Magick in the Mist #4
A mortified cry escaped her parted lips and she grabbed hold of the bedclothes to conceal her full ripe breasts from view.
Scrambling from the bed, she dragged the covers with her, exposing Ewan’s raging erection and the drops of blood that stained the sheet.
He cursed roundly. Between the evidence on the bed and his grandda having witnessed them there, Ewan’s hopes for an annulment fled as quickly as Isobel had fled his bed.
His curse drew her attention and she looked at him over the delicate slope of her creamy white shoulder.
Her innocent stare rounded as she took in his naked body.
His erection had been easing as the reality of his situation hit home, but at the sight of her luscious behind – that she didn’t realize she exposed to him – it once more shot to life.
“Oh,” she gasped, and in an effort to put more distance between them, promptly tripped on the covers to fall on her face.
Ewan leaned over and grabbed his plaid from the floor. “Are you all right, lass?” he asked as he went to her.
“Aye,” she muttered, trying to right herself while she held the covers to her chest with one hand, the other holding them to her behind.
“Let me help.” He scooped her up and set her on the edge of the bed. Cupping her chin, he tilted her face. Her bottom lip was puffed up and her small, freckle-sprinkled nose was scraped at the tip. He shook his head. “One look at you and they’ll all be sayin’ I beat my wife.”
“’Twill be your fault if they do. Last eve you looked as though you wished to murder me.”
He winced. “Mayhap my grandda, but no’ you,” he conceded, surprised she didn’t appear to be intimidated by him.
Most women, as well as a fair number of men, were.
With their naked bodies covered, she seemed to regain her composure.
He sighed at the disbelieving look she gave him and sat beside her.
It wasn’t her fault the Mackenzies needed coin and his grandda had used the lass as a means to an end.
“I apologise for my behaviour last eve, Isobel. It had been a long journey home and I …” He didn’t know what to say without offending her.
“Didna expect to return home to find yourself wed. Aye, you made that perfectly clear. If you wish to talk aboot it, I’d prefer to do so dressed. Close your eyes, please.”
Ewan was beginning to think it would be best if they had their conversation with her still naked.
Not only because he wanted another look at her body, which had been as close to perfection as he’d ever seen, but because it appeared he’d need whatever advantage he could find when dealing with the lass.
He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles flexing, and gave her a look that had caused many a man to quiver in his boots.
She snorted her disdain. “You can save your fierce looks. You’re no’ on the battlefield now.”
Brow arched, she waited for him to cede to her wishes. If Ewan didn’t have the uneasy feeling he was in a battle, and one he might not win, he would’ve laughed at the sight of the adorable wee lass staring him down with her bonny green and gold-flecked eyes.
With a drawn-out sigh, he did as she asked.
He heard the whoosh of the covers fall to the floor and his hands clenched on his thighs at the thought she stood within an arms reach of him – naked.
The light splash of water in the basin cooled the erotic images that heated his blood as he realized she washed away the evidence of what had taken place between them.
He cleared his throat. “Isobel, did I hurt you?” She was innocent of what took place between a man and a woman and last eve he’d been in no condition to be considerate of the fact.
The muscles in his belly clenched when she didn’t answer right away. “Isobel?”
“Nay, no’ that I remember. For truth, I doona recall anythin’ at all. My head is a touch fuzzy this morn. I had more wine than is my custom, mayhap ’tis the reason.”
While he was relieved he hadn’t caused her pain, he wasn’t happy that he’d made love to a lass who’d been in her cups.
Nor was he pleased the experience had been so unmemorable she bloody well couldn’t remember it.
Which went to prove she wasn’t the only one with a fuzzy head this morn.
What he should be was furious he’d destroyed the one to chance to have their marriage annulled.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. There was nothing for it now.
Whether he liked it or not, they were wed.
He was honest enough to admit that the thought he would not have to take up his sword to raise coin was a welcome one.
Surely he and Isobel could come to an arrangement that suited them both.
His sons and grandda were fond of her and ’twas no’ as though she’d expect his love.
He would keep her at a distance. He couldn’t afford to lower his defences, let his emotions become involved.
Enamoured as he’d been with Lorna, he’d been blind to her manipulations and many had suffered as a result.
He tamped down his annoyance that it meant keeping Isobel from his bed, but, as he’d learned from experience, women tended to equate making love with being in love.
Isobel shrugged into her nightshift while keeping an eye on Ewan to be certain he wasn’t keeping one on her.
Taking advantage of the opportunity to look upon his masculine beauty, she perused his glorious sun-bronzed, battle-hardened body.
The sight of his broad chest lightly dusted with golden hair, the sculpted ridges lining his taut belly, caused a heated clutch in the pit of her stomach.
His big hands with their long blunt fingers rested on his thickly muscled thighs and her skin tingled at the memory of the gentle caress of his powerful, calloused palms skimming over her body.
She’d thought she’d been dreaming until Roderick so rudely interrupted them.
She wished she remembered more. She didn’t think it fair she had no memory of their joining.
Her sisters had assured her the few moments of pain she would experience was nothing compared to the pleasure she would receive.
Although considering the size of her husband’s manhood, she thought perhaps it was a good thing she didn’t remember.
She lingered on the thick bulge beneath his plaid and her cheeks heated.
“Have you looked your fill, lass?” he asked in his deep, rumbling voice.
Her gaze shot to his and she didn’t miss the glint of amusement in his sapphire eyes.
It was a welcome change from the anger that had darkened the brilliant blue to black last eve, but since it was at her expense, she took no pleasure in it.
She had yet to forgive him for his behaviour upon learning she was his wife.
Although she could understand his surprise – his shock – she felt his anger was uncalled for.
Since he’d come to her bed, he’d obviously recovered from his fit of pique and she made a mental note not to surprise him in the future.
She shouldn’t have let her disappointment get the best of her last eve.
Although she’d hid it well at the evening meal, she’d been overwrought by the time she’d come to her bed.
She should’ve trusted her nana’s gift despite Ewan’s reaction.
Her sisters had warned her men could be frustratingly slow to acknowledge that special fated bond.
He sighed. “Isobel?”
She blinked. “Yes.”
He stood and adjusted his plaid. She tilted her head to look up at him. “As I am sure you are now aware, our marriage canna be annulled. We shall have to make the best of it. I promise I will do everythin’ in my power to ensure you are content with the union.”
Isobel frowned. Make the best of it? Content?
She didn’t wish to be content. She didn’t wait all this time to simply be content.
She wanted to be happy. She wished to be loved – like her sisters were loved.
He angled his head as though awaiting her answer.
“As will I.” Taken aback by his statement, she didn’t know how else to respond.
“As long as my sons are happy and well cared for, I will be content.”
Isobel began to think she disliked the word “content” even more than she disliked the word “patient”.
Did he not wish his sons to be loved? Did he not wish to be loved?
Recalling Edeen’s advice, her disquiet eased.
Her sister had warned her that men had a difficult time expressing their love, their emotions – battle-hardened highlanders being the most reticent of all.
Edeen had implied the best place to break through their defences was in the bedchamber.
Isobel might be innocent, but she knew her husband desired her.
She felt it in his touch – his swollen manhood pressed to her belly – saw it in the way he looked at her.
It made perfect sense that her battle for Ewan’s affections would be fought in their bedchambers.
She was certain – in a week at most – her victory would be declared.
Four
Three weeks later, sitting in the great hall breaking her fast, Isobel’s jaw hurt from gritting her teeth and from smiling when it was the last thing she wanted to do.
Her husband was the most infuriatingly frustrating man she’d ever met.
Her plan to win his heart had failed miserably – he had not visited their chambers once since that first night.
If she hadn’t seen him with his sons, she’d think him the coldest, most distant man she’d ever known.
But with Robbie and Connor, he was gentle and loving.
What Isobel wouldn’t give to have him look at her the way he did his sons.
The bairns followed him everywhere he went and not once had Isobel heard him utter an impatient word.