She sighed and rested her hands on the smooth wooden tabletop. Not that any of it mattered. She had been traded off again, unable to control her fate. Regardless of his handsome physique, she didn’twantanother husband, especially not one that was naught more than a gaoler.
If the wedding itselfpassed quickly, then the feast his mother had prepared passed in the blink of an eye. Reade wasn’t ready to take this woman who sat stiffly next to him up to his chambers and make her his wife in truth. As everything else hadn’t borne witness to this arrangement, taking Blair to bed this night would seal it. No more recourse. No more chances to weasel out of it. The deed would be done.
Not that he wouldn’t have minded taking the lass to bed. Her hair, bound back at her crown with a ribbon, was as rich and lush as a sweet gingerbread his father had brought home of Edinburgh once. His brain, in its present distraught state, wondered briefly if the hair between her legs was as richly colored and taste as sweet. The blue of her eyes was like ice in winter, hiding every emotion behind her enticing cold stare. Her gauzy gown managed to compress her breasts until they bulged fully over the neckline of her bodice, and every breath seemed to be an invitation.
An invitation Reade longed readily to accept.
He desired her body, of that he had no doubt.
In any other moment of his life, if this cinnamon-haired woman had approached him for a night of passion, he would have swept her into his arms without hesitation and rushed her to the nearest bed, tossed up her skirts, and rammed himself home. Blair was everything he desired in a wife.
Inthismoment, however, parting her legs was thelastthing he wanted to do. At least, his good sense was making that argument. He couldn’t help it that every time she leaned over, exposing her sumptuous decolletage to his view, his cock throbbed painfully under his kilt. He’d been far too long without the company of a woman in his bed, and now this woman,hiswoman, sat enticingly at his side, a woman he had every right to ravish to his delight.
Perchance his lack of bed partners as of late would help him claim Blair in marriage, because his brain did not stop reminding him of who she was.
The hour to leave was approaching, a harrowing deadline that Reade dreaded. At least that’s what he told himself – that the last thing he wanted was to take this woman upstairs to his chambers and bed her. But the feast was growing raucous, and his mother was glaring at him with a vengeance. Reade could delay it no longer. ‘Twas time to do the deed and fulfill his obligation to his family and clan.
Blair jerked back when he rose, recoiling from him, and he narrowed his eyes at her. Aye, she might be a stunning woman, with her shining face and enticing beasts, but why did she seem so frightened? He could smell her fear emanating from her — high and sour and unexpected. She had been married before and knew what to expect in the marriage bed. Was he so hideous in her eyes that she despised the idea of spreading her thighs for him?
This night was only getting worse.
“Come. I’m no’ going to hurt ye. ‘Tis time for us to retire. ‘Tis expected, aye?” he asked as he raised an eyebrow and shifted so she could see his mother’s glaring expression. Then he held out his hand and waited for her to accept it. Christ’s blood! What if she denied him in front of these MacDonalds? They’d call for her head!
Blair dropped her gaze and reached her hand out, grasping his with her cool fingers. Reade exhaled his gratefulness that she had some sense of propriety and closed his hand around her fingers.
Keeping a firm grip on her hand, Reade led her past the drunk and cheering feasters, his large body blocking her from their lurid smiles and crass comments about the marriage bed. He may not care for her overmuch, but she hadn’t chosen this marriage either, and the least he could do was shield her from the crowd’s bawdy comments.
They reached the stairwell in a breathless rush, the curve of the stone wall separating them from the cacophony of the main hall. Blair’s cheeks blazed in a deep pink.
“Thank ye,” she breathed out.
Reade bowed his head briefly. “Of course.”
That was the sum of their marriage feast conversation. She followed him to his chamber door. Here she hesitated, and this time he didn’t use his words to convince her to enter. Keeping with tradition, he easily swept her into his arms. Blair emitted a squeak and flung her arms around his neck, gripping him.
Cradling her in his arms, he kicked the door open and carried his new bride inside his chambers.Nay, now their chambers. Reade rankled at that thought. He had hoped to one day share these quarters with a woman who held his heart, not a woman who represented those who stabbed a knife in it.
Nay, dinna think on that,he commanded himself.
For what it was worth, this washiswedding night, and he was determined to make the best of it.
He set Blair down in the middle of the room where she sunk into the fur rug laid out before the hearth. She brushed a loose strand of hair off her face as she looked around the room. As the eldest son, Reade occupied one of the larger chambers in the east tower, and his rooms included the main curtained bed, near a plain oak wardrobe, a sitting area with a pair of padded, upholstered chairs, and a sturdy table surrounded by chairs under the larger window that overlooked the interior courtyard near the kitchen gardens.
A rough man, Reade nonetheless enjoyed indulgences in his personal chambers. Smooth candles and wall sconces, combined with the fire in the tall stone hearth, provided enough light in the chambers to read or write by. A tapestry of his family crest hung above the hearth, thick embroidery of a strong fist encircled by a belt with the Latin wordsper mare per terras, by sea and by land, sewn on a muted plaid in burgundy reds, black, and deep forest greens. His table, which he used more for a desk, was neat, his quills and inks lined up neatly, his papers stacked to the side. The desk inhabited the perfect spot for morning writing, when sunlight dappled through the window and lighted the table.
He crossed his arms over his burly chest and watched while Blair turned her attention from his domestic luxuries, which were now her luxuries as well, to his four-poster bed. Gray linen curtains hung from the posts and matched the brocade coverlet that topped his high bed. Furs and plaid blankets under the coverlet provided warmth during the cold winter when the damp, frosty air found every gap in the stones. Blair’s eyes focused on the bed. Her face had become a mask, hiding her earlier expression of fear. Reade couldn’t guess what she was thinking.
She tilted her head slightly, looking at Reade from the corner of her eye. Then she huffed out a deep breath, strode with purpose to the bed, and hiking up her wedding skirts, bent over the bed and put her rounded backside into the air.
Whatever Reade might have believed she was thinking,thatwas not it. His eyebrows flew to his hair line, and he rushed to her side, ready to yank her off the bed. Despite his internal protestations, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the perfectly curved, milky-white globes of her backside. Her arse was as enticing as her bosom, and he froze when he got close. He had to force himself not to reach out and sink his fingers into the lush offering of her arse. His cock pulsed under his kilt, hardening in an instant, demanding to find satisfaction between her smooth thighs.
What is she doing?
He opened his mouth to ask when she turned her head on the coverlet and peered at him from under the loose locks of burnished chestnut hair. Her arse might have been inviting, but her eyes flashed like chips of ice.
“Just be quick about it,” she commanded him.
Reade froze. His wedding night was supposed to be one of gentle touches and passionate discovery. Not this. Not bending the woman over and taking her without care. Why was she doing this? His anger at trying to understand Blair’s perplexing actions was as effective as a kick to his ballocks.
