He rolled off her and, laying next to her in the big bed, said, “Nay, sweetheart, ye’ve not displeased me. I am angered at myself, for I was so damned hot for ye that I was only interested in my own pleasure and gae ye none. ’Twill not happen again, Velvet, I promise ye. I behaved like a green boy, spilling my seed so quickly.”
She really didn’t quite understand what he meant, and so, innocently, she soothed him. “You didn’t hurt me greatly, Alex. After the first pain it was rather pleasant. Really it was!”
He laughed gently. “Pleasant, Velvet, is not quite what it should have been. There should have been a lovely melting feeling, and I know that ye did not receive that, did ye?”
“Nay,” she answered him, puzzled. “A melting feeling? Nay, I had no melting feeling. Is it necessary, this melting feeling?”
“Not necessary, but wonderful, sweetheart. Gie me time to recover myself and then we shall love again. Ye hae made me very happy, lovey, and I would make ye happy also.” He put an arm about her and said gently, “Sleep now, sweetheart. ’Tis been an exciting day for us both.”
When Velvet opened her eyes again, the gray dawn was just beginning to filter through the narrow windows of the room. For a second she forgot where she was, but then Alex snored lightly beside her and she remembered. Curious, she sat up and stared down at him. It was the very first time she had really looked hard at him, and in sleep there was a vulnerability about him he did not have when awake. Just above his left eyebrow was a tiny scar that she had not noticed before. Gently she reached out and touched it, letting her fingers trail softly down his jawline. He was really quite attractive, this man who was her betrothed husband, even if he was totally impossible to get along with and far more stubborn than anyone else she had ever known in her whole life.Her husband.This man was her husband. Nay! She was betrothed to him, but he was not her real husband yet, and neither a handfast marriage nor a Calvinist preacher could make it so if she would not accept it. When her parents returned from the Indies, when they were properly wed in a church by a priest of their own religion,thenshe would accept him as her husband.
“Ye’re even beautiful when ye frown,” he remarked, opening his wonderful eyes.
She smiled at him, noticing that his speech had become even more Scots in character since they had crossed over the border yesterday. “How did you get the scar over your eye?” she asked him.
“When I was a boy, my brother Nigel and I were practicing with swords and his foot slipped. My father beat him for it, and me also. He said we should have been better swordsmen.” He reached up and pulled her down. “I want ye, lass,” he said thickly, and then he was kissing her.
She had no fear of the unknown this time, and her body softened against him. She felt his hands smoothing down her back to cup and caress her buttocks, and then he turned her onto her back, finding her breasts once more and loving them with both his hands and his mouth. Velvet found his touch delicious and murmured her approval of his actions. Her lovely young breasts grew swollen with her longing as the nipples began to ache, becoming tiny and tight.
His hand slipped down her body, sliding between her legs, and she tensed slightly, but he kissed her ear and whispered, “Nay, sweetheart, but trust me.” His fingers were incredibly gentle, and for a moment she hardly realized that he was stroking her soft secret. Then without warning that little jewel began to tingle with such an intense feeling that very quickly the only thing she was conscious of was the fierce throbbing.
“Oh.” She gasped softly. “Oh! Oh!”
Twisting his big body, Alex swung over Velvet and, in one smooth motion, drove into her. Again she gasped, but the sound was one of pleasure. His hands rested on her hips, holding her firmly as he moved upon her, and this time it was far different than it had been the night before. Her senses were awash with pleasure, and behind her closed eyes images whirled in a pinwheel of kaleidoscopic colors.
Velvet met passion head-on for the very first time, her head thrashing wildly. She was lost in a blazing world, and, sure now of her pleasure, Alex took his own.
When afterward she became aware of herself and her surroundings again, Velvet lay quietly next to Alex, waiting for her breathing to even and her heart to stop pounding wildly. Finally she said, “ ’Twas more like an explosion than a melting, my lord.”
Reaching out, he took her hand in his and squeezed it. “I love ye, my Velvet Gordon, Countess of BrocCairn. I love ye very much.”
“I—I love you, too, Alex,” she admitted finally. “Oh, but please understand how I feel about our wedding! I know now that my fear of you, of the marriage bed, was nothing but maiden foolishness, but I honestly do not feel married to you, and I won’t until we are wed before my family by a priest of our own church. Take me back to England and let us wait until the spring when my parents will return. I am yours, Alex. I am yours now and for always! Do this for me, my lord … husband.”
“Nay, Velvet! Nay! We are home in Scotland. We are far closer toDun Brocthan we are to London. By spring ye could be wi’ child, our child!”
“A bastard child!” she flung at him. “Would you bring that shame upon me? You say you love me!”
“He’ll be no bastard, Velvet! We are wed under the laws of Scotland and in the eyes of the new kirk!”
“But not in the eyes of the church in which we were both raised, Alex!”
He had no answer to give her. Angrily he flung himself from their bed and, pulling on his clothes, slammed wordlessly from the room.
Velvet lay silently for a long moment, and then she felt a tear slide down her cheek. “Damn you, Alexander Gordon,” she whispered to herself. “You’re the most impossible man I’ve ever met!
I’ll not be beaten though, my fine love! I’ll get back to England, and you’ll marry me properly before any child of ours is birthed. That I can promise you!” Then, yanking the crumpled covers back up over her naked shoulders, Velvet snuggled down in the bed and fell asleep.
My true Love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driven.
—Sir Philip Sidney
James Stewart, the sixth of his name and king of Scotland, glared at his cousin, the Earl of BrocCairn, saying, “Ye’ve got to take her back to England, Alex! What in hell possessed ye, anyway?”
