Surprised to find herself in her husband’s arms, Arabella began to pummel him with her fists, and he had some slight difficulty in controlling his stallion. Pulling the annimal to a halt, Tavis Stewart leapt to the ground and placed his wife on her feet. Arabella swung on him with a fist, and he ducked the blow.
“I hate you!’’ she screamed at him. “I want to kill you!’’ Her pale features were bright with her fury.
“Why?’’ Her vehemence took him somewhat off guard. Why the hell should she hate him?
“The thought of you with that…that…bitch! The thought that you lay with her even as you have lain with me is unbearable!” Arabella said.
Jealous.She was jealous! Suddenly his anger dissolved, and grasping his wife by the shoulders, he looked down into her face. “Why?”he demanded.
“Because I love you!I love you, you arrogant bastard! I love you!’’ Arabella shouted at him, and then she slapped him across his face with every ounce of her strength, even as she burst into tears.
He shook his head at the vagaries of women, even as he rubbed his cheek. “I love ye too, Arabella Stewart,” he said softly. “Perhaps we should go home, lassie, so I may prove the depth of my devotion to ye.”
Had she actually uttered those fateful words? Why had she said them? Arabella allowed her husband to place her back upon his saddle, even as he mounted up behind her. She felt weak now that her wrath had drained away, and she leaned back, silently wondering just when it had gone and what had possessed her to utter those fateful words. She couldn’t possibly love him. Love was pure, and airy, and sweet! Wasn’t it? It couldn’t be this dreadful feeling that left her bereft at the thought of losing this man to another woman. It couldn’t be!
Tavis Stewart drew his horse to a halt before the door to his town house. Dismounting, he lifted his wife down, cradling her in his arms, carrying her inside past the startled servants and up the stairs to their bedchamber. Behind him he could actually feel the delighted amusement of his clansmen, and their approval as well. Arabella’s hot temper was but an indication to them that she would give Dunmor strong children.
Entering their bedchamber, he ordered Flora and Lona out with a silent nod of his head. They closed the doors behind them, even as he set Arabella upon her feet and began the process of disrobing her. She stood mutely, even meekly, as he removed her velvet bodice and her long skirts. Her body was too young, too perfect for a corset, and she wore none, so he removed her camisa, leaving her to stand nude in her stockings and her shoes. He quickly removed them, and taking her face between his two hands, he kissed her passionately.
For a moment her lips remained lifeless, but suddenly she was kissing him in return. Kissing him with a fervor that left him breathless with his own rising desire. Her slender fingers pulled his garments from him, his elegant doublet, his silken shirt. Her lips were leaving his and moving across his chest. He kicked his shoes off, standing first on one foot and then the other to draw his stockings off as she unfastened his kilt, which she let fall to the floor.
He slid to his knees before her, his mouth scorching a fiery path across her torso. She whimpered, holding his dark head in tender embrace even as he pressed his lips into the shadowed valley between her breasts. Beneath his lips he could feel the frantic beat of her heart, and he was consumed with passion for his wife as he had never before been consumed with passion for a woman. His manhood was hot and hard with his need for her. Leaning back upon his haunches, he lifted her up and then gently impaled her, sliding into her silken love cave, groaning as she wrapped her legs about him, gluing her lips to his once again.
Instinctively she rode him, arms tangled about his neck, pressing forward just slightly so that her firm, young breasts pushed against his chest. He slid his hands beneath the twin halves of her bottom, drawing her closer, reveling in the working of her muscles beneath the soft flesh.
“Tell me!”he gasped, pulling his head away from hers.
“Tell you what?’’ she whispered back at him, unable to meet his gaze, for he had certainly never taken her like this, in this way, upon the floor.
“Tell me that ye love me, Arabella Stewart, as I love you!”
She shook her head wordlessly.
“Tell me!Ye said it out on the high road, lovey, for all to hear. Say it now but for me, my wee wife!”
“I was mistaken! It cannot be love that I feel, my lord. There is too much pain!” she cried softly.
“Aye! There is pain in love, Arabella Stewart, but there is sweetness too. Ye love me, lassie, and I love ye too. Tell me now,” he coaxed her gently, and taking her face in his hands, looked deep into her eyes.
“God help me,” she sobbed, “but I do love you, Tavis Stewart!I do!”and she began to cry.
“Nay, lassie, dinna greet,” he said, and covering her beautiful face with his kisses, he pressed her back upon the floor before the softly glowing fire and pushed deep into her. “I love ye,” he murmured into her hair, unfastening it now from its intricate arrangement of braids, letting his fingers comb through the silkiness of it. “I love ye, Arabella Stewart, and tonight we will make a bairn between us. A fine, strong bairn, and I dinna care, lassie, if it be a son or a daughter. It will be a bairn created from the love we hae for each other. The love and the passion!’’
She heard him, heard his words even as her own desires began to soar with his expert loving. She wanted his child! Aye, she did, and she remembered that Meg had said wanting a man’s child was an indication that you really loved him. A son for Dunmor, or a daughter for Greyfaire? Dunmor was a certainty. Greyfaire was not. Arabella shuddered with her passion, but even as she did, the insidious thought that her destiny was once again being planned for her without her consent crept into her consciousness.
“I cannot be content without Greyfaire!” she cried.
“I will get ye yer damned keep back, madame,’’ he promised her, “but first I will get ye wi’ my bairn!”
The intensity of his voice excited her. “Fill me full of your seed, Tavis Stewart,” she said to him fiercely. “Fill me full! I would have a daughter for Greyfaire!”
“A son for Dunmor!” he countered, and laughed when she sank her teeth into his hard shoulder in her heated desire.
Chapter Ten
The Earl of Dunmor’s passion for his young wife was a scandal that delighted a court seldom amused by anything. No man but the king might speak with Arabella Stewart, that he was not in danger of being challenged to a duel—even Prince James, who it seemed took great pleasure in teasing his uncle with regard to his wife. Jamie Stewart had all the qualities of a perfect Renaissance prince. He was intelligent, even as his father was, and well-educated, but where the king was solemn and thoughtful in his manner, the prince was charming, spirited, warm-hearted, and gay. The king was standoffish except with those who took his fancy, the prince was far easier to know. If he had one fault, it was his appetite for the ladies, particularly in view of his youth. Women twice his age sought his bed, and the prince disappointed few of them. The Countess of Dunmor, however, continued to elude Jamie Stewart, a fact that made her appear even more desirable in the prince’s eyes.
The Scottish nobility, always restless, rarely content with their lot, were openly favorable of the heir over their king, even as they had once favored James III’s younger brothers over the king. The resulting chaos that had followed their previous meddling was still fortunately bright within their collective memories, and so the earls, the highland lords, and the bonney lairds on the borders held their peace for the time being. Besides, Jamie was young despite his vigorous wenching, which was approved of and encouraged by his father’s enemies. His brothers were younger yet, and no one wanted another minority king controlled as James III had been controlled in his youth by the Boyds, or as James II in his minority had been controlled by Sir Alexander Livingstone and Sir William Crichton. Scotland wanted a strong king, and James III, despite his deep love for the arts and his ability to keep the peace, simply did not fill the bill.
