A Perfect Knight For Love (5 page)

Amalie nodded quickly and viciously.

“I’m moving my hand. Nae sound. Agreed?” He whispered it, making it infinitely worse as more shiver accompanied his breath.

She nodded.

“I’m trusting you. God help me.”

He lifted his hand. Amalie watched his eyes. She’d specifically noted their blue-green color since he was forever putting her into a close range when she felt the most awkward, but she hadn’t factored in how thickly lashed they were. Nor how well-formed. Capable of holding her gaze with a look that created a riot of more shivers that flew all over her, centering with horrid accuracy at each breast tip. Again. She watched him flick a gaze to her lips and then her bosom as if he knew! Exactly where and what!

Amalie had to look away. And quickly. She fixed her sight on the flap of stretched skin above them where the animal’s head had once been. She was still watching it when Thayne looked back at her face. She didn’t have to check. She knew. It was in the heightened rate of his heartbeat next to her arm, the stronger huffs of breath, and the stir of something at her hip where his groin pressed against her. All of which was more barbaric and crude than before. And then her entire frame made it worse as she spasmed oddly right up against him.

The immediate reaction was a responding lunge against her and then a huffed breath across the bridge of her nose. He lowered his head again to her ear. “You doona’ ken the least in orders, wife, but you’re fain bonny. And gifted. I’ll say that for you.”

Amalie went stiff as what had to be his tongue finished the whispered words. She jerked away and then endured a chuckle that caused worse tremors atop the wetness he’d tongued into place. All of it because she had no choice. He was practically astride her as if it were normal and acceptable—and with an infant beside them! Amalie felt the babe settle back into slumber as if that was also accepted and normal and comfortable, too.

Well . . . how was she to know? She hadn’t anyone to ask. She’d always shied away from imagining close physical contact with a man. She knew instinctively it wouldn’t have helped. She couldn’t have known what to imagine. Right here in this copse, in the open and surrounded by more men than she dared count, this Thayne fellow obliterated everything. Not only was he more male than any woman should have to deal with, but he knew it. He also knew how to use it. On unsuspecting females. And to a punishing level.

“I almost doona’ miss my freedom.”

Her intake of air didn’t have much impact although it moved the babe slightly. She felt Thayne’s lips moving along her cheek . . . toward her mouth. To kiss her again? Without one bit of asking? The most horrid quiver started deep in the private regions of her body as if in accompaniment, making everything spin and whirl.

“Leastways, to the degree I should.”

Lying in his arms wasn’t gaining Amalie a thing. And soon, it was going to reap worse. She could tell as fingers spread about what was left of her skirts, gathering petticoat-depleted cloth about one side and lifting her, matching her fully against his loins. Her eyes flew wide and her trembling worsened. That just made the limbs holding her harder and tighter as a tremor scored him. It was impossible not to see goose bumps as they lifted the opaque white fabric from his skin. Amalie had never felt so odd; her breath was coming in sharp short bursts, while her entire body felt like liquid weight. It was held in place by him and being fitted around him, and there wasn’t much on her that felt capable of stopping any of it. He went to a push-up position, above the babe, parting her legs and then settling something, hard, foreign, and heated right between her thighs, splitting them. Just above the knee. She had to do something! Anything! And it just wasn’t fair that not one soul had warned her about this sort of experience.

“St-stop! Please . . . stop!” The squeak was barely audible at first.

“Say something to match your frame.” His voice was accompanied by a slide of motion as he bowed above her and maneuvered further between the sensitive skin between her thighs.

“You . . . must stop—!”

“Nae,” he responded.

“I’ll scream! I will!” The huffed words had fright and shock at their core. And somehow that stopped him.

“What? Why?”

“I swear . . . I will!”

“You prefer death?” Thayne’s whisper was harsh as he lowered back onto his side on the blanket bed, somehow keeping their loins connected. And worse. It felt like it pulsed against her with a movement of its own!

Amalie’s eyes went so wide it pained. She didn’t dare blink as he looked down at her. There wasn’t a hue of any kind to be seen as he gazed at her for long moments while his heartbeat continued to pound against her belly. Swift. Strong. Relentless.

“You doona’ wish this?”

“N-no.” The whisper was hers but it was choked-sounding. It didn’t sound like a refusal at all. It sounded eager . . . and breathless.

“Truly?”

“Tru . . . ly.”

“Why did you tell them we wed, then?” he asked.

“I . . . had to.”

“Why?”

He’d guessed something of her distress for he was easing from her, sliding away as he moved. He left one leg atop her, pinning her. As if he needed it to prevent escape. That was needless. If she tried to stand, she suspected she’d fall.

“Be-because you . . . told them the babe was mine.”

“True.”

“I cannot have a baby.”

“Well, I sure as the devil could na’,” Thayne replied.

“It isn’t amusing.”

“Agreed.” He’d sobered at her tone.

“I mean . . . I can’t have a-a-a newly birthed baby.”

“Why na’?”

“I don’t know the . . . particulars, but I think there are doctors involved . . . and s-s-sometimes surgeons . . . and I-I-I think it’s very hard. I probably couldn’t be moved.”

“I’ve carried you everywhere. That’s nae issue. Only my men ken why.”

Space and time away from the intimacy he’d forced on her was strengthening her voice and giving her back her wits. As well as making everything cold-feeling. She’d worry over that later.

“Very well. What about the rest of it?”

“What ‘rest of it’?” He mimicked her exactly, although his barely audible voice was two octaves lower in tone.

Amalie stuck out her lower lip and blew a sigh. “When you tell a lie you have to be able to back it up. And continue the farce. You didn’t.”

“How so?”

“You gave me little choice. Without any time to think, I might add.”

“Why doona’ you make sense?”

“Claiming you is the lesser evil under the circumstances. Can’t you see that?”

“Lesser evil? Me?”

He pulled his head back as if insulted. Amalie barely avoided giving in to the twitch of smile.

“Life or death, remember?”

“What are you speaking of now?”

“Exactly what you did.”

“I must be stewed, lass. You make nae sense. None.”

“You told them I’m the babe’s mother.”

“True. You already argued it.”

“You didn’t think it through!”

“You’re a shrew. With a nagging bent. That’s it. Is na’ it?”

Amalie’s response came through set teeth. It was soft and cursed but it was still loud enough to waken. Thayne stiffened completely. She matched his held-breath state as they waited for the movements about them to quiet. She didn’t move the entire time and he didn’t, either. All that happened was her heart rate increased until it owned her hearing.

Thayne finally blinked, tipped his head to her ear again, releasing his breath as well as her gaze. “Perhaps we should save this . . . for another time.”

Amalie managed a nod and that got her what felt like a lip touch on her neck. And that just got her another round of shivers to fight.

Chapter 4

She’d rarely spent such a night. Amalie stayed still for several moments, willing sensation back into her limbs. Her mattress had never felt so hard. She felt weak, too, just like during the weeks of slow starvation Father ordered. And she was filled with ache. Massive ache. Everything was heavy: her legs, arms, neck . . . all leaden.

Her sleep had been filled with an endless span of dreams, peopled with savage demons, steep cliffs with bottomless drop-offs, and cold deep water that pulled her under, making it nearly impossible to surface for a gasp at air. But throughout there’d been the form of a man. Tormenting her. Teasing her. Protecting her. And not just any man, but one conjured into being just for her. Formed with jaw-dropping features, shoulder-length chestnut-colored hair he wore pulled back, and clear aqua-shaded eyes. There was more. He’d been a huge muscled man, capable of wielding any weapon to her defense and easily assisting her when she needed it. It was a shame he was just a dream.

Amalie stretched and connected her head with something solid and bulky. Alive. And grumbling. Then it was angered.

“Watch the chin! I’m bruised and swelled already.”

Amalie yanked her eyelids open, tried to sit at the same time, but was pitched back by an arm of unbreakable strength. She didn’t guess the unbreakable part. She found out. She tried. All that happened was the hold tightened to a punishing level, a leg went atop her hips, and a face came into view. Amalie spent several moments of huffed effort pushing against him before admitting defeat. Her fight hadn’t done much. The man who held her was just as massive and unbending as he’d been in her dream. He was as handsome, too. Even with a mass of lengthy, ungroomed hair falling across his forehead. She added to that. He also looked amused. He didn’t even look winded.

“You’re an odd spit. Thinking to best me? And at wrestling?”

Amalie bucked with her entire body. Nothing much happened, other than his limbs flexed to hold her in place.

“You . . . are not real,” she informed him haughtily.

One of his eyebrows lifted, showing a flash of blue-green. The man had stunning eyes. No wonder she’d dreamt him.

“I dreamt you. That makes this unreal and therefore it’s not happening,” she continued.

He was definitely entertained now as a smile split his face, revealing a full set of white teeth.

“What . . . is so amusing?” Amalie asked.

“You called me a dream. Me.”

“My mistake. I meant nightmare,” she replied.

“Lass, you more than dreamt me. You up and claimed me. Afore all.”

He said each word distinctly and solidly. That gave them more weight and that just seemed to add to the entirety of his bulk.

“I did not. Nor would I. Ever.”

“Oh, aye. You did. Proclaimed aloud and with perfect words. Binding words.”

“Let. Me. Up.” Each word was punctuated with another heave of her entire frame, or what she hoped was her entire frame.

“Na’ yet.”

She had to cease fighting him. Her strength wasn’t up to it and her face was probably red with the effort. It humored him, too. Amalie narrowed her eyes and glared at him and received a full grin for her trouble.

“Why not?” She was about to use her cross voice. The one reserved for the stupidest servant. She hoped he was prepared.

“’Tis unsafe. Too many men about.”

That stopped her words and then it evaporated every bit of the just-awakened confusion. Her heart moved to mass in her throat, nearly closing it off. “Where . . . is the babe?” There wasn’t any sound to her whisper but he knew what it was.

“With her wet-nurse. Filling her belly. Eating. Exactly as I’ll be doing. Once I’ve taken a moment to . . . uh . . .”

His voice trailed off and Amalie watched as it looked like his neck darkened and then his chin.
Men blush?
She wondered it before wondering why she cared. And further, if he wanted to keep the emotion hidden, he should wear a collar with his shirt. Or at least fasten his clothing fully, rather than leave it gapped to mid-chest, revealing skin-covered sinew she’d snuggled against all night. That’s when Amalie stopped every thought before she got her own blush. He hadn’t been mistaken about bruising, either. There was a dark shadow along the edge of his jaw. His chin didn’t look swollen, however, or he was more sculpted than seemed possible.

“Seek the privy?” she added to assist him.

He glanced toward her and then looked away again. Nodded. And went an even rosier shade.

“That bothers you?” she asked.

“I’ve na’ been around lasses much,” he replied. “And never one I’d wed.”

Amalie stiffened, realized that mistake as every portion of her collided with him, and then pulled in on her cheeks. She hoped he’d know disdain when he saw it and tried to make certain he heard it. “You’re mistaken, sir,” she replied. “We are not wed. Further, I wouldn’t wed with you if you were the last man, I repeat—
last
—man I ever run across.”

He pulled in air, pushing his chest and belly into hers, flicked his glance to her, and then he shoved the breath out, cursing her with heated warmth all over.

“We’re already wed, lass. ’Twas your mouth saying the words.”

“No.”

“Aye.”

“
N
.
O
.”
She spelled it this time and added a head shake for emphasis.

“By declaration. Among witnesses.”

“I . . . refuse.”

“I dinna’ wish it, either, but trust me. ’Tis Scot’s law. We’re wed. Legal and binding.”

“If you didn’t wish it, why didn’t you stop it?”

“Because I value life. I want to finish with mine. You heard Dunn-Fyne’s words. Drawing and quartering is nae fit way to die.”

“This isn’t happening. It isn’t true, and it certainly isn’t right.”

“Trust me, lass. ’Tis true. And serious. You’re wed to me. Just as you spoke.”

“That was playacting!”

“Keep your voice down!” He rumbled the threat and made certain of it with a hand atop her mouth. “Doona’ you ken a word I say? I value life. I just wish you placed the same value on yours so I would na’ have to do it!”

Amalie didn’t doubt him anymore. Everything on him looked earnest and truthful. And ready to make certain of it.

“Trouble with the wife, MacGowan?”

“Nothing I need an assist with. But I thank you all the same, Dunn-Fyne.”

Thayne turned his head to answer the snide voice of their captor. Amalie didn’t need to look and verify it. The unpleasant ripple of shiver going all over her was enough proof of who stood there. As well as the volume of men he had with him.