He stepped away from her and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Yes… I mean no. I haven’t thought that women will simply fall into my arms. Life doesn’t work like that.’
‘Somehow, I doubt that.’
‘Has Sigmund been telling tall tales? I apologise once again for the behaviour of my younger and unwise self, but my memory differs to his.’
‘Don’t worry. Maer never really mentioned you either.’ She waited a beat and knew she was treading a very fine line, bantering with him in this way. ‘I simply know the type from what little I’ve gleaned. I’ve encountered men like you before and resisted them all.’
His smile warmed her all the way down to her toes. ‘And here I like to think of myself as unique. Consider me told. Will you be able to resist me when the time comes for our wedding night?’
She made a brief curtsey. ‘We both know the why behind the marriage. Best to be honest about such things.’
‘But will you be honest about your attraction to me?’
‘Best that we keep this as pleasant as possible.’ She was vaguely proud of the answer.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘As pleasant as possible? What exactly are you offering?’
‘A marriage without expectations,’ she said quickly. ‘We will forge a working partnership. I’ve seen it happen. Against the odds, Astrid and her second husband made it work.’
He grasped her hand and brought her knuckles to his mouth. The light touch sent a fresh tremor coursing through her. She knew her body wanted far more than simply platonic, but she also knew she’d require more than two bodies meeting in the night. And she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to give any man, particularly Rand, whose heart belonged to his late wife, that sort of power over her.
‘Here I leave you, lovely lady,’ Rand said, turning her palm over and brushing it with his lips. ‘Until our wedding day tomorrow. I await with anticipation all that follows. You’re right. It can be pleasant for both of us, provided we take the time to enjoy it.’
He let her hand go and strode away. She pressed her hand to her mouth, hating that suddenly she was looking forward to the wedding night.
* * *
‘Do you think this will be enough to keep the high king’s anger at bay—’ Rand’s helmsman asked ‘—you marrying Lady Svanna? She isn’t even from Islay proper.’
‘Máel Sechnaill must accept it. The possibilities are far beyond what he hoped for. Agthir has power in the North.’ Rand concentrated on polishing his sword and the other little tasks he needed to have done before the ceremony later that day.
He kept telling himself that it was the obvious solution, not only to save his cousin but also to provide security for Birdie.
With each task complete, his thoughts circled anew to Svanna and his unexpected attraction towards her. After nearly four years of denying his physical needs, his body screamed for the release her body would bring, but he also wanted to make sure she participated with enthusiasm and didn’t fear him. Someone somewhere had made her nervous about the physical act. He silently cursed that unknown lover for what he’d done to her. And even though his seduction skills were rusty, he suspected that, given time, he could show her how pleasant joining with him could be.
‘The lady in question is easy on the eye.’
‘Keep a civil tongue in your head,’ Rand said, dropping the sword with a loud clang. He hated how a surge of jealousy went through him. ‘Some things are best kept private.’
From the assembled multitude’s catcalls, he knew they expected him to perform his duty, possibly in public or at least providing physical proof such as bloodstains on the sheets. He intended to enjoy his pursuit of Svanna, but he needed to ensure they all had the impression that the marriage had been consummated, vigorously and completely. Stabbing his thigh for the sheets, something his late wife had done as they had anticipated the marriage night before they were married, was a possibility. Máel Sechnaill had seemed none the wiser, and it would be the same thing here.
‘No need to bite my head off. We are happy for you.’
‘Funny way of showing it.’
His helmsman gulped hard. ‘We all know what you were like in the first days and weeks after your wife’s death. Máel Sechnaill remarked on it. I wondered if he’d sent his daughter to tempt you. She resembles Bridget.’
Rand scrunched up his nose. It did sound like something Máel Sechnaill would do—he knew Rand objected to forced marriages, particularly of young brides to men old enough to be their grandfathers. ‘Rhiannon never tempted me to do anything. Only brotherly affection exists between us. Svanna made the offer. Because of political necessity, I accepted.’
The man’s mouth dropped open. ‘You rushed into a hall to save her.’
Rand shook his head. The rumour mill typically had it backwards. ‘Lady Svanna and I agreed a strategic marriage, forced by necessity to benefit our countries. Nothing more.’
‘If you say so, my lord.’
‘A difference exists between the sudden all-consuming passion Bridget and I experienced and the strategic blood alliance the Lady Svanna and I must share.’
He didn’t want to think about their fights over the smallest things, Bridget’s sulks at the time he’d spent away on her father’s business, or how they’d grown apart during her pregnancy. The guilt at his staying away because it had been easier occasionally clogged his throat and made it hard for him to sleep, even after all this time. As a reminder of his failings, he kept ataflboard set to the last game they had played beside his bed at Donaghmoyne. He’d been called away to attend some minor matter for her father, much to her disgust. She’d overturned the board in her fury but must have set it back to where they were as he’d found the game in their special place after her death.
