She tried to reinforce her bravery, determining if obedience and appearance was all he wanted out of a mate, then she would oblige him. No love, no real warmth or affection. She would strive to give him what he demanded in a spouse. An efficient machine, the perfect chatelaine.
…. but how could she live with the man and not become attached to him? She was already dangerously attached to him.
“You do not dream of him anymore?” she heard his voice behind her, barely audible.
She refused to respond and risk greater hurt. She had no desire to speak with him at the moment, at least not until she regained her composure.
Suddenly, Midas charged past her and blocked the road. She stopped, refusing to look at Alec as he dismounted his charger.
“Tell me that you do not dream of him anymore,” he said quietly.
“What do you care?”
He did not say anything for a moment. “You are my wife. I shall not have you dreaming of another man.”
She let out a choke of disbelief, amazed at his selfishness and arrogance. “Is that all you care about? That I am your wife and you fear the memory of a dead man? Good lord, Alec, are you so self-centered and insecure?”
“Nay,” his voice was a faint whisper. “You are my wife and…. I do not wish to share you. If you dream, I would have you dream of me.”
“I did dream of you!” she cried, her voice shaking with emotion. “Dreams were all I had last night as you saw fit to vacate our bed in favor of…. other arrangements.”
“I did not retire at all last night. Simon and I spent the entire night recollecting the days of glory.”
She shook her head in exasperation and pushed past him again, resuming her walk. “No more, Alec. I am weary of this conversation.”
“Peyton,” he called after her, his tone almost pleading. “Do not walkaway. Please…. I am sorry. I did not mean what I said when I told you to dream of your love.”
“Aye, you meant it,” she came to a halt. “You knew exactly how to hurt me and you did. How would you feel if I brought up Peter maliciously? ’Twould be salt on an open wound.”
He lowered his gaze and she could see his jaw ticking. “I am sorry. I was angry and I should not have said what I did.”
She moved toward him, slowly closing the distance. When she was directly in front of him, she put her hands to his face and forced him to meet her bejeweled eyes.
“Listen to me well, husband. Last night, I was fearful for your life. I could see your guts spilled on the floor as you fought those knights and it frightened the wits from me. Alec, were you to die, I would never recover and the passion of my feelings has nothing to do with James,” she lowered her voice as she witnessed the soft expression on his face. “I lived through James’ death, my Alec. But I would refuse to survive yours. There would be nothing left to live for.”
His mouth worked as if he was attempting to reply, but he gave up. “Oh, Peyton,” he whispered, his great hands rising to grasp her face. “I…. oh, Christ….”
His lips slanted over hers before he could finish his sentence. Peyton caved into him, feeling his warm arms embrace her protectively, the heat from his body saturating her. Once angry and bitter, her feelings evaporated at his touch. Tongues plundered and tasted until they were both panting from passion.
“I missed you terribly last night,” he breathed, his mouth suckling on her jaw line.
“I missed you too,” she whispered. “You were magnificent in the fight against those knights, my Alec. You certainly do not need a sword if you can defend yourself with your wits and strength.”
“I have had to compensate,” he rasped, dragging his mouth over her neck. “Christ, sweetheart, I want you right now.”
“Now?” she repeated. “But there’s nowhere….”
She was in his arms, aloft from the ground. He carried her across the road and into a bank of dense foliage.
“We do not need a bed,” he said hoarsely.
He propped her against a tree and supported her with pressure from his hips as he fumbled with her gown. Uncertain but hot with passion, Peyton threw caution to the wind and helped him hike up her skirts. His hands groped her, kneading her sweet flesh as his mouth repeatedly plundered the honeyed depths of her mouth.
She was sure she would swoon from his insistent onslaught as he grasped her thighs and wound them around his waist, but it was a most pleasurable form of discomfort as the world around her faded. She gripped him tightly as his hands left her long enough to lower his leather breeches, then cried sharply with bliss as he grasped her buttocks firmly.
“Are you sure you are not too sore?” he breathed in between fevered kisses.
She could only nod, eager to feel him inside her at once. “Now, Alec,” she gasped.
