Always Mine (16 page)

Streaks of desire shot to the pit of her stomach, finally making her aware of his hands and lips moving over her. His kisses were gentle and coaxing, and his tongue ran along the closure of her lips to beg entrance.

Her mouth parted on a sigh. His tongue was hot and sweet as it explored her mouth, and she knew she had never had a kiss that felt so right. It wasn’t too much to ask of her that she give him kisses. After all, they
were
married.

He was really being a gentlemanly knight, even with all she was denying him. How many modern men would agree to wait what surely would be weeks before bedding their wives?

When he coaxed her tongue into his mouth, she reveled in the silkiness of the insides of his lips. She was disappointed when his mouth left hers and his lips traveled from her chin, down the center of her neck, and over her chest to stop between her breasts. She jumped as his hand cupped a breast and kneaded slowly. He soothed her with the soft, rumbling sounds that so often came from him.

Her head tilted back. His lips caressed her neck again,

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before roving down to her breasts. When he gently kissed and tugged a hard nipple, she pulled at his hair.

Oh, my God. She was resting against his naked body—

well, almost naked body! How had her own garments fallen to her waist? She gasped. His hand cupped her sex. Her flesh was on fire.

She struggled to regain her composure and moaned. What he was doing felt so right. So very good. She hated to stop him. Aware that his hot and throbbing manhood pressed beneath her thighs, she panted and tugged on the braids at his temples.

Damron’s hand cupped her damp mound and gave it a soothing squeeze as he took his mouth from her breast. He blew softly on her wet nipple, puckering the skin around it.

Her sex throbbed on his palm, wanting more. Her face felt aflame as she tugged at his wrist and struggled with her gown.

“Little wife, I promised I wouldna take ye, but I did not promise not to touch ye. Ye must allow me this. Come. It grows late and dawn will soon be here.” He carried her to the bed and placed her on the sheet. She pulled the bedding up to her chin. Smiling at her, he pinched out the candles.

The fire’s embers were bright enough for Brianna to see him clearly. She couldn’t drag her gaze away as he removed his robe and placed it across the chair’s back. She swallowed, eyeing the soft black hair that matted his chest, then narrowed down over his taut stomach. The light reflecting from the fire turned his skin a beautiful bronze as he padded over to the bed. It also illuminated the many white scars scattered across his chest and arms.

Recalling the servants’ comments, she let her gaze dart to his left thigh. She gasped on seeing the still-red scar from his knee up to his groin and studied it. Heaven help him! How had he survived such a wound?

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He stepped forward, and her gaze riveted to that special place. She couldn’t look away.

His hard, pulsing shaft rose from its bed of black curls in front of two large sacs. His size was startling. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this sight. She began to wonder if men had lost some measure of their
family jewels
as the centuries advanced? Hearing his wicked chuckle, she pulled the covers over her head, mortified he had caught her staring at his turgid sex. The bed swayed as he stretched upon it.

“Come, Brianna. Ye will be air starved. Dinna be shamed.

’Tis natural to be curious about a man’s body.” He tugged the covers from her face and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, turned his back to her and settled down to sleep. Only when she heard his even breathing did she close her eyes and give in to her tired body.

Damron studied her face in the dim light. When he had palmed her moist mound earlier, her bemused expression told him he had made a good beginning on his plan. Now, the tumultuous day and the strong mead finally did their work. She slept soundly.

Damron’s hands slid to her gown and lifted it over her hips to ease it from her. Satisfied, he drew his naked bride into his arms and against the contours of his body.

Chapter 10

Damron, his heart beating, near breaking his ribs with its thumping, stalked the woman’s shadowy figure as she laughed and danced away from him. His feral growl should have halted her in her tracks, but she wantonly tormented and teased him till his raging loins demanded retribution.

“Yield, afore I take ye on the floor.” His voice husky with passion, he grasped for her arm. Naught but thin air filled his hand as she twirled out of reach.

She laughed and shrugged her shoulders, letting the transpar-ent silk undergarment slip over her pale skin to come to rest in the crook of her arms. Teased by the slithering fabric, the dark nipples on her ample breasts thrust outward, luring him as she danced backward, widening the gap between them.

Shielding her flesh from his gaze, yet allowing her straining nipples to peep between her spread fingers, she taunted him. He wet his lips, preparing them, then lunged forward to clasp her heated flesh to his.

He fell with her onto the bed, ready to mount the supple form molded against his. The move jolted Damron awake to a throbbing tarse straining for release. His mind cleared.

’Twas not his leman.

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He took a deep breath and fought his body for control, before drawing away and slipping the covers off his wife. She stirred. Her hands moved over the bedding. Did she search for something? He edged closer, but only enough that she would feel the heat from his body. She scooted back until she pressed tight against him, then sighed with satisfaction.

The room was dimly lit, but enough that it outlined her ivory body. Soft as a breeze, his hand wandered over her, enjoying her silky skin. His fingers moved down over the dip in her waist, and after caressing her soft stomach, they feathered over the curve of her hip to cup her bottom.

Her body was artlessly open to him. He laid the palm of his hand on the crease of her buttocks, his fingers resting on the heat of her secret place. He groaned with pleasure.

She stirred, restless now. He removed his hand and drew his legs tight to her bottom. She mumbled, caught hold of his wrist and snuggled his hand between her breasts. Though not the way he had expected to spend his wedding night, it did have its merits.

Damron was pleased with her reaction. Each night, he would tempt her body with pleasure while her defenses were down. Undermining her resolve not to mate with him would be a challenge.

Pretending sleep, he forced a few gusty snores.

Brianna’s eyes flew open. Having had an outrageous dream of a man whose face was in shadows, she was disappointed to have awakened too soon.

She gasped. Why was she hugging Damron’s hand between her breasts? Her naked breasts? Huh? Where was her gown?

He slept curled around her, his rigid member snuggled against the crease of her bottom. His breezy snores ruffled her hair. She inched her legs forward and shifted her hips away

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from his warm body. He twitched restlessly. His hand fum-bled until it cupped her breast, and after a lusty grunt, he resumed snoring.

Brianna waited. Then waited longer. The blasted man didn’t move. He seemed in a deep sleep. Where had the covers gone? She raised her arm and felt across his hot back.

A light mist of sweat covered the splendid muscles there.

Slowly, careful not to wake him, she gripped the covers to slide them over them both, then again tried to pull away. She barely moved before he dragged the bedding off again. His hand sprang back to burrow between her breasts. The blasted man’s body shook, so why did he pull the bedding off?

“Mmmff,” he breathed into her hair. Whenever she attempted to move, it interrupted his snoring. She stayed put.

Maybe his hardness was that
man’s thing
that happened while they slept. Even so, she didn’t want him to awake and find her so conveniently placed. Sighing, she closed her eyes.

Brianna was sure she hadn’t slept an hour more before a booming voice awakened her.

“Wife, if ye would break yer fast afore we leave, rise and don yer clothing. Do ye require my help?”

Damron, dressed for travel and looking rested, loomed over her. She remembered waking in the night and finding she had discarded her gown. Her face flushed hot as a backyard bar-becue. Something tangled around her legs when she moved to sit up.

She peeked beneath the covers. She wore her gown.

Popping her head back out, she blinked and tried to mask her confusion with a smile.

“If you hadn’t snored and kept me awake, I would be up and dressed by now.” She gathered the covers around her body and stepped, as calm and graceful as a model, across the cold floor.

“Snore?” His eyes glinted with amusement. “I ne’er snore.”

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“Ha, you should hear yourself.” Self-conscious now, she went behind the corner screen, longing for the privacy of her modern bathroom. She listened to him moving about the room, and heard the door open, then close. She sighed. She was alone. Hurrying, she tended her needs and dressed. Head lowered while she gathered her long hair and tied a ribbon around it, she came from behind the screen. If she hadn’t spied his boots not more than a foot from her toes, her head would have butted against his chest. Her face flushed. He hadn’t left.

“Come. I would see if what ye would wear is appropriate.”

“Why? I’ve always suitably attired myself.”

“Oh? ’Tis suitable to bare yer legs when ye ride, and for a bride to wear a black mourning gown, Lady?”

He sauntered around her, then lifted the back of her tunic to see how much freedom her leggings gave her. She frowned.

When he grasped her bottom and squeezed, she whirled to swat at him. She stopped, her hand in midair. The sheets.

Where were they?

“Blessed saints! They’re gone.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “They’ll expect proof I’m a virgin.”

“Aye. I have taken care of it.” Smiling, he turned her to face him. “I would have ye wear my morning gift, wife.” He draped a clan tartan under her arm and up over her shoulder, securing it over her breast with a silver brooch.

She stared at his big hands. Smelled his scent. And saw the brooch. Celtic knots formed a circle with the head of a falcon designed on each side. The pin was a fist holding a dagger upright.

Blinding flashes of light streaked through her head. She saw his foggy image in the ruins of Blackthorn, his warm hands pinning this same brooch to her sweater. She lurched, near losing her balance, and grasped for his arm.

Had that been an ancient memory from this day? Only a

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great, enduring love could outlast the centuries to show itself in such a way. Her fingers dug into his arm. She fought the fear rising in her. What would happen to her, to him, if their love grew to such heights, and she suddenly returned to the twenty-first century? A whimper escaped at the thought.

“Lady, is aught wrong?”

“No. I’m just tired from too little sleep.” She cupped her shaking hand over the brooch, and warmth spread from it. It was where it belonged.

“Thank you, Damron, it’s very beautiful. I’ll treasure it always.”

Damron’s eyes lit with pleasure, and his face softened on hearing her words.

When they entered the hall, all gazes turned to inspect her.

The women’s faces mirrored concern. Not the men’s, though.

Damron winked. They leered and thumped him on the shoulders like he’d scored the winning goal in the World Hockey Championship.

Disgusted, Brianna frowned.

“Careful, love. Dinna let yer temper lead ye to trouble.”

He grinned at her, to all appearances a man very pleased with his wedding night. The scoundrel exaggerated his help in seating her.

She slapped at his hands, and her frown deepened to a scowl. Deliberately, she bounced down on the hard seat to disprove his insinuations.

“Easy, love. Ye will harm yer tender flesh further,” he cautioned.

He filled her cup with ale, then ladled hot porridge into a bowl and spread butter over it before he placed it close to her hand. After slathering honey atop a hot scone, he set it beside her bowl. Only then did he serve himself. He was playing the gratified husband to the hilt.

“Brianna, are you able to travel so soon?” Lady Cecelia whis-

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pered after they finished eating and Damron moved to join Connor and Galan by the fireplace. “I prepared you a salve. You have but to apply it twice a day. Do not despair, dear. We all adjust. But you would do well not to anger your husband.”

Brianna thanked her and put the small earthenware pot into the pocket of her leggings. Though Lady Cecelia had sealed it with wax, its smell was pleasant. Was it a beauty treatment?

Perhaps Cecelia had heard of Damron’s leman.

Soon Maud moved close to speak to her alone, gently hugged her and also handed her a small pot. “Men are selfish in their excitement, dear. Entreat him to go more gently,” she advised, her face flaming.

Elise, her eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying, ran over to grasp Brianna around the neck. “Take care, Brianna. I will miss you terribly,” she wailed. Brianna hugged her tight and soothed her with little shushing sounds and pats on the back.

Damron cleared his throat, signaling he wished Brianna to hurry. When they gathered outside, all the villagers were there.

“That good man who made such
encouraging
wedding mead, please come forward.” Damron grinned, and everyone’s gazes shifted to Brianna.

She pinched him.

“After sampling yer mead, I dinna doubt my bride will birth an heir within the year. I thank ye heartily.”

The nerve of him. He drank most of the mead—didn’t he?

“Swaggering braggart.” She pinched him again, harder, for emphasis.

His arm whipped out and tugged her against his side. Gripping her chin, he kissed her soundly. When he lifted his head, her traitorous lips tried to follow his. He smiled.