinge on the fingernails. It’s a sign of eastern poisons.” Curan continued to inspect his sister’s hand but finally gave a grunt of satisfaction. “There is none, and for that we should be grateful. The Moors brew poison that is deadly.”

The chamber door opened, and several people slipped inside. They walked carefully, mindful of their steps. Curan turned to speak to one.

“Her nails are white but not blue.”

The man was thin and lanky, obviously young. Gordon glared at Curan. “How can someone that young know anything of value when it comes to poisons?”

The knight behind the youth reached forward and lifted the helmet off the youth’s head. It proved an easy task because the youth only measured up to the knight’s shoulder. The helmet had hidden a face that was clearly female. She was quite a beauty, even lacking feminine clothing.

“This is the Lady Justina.” And the woman was dressed every inch like a boy. A pair of baggy britches hid the curves of her hips, and a solid armor breastplate covered up her other feminine curves.

Gordon crossed his arms in front of his chest. “The same lady who betrayed ye by betraying the location of the side gate that yer bride used to escape through?”

“Aye.” Curan nodded. “She has been my guest since that time for I cannot in good conscience send her back to a guardian who charges her with such tasks.”

“You take too much upon yourself.” Lady Justina sent a hard look toward Curan.

“I disagree, Lady. If the one who sent you wants you back, he can ask me and admit that he sent you.”

Lady Justina shook her head but Gordon had no patience for their quarrel. He only had time for Jemma.

“Why is she here? I have enough people I distrust around me. I don’t need one of yers to watch me back for.”

“She is here because she has spent her entire life at court and knows far more about poison than any of us, because that is the place where such evil is used often.”

Gordon narrowed his eyes, but the lady didn’t crumple beneath his displeasure. She offered him a serene look, but if one took a moment to peer deeper into her eyes, they could see the strength hidden there. She looked delicate, but she was solid like stone. It was something he was more accustomed to seeing in knights. That look which a man gained from witnessing death.

“Reject me if you wish, Lord Barras, but I will tell you plainly that I am your best hope of catching this assassin, and that you need to reconsider sending me away.”

Gordon felt one of his eyebrows rise. “Ye’ve caught so many of them, I suppose?”

“A few.”

“Which is more than I have.” Curan cast a look back at his sister. “If Jemma survives, she will only face waiting for the next attack or returning home with me.”

Gordon stiffened. He clamped down on the denial he wanted to issue to Curan because he had to. Never once had he been defeated when fighting against men he could see coming at him, but this manner of attack was one that he knew no way to challenge.

“What is yer plan, Lady?”

Justina held up a hand and turned in a full circle, inspecting every bit of the room. She began to walk, looking at the floor and pushing at any boards that appeared uneven. It was the sort of inspection that placed confidence in him when he had been so sure mistrust was the only thing he might have for the Lady. Justina finished and came back to drop to her knees and crawl beneath the bed that Jemma slept in. They heard her tapping on the boards with her hands before she emerged from the other side.

“First we shall move Jemma, but it must be done in secret and I must inspect the chamber before she is taken there.”

Justina stood up and wet one fingertip before reaching out to run it along the sheet that Jemma lay on. She tasted her finger gingerly.

“Ye think there is poison in the sheet?”

Justina licked another finger and ran it along the chemise his wife wore. “It would not be the first time, and do not doubt that assassins are very clever. I have seen gloves and saddles poisoned, food and fabric, too. There is no decency in these assassins; they will poison bedding and not care that a husband or wife dies along with their intended victim. Poison the wet nurse to get at the child she suckles.”

“I didna take ill and I slept in that bed.”

“Except that your staff most likely changed the sheet this morning before she was found, and if someone truly wishes her dead, they would be wise to use more than one dose.” Justina pressed her fingers against Jemma’s face, peering intently at her skin. “It looks like common toxins such as hemlock or toad stools.”

Curan gave a soft grunt. “You see why I brought her.”

“It is becoming clearer, if not more disturbing, to see such knowledge in one so delicate.”

Justina frowned, the harshest expression that had crossed her lips. “Delicate does not survive long at court. My husband died of poison.”

“My condolences.”

The lady lifted her fair face to stare straight at him. “My only regret is that it took him too gently to hell and that I was not the one who fed it to him. He was a very cruel man and killed too many innocents before his ways came back to haunt him.” The lady suddenly looked older than her years. “And my father knew it well when he wed me to him. That is court; nothing matters but ambition. Not even murder.”

Justina look into Jemma face. “But perhaps some good might come of it now.”

Lady Justina searched his towers. Gordon paced the floor in front of his wife’s bed while he waited. The lady had not enlightened him on the rest of her plan, saying only that she needed to keep the information from as many ears as possible.

“Gordon?”

He turned in a swirl of kilts to discover Jemma watching him.

“Good evening to ye, lass.”

Jemma tried to smile but her lips were dry and the skin cracked. Pain went through them, but it was mild compared to the burning that was in her belly. It was even more than her belly because the fire licked over her back and down into her legs.

But the sight of Gordon soothed her. He moved toward her, and the bed shifted when he sat on its edge. Just that small motion sent pain spiking through her. It must have been plain on her face for Gordon frowned.

“Do not.”

He picked up one of her hands and held it gently between his two hands. “Do nae what, lass?”

“Do not treat me so.” Two tears eased from the corners of her eyes, bringing relief from the dryness she hadn’t realized tormented her, but the salt stung. “You have never been anything but bold with me. I like that.”

“Well then, lass, ye’ll have to be getting well so that we can get back to that.”

He wanted her to, she could see the need shimmering in his eyes. The pain increased, burning hot now that she was fully awake. Poisons were horrible things; some of them took a long time to kill, eating away at their victims before finally snuffing out their lives. She had always known that she would die someday, but it had never been something that she feared. Living had been the challenge when her father died. Now she had a reason to want to cling to life. Her hands tightened around Gordon’s, and the feel of his warm flesh against her own was soothing.

“I love you.”

He flinched, a muscle twitching along the side of his jaw. He leaned closer, laying her hand on her stomach before stroking his fingertips along her cheeks.

“Do nae do that, lass.”

The hard edge to his voice drew a soft smile from her in spite of the pain it sent along her lips.

“But I do and—”

“And ye will nae say good-bye to me now, Jemma. Ye will survive this and ye will be my wife.”

If the force of his will could force fate to heed him, then Jemma would live. She stared at the determination in his eyes, trying to absorb some of it, but her body hurt too badly.

Gordon turned and lifted something off a table that had been placed beside the bed. It was a small pewter cup, such as a child might use.

“Some water will make ye feel better.” He lifted her head and supported her neck with a firm hand while sliding behind her to brace her with his body. “I may take to feeding ye, lass, because it gives me the chance to hold ye.”

“Hmmm . . . I find it strangely attractive myself, except for the part where I recall that I am helpless.”

“Drink, lass, and yer strength will return.”

“Do not drink that.”

Gordon jerked the water spilling onto the bed. With one fluid motion he pulled his sword from where it was leaning against the bedside. There was an answering slide of steel against steel as the knight trailing the boy unsheathed his sword. Jemma felt surprise flash through her, for the knight was Synclair and it seemed as if it had been a long time since she had seen him.

“You must not give her anything that has come through your kitchens.”

Gordon slid out from behind her and lowered her onto the pillow with one arm, but he kept his attention on the boy who was telling him what to do. Jemma stared at the youth, trying to decide what it was about him that she found odd.

“What ye must nae do is surprise me, Lady Justina, else there will be dire results. I am nae in the mood to ask too many questions.”

Gordon replaced his sword, but he kept an eye on Synclair until the man followed suit.

“Lady?” Jemma turned her head and recognized Lady Justina. Synclair nodded at her in response. Gordon turned to sweep her with a keen look, ensuring that she was settled well before turning back to look at Lady Justina.

“Why are you dressed like a boy, Justina?” It was a dangerous thing to do because the Church spoke against women dressing in men’s clothing. Punishment was harsh, but even worse were the superstitions that attached themselves to those females who donned britches.

They would be sterile or too small to take a man’s member or become diseased, and the list continued. There were even those who claimed witches were girls who had worn britches, and the clothing had turned them against the natural order of the world.

“Fine, nothing from the kitchens.” Gordon walked over to the window the water was drawn through. He pulled on the cable and turned over more than a dozen buckets before he filled the small cup with water and carried it back to the bed.

Justina walked to the open shutter and looked down. Synclair was right behind her, and he even reached out to pull on the rope and watch the buckets rise from the river below.

“That should keep them busy for a moment.” Gordon lifted the mug to her mouth, and Jemma sighed as the cool liquid soothed her dry lips.

“I have decided on which chamber she shall go to.”

Gordon released the back of her head and settled her against the pillows before turning to look at Justina.

“And how do ye plan to feed her if nothing may come from the kitchens?”

“My maidservant Claire will do all that is needed and use only those things that were brought from Amber Hill. I will reside here and sample what is sent up from the kitchens.”

Jemma didn’t think she might feel worse, but hearing Justina make her suggestion filled her with dread.

“Justina, no, you must not risk yourself.”

The lady moved across the floor with a smile on her lips. “Do not worry, Jemma, I will not eat much, only enough to catch the guilty one if they attempt to finish what they have begun. We must make them think you are here, so a woman must take your place. Believe me, I am glad of the chance to do something for your brother.”

That brought another feeling of discomfort to her for she hadn’t really thought of the woman her brother had at Amber Hill. Lady Justina had betrayed his trust by aiding his bride in escaping the castle. Curan wasn’t being vindictive in keeping the lady within his walls; someone powerful at court had sent her there to betray her brother’s trust. Curan was keeping Justina away from that man, but the fact remained that Justina had been living there, without a place, and that was something Jemma had tasted recently. It was bitter indeed.

“Synclair will show you the chamber I selected. There is only one window, and that will hopefully keep you from being seen. It is imperative that everyone down to the smallest kitchen girl believes you are still in this chamber and recovering well. If it is believed that you are regaining your health, another attempt might be made.”

“Justina—”

Justina looked at Gordon. “Take her now, she has not the strength for arguing against what is needed to end this threat for good. Rest is what she must have to recover. Do not be foolish enough to think because she is awake, all is well.”

“Gordon, don’t listen to her—”

“I have no better idea, lass, and keeping ye from harm is something I will do anything to achieve.”

Her husband scooped her up, and she couldn’t help but curl toward his heat. Her body was too cold, and the heat from his body helped soothe the ache that was threatening to send tears into her eyes. In truth, she felt her small amount of strength beginning to fail. She did feel those tears run down her cheeks because she was grateful to Justina for telling Gordon to take her away.

Her husband carried her through the hallways with Synclair walking ahead of them to make sure no one watched their journey. They left the tower that held the laird’s chamber and headed to the oldest one. This tower was round, and the stairs were steep and narrow. Gordon carried her up to the second floor and through a single door.

Her husband stopped and surveyed the room. It was humble but clean. The bed was made with fresh sheets, and thick pillows were piled up so that they would support her. He settled her on them and brushed a hand over the tears that had wet her cheeks.

“I didna mean to hurt ye, lass.”

“You didn’t. I detest being helpless, and I am too weak to not cry over such an unchangeable thing.”

He leaned toward her and kissed one cheek. It was a soft pressing of his lips, but she shivered with the contact. His hand was still cradling her nape, the fingers moving in soft, soothing motions.

“Yer tears wound me, lass. I swear I feel each one more deeply than any cut I have ever received.”

“Stay with me.”

She was weak and couldn’t hold back the words.

“I can nae and make the staff believe that ye are in our chamber, but I will come often, and be very sure that I will feel the separation keenly, lass.”

The door opened, and he jerked his head up.

“I am Claire.”

She had her arms full, and Gordon rose to help her. There were small bags and more sheets and towels; even a cooking pot was dangling from the woman’s arm. The room had a small fireplace set into the wall and a single window. The window did not have glass but wooden shutters that could be used to close it when the weather was too cold.

“You should go now. I will look after her needs.”

Claire was soft spoken, but there was no missing the sound of experience in her tone. It sent a shiver down Jemma’s spine, and it drew a cringe from her husband.

“Aye.”

He leaned down and kissed her once more. Jemma reached for him and had to force herself not to cling. She was afraid, but so was he. She caught a glimpse of it in his eyes, and her heart clutched that bit of knowledge close.

If he was frightened for her, he might learn to love her. It was an odd hope when she considered the fact that she should be more worried about opening her eyes again. Instead all she had swirling around in her mind was longing for affection from the man who had touched her heart. She took him into her dreams, and that brought her more comfort than any of the prayers that had been muttered at her bedside.

Time became indefinable. Jemma awoke at odd hours; sometimes the church bell woke her, other times it was the wind whistling in through the window. Claire always seemed to be awake when Jemma opened her eyes. The woman moved in a slow motion that was soothing to the eyes. She offered Jemma warm broth that didn’t tempt her. Her stomach cramped at the idea of any food, so she closed her eyes and escaped back into sleep.

“Ye need the nourishment, lass.”