‘Why not. Did you not like it? We can taste pleasure after our trials and warm each other this cold night, Maren.’
She narrowed her eyes and said, ‘Why don’t you go straight to hell and toast your backside there.’
Bryce could not help but smile at her mettle. ‘You really should practice talking more like a lady.’
‘Should I? How about this?’ Maren put the back of her hand to her forehead and fake-swooned. ‘Oh, woe is me. There are no macaroons left. How will I cope? Oh, woe is me. I have missed a stitch on my embroidery. My world has crumbled. Oh, woe is me. I have to spread my legs for my impotent, in-bred fool of a husband.’
‘Who says I am impotent?’ said Bryce glancing down at his manhood which had swollen alarmingly at being close to her. His lust was like a beast clawing at his loins.
She looked up at him with outrage. ‘You are disgusting, Bryce Cullan.’
He shrugged. ‘No argument there. Now, to preserve your delicate sensibilities, I will turn my back, and you can get out of those wet clothes.’ Bryce handed her a blanket and turned around to grapple with his disappointment at her not wanting him. It was a strange sensation to be rebuffed by a woman, as it rarely happened.
When he heard the slap of wet skirts hitting the floor, the urge to look grew intolerable, so he peered over his shoulder.
Maren had her back to him, peeling her shift off over her head. Her figure was buxom yet held onto a pert sweetness. She was no skinny, brittle little thing. Instead, she was sturdy with generous curves and a high, taut bosom that made his loins quicken at the thought of running his hands over her naked flesh. He imagined her breasts, firm and silky and warm. He wanted to taste and touch her, bury his head in the crease of her elbows, armpits, the fragrant cleft between her legs. He wanted to eat Maren up and be in command of every delicious part of the lass, and he wanted her gasping his name into the night. What it would be to master Maren and make love to her relentlessly.
A discreet knock on the door wrenched Bryce from his lusty thoughts, and Maren had wrapped a blanket about her nakedness by the time he opened it. A skinny lass stood before him, bearing a tray of ale, bannocks, and some suspicious-looking carves of meat. She bobbed a shy curtsey as he took the tray and hurried away.
Bryce turned to Maren. ‘Let us eat,’ he said. Maybe that would take his mind off lying with her.
They sat on the bed together, naked and wrapped in blankets, in companionable silence. Maren gulped down over half the food and swigged the ale in a frenzy. It was rather refreshing to watch her eat, for most women picked at their food like birds. She gorged like a stable boy.
‘Well, I see nothing is wrong with your appetite, for food, at least,’ laughed Bryce.
‘I am sorry my appetite for debauchery does not equal yours,’ she said insincerely, tossing aside a hard crust which defied chewing.
‘Ah, ‘twas wrong of me to try. But you’ve a fine face on you, Maren and a fine figure to go with it - enough to turn any man into a fool. I particularly like that little birthmark on your hip.’
‘You looked, you blackguard.’
‘Aye, and I liked what I saw. Now I am for bed and sleep. This day has worn me out.’
Bryce leapt under the covers, and Maren slowly eased in beside him.
She lay stiff with tension as Bryce twisted this way and that. She should not have kissed him, oh, no. But Bryce Cullan was six feet of muscle and temptation, and her many years of abstinence from men since her distasteful marriage, had banked a good deal of pent-up desire. And his kiss had felt so good - warm, sensuous and exciting. Maren struggled to slow the beat of her heart, and even now, with that kiss wiped off her mouth, it still burned. For a moment, Maren had thought she might swoon at the perfection of it.
There had been other kisses over her eighteen years– eager farm boys, all fumble and rush, Lawson with his calculated seduction and Drayton, rough and dominating. There had been scant pleasure to be had, especially with Drayton. His kiss was not to be savoured, only to be endured. Maren shuddered at the memory of her dead husband’s kiss, for even now, the idea of him was like an icy finger running down her spine. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and banished his ghost. She had come a long way since that night and would never sink back to the feeble creature lying under him in quiet endurance.
Even with Bryce’s alarming presence fidgeting beside her in a strange bed in a strange place, her belly did not growl with hunger. It was the warmest and safest she had felt in months. So she burrowed under the blankets, turning her back on Bryce and keeping her distance. And as she sank into sleep, Maren smiled a little in the darkness.
Chapter Ten
Maren snuggled under the blankets, cocooned in warmth and comfort in the half-light of dawn. She did not want to emerge from her slumber and face the day.
‘Wash, dress,’ shouted Bryce, throwing the jade dress at her. ‘I have brought the innkeeper’s daughter to arrange your rats’ nest of hair into something ladylike. After that, we must make haste. I am eager to introduce my comely, young bride at Penhallion. ‘Tis a fine, bright day, lass, and we must be going.’
Maren sat up, rubbing her eyes as the skinny lass from the night before came in, this time bearing a bowl of water and a timid expression.
‘Do the best you can and make haste,’ said Bryce, and the lass leapt back and stammered, ‘Aye, Sir,’ her cheeks aflame as he swept out. He clearly had an admirer.
Maren smiled weakly at the innkeeper’s daughter. A short while later, her smile faded as the lass began tearing at her tangled hair most viciously with a comb. Before long, it was sleek and smooth, and the lass was coiling it up with nimble fingers. Maren had just slipped into the sumptuous dress, and the lass had pulled the stays tight as a vice when Bryce barged back in.
He stopped dead and exclaimed, ‘By God, Maren. Who would have thought that hiding under all that muck was a vision of ladylike beauty.’
‘Do not dare mock me,’ she snapped.
His face became solemn. ‘Believe me. I do not mock, lass. You are beautiful in that dress, though now I come to think on it, you were beautiful without it last night.’ He winked at the innkeeper’s daughter, who reddened and fled in embarrassment.
