Highland Conqueror, page 9
“Then we shall have to be very careful not to let that happen again.”
“Lass—”
She pressed her fingers over his lips to silence him, then hastily removed them. It astonished her that such a hard man could have such soft, warm lips. It astonished her even more that that warmth seemed to have seeped into her body through that brief touch. Jolene quickly shook off her bemusement and forced herself to concentrate on this very important discussion.
“Did you not wonder why I am still a maid at three and twenty?”
“Ye said your betrothed died when ye were sixteen. And, Englishmen are fools. Everyone kens it.”
A blush heated her cheeks at that gruff flattery, but she said, “That may be. Howbeit, I am not wed because I did not wish to be married for my dowry, for my bloodlines, or for reasons of alliances and politics. I certainly do not wish to be married simply to annoy Harold.”
“Ah. Ye have your head full of fanciful thoughts of love, romance, and all that those minstrels caterwaul about.”
“There is no need to sound so scornful. Why should I not wish to have my husband see me as something more than a full purse, a deed to some land, or a treaty signed?”
“Oh, I see ye as more than that,” Sigimor murmured, looking her over.
The heat in his gaze as he surveyed her from head to toe and back up again made Jolene’s toes curl in her boots. She had never experienced lust, but she was sure that was what was coursing through her veins right now. The man was able to stir that feeling inside her with an alarming ease. She prayed he did not know for she suspected he would take quick advantage of it.
“Lust is not a good reason to marry, either. Lust can be a fleeting thing, but marriage is forever.”
“Lass, I owed a blood debt to your brother. I couldnae repay it, could I? So, I will do so by keeping ye and the laddie safe, by making Harold pay for his crimes, and by seeing that Peter’s son keeps all that Peter left him.”
“There is no need to give away the rest of your life to accomplish that.”
Sigimor frowned at her. “Give away the rest of my life? I dinnae see it that way. I am two and thirty. Tis true I have no need for an heir, but I would like a bairn or two of my own. Need a wife for that since I want my children to be legitimate. Being that ye are unwed and dinnae have Peter as guardian now, I suspicion ye will be finding yourself married off once ye return to England.”
The truth of that nearly made Jolene curse. A man would be named as Reynard’s guardian and, without doubt, be given rule over her as well. Even Peter had begun to think that she should be married, that she had dragged her feet long enough, and had been considering arranging something. It would be the first thing a new guardian would do. What Sigimor was unaware of was that she was an heiress. There was a very good chance that the king himself would grab control of her and her dowry in order to marry her off to some court favorite or needy kinsman. It gave her chills just to think about it.
“Now, ye ken weel that I am nay after any of those things ye mentioned,” Sigimor continued. “Whate’er dowry ye may have willnae be handed o’er to me, will it, and there isnae any alliance to be made. Since your bloodlines are English ones, they willnae gain me verra much here, will they?”
“Oh. Nay, I suppose not.”
“Now, I dinnae mean to fail in keeping ye and the lad safe or in sending Harold straight to hell, but Fate can be a capricious thing. The mon already captured ye once and, if he hadnae been such an arrogant fool, could have had ye half the way to England by now. Aye, and wedded, and bedded.” He nodded when she paled. “By wedding me ye can end that threat, or, at the verra least, weaken it. Twill also give me the right, by the laws of both of our countries, to chase the bastard straight into the halls of Drumwich if need be.”
He watched her closely as she thought over all he had said. Sigimor hoped some of those less encouraging emotions he saw flash across her very expressive face were stirred by thoughts of Harold and not him. As he idly toyed with a thick curl of her hair that had slipped the bounds of her braid, he thought about what other arguments he could use if she still hesitated. He would talk all night if he had to. This woman was his match. The moment he had thought her lost to Harold, he had lost all doubt of that. Since he was sure he would sound like a fool if he told her he wanted to marry her because she felt right, he would have to convince her that it was a logical, practical thing to do. If all else failed, he could always seduce her, he mused, and smiled faintly in pleasure at the thought.
Jolene wondered what amused the man. From where she stood, there was nothing to be amused about. He had weighed her down with arguments there was no disputing. Harold intended to marry her to help him complete his theft of Drumwich, so she should take that weapon away from him by marrying Sigimor. Practical, logical, and, she realized with some surprise, hurtful. He gave her not one word of love, affection, or passion. Since they had only known each other for a few days, it was foolish to think a proposal from Sigimor could be anything but practical, yet she wanted it to be. He was giving her calm reason when what she wanted, needed, was wild romance.
For a brief moment, she savored the image of Sigimor proclaiming his love for her, pleading with her in the most romantic way to make him the happiest of men by marrying him. Utter nonsense, she told herself, no matter how pleasant an image it was. Sigimor had not known her long enough to conceive some great passion for her. If he tried to claim such a thing, she would probably doubt his word. There was also the simple fact that Sigimor Cameron was not a man who possessed a sweet, flattering courtier’s tongue. Nor could she see him pleading for anything. If she married him, she would have to accept the fact that he would never be the knight of her girlish dreams. He would not be giving her gifts of flowers, whispering tender words in her ear, or sitting by her feet singing her love songs. Recalling his singing, she decided that last was probably a blessing.
What was she thinking? She could not marry him. Being married because a man owed her and her brother a blood debt was nearly as bad as being married off by the king to please some court sycophant. Jolene decided she was letting his fine looks and the way he could make her feel steal away all her good sense.
“Nay,” she said softly. “To be married for such cold reasons—”
“Ye think I am cold?”
“Nay, but the reasons you give for this marriage are.”
“Then I will give ye another reason.”
Before she could protest, he kissed her. She placed her hands against his chest to push him away the moment she guessed his intent, but she never even tried to hold him back. The minute his mouth touched hers, she slid her hands up his broad chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. At the first nudge of his tongue, she opened her mouth to him, shivering with pleasure as he stroked the inside of her mouth. She truly did like kissing this man, she thought dazedly. When he ended the kiss, she noticed that he had wrapped his arms around her, lifted her off her feet, and gently pinned her against the tree.
“Was that cold, Jolene?” Sigimor kissed the pulse point on her slender neck and almost smiled at the rapid beat he could feel beneath his lips.
“Nay,” she gasped, then sternly told herself that she must put a stop to this. “You have proven your point. You may cease now.”
“May I now.”
He kissed the hollow just behind her ear and felt her tremble in his arms. She was so beautifully responsive. His whole body ached to continue this seduction, but he fought for control of his desire. Taking her virginity up against a tree with his men only a few yards away would not be wise. It would give him great pleasure, but he suspected the aftermath could be bitter. Jolene could easily see it as no more than him exerting his power over her to get what he wanted. Sigimor straightened up and slowly lowered her until her feet were back on the ground. He kept his arms around her even as she slumped back against the tree. There was a flush upon her cheeks, she was almost panting, and her eyes had darkened to a tumultuous gray. Those vivid signs of her passion made it even harder for him to rein in his own.
“There, now, lass. There is a fine reason to marry that isnae cold at all, aye?”
“Quite.” She moved to pull free of his hold, but he did not release her. Jolene decided it would be too undignified to struggle, so she would relent, and heard an inner voice scornfully accuse her of lying to herself. “Howbeit, I believe I have already mentioned that lust can be a fleeting thing and thus ’tis a poor thing to marry for.”
“Ye may be an innocent—”
“May be?” she muttered, feeling a hint of outrage.
Sigimor ignored her and continued, “but I am not.”
“I have noticed that, although men demand boundless chastity in the women they choose to marry, they feel it quite acceptable to rut themselves blind until the wedding. And, sometimes after it as well. There is a word for that. I believe it is hypocrisy. Men—”
“Aye, aye, but we can have this argument later. Mayhap some night when we are warming our toes before the fire in my bedchamber.”
The thought of being in Sigimor’s bedchamber made Jolene feel quite warm. She shocked herself when she realized she was trying to envision him naked as they sat before this fire. She was certain Sigimor had bewitched her. It was the only explanation for how, in only a few days, she could change from a woman who rarely thought about men, to one who was trying to picture this particular man naked. Sipping wine. Perhaps holding her on his manly lap and kissing her ear. Jolene gave herself a sharp mental slap in hope of putting some scrap of wit back into her befuddled brain. This was a poor time to indulge in such scandalous thoughts.
Then again, she mused, perhaps it was exactly the right time. This man stirred feelings within her that were as intriguing as they were disturbing. She had endured a kiss or two before this, but they had only made her want to hit the man giving her the kiss. Sigimor’s kisses made her want to push him down onto the heather and jump on him, even if she was not quite sure what to do with him once she got him flat on his back. If she married him, she could discover the answer to that puzzle. She could freely explore this lust he brought to life in her and it would even have the blessing of the church.
It was a mad idea, but she could not easily dismiss it. That annoying little voice in her head kept saying why not? She could not deny that she was fiercely attracted to the man and she had never been attracted to any other. He was a good man, even though he was quite rough around the edges. He was also handsome, young, and strong. Jolene doubted the king or whatever man was named her guardian would present her with such a fine specimen. She certainly did not want to find herself trapped in a marriage with Harold.
“Ye are nay heeding me, lass,” Sigimor said, amused at how completely she had become lost in her thoughts.
“Oh.” She blushed. “I beg your pardon. I believe you were about to entertain me with tales of your lecherous youth.” When he scowled at her, she smiled. “Do go on.”
“I think ye may be confusing me with that rogue Liam,” Sigimor grumbled. “Howbeit, I have had enough experience to ken that what stirs to life between us is as rare as it is fierce. Neither am I fool enough to think it will always be so fierce. Ach, ’twould probably kill us in a few short years if it was. If ye think that I will then be sniffing about some other woman’s skirts, ye had best think again. I will be saying vows afore a mon of God, e’en God Himself, and ye will be my wife. I dinnae take such things lightly. Nay, nor do I have a great need to be having any lass who smiles at me. Ne’er have really.”
“You are saying you would be faithful?” She hid her surprise when he looked insulted by the question.
“Aye, ’tis what I just said, isnae it? If ye dinnae kick me out of your bed, I see no reason to go looking for another to crawl into. I ken that many men betray their wives and wives betray their husbands, but it has ne’er made much sense to me unless the marriage has gone as cold as a loch in February. My uncle was ne’er faithful, nay to any of his wives, and has bred himself an army of bastards, but he was ne’er happy. Few of these adulteries are matters of some great, blinding passion or undying love. Vanity, pride, e’en some game played, but most men babble on about a mon’s needs. And I say, if the wife allows ye into her bed and it isnae a cold one, then your needs are taken care of, arenae they. Skipping about from bed to bed only causes trouble at home, which should be a refuge from trouble, and breeds bastards who often have a verra hard row to hoe.”
Jolene blinked. This had to be the most unromantic vow of fidelty any woman had ever been given. There was also a hint of scorn in his voice when he spoke of great, blinding passion and undying love. Did the man possess none of the softer feelings?
Then she thought of all she had learned of the man from the others. He had become the laird at barely twenty years of age, but the loss of his father and becoming a father of sorts to all of his younger siblings had been only a small part of the burden set upon his shoulders. A fever had cut down many of the adults in the clan leaving him the laird over a large number of widows and orphans as well, many of them little more than babes. Sigimor had taken in many of the orphans and had never hesitated to help the widows in any way he could. She thought of how he was with Reynard and knew he had done far more for the children than give them food and shelter, had given them more than duty and a sense of responsibility. There was a heart in this rough man, and probably a very big one indeed, but he would undoubtedly grow as prickly as a hedgehog if she suggested such a thing. Jolene also wondered how good her chances were of finding a place for herself in that heart.
It would be a big chance to take, she mused, to try to turn a marriage made for such practical reasons into a true bonding. There were immediate benefits, however. It would thwart Harold’s plans, and mean that she did not have to worry about being used by the king or some appointed guardian for their own gain. There would also be this lusting to thoroughly explore. And, if it all proved to be some horrible mistake, once Harold was defeated, she could return to England and seek an annulment. She was not sure if Sigimor had considered that possibility, and, for reasons she did not wish to explore too closely, she did not intend to mention it to him.
Sigimor gently took her chin in his hand and rubbed his thumb over her tempting mouth. “I am of good blood, my purse and lands rich enough so that ye will ne’er suffer want, I will do my best to see that no one and nothing ere causes ye harm, and I take my vows verra seriously.” He gently kissed her. “So, will ye wed with me, Lady Jolene?” He kissed her again, a kiss that strongly hinted at his need for her. “Do ye nay wish to see where this will lead us?”
“Aye,” she replied in a husky voice she barely recognized as her own.
“Aye to this, or aye, ye will marry me?” he asked as he teased her lips with light, chaste kisses.
“Aye. I will marry you.”
He pulled her into his arms and gave her a kiss that seemed to melt her very bones. She was still reeling from it when he set her away from him, grabbed her by the hand, and started back to their camp. Jolene wondered how the man could go from hot to cold with such ease. There had been passion behind that kiss. She was certain of it. It irritated her that he could regain control so easily while she remained dazed and heated.
“We will be hunting down a priest on the morrow,” Sigimor announced the moment they rejoined the other men.
Jolene had barely mumbled a few distracted thank yous for the congratulations the men offered when Sigimor dragged her toward the place where someone had laid out their bedding. “What are you doing?” She quickly looked for Reynard and found him fast asleep on his rough bed in the midst of all the other blankets laid out for Sigimor’s kinsmen.
“Ye need your rest. I dinnae want ye to be too weary on the morrow.”
Realizing why he wanted her well rested, she blushed furiously, but he was already walking back to his men. She removed her boots then huddled beneath a blanket as she stripped to her shift. Glancing at her plain, modest shift as she tried to get as comfortable as she could when only a blanket separated her from the hard ground, Jolene found herself wishing she had brought something more delicate, then cursed. The man turned her wits into warm gruel. Closing her eyes, she decided that it might be wise to think a little harder on what she had just agreed to.
“There is a priest but a half day’s ride from here,” Liam said as Sigimor sat down by the fire.
“Good,” said Sigimor as he reached for the wineskin that was being passed around.
“Eager, are ye?”
Sigimor did not bother to reply as he took a long drink, his gaze fixed upon the slim woman he would soon call his wife. In less than a day he would have the right to crawl beneath that blanket with her. Eager was a mild word for what he felt.
Chapter Eight
Warily eyeing the short, round priest Sigimor was talking to, Jolene moved closer to Sigimor’s side. Rousted out of bed when dawn was only a meager promise, they had ridden hard to this tiny village. As a result, she had had no chance to speak to Sigimor, although she had done a great deal of thinking. If she did not know better, she would think that Sigimor had done his best to make sure there would be no further discussion concerning the marriage. They would talk about it now, she decided, and tugged on his sleeve only to have him grasp her hand and keep talking to the priest—in Gaelic, a language she did not understand.
Odd, she thought suddenly. Why would they speak in Gaelic now when the priest had greeted them in what Jolene considered the Scot’s own peculiar, and very attractive, form of English? Was Sigimor trying to hide something from her? She quickly cast aside that twinge of suspicion. Not only was it a poor way to think of a man who was doing his best to keep her and her nephew safe, but she could not think of any sound reason for him to be so secretive. He had asked her to marry him, she had said she would, and he was arranging that marriage with this priest. No need for secrets there that she could see.
