There was little to do inside the bedchamber to pass the time as she waited. Christina was tempted to pull out her book from the hiding place in her trunk, but she wasn’t sure how her husband would react to the knowledge of her learning. Her father’s reaction was still too fresh in her mind, and her marriage still too new. Though she did not think he would be angry, her husband was painfully difficult to read. Just when she thought she was getting a glimpse of the real man behind the fearsome warlord, the steel curtain slammed back down with a resoundingthud.
So she tried embroidery. But after a few pricks of the needle, she realized her nervous energy was not exactly conducive to needlework, so she put it away. If she had chalk and a piece of slate—which she didn’t—she could draw. If she were more like her sister, she could pray. Though for what she didn’t know. Patience? Maidenly modesty? Both would be welcome at this point. She feared she was too eager for this night, and that perhaps her eagerness was unseemly. She was an innocent maid; she should be quaking in fear, not tingling with excitement in places that she should not think about.
She almost regretted sending Mhairi away so early, but she hadn’t expected to be waiting half the night. It must be near midnight by now.
She did regret refusing the bottle of the sweet wernage wine the wise serving woman had offered to fetch. Anything to take the edge off her frazzled nerves.
Tired of watching the shadows from the flame of the candle flicker across the ceiling, Christina tossed off the bedcovers and hopped out of bed. The shock of cold air on her skin and feet from the icy stone floor felt strangely calming. She paced until the candle dwindled to nothing. Until the Hall was painfully quiet.
He wasn’t coming after all.
Telling herself that it was nothing, that there was no reason for the tightness burning in her chest, she forced herself to lie back down on the bed. The tears, however, were harder to stop.
What was wrong with her? Did her husband not want her?
The numbness of sleep beckoned, hovering like an oasis just out of reach. She’d almost succumbed when the door opened.
The sound startled her fully awake. Instinctively, she grasped the cover to her chest. In the darkness, she could just make out the shadow of his massive form in the doorway. He stood stone still. Though he had yet to enter, his presence seemed to fill the room.
“You’re still awake,” he said.
The edge in his voice caused the hairs on her arms to rise. “Aye,” she said softly. He was the most terrifying man she’d ever beheld, but never had she felt his danger so intensely. He seemed like a man about to do battle, rather than a man about to make love to his bride. A fierce aura surrounded him. His long, muscular limbs seemed taut and strained.
All of a sudden she felt a trickle of fear. He wouldn’t hurt her, would he?
Closing the door behind him, he crossed the room in virtual darkness. Only the soft rays of moonlight streaming through the wood planks of the shutters softened the blackness.
Her senses prickled. Her heartbeat raced. After days of wondering, of waiting, the time was finally here. They were alone. And unlike before, they were both aware of the fact—and of what was coming. It crackled in the night between them.
Now that he was here, she was a little bit frightened, but even more, she was scared that she would somehow disappoint him.
Her eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness, and she could see him unclasp the large pin at his neck and unwrap the plaid from around his shoulders. He removed the rest of his clothes with equal matter-of-factness—as if he were alone in the room and not having his every move dissected by a wide-eyed, shallow-breathing, very nervous bride.
Business. Duty. The words came to her unheeded. Was that what she was to him? she thought with a pang. She wanted to make it good for him.
She swallowed when he turned and started toward the bed, the smooth outline of his muscles revealed by the shadows leaving no doubt that he was naked. She would have blushed but was too overwhelmed. Power. Strength. Vitality. His body was a fortress. Raw masculinity in its most impressive form.
A most unmaidenly thought sprang to mind: Too bad the candle had gone out.
Perhaps he heard the shortness of her breath, because when he slid in beside her, he said, “There is nothing to fear. I will be gentle. It will be nothing like last time.”
She didn’t know whether that was good or bad. The last time had been quite amazing—to a point.
The bed dipped with his weight. Her heart wasn’t racing any longer because it had come to a jolting stop. He hadn’t touched her, but he was close enough for her to feel the brace of cold on his skin.Cold with wind. “You’ve been outside?” she asked, surprised. She’d thought he was with his men in the solar.
He stilled. “Aye.”
“Where were you? Is something wrong?”
She could feel his eyes on her, piercing the veil of darkness. “It is nothing that concerns you,” he said.
She frowned at the non-answer. If it concerned him, it concerned her. Surely, he was the most recalcitrant man she’d ever known. But before she could question him further, he leaned down on his side to stretch out alongside her, completely erasing all other thoughts from her mind.
Gently, he pried the covers she was still clutching from her fingers and tossed them to the side. She could feel the weight of his body pressing against her side. Even through her chemise, her skin flamed at the contact.
“There’s only one thing I want to think about right now.” His voice was deep and sultry, full of wicked promise.
She shuddered when she felt his finger trace the faintest line over the contour of her breast, the feathery touch making every nerve ending stand on edge. Her heart pounded in her throat. “What’s that?” she managed, her voice a soft breath.
