My Fair Highlander (20 page)
Read My Fair Highlander Online
Authors: Mary Wine
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.”
Â
“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?
”
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.
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