Chapter 5
Chapter Five
At the head of the high table, Innes had not left Lachlan’s side for a moment. If he wanted to play at husband and wife, then she would not be the one to make a mess of it.
The room was filled with jollity, music filling the hall, conversation flying back and forth, punctuated by explosions of laughter here and there that kept making her jump.
She did not like this feeling of being so unsure of herself, but she knew that to show such doubt on her face would be to condemn herself to more than she was willing to contend with.
Lachlan had been drinking steadily since the moment they had arrived at the feast; he had offered her his arm when they had left the chapel, but there had been no sense of ceremony to it, no awareness of how enormous an event this was meant to be.
He had hesitated before he’d kissed her, and she had noticed it in an instant.
Had it been that he had not imagined what it would be like to go through with this, after all the plotting and planning he had done to make it happen?
Did he still expect Lady Isobel to be the one standing before him at the altar?
The way he had kissed her had gone some way to soothing those thoughts, but why would he have to think twice about it if he had truly wanted her and her alone?
“Will the Laird no’ be taking the new lady for a wedding dance?” a man introduced as Keir cut in, landing a slap on Lachlan’s shoulder.
He seemed rather too drunk to notice the tension in the Laird’s face, and Lachlan looked up at him, face unyielding. He made no move to see through the suggestion of a dance. But Innes, sensing an opportunity to make something of this, rose to her feet, holding out her hand to him.
“Well, it only seems right, my Laird,” she remarked, narrowing her eyes at him in challenge. “Unless ye’re fearful that you might slip after so much ale.”
The sound of his chair scraping across the stone floor cast the room into silence.
“Ye’ll regret making such a wager, wife,” he warned her, but there seemed to be some flicker of amusement in his voice. Perhaps he appreciated her nerve in making such a demand. Reaching to her, he pulled her against him firmly, her body flush to his.
She could feel the strength of him against her body, the smoke on his skin. Was she imagining that, or did the memory of what he had done after Isobel’s rejection still cling to him, even now, on the day of their wedding?
He drew her close to him, his eyes fixed intently on her.
Though everyone in the room seemed to be staring, he could not see them at all.
As though she were the only person in the room, the Keep, maybe even the whole world.
The air between them seemed to hum with intent, both of them alight with the thought of what might happen—what could happen, given the chance.
Anger and heat twined so intently together that there seemed to be no space between them, and she scanned his face, searching for something in the way of a reaction, but he did not give it to her.
His feet moved in time with the music, not missing a beat as they danced together. She was surprised at how well he seemed to move, the confidence with which he carried himself, like a man who already knew that he had won, a man not willing to grant her an inch of freedom.
She had almost lost sight of everyone else in the room; the weight of it all was hanging too heavy over her head, the thought of what might come next.
Their wedding night still lay ahead of them, the weight of it hard for her to ignore, curiosity tangling with trepidation in her chest. His thumb skimmed over the small of her back, and she drew in a sharp breath, wishing more than anything that she could hide this from him.
“Enough of this dancing!” one of Lachlan’s men crowed, drawing her out of her reverie for a moment. “When will you take the Lady to yer chambers, my Laird?"
Innes’ cheeks burned red at the sound of those words.
How could they be so vulgar? But, she supposed, if this was to be like any other wedding, perhaps they had every right to answer, every right to edge the couple towards sealing this marriage.
Lachlan seemed to ignore them, though, and she did the same, moving with him until they had finally come to a halt and the music had faded away around them.
The crowd moved aside once more as they made their way back towards their table. At the back of her neck, she could feel the pierce of his gaze driving into her so deeply it felt like a blade forced beneath her skin.
“I should retire to my chambers,” she told him before she took her seat once more. “I’m exhausted.”
It was half true. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand being out here with him, under his stare, before something within her gave way before she could make sense of it.
As much as she wished she could contain herself, this man—this mad, dangerous man—did things to her that she could not contend with, and the sooner she was out from under his spell, the better.
She made for the door, not giving him a chance to respond. She had hardly stepped out of the hall when he had caught up with her, catching her arm, drawing her to face him once more.
“I told you, I need to rest—”
“You dinnae remember, lass?” he cut her off, his eyes glittering with distant amusement. “Obedience doesnae require fear. Only consequence.”
He wrapped his hand around hers as she stared back at him, trying to make sense of what it could mean.
But, as he tugged her gently along the corridor, she knew that she did not have it in her to fight back.
No, something had given way, allowing him to take what he wanted from her.
The ease of his confidence more tempting than anything else she could muster.
He led her to his chambers, up a spiral staircase that seemed to wind on for an eternity. As though they were clambering up the stairs to heaven. Or to somewhere, something else entirely…
Pulling the door back for her, he gestured for her to enter, playing at a gentleman, even if he was anything but. The door closed with a solid thud behind them, making her jump, and she prayed that he had not noticed.
As he stepped out before her, she mustered what bravado she had left, cocking an eyebrow and staring him down pointedly.
“So, what is it this time, hmm?” she asked. “I smiled too sweetly? Breathed too loudly? Tell me, what did I do to upset you?”
She was only joshing, trying to break some of the tension that lay between them. But he rounded on her as if he truly had found some reason to be angry with her.
“You made me falter,” he announced. “At the altar. In front of my men.”
She stared at him for a moment. She thought she had sensed an inch of doubt from him when they had been saying their vows, but she had put that down to him realizing how mad it was for him to go through with such a thing.
But this? Now? To hear that she had given him pause, if even for a moment? It was mad. Maddening.
“You stepped into the chapel looking like a temptress,” he continued, his voice equal parts accusation and confession. “You think you can bewitch me, lass? You think I am not already mad enough as it is?”
Her breath was coming in quick gasps now, and she was sure that he could sense it, the tension in her movement, the way that she carried herself.
She wanted to brush him off, to tell him that he was insane and that he must have been wilder than anyone could have imagined if he had thought that she would submit herself to him so easily.
And yet, some part of her, some deep, curious part of her, longed to find out just what else he might have contained beneath the roiling sea of his madness.
He reached for her hair, tracing his fingers along the braid that she had laced with flowers that morning.
“Did you wear these fer me?” he went on, smirking slightly. “So thoughtful, wife, to make yerself pretty fer yer husband. I could almost have sworn that you enjoyed my attentions.”
A few of the blossoms came loose, tumbling to the floor at her feet, filling the air with their scent.
Something about the smoke on his skin meshed with the floral perfume in a way that made her head spin.
She could feel something, something deep and demanding, building within her, something that she knew she had to fight with all her will to hold back.
“I wonder if the rest of you is as sweet as yer lips,” he went on, as his hand moved from her hair to her face, cupping her chin for a moment as he dragged his thumb across her mouth.
Her lips parted on instinct, opening to breathe in the scent of him, willing herself to stop as much as she was willing herself onward.
“I wonder if you prepared fer me with more than just those flowers.”
His hand moved down this time, down her cheek, her arm, pausing at her waist as he had when they were dancing, before continuing towards her skirts and gathering them in his hand.
Even though he did not ask for permission out loud, he moved slowly, giving her ample time to protest if she were so disgusted by his touch.
But she made no move to stop him, no part of her wishing for this to end, the need growing larger and more demanding with every passing second.
She did not know exactly what it was he meant when he asked if she had prepared for him, but it was nothing to do with flowers—at least, not the kind that bloomed out in the garden beyond.
His hand snaked beneath her dress and towards her underthings, pulling them aside with the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. As his hand slipped between her legs, her body swelled with want as he tucked his other hand behind her head and pulled her close.
“Ah, lass,” he let out. “I knew that there was only so long you could pretend that you were a good girl.”
She gasped, and he kissed her, his tongue tracing her lips like he was marking out his territory. As his fingers pressed inside of her, finding her most sensitive spot with ease, he drew his lips to her ear, voice low and rasping.
“I cannae tell if it’s the wine I’m intoxicated on or you, Innes. But either way, I dinnae intend for you to leave my chambers tonight.”
She caught hold of his arms, legs trembling dangerously beneath her as his words permeated her senses. All she could think of was him, the way his voice sounded, the way his fingers felt within her, claiming the part of her that nobody had ever touched before.
She had gone from maiden to wife in a matter of days, and now, he was showing her just what lay on the other side—just what was waiting for her if she was willing to embrace her new role here.
Her hips were moving with him now, her body responding faster than she could contend with it. He pushed his knee between her thighs to pin her in place, laying her open in front of him, making it impossible for her to deny him, though she would not have been able to, even if she wanted to.
Her body moved against his, the bud of her flower slick with dew as he moved his hand against her, the firmness of his manhood at the crease of her thigh.
Even through the fabric of her dress, she could tell how much he wanted her.
She was sure that whatever a husband and wife were meant to spend their wedding night doing, he would see it through with great panache.
A pleasure was building within her so quickly that her knees were growing weak. Every touch inside of her was like a bow tugging on a string, guiding her towards the point of no return, to the point that she could not hold herself back.
He could tell, too. She was sure of it.
His face pressed to her neck, breathing in the scent of her. A part of her wished she could deny him the satisfaction of giving in so easily, but, as he circled and circled the apex of sensation, it was all she could do just to keep breathing, to keep herself—
And then, all at once, he pulled back.
For a moment, she felt almost distant from her body, as if she were watching herself from above as she gasped for breath. She sank against the wall behind her for support, fearful that, if she didn’t, she might crumple to the ground right then and there.
A smile licked up his lips. He knew exactly what he had done to her and enjoyed the sight of her sudden suffering.
“Oh, no, lassie,” he teased, shaking his head slowly, arranging his features into a mask of faux apology. “You cannae have yer pleasure so easily. You must learn that there are consequences to yer actions.”
He drew close again, close enough that his lips tugged against her skin once more. She sucked in a sharp breath, wishing that she could contain herself, knowing that she could not.
And knowing that, above all else, this was precisely how he wanted her. But she wouldn’t give it him easily either.