Maybe This Time, page 14
“Me?” She frowned at the saddle horn and gripped it hard. “The man’s a priest. I’ve done nothing to him.”
Kevan grunted. “He’s too soft. When I teach you your place, he would take pity on you.”
Alyssa glared back at him. “I need no man’s pity.”
“Not yet,” Kevan agreed on a resigned sigh. “But if you’re half the hellion you’ve been, you will.” Kevan grinned, and added, “But don’t worry overly, wife. Margar will give you all the sympathy you need.”
“Is she your mother?”
“Nay, but she is a mother to all. A sweet, gentle soul.”
THREE HOURS INTO the night, Alyssa gave up her stiff back and relaxed against her husband. Her spine tingled, protesting. The moon was but a shadow, and Alyssa could see little by its light. But Kevan seemed at ease, and his beast, surefooted.
Lord, it had been a long day. Kevan learning her identity, the trouble with Innes, her wedding, then Duncan.
Well, it was past now. Done was done and things would settle down soon. At least by returning to her husband’s home now, she wouldn’t be confronted with his wanting to bed her this night.
A wife should know her husband first, shouldn’t she? For all she’d learned about him, Kevan was still a stranger. Oh, she knew well enough that he expected she’d fight against his bedding her. And for that reason alone, she’d not do it. No matter how awful it was, she’d submit to her husband. To really get the better of him, what she should do was attack him, just like in battle. Do the unexpected. And mayhap she just would . . .
Pity’s sake, this day had been too full.
Lulled by the steady movement of Kevan’s mount, by the feel of her husband’s arms wrapped tight around her waist, Alyssa felt her eyes drift shut. She turned her cheek until it rested against the warmth of his chest, not minding the cool night air at all . . .
Kevan knew the moment she fell asleep. She’d fought against it a good hour, but the quiet of the night pulled too strong. He should have waited till morning to return home. She was weary, he knew, but damn it, she was his wife. He couldn’t sleep with her at his side and not take her. She was a beautiful woman, tempting. Her silver hair, soft and shiny, begged for his touch. He stroked the flesh at her ribs, just below her breasts. She was firm from strenuous exercise, but her curves remained soft and womanly. He wanted her, aye, but the first time he took her, he wanted it to be in his home. Was that so wrong?
He grinned and tugged her backside flush between his thighs. She’d be glad they’d ridden now, come morn. She’d not feel much like sitting astride a horse then.
A jolt of desire surged heat to his loins. His little warrior was passionate in her fury. And when she’d tended his shoulder, she’d concentrated on nothing else. Would she devote herself with that single-minded passion in his bed? Oh, she’d fight him like the hellion she was—at first. But then the passion would flare in her, and she’d fight even harder to quench it. Anticipating the battle, Kevan grew hard. And more anxious than ever to get home, he spurred his horse.
The powerful beast responded immediately. Beautiful? A laird, a chieftain vassal to Edgar himself, riding a horse named Beautiful? The woman was crazed. Kevan guffawed, then sobered. But a laird riding his beautiful woman, ah, now that was another matter. Eager, he dug his heels into Beautiful’s flanks.
Seven
“WE’RE HOME, wife.”
Alyssa opened her eyes. Kevan was holding her in his arms. She’d drooled on his shoulder in her sleep. She brushed at the spot and saw that they were standing inside a great hall with ceilings higher than any she’d seen—and more people than she’d expected, given the late hour of their arrival.
A wiry little woman dressed in black, with a face too lined to merely be called wrinkled, studied her through watchful eyes. Uncomfortable, Alyssa whispered, “Put me down, husband.”
“You wed, Kevan?” the little woman asked.
“Aye, Margar.”
“What is she called?”
He set Alyssa to the floor then slowly perused the room. Alyssa forced her expression serene, and prayed he wouldn’t call her what he did more often than not—hellion.
“My wife.”
His wife? She wasn’t his horse, for pity’s sake. She had a name. “I’m called Alyssa,” she told Margar, then looked at her surroundings.
A huge fireplace in one end of the great hall filled the air between the smooth brown stone walls with warmth. Rushes on the floor led to three long wooden tables surrounded by stools. Directly across from the entrance was a hallway. “What does that lead to?”
“The kitchen, my lady,” Margar said.
Alyssa dismissed that, and continued her sweep of the hall. To the left of the entrance was a screened buttery and an additional two tables that each could seat forty men. “So many tables! Are there that many that we feed, husband?”
He grinned. “Aye.”
“The Buchannans are good hunters, I pray.”
“None starve,” he said in a curt tone.
“What’s in that room?” She pointed to the left of the front entry, then further down the same wall. “And there?”
“That is a bathing room, and the other is the chapel.”
“A bathing room? Indoors?”
Kevan chuckled. “Aye. Indoors.”
“A bathing room indoors,” she muttered, turning her attention to the right of the front entry. “Imagine that.” She stepped closer to see inside a turret that led to a balcony which circled the hall on the upper floor. “Spiral stairs? I’ve never seen spiral stairs.”
“They are safe, my lady.”
It was David who answered her. Alyssa turned, and smiled. “They are wonderful, are they not?”
David shrugged. “They’re useful.”
She turned and walked back to Kevan. “Your home is unusual, Kevan.”
“Our home, Alyssa. You are my wife.”
“Yes. I think I shall be happy here.”
“You shall.”
His arrogance amused her. “Are you certain?”
“I am.”
She plucked a leaf from his hair and closed it inside her palm. “How do you know?”
“I’m your husband. I insist you be happy.”
Alyssa frowned. “You can’t insist someone be happy. They either are, or they aren’t.”
He gave her a glare that set her knees to shaking. She probably shouldn’t correct him in front of his men. “But mayhap you can,” she amended. “If you say it’s so, then I believe you. You are a man of your word.”
His eyes twinkled. He knew she talked not about happiness, but about Duncan. “Do you think I could have a bath?”
“Aye. Margar—”
“The water waits. James told us of your arrival.”
Alyssa felt a flash of surprise. “James MacMillian is here?”
“Aye.” Kevan acted as if it was of no import.
“Why?”
“Duncan requested I train James.”
Duncan had vowed to the MacMillian to see to James’s training as best he was able. Kevan was a superior warrior; James could have no better teacher. “And you agreed?”
“I did. Do you challenge my right?”
“Nay,” she said, smiling up at him. She stepped closer, and too short to reach his mouth, she pressed her lips to his shoulder. “I don’t challenge you, husband. Your kindness is most touching.”
“Kindness? You insult me, wife.”
He did look insulted. That blasted muscle was twitching in his cheek again. Alyssa frowned up at him. “I was praising you. James is from Cameron. He will ease my homesickness. That’s why you brought him here.”
Kevan flushed and shouted at her. “I brought him here to train, and that’s that. Go. Have your bath, then go to bed.”
Ignoring his fit of temper, she crooked a finger at him, motioning for him to bend down. When he did, she kissed him solid on the lips.
Raising her head, she went to step away from him and found she didn’t touch the floor. She smiled into the most furious face she’d ever seen. “You can put me down now, husband.”
Kevan plopped her to the floor and slid her a withering glare. Her laughter echoed through the hall. “Thank you, Kevan. You are most thoughtful.”
“Alyssa,” he warned her in a threatening tone.
“I’m going.” She called back over her shoulder. “You need a bath too, Kevan. Come.”
David gasped and his face turned red as blood.
Margar stifled a cackling chuckle.
Young James muttered, “Aw, hell.”
Kevan silenced them all with one scowl. “David,” he bellowed. “Clear this hall.”
“Aye.” He scrambled to do his laird’s bidding.
Within minutes, the hall stood empty, save Kevan and David.
“Don’t kill her, Kevan,” David said. “She’s new to you. She doesn’t yet know your ways.”
Kevan’s thick brows knit tight above his eyes. “I won’t kill her. But if I have to shave her tongue, the woman will learn to behave.”
“Kevan,” Alyssa called from her bath. “Come before the water cools.”
David swallowed a groan. “She’s had no mother, Laird. She doesn’t realize her behavior is too . . . too . . .”
“Forward?” Kevan suggested.
David lowered his gaze, relieved. “Aye. Forward.”
“She will,” Kevan vowed. “And she’ll start learning now.”
“I’ll, um, see that no one enters the hall.” David’s mumble fell on Kevan’s back. “Sweet Christ,” he muttered. Kevan wouldn’t beat her, would he?
Nay, David assured himself. The laird disapproved of beating women. But then he’d never before been confronted with a woman like Alyssa . . .
Letting out a whistling sigh, David leaned back against the door. “Not a modest bone in her body. Sweet Christ.”
KEVAN STOPPED just inside the bathing room door. Alyssa smiled at him from inside the great wooden tub. His stomach muscles clenched. Her skin was wet and her cheeks flushed. A more beautiful woman he’d never seen.
“This is wonderful, Kevan.” She splashed her bare shoulders. “Come.”
He swallowed a knot in his throat. His chest tight, he stripped off his plaid. He had been angry with her, but just now, the reason why escaped him. She wet her lips with her tongue and his heart thudded in his chest.
He eased into the tub beside her.
“This is clever, to have benches to sit on.” The torchlight sparkled glimmers in her hair. “Was it your idea?”
“Nay, Margar suggested it for bathing bairns.”
Alyssa blinked. He was looking at her so strangely. His eyes were still hot, but no longer with anger. She knew she’d goaded him horribly, but his people must learn that she was not merely chattel. And Kevan must learn that she didn’t intend to be treated as such. Duncan said to follow him, and she would. But in her own way. And with her pride intact.
She lifted a cake of soap from its holder. “Shall I wash you, Laird?”
He swallowed and clenched his jaw. “Husband, Alyssa.”
“Aye, I’m sorry, husband. Mayhap I won’t forget so quickly once you’ve bedded me.”
His eyes stretched wide. “Being without modesty ‘tis a horrible flaw for a woman.”
“Only because you expected me to fight you. No, don’t deny it. I know you think I’m a hellion, but I’m not. Truly, I’m quite easy to get along with.”
He grunted his thoughts on that.
“I am,” Alyssa insisted. She soaped a cloth, then rubbed it against his chest. “I know you’ve not seen much of that side of me, but I can be soft and . . . and affectionate. I’ve not had much practice at it, but I know I can be.”
“Do you always rattle on when you’re afraid?”
She stilled and looked up at him. He was amused. She poured out her feelings to him, and the blasted man was amused.
He was also right. Sighed, she looked down. His body shone clearly through the water and he was stiff there.
“Alyssa? Alyssa, would you look at my face?”
On fire, she looked up at him.
“You’ve never seen a man nude before.”
“I have,” she said, “in treating wounds. But—but not one so, so . . .”
“Ready?” he suggested.
She splashed her cheeks with water to cool them. “Big was my thought, husband. That’s the truth of it.”
He laughed, leaned back against the edge of the tub, and closed his eyes. “Wash me, wife.”
“Does it hurt?” Her voice sounded pitiful.
He cranked open one eyelid. “What?”
“Such swelling. Does it hurt?”
He gave her a woeful look, but his eyes twinkled mischief. “Aye, ‘tis almost unbearable. Come. Ease my pain.”
“I—I don’t know how,” she confessed in a tiny whisper. “There was no one to tell me.”
“I will.”
“I’ll wash you first.” She swallowed hard, prolonging the inevitable. Good God, and she’d thought going into battle had been frightening. “Then you can tell me.”
She soaped the cloth and set about her task, her thoughts running wild. “Turn, and I will wash your back.”
“Save some skin.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I guess I am a wee bit nervous.” She rubbed his strong shoulders, careful of the threads in his wound. Her stomach filled with flutters. Startled, she dropped the cloth. She didn’t reach down for it, but smoothed his skin with her hands. Wet and slick, the feel of him had her fighting for breath. Her fingertips tingled, her heart thudded, and she grew mesmerized by the feeling of her hands stroking his back.
With handfuls of water, she rinsed the soap from him. Tiny droplets clung to his skin and the urge to lick them from his flesh overwhelmed her. She bent closer. “Kevan? Is it wrong to—”
His voice was as ragged as his wound. “Nay, wife.”
She swept his slick skin with long, lush brushes of her tongue. He let out a groan that sent streaks of heat racing through her. “You taste good,” she whispered, then drifted a lazy path across the width of his shoulders and up to the juncture of his neck. His hair, moist with water lay in soft curls and she brushed at them with her hand to reach the sensitive skin underneath.
He trembled, and she eased her way to the soft spot behind his ear and nuzzled. He shuddered. “Is this permitted? For a wife to do this?” she asked in a throaty whisper.
“It is, aye.” he murmured, arching his neck to grant her access. “And most pleasant.”
He eased his hand around to the small of her back and pushed. Her breasts, so sensitive and full, flattened against his bare back and her nipples crested. She let out a little moan and flicked at his ear with the tip of her tongue.
He groaned her name, tugged, and she found she was facing him, seated on his lap, straddling his thighs. He swirled his tongue around her nipple. It looked distended, and its color had deepened to a dark rose. A tiny pulsing that started in her breast streaked down her middle. Going liquid inside, she vowed she would die if he didn’t take her breast in his mouth. When she was sure of it, finally—sweet Heaven, finally—he covered the peaked nub with his lips, and exhaled. His hot breath sent shivers streaming through her; shivers that shattered heat low in her belly. “Kevan, please.”
“Please what?” he whispered raggedly against her skin, his hands roaming her back, shoulders to waist. “Tell me what you please.”
She dragged her fingers against his scalp and pulled his head down to her breast. “Taste me, Kevan. I—I hurt.”
He laved her nipple with his tongue. Her muscles contracted, and she whimpered, tightened her hold on him. With her mouth, she sought his skin, kissing his shoulders, the nape of his neck, his ears—any and everywhere she touched. He suckled hard, tugging her nipple deep into his mouth with a taunting pressure that fairly had her lifting off of his lap.
“So sweet,” he whispered against her wet skin, then moved to stand up.
“No.” She pressed her body more fully into his. Warm water swished out from between them. “No, don’t stop.”
“Your first time should be in bed.” He gentled the rough rasp from his voice and rubbed her side from her tiny waist, past the flare of her hip, to her silky thigh. “I’m not easy to accommodate, lass.” He tugged her down, proving his point.
His hard shaft pushed against her bottom. Still, Alyssa protested. “The fire’s too hot. Without the water to cool me, I’ll surely die.”
He worked his strong fingers gently over her buttocks. “Nay, you won’t.”
“I will, Kevan,” she insisted. “I know I will.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” she whispered, covering his lips with her own. “You won’t.”
Her tongue found his and mated. The fire burning inside her grew to a raging blaze that scorched her with heat. Kevan rubbed her flat belly, her tender thighs, and finally . . . Oh, pity.
She spread her legs, welcoming him, and he stretched his fingers up deep inside her. The sensation of fullness made her muscles tense, rebel against the invasion, but the warmth felt so good. Instinctively, she arched against his hand, and he withdrew. About to protest, she felt him lift her hips. She clutched at his shoulders and let him guide her down onto his swollen shaft.
With a guttural groan, he worked his magic. His lips enticed, invited, entranced, at once soothing and fanning the flame burning hotly inside her. He entered her slowly, and catching his rhythm she lowered herself onto him a bit more quickly than he would have done.
“Patience, Angel,” he grated out from between his teeth. It will hurt, but only for a time.”
Alyssa tensed in his arms, and Kevan soothed her, rubbing her tender opening with his fingers. The skin burned, first to accommodate him, then eager for more of him, and soon, it was she who bucked against him, wanting all of him inside her to squeeze and hold tight.
His muscles bunched under her hands, quivering against the tight control he held on his needs. Alyssa reveled in the knowing. He wanted her to enjoy his body as much as he enjoyed hers. He wanted to bury himself in her flesh, to let her feel the fury of his passion—she sensed it. But he was holding back for fear of hurting, or frightening her. She wished he wouldn’t. She yearned to see the mighty warrior lose his control in her arms, to feel the wrath of his passion and the full-brunt of his desire.
