He doesnae ken what he’s doing! Has he never kissed before? Or has he never kissed a woman before? Merciful God, does he prefer men?Abigail’s mind swirled with thoughts as she realized Ronan wasn’t just being respectful and not moving too quickly. He didn’t know how to kiss. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the notion, but she found his efforts endearing. And she found them arousing. She slid the fingers of one hand into his hair as the other rested at the base of his neck, the heel of her hand over his collarbone. When he pulled her against him, she didn’t bother stifling the moan that escaped. Ronan pulled away, uncertain if the sound Abigail made was a moan of pleasure or pain. He lifted his head, but her hand tugged his hair. She went up on her toes and brushed her lips against his.
“Dinna stop yet, Ronan. Let me show ye,” Abigail whispered before drawing him in for another kiss. She took the lead, pressing her tongue into his mouth, encouraging him to twirl his tongue with hers. When he grew more confident, he slid his tongue into her mouth and nearly spilled when she sucked on it. His hardened length had a mind of its own, and it knew what it wanted. He knew he would have no skill nor any finesse, but he wanted to lift Abigail until her legs came around his waist and thrust into her until they were both satisfied. A soft clearing of a throat broke them apart. They both looked in the direction of the guard who studiously avoided looking at them but had sounded the warning.
Ronan opened the door and led Abigail through it before either of them could speak. They walked the few feet in silence before another set of guards opened the doors to the Great Hall. Abigail stepped within and waited for Ronan. She remembered he’d offered to wait until she entered before he would, but she’d hoped after their kisses that he wouldn’t be so hesitant anymore. She moved toward the table where she normally sat, but she glanced back at the door several times, expecting Ronan to walk through. She took her seat and accepted a trencher, but Ronan didn’t appear. She was halfway through her first course before she accepted that he wasn’t attending the evening meal.
Seven
Ronan stood naked in his chamber, sipping a dram of whisky by the fire. Despite easing the ache in his bollocks by taking himself in hand, his body clamored for the feel of Abigail pressed against him. He remembered every moment, every sensation as though it were happening again.
“Dinna stop yet, Ronan. Let me show ye.”
He replayed her few words over and over in his mind. His inexperience hadn’t repulsed her. She hadn’t taunted him or mocked him. She wasn’t smug either, flaunting knowledge he didn’t have. But he couldn’t stop wondering if the choice he’d made years ago had been the wrong one. His father’s voice echoed in his head, taking turns with Abigail’s.
I wish I could have spared yer mother so much pain and embarrassment. She was gracious and stoic, but I ken it hurt her every time she encountered a woman I’d bedded. They had this knowing, condescending gleam in their eyes. Almost possessive even though I never returned to their beds once I wed yer mother. They flaunted ma past with them. She understood it was to make them feel superior to the graceful lady come to marry the laird, but it hurt her and shamed me.
Ye will marry one day, Ronan. What welcome, what home do ye want to offer yer bride? One where at every turn she finds a woman who used to climb all over ye? One where she meets yer bastards before she does her servants? She will be an innocent, and she will expect ye to ken what ye’re doing. But she will fear she doesnae live up to yer past. She will wish there were something special between just the two of ye. Even if ye’re never a love match, she will want to feel like yer wife, nae another whore. If I could only go back, lad. If only.
Ronan took a sip from his mug. His parents were an arranged marriage, but from the beginning, they respected one another. His father never ceased to remind him of the wonderful woman who raised him and how fortunate they both were to have her in their lives. Ronan wasn’t convinced they’d ever fallen romantically in love, but they loved one another. His fatherwould never have hurt his wife intentionally, so Ronan understood why his father held regrets.
As Ronan became a man, and women took notice, his father had taken him into his solar, poured him his first dram of whisky. He’d explained all the unnoticed duties and expectations that came with being laird. Ronan recalled being told that everyone would expect ten times as much from him as they would anyone else because he was the heir and would one day be the laird. His father stressed upon him how every choice and action he took reflected and affected his clan. Ronan knew it was that conversation that made him fearful of saying the wrong thing, made him dread crowds and attention. But he’d worked every day since that one to serve his clan with honor, dignity, and loyalty.
Now he feared it might cost him Abigail. It was clear, even if he hadn’t known about her handfast, that she was more experienced than he was. He hadn’t thought it would be an issue until they kissed. He wasn’t ashamed of his choices or even regretful, but it embarrassed him. He’d assumed he would marry a virgin, and they would each be as lost as the other. He even looked forward to learning the pleasures of the flesh alongside his bride. Now he worried he would disappoint his future bride, be it Abigail or someone else.
He threw back the rest of his whisky before climbing into bed. He stared at the ceiling in the dark for a long time, but eventually the strain of meeting with Robert the Bruce, asking Abigail’s permission to court her, and their kisses overcame him. He drifted off to sleep, but his eyes snapped open with the first rays of sun. He felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. It would be another interminable day.
* * *
Abigail tripped and nearly fell down the stairs as she made her way to join the other ladies for the queen’s morning constitutional. She couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Ronan the night before or, more specifically, their kiss. She’d surprised herself with how much she wanted him to kiss her. At first, she thought she wanted it because the opportunity was there, and she missed the intimacy. In fact, her body often craved release and the feel of a man within her. But she’d soon realized that she wanted Ronan, not just any man, to kiss her. It took her aback completely when she understood that his hesitation wasn’t from trying to keep from overwhelming her, but because he didn’t know what he was doing. Something in her heart melted as her body ached for him to touch her.
But she couldn’t reason through why he didn’t have experience. She kept going back to wondering if he preferred men. She’d never heard of such a thing until she arrived at court. It had left her aghast to hear a woman and two men discuss their planned tryst. She was aware that men sometimes shared a woman, but she’d been unprepared for what the men said they wanted to do with one another.
Is he just another Lathan, even if he swears he’s nae? Does he want to marry me to keep people from kenning his real preferences? Is it a sham? Would he confess if I asked? I dinna want to enter another marriage based on lies, and I dinna want to be made a fool of again. But he seemed to enjoy it? Mayhap he is like those men and likes both men and women. Does he have someone he already loves? Already wants? Is that what he’s doing? Protecting them by using me as a distraction?
Abigail’s mind was aswirl with unanswered questions as she walked across the bailey. A shout drew her attention toward the lists, and she watched as Ronan hurled himself toward a man, knocking them both off their feet. In the blink of an eye, Ronan had the man pinned beneath him and unable to move. Ronan quickly rose and helped the man up. He backed away before motioning for another man to step forward. This time it was his opponent who rushed toward him. Ronan twisted, caught the man’s waist, and brought the man over his shoulder before he landed on top of his opponent. Once more he stood, held out his hand, and helped the man up.
As Abigail struggled to take everything in, she noticed that none of the men wore MacKinnon plaids. There were her guards, who she knew Ronan and his men spent time with. The others were from various clans or the king’s men. She inched closer, not noticing her feet carried her toward the entrance of the lists. She couldn’t hear Ronan’s words, but she watched him give orders to the men, who followed his commands without pause. He instructed them into various battle stances, some with weapons and some without. He had clearly prepared them, so when he motioned for them to begin, it came together in violent synchronicity. Abigail noticed he called out comments as he walked around the men. She couldn’t tell what he said, but she could see the almost immediate corrections.
Abigail was in awe. She’d watched her brother train with his men, and she’d caught sight of Lathan many times while he sparred. But nothing prepared her for what she’d seen when Ronan bested his two opponents, or how the mock battle seemed almost perfect as he coached the men. It was obvious to anyone that Ronan was comfortable in the lists and among fighting men. Abigail suddenly understood that what she had thought of as moments of weakness were not even shyness. Ronan was reserved, an observer. And Abigail witnessed how he used that to his advantage.
Nay mon who commands such respect and trust from men that they dinna even realize how they follow him is a weak mon. I have so misjudged him. At least aboot his abilities as a laird. I thought I’d become a better person, but I did to him just what I did to Maude. I judged him based on what I thought I saw. What is wrong with me? Will I never learn? Ronan doesnae deserve a wife who doesnae have complete faith in him.
Abigail heard the ladies gathering at the entrance to the gardens, so she made her way there. But she felt ill. Her conscience nagged at her for misjudging Ronan—for judging him at all. She might not have understood him, but she knew she was being far too quick to assume the worst. She was angry at herself for behaving just as she used to. She thought she’d become better than that.
“You don’t look well,” Emelie whispered as she walked beside Abigail. “Are you all right?”
Abigail nodded, then kept her chin tucked down. She hoped it looked as though she was shielding her face from the wind when she was trying to avoid crying. Her heart felt heavy enough to pull her off her feet. She looked back over her shoulder in the lists’ direction, but she could no longer see within the walled training area. She faced forward and watched the ground as she walked.
“Did something happen?” Emelie asked. Abigail recognized the suspicion in Emelie’s voice meant she felt protective. Abigail shook her head, unwilling to share with anyone what she’d thought about Ronan or their conversation from the night prior. She certainly wouldn’t share any details about the greatest kiss she’d ever experienced.
It really was the best. I only have Lathan to compare with, but even the most heated kisses with Lathan were naught like with Ronan. It was sweet and tender, but it was lusty and arousing all at the same time. I ken I want to do it again. But I canna lead him on. He deserves a wife who doesnae doubt him.
“Abigail?” Emelie broke through Abigail’s thoughts. “Abigail, you’re not listening. Why don’t you go back to your chamber and rest? If anyone asks, I’ll say you got your courses. No one will ask aught more after that. You don’t look well.”
“Hmm?” Abigail looked at Emelie blankly as she tried to work through the snippets she caught from Emelie’s comments. “Aye. I don’t feel so well, to be honest. Thank you.”
Emelie nodded, and Abigail drifted to the side of the path and watched as the distance grew between her and the group of women. She turned away only to come nose-to-chest with Ronan. She stumbled backward, but his hands shot out and caught her upper arms. He righted her, but his gentleness made her eyes mist. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“Abigail?” Ronan murmured. “You look very peaky. Are you unwell?” Abigail shook her head, then nodded, then shrugged. She didn’t understand how she felt other than conflicted. She knew Ronan waited for her to look at him, but she couldn’t. Wave after wave of shame rolled over her as she chastised herself for passing judgment on Ronan.
