“If you’re asking whether or not I intend to wait until our wedding night to make love to you…” He paused, considering it. “It’s very tempting to ignore the terms, since they’ve already been breached.” She sucked in a breath, and he took his time to peruse her face. “Do I make you nervous, lass? Are you afraid of me?”
“No, I am not afraid.” But she was. Heaven help her, she was.
He looked down at her lips, then leaned in for a deep, wet, demanding kiss that tested the genuineness of her surrender. One arm slid around her waist and pulled her close, while the other remained braced against the wall. The texture of his tongue sent all her nerve endings into a buzzing state of awareness, while a shock of pleasure rippled outward from her lips down to her belly. His spiky whiskers rubbed against her chin, and she marveled at the strangely gratifying pain.
Slowly, he backed away. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Don’t work yourself into such a tizzy,” he said. “I’ll honor my word. You can keep your precious virginity for a few more days.”
“Thank you.”
“Save your gratitude for our wedding night,” he said, as he turned to leave, “because I suspect you’ll want to thank me then. Repeatedly.”
He disappeared quickly down the curved staircase, and Gwendolen exhaled sharply with relief.
Chapter Eleven
Four days later, after speaking vows before God in the chapel and pledging herself, body and soul, to the leader who had conquered her clan, stolen her home, and claimed her as his bride, Gwendolen followed Angus into his bedchamber.
Dozens of candles had been lit. A hot fire blazed in the hearth. The room smelled of rose petals and wine, but not even those extravagant luxuries could calm the storm of her anxieties—for she would soon be lying naked in bed with the great Scottish Lion.
He turned and shot a threatening glance at the drunken MacDonald clansmen who had followed them up the stairs, teasing and heckling. The men halted on the spot, then backed away and stumbled into one another as he shut the door in their faces.
He twisted the key in the lock, then turned toward Gwendolen, who stood in front of the window, uncertain about what to do next. Remembering the promises she had made—to be a devoted and dutiful wife—she raised a slightly trembling hand and pulled the pins from her hair, then shook it down her back, determined to do her best to please her husband tonight. If he was happy with her, she might eventually gain his trust and secure a more comfortable, influential role for herself, where she would not fear him quite so much.
He strode forward, his eyes fixed on hers as he slid the tartan off his shoulder. He unbuckled his leather belt, along with his dress sporran, and tossed everything onto a chair. Next he pulled his shirt off over his head, and stood before her, naked.
Gwendolen’s lips parted, and she strove to control her breathing as she regarded his beautiful, gleaming body in the candlelight. Firm, thickly muscled, and marked with battle scars, he was an extraordinary image of strength and virility. Her curious eyes took in the contours of his chest, and the ripples of sinew across his torso. Down lower, he was copiously aroused, and the sight of his full male genitalia made her tremble with shock and apprehension. How was she ever going to survive this? How would she know what to do? She felt a strange heat from within, while her mind catapulted with nervous tension.
For a long while, they beheld each other, saying nothing. But what was there to say? Gwendolen knew what was expected of her on this night, and she had done everything she could to prepare herself.
Determined to relax and heed her mother’s advice—which was to embrace and enjoy this experience—she lifted her hair and piled it on top of her head, then turned her back to her husband, waiting for him to unhook her gown.
He took his time undressing her. He removed one article of clothing at a time, then lightly tossed each piece to the floor—the stiff brocade stomacher, the skirts and petticoats and wide, whalebone hoops. Gwendolen raised her arms over her head while he removed the linen chemise, then at last he stepped back to take in her naked form in the dim candlelight.
She blinked up at him timidly.
“Do not fear me, lass. I give you my word, I’ll do my best to be gentle.”
“I cannot help but fear you,” she replied. “Not long ago, I watched you fight a battle in the bailey and kill dozens of my clansmen. I saw how you claimed what you wanted—by force.”
She shivered in a sudden draft, and he held out a hand. “You’re cold. Come. Get into bed. You’ll feel warmer soon enough, and less fearful of me, I hope.”
He led her to the canopied bed and pulled back the thick covers. She climbed onto the luxurious feather mattress and slid her legs between the sheets.
Angus blew out all the candles in the room, then got in beside her. Now, there was only the firelight to illuminate his face. Gwendolen marveled at his handsome features—his unfathomable blue eyes and strong, chiseled cheekbones. She could barely wrap her mind around the fact that the great Scottish Lion, Angus MacDonald, was her husband and she had pledged herself to him today before her clan and under the eyes of God. Tonight he would seal that sacred union. He would make love to her, and perhaps put a child in her womb.
Slowly, he inched closer and laid a large, heavy hand on her belly. Closing her eyes, she thought of the lion in her dreams. Powerful, exotic, sensual, he had come to her in a meadow, rich with colorful wildflowers and thistledown that floated in bright shafts of sunlight. In the dream, she was engulfed by humid summer warmth, and never felt afraid. She longed only to stroke the lion’s thick mane. She held out her hand and lured him closer. He licked her wrist, and his tongue soon found the sensitive flesh at her neck.
Gwendolen opened her eyes when Angus settled himself on top of her, his skin hot against her own. She slipped her arms around his waist and felt the solid bands of muscle at his lower back.
“Are you still afraid?” he asked, his voice husky as he kissed behind her ear. Her body responded in a tingle of gooseflesh.
She thought of the dream again and remembered how it felt to be completely unafraid and aching to touch the lion, but dreams were not the same as reality. Her belly was tied up in knots. Her heart was pounding wildly.
“Aye, but I can’t seem to do anything about it.”
He looked into her eyes. “I’ll only take you when you’re willing, lass, so give me a chance to make it so. Can you relax for me?”
