She gasped. “Whatare you doing?”
“Saving us both an awkward scene.” Bróccín sprinted up the steps.
Cradled against his chest, she swore she could almost hear his heart pounding through his garb. Was he as unsettled as she?
On the second floor, he paused. “Which chamber is yours?”
“At the end.”
The slap of footsteps and shouts rose from the turret.
On a curse, he bolted past paintings of the castle’s founders, the torchlight scraping across his taut expression without mercy. Once inside, he kicked the door shut, set her down, and then slid thebar into place.
Drunken calls and laughter grew in the corridor. A moment later, banging sounded against the wooden entry.
She held her breath.
So did he.
Their gazes met and she caught a glimmer of awareness in his eyes that made her heart thump anew.
“I dinna think they will let you in, Nigel,” a slurring voice called.
Muffled laughter rang out.
“Did someone bring the wine?” a man yelled. “We could be herefor some time.”
* * * *
Amid the calls for drink, the lewd suggestions of the drunken men in the hallway settled into errant shouts, bawdy songs, and laughter.
Silently cursing the pallor of Gwendolyn’s elegant face, Aiden released her, then took a careful step away from the door. As if he bloody wanted to be cloistered with her this night. A role he must play as she believed their marriage was real, and that in the hours ahead he would claim hismarital rights.
His gaze lingered on her soft curves, and another burst of heat shot through him. To distract himself, he glanced around the room, taking in the elegance and warmth.
A fire blazed in the hearth. The shimmer of flames entwining with candles placed around the room illuminating the chamber within their golden glow. Several chests carved with intricate Celtic designs sat along the far wall, and drawings of birds hung above. On a corner table lay a basket filled with bottles of wine, a selection of cheese, a variety of apples, and aloaf of bread.
Aiden fisted his hands as he caught sight of the sturdy oak bed. Swaths of green satin fell in luxurious folds from a polished circular mount overhead to accent an intricately carved frame. An ivory comforter, embellished with gold flowers woven around the rim, draped over the bed, the corner near the pillows turned down in silent invitation.
Bawdy laughter had him glancing toward the entry. With a slow exhale, he unfurled his fingers. “’Twould appear our well-wishers are settling infor the night.”
Wary eyes held his.“So it seems.”
He dismissed the slight quiver in her voice, her nerves expected. God’s sword, with the door blocked he couldn’t leave, and given the falsehood of their marriage, neither would he bed the lass. Somehow, he needed to find a way to calm her without straying too far from Bróccín’s demeanor.
Aiden walked to the table and poured two goblets of wine, brought one to her. “’Twill ease your nerves.”
Her gaze flickered over the breadth of his shoulders, and her fingers tightened around the crafted gold stem. If possible, her facepaled further.
From the rumors he’d heard about the callous man Lord Balfour had become, the earl would have slaked his lust without care of Gwendolyn’s feelings. Bile twisted in his gut at thoughts of such brutality. Never would he touch the lass without her welcome.
A fact she didn’t know.
In one gulp, Aiden downed the spiced liquid, shoved the cup onto the nearby stand, then crossed to the open window. A soft breeze tinged with a hint of the sea washed over him as he staredinto the night.
Beyond the full moon, stars glittered in the heavens like flickers of hope, although he found naught encouraging about this entire situation. All for king and country. A mumbled curse tore from his lips, mingled with the faint rumbleof waves below.
In the distance, where the sea met the sky, the sail of a departing cog shimmered beneath the moonlight. How he longed to be aboard, or anywhere except trapped in Gwendolyn’s chamber on their supposedwedding night.
