Chapter 8
There were whoops and hollers as Magnus led her out of the Grand Hall, leaving her completely mortified that they knew exactly what the two of them were leaving to do.
There was always an implication that was joked about and people elbowed in the ribs in jest at weddings, but the bride and groom never left for their marriage bed during their ceremony! None that she could remember, at least.
“How humiliating,” she muttered as he walked her up the stairs and down the empty corridor of the second floor.
Magnus only chuckled and it made the heat on her face deepen. Could he really be so unbothered? Then again, he was probably experienced and used to vulgarity—and if Hannah could be any redder, she was now.
They stepped into his bedchamber and for a fleeting second, she got to leave her embarrassment aside to assess the room. She hadn’t ever seen a proper bedchamber in Scotland. And it was similar to the ones back home, while still different.
There were paintings, furniture, and military ornaments about the room that one could expect in any young Lord’s room. But because this was a Scottish castle and not an English estate, the wall of the exterior was stone, the same dark gray stones that made up the entirety of the fortress.
The other walls were a dark forest green that no doubt was picked because of their clan tartan.
The wooden furniture was stained much darker than she had ever seen in London, it was almost black itself.
The paintings weren’t of meadows or ships at sea, but of Scottish cliffsides, Highland cows, and one of the castle itself.
And the rug by the hearth, instead of an intricate, ornate woven rug, it was a massive animal hide of some sort of long-haired animal she couldn’t quite recognize by the fur alone.
It was elegant with a rustic charm that oddly felt… cozy.
And then the door clicked shut.
And she was brought back to the present moment where she had just been dragged out of her wedding reception by her groom and brought directly to their marriage bed.
A bed that she was looking at, made of natural cuts of wood and stained the same dark color as the rest of the furniture, and had a fluffy animal pelt across the foot.
What exactly was he planning to do to her in that very bed? A strange tingle passed through her body at the question.
Magnus sauntered past her though, walking to the dark navy sofas that faced the hearth. “Care for a drink?” he called to her, already pouring himself a goblet from the decanter on the small table in the middle of the seating area.
Slowly, Hannah stepped forward from the spot she had been rooted in since the moment he dragged her in there.
Wine was good, considering how the last ten minutes left her feeling completely sober.
When she reached the sofas, she took the goblet he poured for her and sat down on the sofa next to him—but at least a person’s worth of distance between them.
He eyed her as she drank down some of her wine. “Are ye nervous?” he asked. Surprisingly, he didn’t sound like he was taunting her. She didn’t answer, only took another gulp of her wine. And he chuckled at that, making her glare at him. “There isnae need to be nervous, Hannah.”
The words sounded suggestive to her ears, the reassurance sounding more like a sweet nothing as opposed to anything else.
She watched him with cautious eyes as he scooted toward her, not yet encroaching on her space but close enough for her to get a better look at him.
Maybe it was the lighting of the hearth and the soft daylight, but Hannah found herself struggling to remember why he had ever resembled Alan to her.
Yes, they had the same color hair and each had blue eyes but Magnus was handsome.
His raven hair was straight but thick, falling to the nape of his neck, and was pushed neatly back from his face even after their dancing.
The beard that dominated the lower half of his face was thick but not bushy enough to hide his features underneath so that she could still make out a strong jawline.
Magnus had full lips, especially for a man, and his bone structure was rugged to the point of almost being angular.
Unnervingly handsome didn’t begin to cover him.
It was infuriating.
And the fact that he was so calm about the entire situation, in that room, alone, was maddening to her. Why couldn’t he be nervous too?
She sipped her wine and studied him more, as if staring long enough would give way to a nervous tic of his that would help her feel less pressure in this moment. He was sitting there expectantly, and she was hopeless.
And then she saw it, the way his eyes flickered to her body, scanning over her chest and waist as she sat there.
Her throat went dry and she started to think that all of this wine and staring was him actually waiting for her to do something.
She hadn’t any idea on how to seduce a man…
But under his intense gaze, she felt herself slowly reaching for the ties of her bodice.
Instantly, his eyes flicked down to the movement.
And as soon as she tugged on the knot, loosening the bodice’s hold, his hand covered hers.
“Nay, nae like that.”
His voice was stern as always, but there was something almost tender about it. She never knew someone could sound both tender and stern at the same time. Magnus’s eyes locked onto hers as he scooted closer, finally ending the little bit of space between them; their legs pressed together.
Her eyes scanned his face for understanding, trying to gauge if he was angered by her boldness, if his mask of being better than Alan was finally going to slip—
He was leaning toward her, his eyes on her lips, and Hannah felt her breath catch in her throat with anticipation.
Just as her eyes fluttered closed, she felt his lips brush against the skin of her cheek.
It wasn’t a chaste, innocent peck. His lips were slightly parted, making the touch damp as his lips lingered for a few heartbeats too long for it to simply be a kiss on the cheek.
Slowly, his lips lifted and then connected again, just a little lower.
On the little trail of affection went down the side of her face.
Hannah could feel her breath return but it was shallow and infrequent as his lips grazed the skin of her neck.
But not like before, when her heart had pounded in terror.
Now it was another feeling that made her heart race, one much more dangerous than fear.
She had never been kissed anywhere but her head and her cheek, and her lips as of a few hours ago.
The way he kissed her neck changed too, no longer the sweet, damp kisses like on her cheek.
Magnus’s lips were parted more and didn’t lift completely off her neck for each kiss.
Soon, he was sucking lightly at her sensitive skin, shivers running through her as a soft, needy breath escaped her.
“I will nae take ye, until ye want me, lass,” he murmured as his lips continued down the length of her neck.
Hannah scoffed, though it wasn’t as offended as she thought it should sound. “After what you and your brother have done to me? What makes you think I could ever want you?”
The words were meant to be biting, they were meant to convey all of the disdain she felt for him up until that kiss at the wedding.
Could she really be wanting him? Her captor?
It felt absurd to the part of her that was still clinging to hate like a life raft, and yet…
she wasn’t pushing him away. Hannah even felt her body start to lean into his attention as he continued down her neck until he reached her collarbone.
Magnus chuckled against her skin, the notes low and dark. “Dear wife, soon ye’ll be begging for my touch. I’m certain of it.”
The words made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as she realized that they didn’t feel like a taunt, they felt like a promise. And at the sound of those words, heat began to pool in the pit of her stomach.
Teeth grazed against her collarbone gently before he sat up and grabbed her face, kissing her in that same, hungry, claiming way that he had at the wedding.
A gasp escaped her at the sensation of the last bit of frost she had set herself in to protect her from letting him in, melting under the fiery kiss.
Her mind had been cut out of the equation, her body and heart taking the lead as she kissed him back, her lips moving against his.
Strong hands moved from her cheeks and into the sides of her hair, raking gently across her scalp as he pulled back from her lips to kiss her face again. He started with the opposite cheek but instead of down toward her neck, he kissed next to her eye, along her cheekbone—right next to her scar.
His lips hesitated for a mere second and it made Hannah’s stomach twist.
She was holding her breath again as she sat there with her eyes still closed from the kiss, ready for him to react.
Would it be anger? Revulsion seemed more likely.
Even though he had obviously noticed the scar upon their first meeting, it didn’t mean that feeling it in such an intimate moment wouldn’t cause new feelings of disgust.
And then, he kissed the scar…
A light peck that lingered for only a moment, but a kiss nonetheless.
And it made emotions flood Hannah’s veins in such a way that she couldn’t decipher one from the other.
One thing was clear to her, however, it made her want more.
More of that tenderness, more of that challenging all the things she had spent countless nights worrying would make her unworthy—and conquering it.
His lips were on hers again, still hungry, still passionate.
And his tongue pressed past her lips and danced along hers in a way that made her entire body tighten momentarily from pleasure, freezing as though to savor every moment of the sensation.
Hannah’s hands rested against his chest, flustered by the feeling of this stoic man having his heart race because he was kissing her.
Magnus’s hands left her hair and grabbed her waist, pulling her closer. “Ye tell me to stop if ye feel the need to,” he murmured into her lips before kissing her madly again.
Hannah didn’t want to stop though.
As much as her pride begged her to in the back of her mind, she was far too lost in the moment. Now his hands traveled to her chest, groping her breasts as he cautiously moved over her so that her back was against the sofa.
This was moving too fast. She should tell him to stop. How was he ever going to take her demands seriously again if he knew she would cave so easily under his physical touch? And yet, the words couldn’t leave her mouth because even if it didn’t make sense, she wanted this.
Thumbs brushed against the fabric that covered her nipples and a moan escaped the back of her throat.
Magnus let out a low, gruff groan at the sound and pinched at the same spot of fabric as his tongue moved back into her mouth.
Large, rough hands raked down her front, over her stomach, and stopped at her hips.
He gripped them and pressed them to his own as he lay over her.
She let out an uneven breath into his mouth at the feeling of something firm against her thigh.
Suddenly, he pulled back from the kiss and dropped his head until his forehead pressed to her shoulder.
“That’s enough for now,” he murmured as he caught his breath.
When it evened out after a few deep inhales, his lips were against her ear.
“After all, I’m a man of my word. I won’t take ye until ye beg. ”
Hannah wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop playing games and ruining the moment.
But she couldn’t, all of the fears that had fluttered around her head as they kissed were settling back in.
Right now, she needed to follow his lead and not ask for more.
There was no way in hell she was about to beg Magnus for anything—no matter how much the heat in her stomach ached for her to abandon her pride just this once.
They lay like that until they were both composed, their breaths even and their hearts steady.
When Magnus stood, he hooked both arms under her and lifted her bridal style from the sofa.
She looked at him for the first time in several minutes, blinking as she studied his expression.
It wasn’t stern for once, just a neutral expression that was soft at the eyes.
He gave her a glance and she looked away nervously.
She was laid on the bed and she looked over to him, her heart skipping a beat with fear—or anticipation.
He took off his jacket and vest, kicked off his shoes, and then turned around.
Strolling right back to the sofa, he stretched out over it, his entire body hidden from view other than the top of his head and his feet on the other end.
“Goodnight, wife,” he called over.
“Goodnight,” she replied, maybe a bit too quickly.
Hannah stared at the back of the sofa, finding it hard to believe that he was being so… respectful.
And harder to believe still was the pang of want that stirred in her because of it.