The Border Lord's Bride (19 page)

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Authors: Bertrice Small

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

BOOK: The Border Lord's Bride
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"Your servants but needed direction, my lord," Ellen murmured. "Your sister, being a nun, was more abstemious in her manner. Maggie had never run a household, as she was raised to sing and pray. She did her best by you last winter. I did not feel it was my place to interfere or guide her.

Had she asked I certainly would have rendered my aid, for I was raised to manage my husband‘s house."

"The sauce for the mussels was excellent," he told her. "I was not aware my cook had such talents."

"The sauce was one I learned from the cook at Lochearn," Ellen explained. "I am glad to have pleased you, Duncan."

"There are other ways in which you would please me, lass," he said, low.

She blushed, but nodded. "I am ready," she told him softly.

"Because it is your duty?" he asked her, scanning her pretty face.

"Aye." Ellen nodded candidly, but then she added, "And because I like you, my lord." She blushed again at her bold words.

He chuckled. "I like you too," he said with a grin.

And Ellen laughed. Then she arose from the table. "I will go and prepare your bath for you, my lord," she said. She smiled at her guests, curtsying. "I bid you all a good night," Ellen said, and hurried from her hall.

"She‘s bonny," Conal Bruce said to his brother. "You‘re a lucky man."

"That‘s what the king has always called her. ‗My bonny,‘" Duncan replied.

"You don‘t think—" Conal began.

"Nay. He never touched her. Of that I am certain. He thinks of her as he would a younger sister, a fond companion. They play chess together. He told me she was the best opponent he had ever had, and she plays to win, having no regard for his rank whatsoever." Duncan chuckled. "And she teases him about it when he loses to her." The laird of Duffdour thought a long moment. "I truly believe that they are good friends."

Conal Bruce nodded. "I would not have thought Jamie could be friends with a woman he didn‘t bed."

His brothers laughed, as did Adair.

Then Duncan Armstrong arose. "I believe my wife is awaiting me," he said. "I will bid you all a good night." He bowed and hurried from the hall. When he reached the bedchamber he shared with Ellen he found a tallish oaken tub set up by the fireplace. "God‘s blood!" he swore softly.

"Where did you find it? I haven‘t seen that old tub since I was a lad here. Our mother, in her chemise, used to get into it with Ian, Margaret, and me to wash us. Maggie was so small she would stand on a stool, while Ian and I stood with the water up to our necks," he recalled.

"I realize it may seem odd to you," Ellen said, "but I like bathing in warm water. I had Sim search the attic and the cellar, because he said he remembered a tub. We found it, and the cooper rebanded it with fresh iron straps and tarred the inside. It‘s quite watertight now." She was standing in her chemise as she spoke, her hair pinned up.

"Will you get into the tub like my mother did?" he asked her.

"Of course! I cannot wash you from outside the tub," Ellen told him. "Get out of your garments, or do you need help?" she asked.

"Nay, I can undress myself. I need no coterie of servants with tasks like ‗stocking peeler,‘" he responded as he began to pull his clothing off.

Ellen climbed up the steps to the tub and stepped down into the water as he did so. It wasn‘t as hot as she would have wished, and it was already beginning to cool. She moved to the far side of the tub, and her back was turned when he entered it. Only then did she turn about, a washing cloth in hand. "Let‘s start with your face," she said, and she wiped the soapy rag over his face, carefully cleansing the dirt of several days from his nose, around his eyes, and his forehead. She rinsed the soap off quickly and cleaned his ears, moving next to his neck.

"You will make a good mother one day," he said softly.

She caught his gaze with hers. "Before we get to that task you must be clean," she told him frankly.

"You have a delicate nose then," he remarked teasingly.

"I cannot believe a man‘s lust is so great that he would prefer a woman smelling of her own filth and sweat to one who smelled fresh and clean," Ellen replied. Her cloth swept across his chest, with its dark-furred mat. "Turn about." And when he complied she washed the back of his neck and his upper back to the waist. Still standing behind him, she washed his two arms. Then, before he realized what was happening, she dumped a pitcher of water over his head.

"You‘re drowning me, lass!" he protested.

"Stand still!" she ordered him sharply.

He felt her fingers begin massaging soap into his dark hair and realized that she was standing on the tub‘s stool. She rinsed, soaped again, rinsed again, and then began picking through his hair with swift fingers.

"No nits!" she pronounced, pleased.

"You haven‘t done the naughty bits," he teased her, turning about and wrapping his arms about her as she stood on the stool. "Shall I stand on the stool for you?" His blue eyes danced wickedly.

"Lady Margaret always said a man is capable of washing his own privates," Ellen replied primly, but her cheeks were flaming.

She had engaged his lust, and his cock was hardening as he stood in the water, his arms about her soft body. Had she had any experience he would have pressed her back against the tub‘s wall and had his way with her. But she was still a virgin, and he didn‘t think it would make for a good deflowering to do such a thing. Instead he pulled her wet chemise from her body and kissed her mouth—a long, slow kiss. His big hand couldn‘t resist closing about a small round breast and squeezing it gently. Then he teased at the nipple for a moment, his mouth still on hers.

"Oh." She had not meant to gasp, but it had all come as a sudden surprise to Ellen. One moment she was washing him; the next she was naked, and his hands and mouth were doing wonderful things to her.

"I like it when you bathe me," he said against her mouth, and his tongue encircled her ripe lips.

"We must bathe together frequently, Ellen."

"I‘ve already washed," she managed to say. "The water is cooling. You must get out before you catch an ague, my lord. There are towels on the drying rack by the fire." If he didn‘t stop caressing her breast she was going to melt into the tub.

"Aren‘t you going to dry me?" he asked mischievously.

"Then I would be in danger of an ague," Ellen told him.

"Stay in the water until I am dry," he told her as he climbed back out of their tub.

"Why?" she queried him. His buttocks were very firm and tight. She had never before considered a man‘s backside, but his was certainly pleasant to view.

"Because after I‘ve dried myself I mean to dry you," he told her.

"Oh." The thought of those big hands roaming over her body sent a flush of heat through her.

Briefly she wanted to flee him, but where would she go dripping wet? She stood quietly, listening to the beat of her heart in her ears. And then she heard his voice.

"Come now, my pretty wife, and step from the tub," he said.

"You will see me as God made me," she replied.

"Indeed, I mean to see you as God made you. And make love to you as God made you. Lovers should not hide behind anything, either pride or garments, Ellen."

As she arose she could not help but admire his nakedness. His limbs were long and well made.

His chest was broad and his belly flat. He stood unabashed before her gaze, and for some reason it gave her courage she hadn‘t realized she had. She stepped up from their tub, down the narrow wooden steps, and into the warmed towel he held out for her. The brief chill of the chamber was erased as he wrapped the cloth about her.

Slowly he rubbed her skin dry, using the corners of the towel to reach portions of her flesh. He dried her shoulders, back, buttocks, and legs; and when he had he sat her on the edge of their bed, kneeling to dry her feet. The towel rubbed moisture from her arms and chest. And then, taking each breast individually, he dried it, kissing the nipple as he finished. He took up a hand, glossing over the palm and then drying the fingers. Then he took two of her fingers, putting them into his mouth to suck on them slowly, sensuously, his blue eyes staring into her gray-blue ones.

Ellen felt a wave of weakness sweep over her. She couldn‘t move or speak. The sensation of his tongue encircling her fingers in his mouth was something that in her wildest dreams she had never imagined. She knew nothing about lying with a lover, but if this was an example of what was to come, Ellen realized she was eager to learn. She drew her two fingers from his mouth and, imitating him, took one of his big fingers into her mouth to suck upon it, but only briefly.

She couldn‘t know, of course, Duncan Armstrong realized, what she was doing other than following his actions. He thought her adorable at that moment. Reaching out, he dried the thick fluff of red curls at the junction of her thighs and belly. Then, tossing the damp towel away, he stood up, pulling her with him. They stood, bodies touching, and the weakness swept over Ellen again. She would have fallen but that he was holding her tightly. Was she breathing? She wasn‘t certain as she tipped her face up to his.

"You are so fair," he said, and there was a catch in his voice when he spoke. His hand caressed her face, fingers brushing against her cheek, running over her lips. "I can wait no longer to possess you, Ellen. I don‘t want you fearful or repelled, but I cannot wait, lass. Can you forgive me?"

"You are not Balgair MacArthur," Ellen said quietly. "I am your wife, Duncan, and it is my duty to pleasure you, to give you an heir. We cannot do that if we do not…" She ceased speaking, blushing rosy.

"Nay," he said, low, "we cannot, can we? Let me make love to you, my wee wife. Trust me not to harm you, for I know you to be a true virgin. Your innocence is your gift to me, and the greatest gift a woman may give to a man, for once taken it cannot be returned or given again."

He brushed her lips tenderly with his own.

"Do you desire me, my lord?" she asked him. "Or do you do a duty?"

In answer he took her small hand and brought it to his groin, where his manhood was already hard and eager for her, and when her fingers wrapped themselves about his cock he groaned.

"Here is the proof of my desire for you, Ellen," he told her.

She felt the thick rod of flesh pulsing with life within her gentle grasp. "Is it alive?" she asked him almost fearfully as she loosened her grip on him.

"It beats with life, my darling," he said. "It yearns to plunge deep into the hot, wet softness hidden between your legs. It needs desperately to feel the walls of your sweet sheath closing about it." His hands closed about her little waist, and he lifted her up, holding her so he might lick at her small, round breasts.

Her head was spinning. Her heart was hammering. His tongue played over the firm flesh of her breasts, and then his mouth closed over a nipple, sucking it.

"Oh, holy Mother!" Ellen cried, startled by the emotions that engulfed her.

He laid her upon their bed, looking down at her for a long moment. Then he joined her, gathering her into his embrace, his mouth finding hers, kissing her with long, slow kisses that sent wave after wave of heat through her body. She felt his hard length against her leg, and bridled nervously.

"Nah, nah, lassie," he said softly, pushing back the sudden fear that threatened to rise up and overwhelm her. His hand stroked her breasts and belly gently, his fingers tangling themselves amid the thick curls covering her plump mons veneris. He could feel the wet heat rising up from her. An exploratory finger brushed down her shadowed slit, slipping into the moisture between her nether lips. She murmured, but neither struggled nor forbade him. Without difficulty he found her little love bud. The ball of that single finger rubbed against it again and again until Ellen began to whimper.

With another man her lack of knowledge might have been terrifying, but Ellen had instinctively trusted Duncan Armstrong from the moment they had met. When he told her he would not harm her, she believed him. And certainly the delicious feelings he was arousing in her were more exciting than frightening. Her body seemed to grow tenser and tenser as that wicked finger of his teased at her, and then it was as if something inside her burst, and she shuddered as a wave a pleasure washed over her. And as it did the finger moved past the sensitive nub of flesh, and without warning began to push into her body.

"Nah, nah, lass," he crooned at her again as she stiffened. The single finger began to move back and forth within her, and then she realized there were two fingers. His mouth found hers again, his tongue mimicking the motion of his fingers, and Ellen‘s head spun. His lips brushed against her closed eyelids. "I want to be inside of you," he whispered in her ear, his breath hot. "I need to be inside of you, my wee wife."

Her hips had begun to move in time with his fingers, and it wasn‘t enough, Ellen realized. She wanted him inside of her. She needed him inside of her. How could this be? And how could she know it? And yet she did. "Yes!" she managed to gasp. "Please, yes! Tell me what to do, my lord! Tell me!"

"Open your legs for me, my darling," Duncan gently instructed her. "Tonight I will do all the rest." He pushed her knees up, sliding between them. His hot cock was engorged with his desire, his need for her. Carefully he guided himself into position. He had already ascertained that her maidenhead was tightly ensconced. He pushed carefully, slowly into her tight sheath, sinking himself carefully.

"Are you too big?" she questioned him nervously.

"Nay," he assured her. "Your body will shortly yield to me, my darling; I promise you. Trust me, Ellen."

"I have heard it said that my deflowering will hurt," she whispered.

"Only once," he said honestly.

"And after?"

He could see the blue-veined pulse in her slender throat leaping against her creamy flesh. "Only pleasure," he promised her. "Now wrap your legs about me so I may sink deeper into your sweet body, my wee wife." And when she had complied with his request he kissed her a fierce, hard kiss, absorbing the cry of pain that escaped her when he thrust against her maidenhead. Once.

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