“Can we have this argument later?” He nibbled on her ear as he finished unlacing her clothing.
“I shouldnae give in.” She heard the huskiness in her voice and knew she had already given in.
“Oh, aye, give in. Ye can scold me later.”
With a sigh of both pleasure and resignation, she decided he was right. She could make her displeasure with him known later. It might not be the best, right, or even wisest thing to do, but she needed what he offered. She ached for it.
When he removed the last of her clothing and they were finally flesh to flesh, she lost the last of her reluctance. She reveled in what he made her feel. Each stroke of his hand and tongue fed her passion until it took command of her. A soft cry of urgency and satisfaction escaped her when he finally joined their bodies. She used her arms and legs to hold him close as they worked as one to find release. The sound of their cries blending, the proof of how their passion was matched and shared, only added to the richness of her pleasure. She willingly accepted his weight when he collapsed on top of her, his sated body as limp as hers.
“Jennet?” Hacon eased the deep intimacy of their embrace but remained sprawled on top of her, lazily nuzzling her breasts.
“Mmmm?” Idly she moved her hand down his side and caressed his smooth hip.
“Do ye love me?”
“Aye.”
It took a moment for Jennet to realize what she had just so blithely admitted. She was faintly aware of Hacon turning onto his back and hugging her tightly. In her mind that brief whispered conversation was repeated and repeated. Realizing she had been tricked, she gave a cry of outrage and hit Hacon, pulling free of his hold so that she could hit him again.
“Ye wretch! Ye sneaking, wretched mon!” she cried as she tried to keep hitting him.
Laughing and occasionally grunting as her small fists struck his flesh, Hacon wrestled with her until he got her pinned beneath him. His laughter faded as their eyes met. Before she was able to avert her gaze, he saw the glint of tears in her lovely eyes. That sweet confession which so delighted him had clearly left her very upset. He was not sure he understood why.
“Come, loving.” He brushed a kiss over her mouth and gently smoothed a few strands of hair from her face. “Why are you so troubled?” He continued to toy with her hair, idly trying to recall when during their impassioned lovemaking he had undone her braid.
“Ye tricked me into speaking.” She covertly studied him, slowly realizing that her confession had pleased him.
“Weel, it seemed to be the only way to get you to say what ye felt. I needed to ken what was in your heart.”
“And what about whatIneed to hear? Ye pull the words from me yet give me none. Ye now ken all, and I ken naught.”
“Naught?” He regarded her in surprise, propping himself up on his forearms. “Of course ye ken how I feel. Women always ken such things. ’Tis as plain as the nose upon my face. Everyone kens how I feel. ’Tis almost embarrassing,” he grumbled. “Ye are making jest with me.”
Jennet was filled with a mixture of emotions. He was, yet was not, telling her all she ached to hear. That brought her a pleasure so deep and all-encompassing she felt very close to tears.
But she also felt deeply annoyed, thoroughly disgusted with what she saw as a common male thickheadedness. He was honestly surprised that she did not simply know. Because he knew why he did what he did, he assumed that she would too. With the trick he had just played on her, she had proved that he needed to hear the words, yet he could not seem to understand that she did too. She still had a strong urge to hit him.
“Could ye explainhowI was supposed to ken something ye ne’er saw fit to tell me?” she asked.
“Weel, there is this pas—”
“If,” she quickly interrupted, “ye mean to say the fact that ye bedded me was some great sign, I should think again, husband.”
He rubbed his chin and eyed her warily. “That doesnae say much to you?”
“Hacon, many a mon can bed most any woman or lass as long as she is still breathing. Aye, even if they have to put a sack o’er her head.” She could see that he wanted to laugh, but he wisely repressed that urge. “A mon’s passion doesnae tell a woman much. She doesnae ken if he feels or doesnae feel the same way with others. ’Tis clear my passion told you verra little about what was in my heart, even though I had ne’er been with a mon before. Why should your passion tell me anything about what is in your heart?”
“Fair enough. Weel, there is the way I have always treated you. Have I not behaved toward you in a manner that told you how I felt? Have I not protected you, even to the point of putting myself and my men at risk?”
“Ye have done the same for Murdoc.”
He muttered a curse and regarded her with mild annoyance. “I took ye as my wife. Was that so unimportant too?”
“Nay, none of what ye have done was ever unimportant. Certainly not your wedding me. Howbeit, it doesnae tell me anything, not positively. Not even that ye took me for your wife, as ye are an honorable mon and I was a virgin of respectable birth.”
Groaning softly, he pressed his forehead to hers. “We have been a fine pair of fools, havenae we?”
“We?” she murmured, slipping her arms about his neck. “Ye certainly have. I wouldnae sayIhave.”
