Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“What are ye yellin’ about?” Arthur grunted, holding onto his future wife’s hand. “And what are ye doin’ up and out of bed at this hour?”
He couldn’t really see anything through the darkness, just her silhouette against the wall behind her. But it didn’t take him much of an effort to imagine how she looked right now—her eyes wide with shock and her mouth gaping open in surprise.
“Ye scared the life out of me!” Marissa protested, her voice shaky with fear. “Why did ye grab me without sayin’ anythin’? Ye could have been a kidnapper!”
He smirked, not caring that she was unable to see him. “A kidnapper who made it all the way into our chambers and was lyin’ next to ye in bed?”
“Well, when ye say it like that…” Marissa huffed.
Arthur pushed himself up in bed. He’d been awake all night, listening as she tossed and turned and huffed to herself.
When they’d first arrived at the castle, he had been certain that as soon as his head hit his pillow, he’d drift off to the realm of dreams. How naive that thought had been.
Now, he was cranky and tired, and his bride-to-be was trying to flee their bed in the middle of the night.
“Ye didnae answer me question,” Arthur said, only just realizing that he still had not released her wrist.
He could feel her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers, belying some of her fear. He loosened his grip.
“What question?”
“I asked where ye thought ye were goin’?” he grunted again, mad that he had to repeat himself.
“I wanted to walk around the castle,” Marissa explained. “I couldnae sleep, nay matter how hard I tried. So I thought I would do somethin’ to help, and a walk might be just the thing.”
Arthur nodded, and then reminded himself that she couldn’t see him.
“Aye, a walk might help,” he agreed. “But I have another idea.”
He dropped her wrist, immediately noticing the lack of her warmth as he threw back the covers.
“Ye dinnae need to get out of bed,” she protested, her words rushed. “Ye can go back to sleep. I’ll find a way to tire meself.”
“I wasnae asleep,” Arthur grunted.
Although he’d been gone from this castle for five years, he still knew everything about his bedchambers. Out of habit, he reached out, grabbing a candlestick from where it rested on the table by his bed.
“Well, still,” Marissa sputtered, “ye dinnae have to help me with me troubles. Ye can go back to bed. Maybe now that I’m nae in it, ye can actually fall asleep. Dinnae let me keep ye awake.”
“Ye were already keepin’ me awake.”
He snatched the flint beside the candle and the small knife he kept for exactly this purpose. Striking the steel to the flint, a small spark lit up the room and then quickly sputtered.
He turned to look at her, and his mouth went dry. Her short auburn curls were mussed, forming a halo around her head that glimmered in the candlelight. Her flimsy nightgown clung to her curvy figure, and Arthur could just make out the outline of her breasts and hips.
“It’ll do neither of us any good to be wanderin’ around the castle,” he grunted. “Nae when it’s the mind that’s keepin’ ye awake. We need to tire that out.”
Marissa rolled her eyes at him, and he felt himself stiffening at the gesture. He had always loved a challenge.
Get a hold of yerself.
“How do ye plan to do that?” Marissa scoffed.
Her arguing allowed him to grab the reins of his desire and bring it to a heel.
“Come with me and ye’ll see.”
Arthur didn’t wait to see if she followed. He took long, confident steps as he moved into the room beyond their chambers.
The fire, which had been warm and popping when they’d gone to bed, had dwindled to embers. They glowed orange, small puffs of smoke floating up into the chimney.
“Sit down right here,” Arthur commanded, setting his candle down on the table where they’d shared their meal.
He wasn’t sure if it was the late hour or Marissa’s naturally curious mind that kept her from arguing, wanting to see what was going to occur. But, whatever the reason, she did exactly as she was told without so much as a comment.
Arthur turned his back on her, striding confidently toward the fireplace.
While he resided in the castle, he would usually have a maid do this type of work. However, due to the late hour and not wanting to keep his future wife waiting, he decided to tend to the fire himself.
Years on the battlefield and sleeping in camps had made him more than adept at fire making, and before long, the logs had been placed and the flames were crackling once more.
The chilly air quickly began to warm, the gentle glow dancing over his skin as he walked back toward her.
Marissa’s eyes were luminous and filled with curiosity, watching his every move as he crossed the room. Before coming back to the table, he made one stop at the chest along the wall.
Opening it, Arthur found exactly what he’d been looking for at the very top, as if it had been waiting for him all along. He grabbed the chessboard—an intricately carved wooden box—and held it up for her to see.
“I’m assumin’ ye ken how to play?”
She huffed a laugh, offended by the implication of his words. “Of course, I ken how to play.”
Shrugging one shoulder to brush off her words, Arthur pulled out his chair and placed the chessboard on the table as he sat down. They plucked their pieces out of the wooden box, she white and him black.
Finally, when all of their pieces were assembled on the board, their eyes met once again.
Where skepticism had been in her gaze just moments ago, a challenge blazed now. Something within Arthur stirred at it, rising to greet it.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Shall we begin?”
Marissa’s only answer was to grin at him before turning her attention to the board, her delicate fingers rising to move one of her white pawns forward a space.
Arthur didn’t need time to consider as he did the same.
Around and around they went, with Marissa moving and then Arthur. All his life, Arthur had never had a problem besting the person on the other side of the board.
“I thought ye’d be better at this.” Marissa giggled as she leaned over the table and contemplated her next move.
“I am plenty good at it,” he grumbled, not trying to hide the sour mood that her besting him was putting him in.
His years of studying battle strategy, understanding what it took to strategically move across a field and anticipate his opponents’ next move—it had always helped him when it came to games such as this.
Now, however, he found himself at a loss. With each move, Arthur felt certain he knew what Marissa was going to do next. But with each move, she proved him wrong.
When he thought for sure she’d move her rook, it was her knight that trotted across the board. When he thought for sure he had her backed into a corner, suddenly a move that he had never seen coming opened up, allowing her to claim more and more of his pieces.
The box at the side of the table was slowly filling with black pieces, only three pawns peeking out between the fallen bodies of his soldiers. His eyebrows knitted together as he concentrated, staring at the board with fierce determination as Marissa grinned at him.
“Ye’re enjoyin’ this, are ye nae?” he muttered, his large hand covering the board.
If I move me rook, she’ll take it. But if I place me bishop to claim her knight, it’ll place me directly in the line of her queen. If she takes it, she’s free to claim me rook. Mayhap she’ll take the bait. And if she does, I’ll be able to claim her queen.
He knew it was risky, but as the tides of the match were swiftly turning against him, it was a risk he was willing to take. Plucking his bishop, he moved it diagonally across the board, claiming her knight just as he intended.
“Of course, I’m enjoyin’ it,” she quipped, cocking her head to the side.
She watched as the white horse’s head was plucked from the board and placed in the wooden box, gleaming brightly atop all the black.
Arthur had expected her to be a little more upset at having just lost a major piece, but she didn’t look the slightest bit bothered. Her brown eyes roved over the board as she contemplated her next move.
But Arthur didn’t look at the board. Not this time. Instead, he used the moment to look at her. Watching the way her face transformed as she thought.
Marissa was chewing on her bottom lip, and need surged through him—the need to lean forward and pull that lip between his teeth. He wondered what her moans would sound like if he did so.
Careful.
Arthur did not want to get himself worked up again. Did not want to be sitting across the table, desiring her, when he knew that nothing would come of it. Because Marissa would not be begging him to touch her any time soon, even though he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would eventually.
A feral, victorious grin split her face. Arthur didn’t even have time to register what it meant for him in terms of the game as he got lost in the beauty of it.
Her hand darted out, grabbing her queen and thrusting it forward. But not in the direction he’d been expecting. Instead, it flew across an opening that he hadn’t seen, claiming his queen.
His mouth dropped open in surprise, and Marissa’s grin widened even further. She had beaten him, and they both knew it.
“Check,” she said, her eyes dancing with the thrill of a win.
Frantically, Arthur scanned the board, searching for any possible way out, but there was none. Without any other options, he moved his king one slot to the right, just for something to do, even though they both knew the effort was futile.
“Checkmate.” she cried in victory, using her queen to claim his king and knocking it off the board.
Disappointment soured his mood, and he scowled.
“I’ve never been beaten before,” he grumbled.
Arthur had spoken more to himself than to her, but that didn’t stop her from turning her smile on him in its full force.
“Well, now ye have,” she said, gloating.
Arthur’s scowl deepened. “Ye ken there’s such a thing as bein’ a bad winner.”
“Aye.” Marissa chuckled. “And it goes hand in hand with bein’ a bad loser.”
She winked at him, making him roll his eyes. Eventually, silence descended on the pair of them. The only sound in the room was the merry crackling of the fire, but still, they sat, their gazes locked.
“Are ye tired yet?” he asked.
A spark of something flared within him—something he had not felt in quite some time.
It was hope.
Even though he had not won their game of chess, he’d had fun. With a jolt, Arthur realized that he’d had more fun with Marissa during the time they’d been playing chess than he’d had in a while. And he wasn’t ready to see that end just yet.
He kept his gaze fixed on her as she considered his question, chewing on her bottom lip again as she did so. A new feeling flared within him, one he’d been working desperately all night to control.
Lust.
“Careful, wee kitten,” he growled, knowing that his grip on his control was slipping.
Every time she chewed on her lip, every time she glared at him with defiance or grinned at him with savage victory—every time she did anything, really—his grip on his control loosened further.
He remembered her reaction when he’d lifted his nightshirt over his head, and thought that the warning would be enough to get her back into submission. But she must have been riding the high of beating him in their game because her grin only widened.
“I’m nae tired,” she purred. “So what other games do ye have in mind?”
Arthur bit back a groan. He wouldn’t give in to the temptation. Not yet.
The beast of desire willnae control me.
Pushing himself out of his chair, he walked to the chest that contained the few other games he kept in his rooms. Looking down at the meager offerings, he considered for a moment taking her down to the game room.
The selection there was much larger, and he knew they’d be able to occupy themselves until dawn if they wanted to. But if he was being honest, he didn’t want to.
Because going to the game room would break the little bubble of camaraderie they’d found themselves in. Opening the door to their bedchambers would shatter the illusion that they were alone, that no curious eyes were wondering what the Laird and his new bride-to-be were up to.
Arthur had a feeling that the moment that illusion was shattered, this carefree, almost impish Marissa, the one he’d caught glimpses of while they were still at Castle McEwan, would vanish. And that was something he was not willing to risk.
So, he bent down, plucking a deck of cards from the small chest and tossing it onto the table of the sitting room.
“Ever tried yer hand at Scots Whist?”