Love. That was the answer, with a healthy dose of lust thrown in. And she was sure it was the same for Bryce, for he barely took his hands off her. He would always be near, touching her, stroking her hair off her face, his mouth on hers every chance he got, as if he worried she would up and disappear one day.
Why would she, when she could not bear to be without him, especially not after this cold morning spent in a little tucked-away kirk at the foot of Crag Dunain – her in a pale yellow dress, the shade of a dawn sun? There was no finery or feasting, but they needed none. They had exchanged vows before a priest, with only Callum as a witness, and now, she was Lady Cullan of Penhallion. A few murmured words professing love and loyalty had wiped out a past of mayhem and darkness. Maren had been washed clean of her sins, and a bright new future with a beautiful man stretched before her.
On their return, Bryce had left her to go and ‘wash the road off,’ he had said. ‘I must rise to the occasion of our wedding night and do right by you.’ It was almost as though he was nervous now that they were wed and he was a proper groom and husband. Maren smiled and paced, awaiting his return. Bryce was such a strange contradiction sometimes. He had made her cut his unruly blonde hair that very morning and dressed in his finest plaid, he had made a dashing sight. Yet he had never cared about appearances before. Why, she had lain with him when they were dishevelled, out in the long grass under the sun, and then on that ship to Durness with salt spray all over them. She remembered tasting it on her tongue as she slid it along his bare chest.
A tap on the chamber door had her turning with a blush burning her cheeks. But it was not Bryce who entered. Instead, a servant came bearing a letter.
Maren took hold of it, and her heart plummeted to her toes. Even after all these years, she could recall her father’s hand. She rushed to the fire and tore open the seal.
The message seemed to have been written by a shaky hand, for the letters sprawled before her eyes as though a spider had been scurrying across the paper, bleeding ink from its legs. But without doubt, it was her father’s writing, and the news within the letter made a strange and macabre wedding present.
‘Daughter, I am writing to tell you that I have discharged my duty to you and despatched that villain, Carver. I gave him the end he so richly deserved, and now you are safe. At the very end, he professed undying love for you, which you will see as a lie, as do I.
It is unlikely we will meet again, for you do not wish it, and I am ailing. So this letter is my farewell. Pray for my immortal soul, Maren, as you sit smugly amidst the finery at Penhallion.’
Maren flung the letter to the floor. It was a repulsive, poisonous thing, capable of choking her throat, blackening her tongue and leaching the life out of her. Must her father’s villainy intrude, even on her wedding day? And must his parting words drip with envy and resentment?
She would not let him taint her day. She had struggled for everything she had, and he would not sour her future. As to Drayton, he might be dead, but still, she felt his shadow looming. She had carried him like a rock in her heart for so long that now he was gone, there was no joy, just resignation. Maren took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Surely, Drayton’s shadow would fade in time, seared away by her newfound happiness? She would put his memory in a box and seal it away in a dark corner of her mind, never to be opened.
Maren sprung to her feet. She took the letter and held it to the fire. Once it flamed, Maren took it to the window and held it out, watching as it blackened and the wind tore it into little flaming shards. Once it was taken and its poison dissolved, she could breathe again.
The door burst open, and Bryce rushed in with a broad smile. His shirt was open, revealing golden hair over an iron-hard chest. Maren was suddenly shy. She had too much feeling in her heart and was afraid it would burst out of her in a rush and that she would cry with relief that she had such a man in her life.
For a moment, Bryce was taken aback by the distraught look on Maren’s face. He had taken his time returning to her to ensure he was presentable. He wanted their first night as man and wife to be a memory they would cherish forever. So far, he had been rather cavalier in his treatment of Maren and had resolved to make it up to her.
To his relief, Maren’s face broke into a smile. ‘Well, aren’t you a sight to behold, Bryce Cullan,’ she said. ‘I think that is the cleanest I have ever seen you.’
‘And you are a sight to behold, too, Mistress Cullan. Beautiful, beyond words.’ His voice broke a little as his throat tightened with love for her.
‘Lady Cullan to you, blackguard,’ she countered, making him laugh.
‘Lady is it? Well, I must own that my intention is not to treat you like a lady tonight, wife.’
‘I would not expect anything less from you, husband.’
‘Why did you look so strange when I came in? Almost fearful.’
‘Twas nothing.’
‘You aren’t regretting our union already, are you?’
‘No, of course not. Are you?’ she said with a frown.
‘I have never done anything so worthy as to marry you this day, Maren. And I will not stand to have you unhappy. Ask anything of me, lass, and I will give it to you.’
She rushed to Bryce and kissed him thoroughly, pressing herself to his chest and making his manhood stir. When she broke away, Maren stared into his eyes, her own, aflame with passion.
‘I want only one thing from you this night, Bryce Cullan,’ she said.
‘And what is that?’
‘Make me feel good. Make me forget. Make me yours.’
Bryce understood without her needing to explain. In a rush of feeling, he began to pluck at the stays and buttons on her pretty dress until her clothes fell away, and she stood naked before him. She cast her eyes down as if she was suddenly shy, which he found perplexing.
‘Maren, do you want me, for I intend to consummate our union as often as possible?’
‘Of course, I want you.’
