Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alan could find no way to bring real comfort to the interior of the lodge.
Even with the fire lit, struggling as it did against the heavy, damp air outside, and the wooden bench drawn up to the hearth place, the room proved dusty and bleak.
They were both wet to the skin, and Alan could see how his wife shivered.
Better, though, than being out in the wet. For the rain continued crashing down outside, the sound of it on roof and ground nearly drowning out any words they exchanged.
It would also drown out sounds of approach, if Evan came. Alan reminded himself he must remain on guard.
His wife, though, was still a distraction. With nowhere to sit except the bench, they perched there side by side, and she soon huddled even closer.
“I am sorry for this,” he said and succumbed to the impulse to put his arm around her. How many times had he now broken his promise not to touch? Did she mind?
It did not seem so, for she slid in against his shoulder. Their shivering—hers and his—settled into a combined rhythm before beginning to subside.
“’Twas no’ ye who insisted I should come wi’ ye,” she returned wryly. “I ha’ no one to blame save mysel’.”
“Aye, so.” He murmured while stretching his ears to listen beyond the rain. “I am learning o’ ye.”
“Are ye, then?” She turned her face and regarded him. So near were they now, her breath fanned his face when she asked, “And wha’ ha’ ye learned?”
“My wife is a stubborn woman.”
“Och! I suppose I canna deny it.” In the dim light from the struggling fire, her eyes looked alive with flecks of amber and gold. “Is it such a terrible bad thing?”
“Nay. Merely, somewhat wi’ which a man must deal if he wishes for a peaceful life.”
“And do ye wish for a peaceful life?”
“More than almost anything. But I do no’ see me attaining it. The country is at odds. As for Kallan—”
“Aye.” She seemed to reflect upon that before she offered, “I never expected peace, me.”
He snorted and she widened those wicked, lovely eyes. “Do ye imply I ha’ not a peaceful nature?”
“I imply naught.”
“Well, but I was always the one who had to stand up and speak for us—as Robena would not. And my family is on the poorer side of the conflict in which our country finds itself, us being Catholics. The losing side.”
“Ye think the Queen will lose?”
“I fear so. And then what will happen to the rest o’ us?”
Despite himself, Alan tightened his arm around her. “Our marriage was designed, in part, to provide ye some protection.”
“Aye. But the coming o’ your father’s visitors canna possibly bode well for us.”
Alan wanted to tell her he would defend her. Keep her safe. He longed to make yet another rash promise.
Fortunately she did not give him the chance. “Wha’ else ha’ ye learned o’ me?”
“That ye be strong,” he returned promptly. “The strongest woman, likely, I ha’ ever known.”
“Does that find favor wi’ ye? Or does a man wish a wife who will yield to him and prove obedient?”
“I do no’ ken wha’ other men may want. I find mysel’ well content.”
The kiss happened without effort or intention. Their lips just closed the brief distance between and met. And within Alan’s body, within his mind, every other consideration foundered. He snapped into alignment and his heart—his heart bounded.
Her lips felt soft, warm despite the wet, and his entire being wanted to consume them—consume her. To this desire she appeared to pose no objection, for she fell into his arms and surrendered with a sigh.
How long that kiss lasted, Alan never knew. Minutes. Hours. Neither of them wanted to break contact. Her hands slid up around his neck and her fingers dug their way into his wet hair.
They explored one another’s mouths with hot, damp concentration, and Alan not only forgot to listen for danger, he forgot his brother existed.
When the kiss broke at last, she glided her lips across his cheek to his ear.
“I fear we ha’ well and truly broken our promise. I am usually better than this, at keeping my vow.”
“Are ye, then?” Alan barely cared. Wild thoughts flew through his mind. They were alone. He might have her here, were she willing. If the accursed wound in his chest would permit.
“Och, aye.”
“D’ye rue breaking your promise?”
“Och, nay.” She fastened her mouth to his again, a blatant invitation. He dragged her onto his knees. Och, aye, and that felt good, the hardness he’d sprouted very nearly where it belonged.
This time when she drew away to speak, she was breathless. “I canna imagine wha’ has come over me.”
“I believe, lady wife, ’tis called lust.”
That—which might have shocked any other woman of his acquaintance—made her smile. Her eyes danced. “Is it, then? I do no’ believe I ha’ ever before experienced it.”
“Nay?”
She shook her head. “Convenient, is it no’, that when I do, it should be wi’ my husband? ’Twill prevent me committing a mortal sin.”
“Will it, then?” He licked his lips and tasted her. “D’ye contemplate committing a sin?”
“Frequently, I fear.” She lowered her lashes demurely, but he was not fooled. Her look was pure speculation.
“Tell me, husband, where might lust drive a man and a woman?”
“Two who mayhap find themselves alone?”
“Just so.”
“And who are, in fact, wed?”
“Indeed.”
“And ha’ laid aside for the moment any inconvenient promises?”
“That too.”
“Why, I suppose they would continue to kiss, perhaps extending such blandishments to places other than the lips.” He illustrated by planting his mouth at the soft skin beneath her ear.
“Oh.”
“And continue to touch one another.”
“Pray, show me.”
His hand went immediately to the swell of her breast. The wet fabric of her gown clung to her. He could feel everything, and so could she.
Her eyes widened. “I see.”
“Of course, both parties would ha’ to be entirely willing.”
He ran his lips down her throat to the place his fingers had already caressed. She stiffened in his arms—but not with outrage.
Definitely not with outrage, for she burrowed her fingers farther into his hair and urged him closer.
“And then what?” She had gone breathless.
“Would ye, my lady, wish for me to tell ye, or show ye?”
“Show. Show.”
She helped him unfasten the front of her kirtle and the gown beneath. Her breasts were—
Aye, well, the woman had a fine pair of breasts. He’d been able to tell that much last night when she wore only her night rail. Freeing them now to his touch and his mouth—
He fair lost his head.
He supposed he should have asked permission. Instead, he covered those sweet mounds, one after the other, with kisses. And, utterly unable to help himself, latched on.
She did not protest and she did not stop him. Instead she murmured and shifted closer, straddling his knees and shifting her body to give him better purchase.
The room went from dank and chilly to very warm indeed.
He lavished her bosom with attention, circled the taut nipples with his tongue and licked them appreciatively before sucking harder. She cradled him to her, and for those few moments naught else existed in all the world.
“So,” she whispered then, very shakily indeed, “this is lust?”
He nodded, not willing to waste his tongue on speech.
Her breath hitched when she asked, “Wha’ else? Wha’ more?”
That did make him raise his head from her bosom and regard her. She appeared—enflamed. Damp hair wild. Face flushed. Eyes overbright.
“D’ye truly wish to know?”
“Aye. Show me.”
He hesitated. “Wha’ d’ye ken o’ wha’ men and women do together?”
“Enough. And I can feel ye. Ready for me.”
That sent him breathless in his turn. He managed to say, “A hell o’ a place for a wedding night.”
“Is that wha’ it will be?”
“Will it no’?”
“Well…” She fell back from him a titch, easing her grip on him. “Mayhap not, then.”
Alan tried to contain his disappointment and curb his passion. To be sure, not here. Not like this.
“Wha’ is that?” she cocked her head. “I thought I heard—”
The door burst open. Two soaking figures stood there, tall against the rain.
Alan was half on his feet—depositing Annista onto the bench as he rose—before recognizing them.
Archie and Jock, two of their footmen.
“Och, sorry, Master Alan.” They stared.
Had Annista closed the front of her gown in time? A glance told him she now sat clutching it.
“We were looking for ye,” Archie said. “Ye are needed back at the manor—at once.”