Chapter 24 #2
Marin blinked, slow and languid and gave a shaky exhale. “I didn't know it could be like that.”
He chuckled at that. “There are even more ways we havena tried.”
Her eyes widened and brightened; her eagerness apparent. She drew her hands from his shoulders, down to his chest and swept one finger against his tight nipple.
His release had left him highly sensitive and he sucked in his breath at the simple action.
“Will you show them to me?” Marin asked with the husky voice of a wanton. “All of them.”
“There's no' anything I'd rather do.” He glided his hands up her body to tenderly cup her face. “I was worried doing such things as this might scare ye.”
She blinked. “Scare me?”
“Ye’re a nobleman’s daughter.” He tilted his head. “It is Saturday. No’ a sanction day by the church.” He ran his hands down her body again, grasped her fine, round bottom and pushed her against his cock. “And this isna a sanctioned position.”
Marin arched with a sigh and her breasts lifted high enough for him to flick his tongue over. She shivered. “I believe I've become relaxed in my views.”
“I see that.” He drew her toward him and kissed her gently before unseating her from him. He rose from the tub and brought her the linen meant for him.
In truth, he’d been fearful of showing her such pleasures for fear she would find them to be perverse. But his Marin was a noble unlike any other. The lot of Werrick Castle seemed different than those of wealth and title Bran had associated with in his past.
He had found a lusty wife, one eager to fully enjoy the intimacies of marriage. And he was a damn lucky man for it.
He held the linen for her. She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head.
“I'll use it after ye,” he said. She was so much more petite compared to him, if he'd used it prior to her, there wouldn't have been a spot left dry.
Marin rose from the water, stepped out of the tub and into his waiting arms. He wrapped the linen around her and breathed in the sweet lavender of her hair, now mingled with the spice of his bath. He ran his hands over her body, ensuring she was thoroughly dry. A task he found immensely enjoyable.
He paused in his ministrations and gazed down at her. This incredibly sensual woman was his wife. His. A woman of beauty, confidence, authority and caring affection. Her damp hair fell in messy waves around her face.
“You're staring.” She spoke playfully, and he knew his attention flattered her. “Dare I ask what you're thinking?”
“I'm thinking what a lucky man I am.” He ran his hand down her arm and took her hand in his.
Some baser part of him needed to touch her, to confirm she was real.
After a lifetime fighting for everything he owned from the clothes on his back to the crust of bread in his belly–after all of it, this incredible woman was his wife.
“Ye make me want things I dinna imagine I ever might have.”
She lowered her head and aimed a coquettish look in the direction of the tub. “I feel the same.”
He grinned. “More than that though.” He ran his thumb over the back of her hand where the sapphire ring glinted on her finger.
“I never wanted children. A family of my own. No’ after what happened to me as a lad, or how vulnerable that love makes ye.
” He shook his head. He’d never uttered such fears aloud before.
But the idea of a family had always frightened him.
It kept his intimacies with women casual, safe.
“I worry about ye and I havena worried after anyone in a verra long time. I should be driven mad by it, but I…but I care for ye more than I am vexed at fearing for ye.”
“And I tried to kill you.” She winced. “Several times.”
“Ye were protecting yer home.” He released her hand. “And I should have told ye about Ena.”
The caring glow in her eyes faded to concern. “Bran, what are we going to do?” She lifted the linen from her shoulders and passed the length of damp cloth to him.
He accepted it and draped it over his shoulders as he went to his chest to pull out two leines. One for him and one for her.
What were they going to do? It was a concern that grew ever more pressing, and one he had pushed aside for too long, especially as the threat of war grew between England and Scotland.
No doubt the Earl of Werrick would have other properties where his family and people could go, assuming he had survived. And assuming the English king would not strip away his land and titles for the loss of the castle.
And Marin, she would go with Bran. But where? To a life as a reiver, one of many in the drafty peel towers set at the border? Could he subject her to a life so dangerous that they had to draw up the ladders at night for fear of being murdered in their sleep?
“We will ensure Ena is safe, and yer family as well.” He handed her the long leine. “We can discuss how in the morning, after we've both had a good amount of sleep.”
He wished it was possible to put even more time between now and the discussion they needed to have, once more variables came into play. Had Kerr gotten his first letter? Would he come? Was the Earl of Werrick alive?
So much rode on the answers to those questions. Unfortunately, there was no choice but to wait and hope Ena did not pay the price.