19 WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
“IT’S GETTING LATE. Shall we retire?”
Panic surged up Lara’s throat. She’d been dreading this moment all day—and finally, it had arrived. Her mind scrambled as she desperately tried to think of an excuse, one that would delay her performing her wifely duties.
But her mind went blank.
There was no getting out of this.
Swallowing the hard lump that had just lodged like gristle in her throat, she managed a tight nod.
A moment later, Alar smoothly rose to his feet and held out his hand. Dizziness washed over her as she took it—fearing her own was clammy—and stood up.
The dancing had ended, and everyone now sat at the long tables once more, lingering over wine, mead, and ale. Meanwhile, the musicians played a gentle, beguiling melody. The music was likely meant to be seductive, but instead, it only served to remind her of the humiliation that lay ahead.
You’re doing this for Albia , she reminded herself doggedly. Keep that in mind when he ruts you.
Her pulse went wild then. That didn’t help.
As they stepped down from the high seat, Lara’s gaze flicked to where Bree and Cailean were sitting together now at the far end of the table.
Skaal sprawled by the fire behind them, her large paws holding down an ox bone she gnawed upon.
The chief-enforcer had slung his arm around his wife’s shoulders, and Bree was leaning into him.
They looked so right together, and Lara’s heart squeezed.
Once, she’d dreamed of finding an epic love like they had, but that wasn’t to be her destiny.
Cailean scowled at the prince consort, while Bree ignored Alar completely, focusing instead on Lara.
Her friend knew enough of Lara’s history to understand what tonight was costing her.
Lara attempted a shaky smile yet failed.
Leaving the hall, the newly handfasted couple climbed the narrow, winding steps of the broch to the topmost level, where the High Queen’s extensive quarters lay.
When they entered her alcove, Alar surveyed his surroundings with interest. “Nice,” he murmured. “Although less adorned than I expected.”
Surprised by his reaction, Lara looked at her alcove with fresh eyes.
Sheepskins covered the floors, and colorful hangings and tapestries hung from the stacked-stone walls.
This space had once belonged to her parents, but after she’d moved in, she made it her own.
It felt wrong to live with her mother and father’s belongings around her, as if their shades lingered.
The large alcove had a sleeping nook in one corner and two additional alcoves leading off it. One was a space where she or her husband could bathe in a large iron tub, and the other was a study or private meeting space.
It was her sanctuary, the place she could retreat to for a short while to escape the weight of attention that usually rested upon her shoulders.
But it wouldn’t be hers alone any longer.
“I prefer simplicity,” she replied, wishing her heart wasn’t slamming against her ribs like a trow with a pick, digging itself a fresh knowe.
His gaze settled upon her. “Nervous?”
“A little.” Gods, her voice sounded like a sheep’s bleat.
“Shall I pour us some wine?”
“No, I’ll do it.” She moved over to where Florie had brought up a clay jug of her favorite plum wine.
She then poured them both large cups. They’d both drunk sparingly over the evening.
Earlier, she’d told herself that it was best to stay sharp—but now, she wanted something, anything, to help calm her.
Panic lay just beneath the surface, like a lurking aughisky—waiting.
Handing Alar his wine, she then raised her cup to her lips and took a long draft.
He then drank from his before blinking. “Mother, this is strong enough to fell a troll.”
Lara took another gulp. Not strong enough .
He gestured to the two high-backed wooden chairs that flanked the flickering hearth. “Do you want to sit?”
Grateful to be able to flee to a chair rather than the shadowy sleeping nook to their right, Lara hurried over to the fire and seated herself.
Sinking down into the chair opposite, Alar eyed her. “It’s all right,” he said, his lips curving. “I’m not going to maul you.”
Her blood started to roar in her ears, and she took yet another large swallow of wine. “You aren’t?”
His expression sobered then. A groove etched between his dark brows as he continued to study her.
Lara made a choking sound. “For the love of the Gods, do you have to stare so? You’re like a wolf sizing up its next meal.”
He snorted. “Sorry. After years amongst the wulvers, I’ve adopted many of their ways.”
“Aye, well … can you look elsewhere?”
“Maybe I don’t want to. You are lovely to look upon.”
Her fingers clenched at her cup. By the Gods, it was starting.
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. “I will do my best to make tonight easy for you.”
The wild urge to laugh ripped through her. Easy?
Downing the last of her wine, she set the cup down on the hearth with a thump. She then stood up and moved back from the fireplace. Heat flowed through her now, giving her the courage she needed.
The sooner they consummated their union, the sooner they could focus on their campaign to take Strath.
“Right then.” She tugged at the laces on the side of her fitted, ankle-length tunic. “Let’s get started.”
What are you doing? Ignoring the screaming in her head, she loosened the last of the laces and wriggled out of the tunic.
Then, clad only in a thin sleeveless shift that reached mid-thigh, she began tearing off the golden arm rings she’d donned for today’s celebrations, tossing them carelessly onto the sheepskins at her feet.
Afterward, she tore off the restrictive torque from around her throat.
Breathing hard, she looked Alar’s way once more.
He hadn’t moved from before the fire.
“Come on,” she challenged him. “What are you waiting for?”
A moment passed before he rose smoothly to his feet. He then cocked an eyebrow, a challenge glinting in his eyes.
Her heart kicked violently, dizziness sweeping over her. This was false courage. Indeed, her heart quailed as he unlaced his vest and shrugged it off. He was now clad in nothing but tight leather breeches.
The first thing she noticed was the wolf’s head tattoo inked over the left side of his chest. It had been done by a master, in exquisite detail. The wolf’s jaws were open, revealing sharp teeth, although it was the beast’s eyes that held her fast.
For a moment, they appeared to glow red in the firelight.
Lara blinked. No, surely not .
She was loath to admit it, but he had a beautiful body, graceful yet strong. However, when her gaze traveled down the smooth, sculpted muscle of his lean torso, to where his breeches sat low on his hips, it settled upon a bulge at his crotch.
Those trousers left little to the imagination.
He then took a step toward her, and Lara’s bravery fled. Panic slammed into her breastbone like a mallet. And then, suddenly, all the strength went out of her legs. Gasping for breath, she fell to her knees, onto the sheepskins.
“Lara?” A moment later, Alar was there, kneeling too, in front of her. There was no mockery in his eyes now, no teasing smile. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she choked out.
“You—”
“I’m all right.”
“No, you aren’t.” He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Breathe.”
“I am,” she snarled.
“Slowly.” He ignored her venom. “Draw air in deeply through your nose … into your belly, not your chest.” He paused for a moment, waiting until she complied. “Hold it for a few moments … and let it out slowly.”
Choking down the urge to snap at him again, Lara obeyed. At first, it was hard; it felt as if a boulder sat on her chest. But then, her ribcage gradually loosened.
Breathing slowly and deeply, she lowered her gaze, focusing on where their knees nearly touched on the sheepskins. Her cheeks then started to burn. The Reaper take her, she’d just humiliated herself.
“Am I that terrifying?” he asked gently.
She swallowed hard. “It’s not you.”
A pause followed. “Dunchadh?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Just the memory of her first husband’s brutal hands and rending prick made her break out into a cold sweat—even three years on.
Silence followed before Alar gently took hold of her chin. He then raised her face so she met his gaze. “I heard the rumors about him.”
She licked suddenly dry lips. “Rumors?”
His grey eyes glinted. “Aye … that he liked it rough.”
Lara jolted before jerking free of his touch. She then lowered her gaze once more. “So, you know?”
“Aye … and I shall tell you this. It wasn’t your fault.”
Her chest tightened once more, her breathing coming in shallow gasps now. She hadn’t expected him to ever say something like that; it confused her. Was there actually some decency in him?
“Look at me, Lara.”
With an effort, she obeyed.
His gaze was deadly serious now. “We don’t have to do this.”
Her chest heaved. He was giving her a way out, and she longed to take it, but there was no escaping her obligation. “We must lie together,” she managed. “Or the Gods will curse us.”
He gave a soft snort.
“They will!”
“I didn’t realize you were so devout.”
She swallowed hard. How she wished she weren’t, but her mother had brought her up to respect The Five in all things, and to fear their wrath.
She and Alar were handfasted, and the Gods were waiting for them to consummate their union.
The Mother and The Maiden would withhold their blessings if it didn’t happen.
She might never take back the North then.
“I’d rather not lie with you … but it must be done. ”
She clamped her lips shut then. Curse her, she wasn’t supposed to admit that.
Alar grimaced. “I prefer my women willing.” She didn’t answer, and he eyed her.
“I repeat … we don’t have to lie together.
” Something flickered across his face then, and she wondered if he regretted being so ‘understanding’ about this.
If they didn’t lie together, they weren’t really husband and wife. He knew that as well as she.
“Aye, we do.”
“But you don’t—”
“Just get on with it, Alar!”
Long moments passed before he raked a hand through his hair and murmured a curse under his breath. “Are you sure?” he asked, eyeing her with exasperation.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“You’re not going to start shrieking the moment I touch you?”
“No.”
“I won’t hurt you … but you must tell me if you want me to stop.”
She managed another, jerky, nod. “I will.”
Another silence fell, drawing out for a long while.
Lara was beginning to wonder if he’d heed her—and tried to fight the relief that washed over her at the thought he might not—when he reached out, stroking the hair that hung in her face with his fingertips.
She remained frozen, as still as a standing stone, even as her heart bucked wildly. No, she wouldn’t shriek, but it took all her will not to shrink away from his touch. He promised he wouldn’t hurt her, but what if he was lying?
Courage .
His fingers traced down her cheek before following the line of her jaw. He moved then—shifting behind her now and sweeping the curtain of her hair aside—so he could explore her neck and shoulder.
His caress was light, and Lara shivered. His calmness soothed her. Maybe this wasn’t going to be an ordeal, after all. However, when his lips brushed her neck, she jolted.
“You have beautiful skin,” he murmured, as his breath feathered across her neck. “Like milk.”
She swallowed, suddenly faint. And when he dragged his lips down to her right shoulder and gently nipped her skin with his teeth, she started to tremble.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked as his hands skimmed down her arms.
Lara closed her eyes. “No,” she managed. “Go on.”
“Relax, lass.” The teasing note had returned to his voice. “And let me teach you a thing or two.”
Heat flushed through her. The arrogance of the man.
She murmured a curse under her breath, and he laughed, his breath feathering against her shoulder.
And then his hands slid to her torso. The thin linen of her undertunic provided a flimsy barrier, and the heat of his palms scorched her skin.
He moved up, over the arch of her ribcage, before he cupped her breasts with both hands.
And then, as he stroked her nipples with his thumbs, his lips traveled back up her neck. A moment later, his tongue explored the shell of her ear.
Lara’s breathing caught. She didn’t want to like what he was doing, yet her body suddenly felt as if it were melting. Her nipples became hard and sensitive as he continued to stroke them, her breasts heavy. All the while, she was aware of the heat of his body like a furnace against her back.
A long, shuddering sigh escaped her.
“That’s it … ease into it,” Alar whispered as he pushed her hair to the other side and lavished attention on her neck and other shoulder. “You’ll enjoy this. I promise.”
Lara swallowed, not trusting herself to speak. He was taking his time, allowing her to get used to him. He’d sworn he’d treat her gently, and he was. Even so, her pulse still fluttered like a trapped moth.
Eventually, Alar moved so that he faced her once more. Her eyes flickered open, her gaze meeting his.
His lips curved, although his eyes were hooded now.
His expression made her breathing grow shallow. An odd sensation, almost like excitement, quickened in her lower belly.
What was this?
He then gestured for her to change position so that her legs were no longer folded underneath her. And when she stretched her legs out on the sheepskin, he started to caress her ankles and calves. Slowly, he pushed up the hem of the tunic as he worked his way up her legs.
Lara watched his progress. He took his time, exploring her skin with exquisite slowness. And as he did, she started to feel overly warm and flustered.
What was wrong with her? She didn’t feel like herself at all.
Eventually, he gently parted her legs and pushed the tunic up farther so that it bunched around her hips—and when he did, panic twisted under her ribs. Her body went rigid as she leaned back on her hands, her fingers digging into the sheepskin.
The Mother forgive her, she wasn’t ready for what would come next—for rough fingers, probing, invading, hurting.