My Cursed Highlander (13 page)

Hiccup.

"Remi, would you be so kind as to summon one of those serving maids? My goblet appears to be empty again." Viviana's loud request gained them a few stares from the patrons at the inn. Her volume had increased a decibel with every goblet of mead the woman poured down her gullet.

Seeking his permission, Remi glanced at Taveon from across a trestle table laden with food. Taveon missed his friend's jovial sense of humor and regretted the harsh words that had passed between them.

"Remi?" Viviana flipped her empty goblet upside-down. A single droplet of golden-brown mead dripped onto the tabletop.

Hiccup.

Bickering with the woman would only gain them unwanted attention, but his wife was getting blootered. He rubbed the back of his neck and gave Remi a quick nod.

"Aye, m'lady." Remi pushed his way between two drunkards involved in a fisty-cuffs to reach a tavern wench.

This rancid smelling place was not where he wanted to be, but Turin was prime for trade, and they needed to rid themselves of the carriage before they entered the mountains. Taveon had every intention of discussing the matter with his wife, but never managed to breach the subject. In fact, he hadn't managed to breach a single subject with her in the three days it took them to cross the Kingdom of Lombardy.

Remi's blunder only aggravated her sullen mood, and Taveon's patience for her temper was wearing thin. This night would be the first time they shared a bed, and he rather hoped her feelings toward him might be a wee bit less vile. He sensed her unease the moment Monroe went to secure quarters. He suspected 'twas the reason Viviana decided to pickle herself in the mead.

"Mayhap ye should try the quail and those little potages." Taveon pushed her trencher closer to her, bumping her elbows off the table.

Her head snapped toward him, wrapping a web of black hair around her face. She swiped the loose tendrils away and swayed slightly atop the trestle bench. "Are you telling me I cannot enjoy a bit of drink afore I eat my meal?"

"Not at all, m'lady." Mayhap he should let her wallow in the mead. The drink did seem to smooth the harsh scowl permanently fixed to her face.

"Good. I've had a taxing day and think I might drown myself in the cups." Her words sounded rehearsed, not at all her own.

"Have ye ever drowned yourself in the cups?"

"
Hiccup.
No. Luciano always used this phrase, and the spirits seemed to calm him."

"So your first husband was a philanderer who starved ye to death, and your second husband was a sot."

"
Sì.
And Radolfo was a gem compared to Luciano.
Hiccup.
" She sat back and crossed her arms over breasts rounding out of her garnet-colored gown. "And now I find myself married to Goliath; King of the Barbarians."

Bitter woman.
Taveon blew a hot breath of impatience. "Ye would do us both a justice if you would quit comparing me to your first two husbands."

She replied in the form of a snort.

He glanced over his shoulder and found a pair of soused locals watching them. With wide grins, they raised their mugs as if to congratulate him for his good fortune. The man with stringy black hair coughed into a soiled cloth for long moments before he was able to raise his mug to his lips. Mayhap Viviana would rather take one of them to husband.

Taveon smiled at the lunger and his friend to be genial then swiveled back toward Viviana.

Remi returned and set a full pewter mug in front of her. "I fear the barrel has run dry, m'lady. The barkeep has assured me this is the last drop of mead in the tavern."

"Pish! Did you concoct that lie on your own, or did Goliath slip it to you when I wasn't looking?"

Remi's blinking eyes settled on the floor. "'Twas my lie, m'lady. Forgive me."

She lifted the mug and spilled a generous portion down her gapping bodice in an effort to get the mead to her mouth. "
Mannaggia
." She pressed her gown against her breasts, then emptied the contents in one draw.

The woman actually belched and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. And she accused him of being barbaric.

Remi shrugged the same time Monroe appeared tableside. "Third floor, second door on the left. The meal has been paid for as well as the lodging." He tossed a key to Taveon.

"Sounds like you will be enjoying the splendor of your marriage bed before the proffered ten days have expired," she hissed, her purple eyes nigh glowing with animosity.

Taveon slapped his hand over half his face. "Ouish." If God were not watching, he would strangle the woman.

"Remi and I will stay in the stable with Miocchi and guard the carriage until dawn." Monroe ignored their antics. "The innkeeper said there is a smithie eastside who works on trade."

"Have him shoe the horses this eve, and I'll meet ye there at first light on the morrow. Thank ye both."

Monroe clapped him on the shoulder and glanced at Viviana whose eyelids were now aflutter. "Much luck to ye, m'laird." He and Remi worked their way out of the tavern, leaving him in the company of his ill-tempered wife. The morrow had to be better.

Long moments of silence passed before Viviana shoved the trencher of food to the middle of the table and inched her way off the edge of the trestle bench. "I seem to have lost my appetite." She stood and held out a hand. "Will you escort me to our chamber or shall I find my own way?"

Taveon took her hand and guided her through a throng of foul-smelling drunkards to a back stairwell. She tripped on her skirt and fell to her knees.

"Damn-it-to-Hell!" He scooped her up, limbs flapping, and climbed two flights of steps before he found the cistern. He dropped her legs, but held tight to the back of her gown. "Would ye like to wash before we retire?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she staggered into the privy chamber.

He hadn't bedded a woman in months. Anticipation should have him raging hard, but the emotions swirling in his gut didn't resemble lust so much as regret. Mayhap he should have left her in Firenze to spend the rest of her days wallowing in self pity.

The labors of their journey thus far had his muscles aching and the worst of their travels still awaited them. The woman's tits were liable to freeze in the mountains as she didn't own a single garment suitable for such rigorous weather. Having rummaged through her belongings, he was certain she'd never ventured out of Italy.

Mayhap her hatred would keep her warm.

The door opened with a swoosh, surging his nose with the arousing scent of soap and citrus. Torchlight glistened off raven hair damp at the temples, and the buttons of her bodice were crooked—three buttons at the top fell short of their counter button holes which left her looking slightly disheveled.

Taveon swallowed. The blood stirred in his groin.

Mayhap he should take advantage of her intoxication and pleasure the woman until her body rippled. An orgasm or two might remedy her animosity.

"Do let me know when you're finished ogling me, so we might proceed to our bedchamber."

"Ouish, woman!" Taveon took her hand and escorted her through an arched doorway into a less than appealing chamber. He studied the furnishings so Viviana could acquaint herself with the layout. A four poster bed took up the majority of the room with a nightstand on either side. A triangle chair with a broken leg propped against a wall beneath a closed window and a single wall scone burned beside a cloth covered screen he could only assume hid a chamber pot.

"Primitive, but I suppose it is better than the stable." Viviana released his hand and sashayed to the right side of the bed—his side of the bed—but he wouldn't waste his breath on that argument.

He set his back to her and unsheathed his weapons, then disrobed to his chausses. Bending on one knee, he leisurely worked the laces of his worn boots and prayed when he turned around, she would be lost to the drink and tucked beneath the blankets.

But she was not.

He swiveled around in time to watch her pull her tunic over her head and toss it into the corner.

Sweet Venus!
The golden flame of the torch flickered off her creamy skin. An ample backside curved into a small waist then flared back out to her shoulders. He nearly lost his balance when she turned toward him.

His gaze immediately fixed on the triangle of dark curls beneath her navel. He felt as if he had five hearts beating inside him. His cock turned to a pulsing rod of iron that only grew in length when he set his sights on her breasts—full, firm breasts with soft rose-colored nipples just waiting to be licked.

He stifled a moan and swallowed the saliva pooling over his tongue.

"Do you prefer your women on top or bottom?"

He tore his gaze from her treasures and only then did he realize she wasn't wearing the amulet. Her fisted hands poised beside her hips and the stubborn tilt of her chin was set at an imposing angle.

Oh, she wasn't going to ruin this moment with bitter words. He closed the gap between them and cradled her head in one hand while the other wrapped around her sumptuous backside. He flanked her against him and pressed his cock into her belly so she might know how she affected him. Sweat gathered around his spine as her nipples hardened against his chest. He could think of nothing else but taking each one into his mouth with slow teasing draws.

She closed her eyes and glossed her lips with her pink tongue and only then did he see the quiver take hold of her chin. Her hands remained balled beside her hips, and her stiff pose bespoke of revulsion.

No!
He wanted to shake the demons out of her that made her so vindictive.

"Please get on with it before I vomit." Her caustic word chilled his very soul. He stepped back, his breathing harsh. Would he never gain her trust, her affections?

"Get into bed." He released her then strode across the chamber to snatch up the privy pot and positioned it beside the bed. He retrieved the amulet from the side-table, and then stretched out atop the blankets and stared at the circular candelabrum above the bed. Da would be pleased, but Taveon doubted this suffering was better than knowing the love and tenderness of a wife, how ever brief it might be.

With his fist wrapped tightly around the amulet, he closed his eyes and willed himself into slumber.

The amulet warmed his palm. Colors erupted inside his head—a woman with pale hair, gold lashes, green eyes. She laughed and danced in bare toes beneath a canopy of willow trees.

Elise.

His eyes snapped open. The woman was taunting him, mocking his fanciful dreams. He hated her and wanted to scream the words to her face. Instead, he stuffed the amulet beneath the bolster and rolled to his side.

Viviana twisted toward him. "Am I that unappealing?"

"Ye are beautiful on the outside, but your tongue is foul and your heart is black." He said nothing further, but wondered how it was possible he'd married the only person in the world with a heart more guarded than his own.

Chapter 11

A rich soothing melody hummed in Viviana's ears.

She danced in a wispy white undertunic, her toes digging into fresh spring grasses while flower petals of every color rained down over her. Laird Kraig leaned against a tree trunk and watched her, his lips curled into a devilish grin.

She teased him with a side-long glance. "Do you want me?"

His lips split, revealing straight white teeth. Dark eyes twinkled like starlight at dawn and looked at her with a passion she felt clear to her toes.

Blue.

His eyes were dark blue. The color of the sea in the darkest hour of night.

He pulled her into his arms, then nipped at her bottom lip.

Liquid warmth washed throughout her insides. He made her ache. He made her feel. He made her want.

He bent low and leaned into her ear.
"Ye are beautiful when you're sleeping."

Reality awoke like a stone to the back of her head.

No!
It was a dream.

Viviana frowned and wanted to cry. Instead, she pushed through the thick haze in her head toward a world of consciousness. Laird Kraig hummed the same soothing tune she'd been dancing to only moments ago and stirred her from slumber with caressing strokes across her collarbone.

"Wake up, sweetling." Laird Kraig pushed the hair from her face and traced her ear with his fingertip.

Gooseflesh sprouted over her warm skin. She squirmed and only then did she realize she was naked.

Oh,
cazzo!
Her hands fisted in the covers as she flexed the muscles in her mons, expecting to feel the pained aftermath of their union. Naught seemed amiss. "Did you have your way with me?" She winced at the atrocious odor wafting over her.

He laughed. "Ye would know if I had." His fingers played over her shoulder like a skilled musician and made her pulse flutter in her womanhood. Why wasn't he naked and under the coverlet? Why hadn't they consummated?
Mannaggia
. Why couldn't she remember?

Had he not given her time to prepare; to bathe away the filth of their journey or to depilate? Radolfo wouldn't touch her lest she were free of unwanted hair and smooth like the Italian beauties who posed for the great artists. She searched her memory, but had no recollection of any events beyond their evening meal. In fact, she couldn't recall if she'd even eaten. She studied the taste in her mouth and decided whatever food she'd consumed must have been rotten.