Chapter Eleven
With every sharing of a bit of bread or passing of a cup, Drummond’s fingers brushed hers, and she had to clench her teeth to keep from squeaking like a startled mouse or shuddering uncontrollably with the need to divest herself of her virginity—immediately, if not sooner.
This was ridiculous. She’d dated before. Never had sex, but she’d had a few hot-and-heavy encounters that had come close until she’d realized the guys were not what she wanted, and she’d cut things off before anyone got too carried away.
But she wanted this. Badly. Even though they’d just met.
Even though this was the fourteenth century, and her presence here still made her mind screech with the impossibility of it all.
She almost snorted. They’d just met? That bit of information was no longer relevant.
They were already freaking married. Another sip of wine helped her to breathe normally, if only to keep from choking on the ruby-red liquid in the cup.
“Why do you call this room a solar instead of a sitting room?” she asked, just to have something to say and maintain a level of calm that was proving extremely elusive.
He shifted a slow, lazy gaze to the far wall, which was composed entirely of windows.
The glazed panes were large and clear, unlike the small, thick panes in the bedroom windows.
“When the Highlands bless us with sunny days rather than storms, this room fills with light. ’Tis a welcome escape from the political shadows of the great hall below.
” He turned back to her with a smile. “And it is private. Solus. Latin for alone.” The sultriness of his deep voice and that Scottish burr of his hypnotized her.
“This is our place, where none are allowed to interrupt us or intrude, lest we invite them to do so.”
“I see.” The thing was, she really didn’t care why it was called a solar or sitting room.
She was so nervous, she didn’t know what else to say.
She rose from her seat and crossed the room to the windows.
This wall faced the sea, unlike the windows in her bedchamber that faced the rolling glen.
“It’s hard to tell where the sea stops and the sky begins.
It’s all so dark out there except when the lightning flashes off the waves. ”
Drummond’s warmth, his scent of wild, rain-swept lands and spices that reminded her of mouthwatering cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven, swirled around her as he joined her at the window.
She almost laughed. He did indeed smell good enough to eat.
At that double entendre, she pressed her fingers across her lips.
Maybe she’d had enough wine for a while.
“I brought ye more wine.” His smile seemed a little too knowing as he handed her the pewter goblet.
With a tip of his head, he nodded at the view as he pushed open one of the windows.
With his nearly black hair and dark eyes, he was just as mysterious as the night.
“I never tire of it. Can ye not feel the ancient rhythm of life itself whilst listening to the wind and the waves?”
The cold, damp air washed across her, but she welcomed it.
The wine and the company were keeping her plenty warm.
And there was something in the wind besides icy rain and the briny tang of the sea.
An eerie weightlessness, an impossible-to-ignore sensation that she was exactly where she was supposed to be, carried her along like a leaf caught in a whirlwind.
After a long, deep drink of the sweet beverage, she set the cup aside. Licking her lips, she noticed a telltale numbness. She had definitely had enough for a while. “So we’re married?” she asked as if she hadn’t already asked it before.
“Aye.”
She nodded and picked up her cup again for another drink. Tonight, there was no such thing as too much wine. “Where do we sleep? In my bedroom or…uhm…yours?”
The way he looked at her… Definitely smoldering. No. Not smoldering. Full-on blaze.
“We will sleep wherever ye wish, m’love. These rooms are ours to do with as we will.”
“Are the doors locked?”
“Griogair will not allow anyone to enter unless I tell him we are expecting them. Not even the maids.”
“What if Morganna returns?” She drained her cup and set it aside again.
“She can sleep in the servants’ quarters on this floor.” Drummond set aside his own glass, took her hands in his, and gently eased her closer. Then he leaned in and trailed a line of delightful nibbles along the curve of her neck and shoulder.
She shivered and struggled to catch her breath.
Every time he touched her, and most especially whenever he kissed her, a powerful surge of this is what I have needed shot through her.
She pressed closer still, molding herself against the hard lines of his muscular body.
When his arms tightened around her, she felt safer than ever before—and somehow complete.
Like she’d finally found the one thing she’d always been missing.
She wrapped a leg around his and pulled herself higher against him. He was her mountain to climb.
He swept her up, then settled them both on the long, cushioned bench in front of the wall of windows, draping her across the top of him.
After a deep, scorching kiss that made her head whirl, she tugged and fumbled with the ties and cloth-covered buttons of the formfitting jacket he’d worn for the feast. It had shown off the breadth of his chest, and she’d noticed that Lady Merelys seemed to appreciate it.
A surge of jealousy made her yank on the buttons harder.
“Are we going to have to cut you out of this thing?”
“Nay, lass.” His warm laughter poured over her, making her want him even more.
“Let me shed the doublet, and then I’ll help ye with the ties of yer kirtle.
” He lifted her and set her to one side, then undid the buttons with ease.
Apparently, he knew the secret of getting the silly things to turn loose a lot faster than she did.
He shed it and tossed it aside, then helped her stand and turned her facing away from him. As he unlaced the back ties of the kirtle, he swept her hair to one side and nuzzled lingering kisses along her nape. “So verra sweet. Like the finest honey.”
Eyes closed, she smiled, luxuriating in his attention. “Don’t tell the bees. They’ll get jealous.”
“The bees will love ye because ye are the mistress of the keep.”
The weight of the burgundy wool dress fell away from her body, dropping to the floor with a muffled thump.
“Much better.” He turned her to face him. “Shall we retire to one of the bedchambers or stay here by the windows?” His eyes shimmered darker than before, filled with a longing that almost made her cry out. No one had ever looked at her that way. “What do ye desire, m’love? Tell me.”
“You.” And she did. She’d waited a long time for Mr. Right instead of settling for Mr. Right-now, and Drummond was the man it had taken her forever to find. “I want you. It doesn’t matter where.”
“Good.” He picked her up, carrying her like a baby.
“You carry me a lot.”
“I love the feel of ye in my arms.” He swaggered across the room and kicked her bedroom door open. “Shall we start in yer bedchamber?”
“Start?” She swallowed hard.
He grinned with such pure, unbridled sensuality that it threatened to make her spontaneously combust. “Aye, love. Start. We’ve all night, ye ken?” He set her on the edge of the bed and knelt at her feet, which in itself unleashed a surge of fiery butterflies fluttering through her core.
She knotted her fists in the bedsheets as he untied her shoes, tossed them aside, then relieved her of her stockings, leaving her in nothing but her shift.
He stroked her calves, softly trailing his fingertips up and down in slow, sensual circles that made her gasp. But as he leaned in between her knees, she stopped him. “Don’t you need to undress too?”
His grin became a deliciously wicked smile.
“As ye wish, m’love.” Rising with the slow, predatory smoothness of a panther, he kicked off his boots, stripped off his linen shirt, then tortured her with the slow untying of his black leather trousers that only reached to just below his knees.
Breeks, he’d called them. At least, she thought that was what he’d said.
It really didn’t matter what they were as long as they were off him and on the floor.
And then he stood before her in all his naked glory. A chiseled mountain of proud alpha male.
She lost the ability to do anything other than stare and try to breathe.
“Would ye do me the honor of removing yer shift, m’love?” he asked with a softness that felt like a caress.
Scooting off the bed, she hopped to the floor and stripped, wishing she’d managed it with a little more grace and a lot more seduction.
“Lore A’mighty, lass.” His gaze raked across her, pure need and adoration in his eyes. “Perfection, ye are. Absolute perfection.”
She didn’t agree, but now was not the time to argue. Instead, she ran her hands up the muscular ridges of his torso and chest, then molded herself against him. “You are so…” Kissing the salty sweetness of his throat, she no longer possessed the ability to speak.
“So what, m’love?” He nibbled her ear as he smoothed his hands down her back and cupped her buttocks.
“Mine.”
“Aye, m’love. That, I am.” He lifted her to sit on the edge of the bed again and knelt in front of her.
Nudging her knees farther apart, he moved in for a long, slow kiss as his touch explored and teased.
Then he left her mouth to nibble and kiss his way lower and lower until he laid her back on the bed and parted her legs even more.
“Perfect,” he repeated as he tasted and sweetly tormented her until she bucked beneath him and cried out, exploding with exquisite sensations.
But she needed more. She ached with a terrible emptiness. She reached for him. “I need you. Now.” She stretched to brush his cheek with her fingertips. “Please?”