Chapter Six #3
“There,” he said. “That will satisfy anyone who wishes to inquire after the validity of our marriage. And you can lay your terror momentarily to rest.” He rose to his feet and walked to a table where a pitcher of water and a bowl sat.
He poured some water over his cut to clean it, then wrapped a small thin strip of cloth around it, tucking the end in place.
And I, still dazed by the lingering effects of his slick, debauched fingers, pulled the furs to my neck and lay back in the large bed.
“Although,” he drawled, “for such a timid, hesitant creature, you react to me in a way that suggests that you are not as averse to my attentions as you may think you are. ’Tis something I had already suspected, aye.
A very pleasing detail in a wife, to be sure, and one I intend to make the most of. ”
I had no idea what he was referring to, yet I had the feeling I should perhaps be offended. Or flattered. My confusion frustrated me somewhat. Would I ever understand the complexity of his textured, layered insinuations? “What do you mean?” I asked quietly.
“’Tis a topic we will revisit later,” he said enigmatically, then, to my shock: “Avert your gaze now, if you’re as chaste and innocent as you act. Or feast your eyes—whatever pleases you. I prefer to sleep in the raw.”
“What—” I began. Then, as realization dawned, I whispered, “Oh.”
I squeezed my eyes closed.
I could hear him begin to unfasten the straps and holsters that held his many weapons, and the clang of metal striking against the stone floor as he gently dropped them.
“But don’t worry, lass,” he said, to which I dared to barely open one eye.
He was shirtless—and for a moment my eye roved the contours of his broad chest, his skin tawny and glowing from the dancing firelight, until he began to pull at the ties of his leather trews, at which point I squeezed my eyes closed once again.
“I always keep my weapons within reach and at the ready.”
“That’s...that’s good,” I murmured, unsure of what reply he might be expecting.
I heard the rustling sound of his clothing being tossed to land on a nearby chair, then movement as his heavy form settled into bed next to me.
He didn’t touch me, but I could feel the instant heat of his body as intensely as if I was standing next to a roaring blaze.
With the howl of the cool wind rippling the furs at the windows, I could admit that the heat he provided was not unwelcome.
The thought, however, of his bulk and his nakedness so close beside me was alarming indeed.
He was so big and so outrageously...male.
I lay entirely motionless, afraid to move lest I rubbed up against him or somehow issued an unintentional invitation of some kind.
He suffered no such hesitations and thrashed mildly until he found a position that was comfortable to him, occasionally brushing some part of himself lightly against me, only to quickly withdraw the touch.
He turned his head to look at me, although my gaze remained resolutely directed at the ceiling.
After a time, he spoke. “Stella,” he said softly.
Tentatively, I looked over at his face. It was so dark in the room that I could only see the outline of his disheveled hair and the gleam of his eyes. “Aye?” I whispered.
He didn’t reply immediately, as though he was considering discussing something with me but was unsure how the topic might be received. It was several minutes before he continued. In the end, what he said was, “Good night.”
I almost smiled. It was the very last thing I expected him to say. “Good night,” I whispered.
With that, his eyes closed and he sighed deeply. Very soon, his breathing deepened. His big body twitched gently several times as he succumbed to sleep.
As soon as I was assured he was deeply asleep, I exhaled with a great sense of relief.
This dreaded day had passed less painfully than I had imagined.
I had not been forced by him. He had not hurt me or threatened me.
As much as I’d been incensed by his manner, I could understand now that he’d merely asked me to comply with a request—somewhat aggressively, aye, when he doubted my agreement.
Yet as soon as he was assured that I would honor his—our—privacy, he had shown me kindness.
Respect. Compassion. Not only that, but his touch had inspired unexpected sensations that had not been entirely unpleasant.
An inexplicable warmth. The soft pull of a new and enticing anticipation—the same manner of anticipation that had once visited me in the night garden far below us.
Still, it was a long time before I could take comfort in my own dreams.
* * *
I AWOKE IN the night, startled to find another person in bed with me.
Kade Mackenzie.
My husband.
He lay on his back with one arm slung over his head.
His thick hair was in wild disarray. In sleep, his face looked younger.
In repose, his aggression was virtually undetectable.
His bare chest rose and fell gracefully with his breath.
The top of the fur lay low on his stomach.
My eyes studied with fascination the unfamiliar lines of his body.
I had seen shirtless men before, from a distance, as they worked or fought or swam.
But never like this. Never close enough to touch in the silvery moonlight.
I was surprised by the light dusting of hair on his chest, the arrow line that ran below his navel down, to where the furs barely covered him, his carved hipbones.
Little scars lined his skin in uneven patterns, including a jagged crescent that circled the front of his left shoulder and shone pale against his brownness.
His very color was intriguing to me, the darkness of it, the vivid richness of absorbed sun on his skin, as though he retained some of its heat and its light.
He was very muscled, each chiseled curve mortared between by smaller ones that rippled slightly as he breathed.
A light pulse played gently under the skin of his neck.
I was surprised at the sight being delivered to my eyes, and at the turn of my own thoughts. My husband, without his weapons and his wrath, was beautiful.