“What do you mean to do?” It was an entirely daft question, aye. Of course I knew why he wanted me to expose myself to him: so he could ravage me and impregnate me and trap me irrevocably in this horrid marriage.
As it was, I was mildly shocked when he said, “I mean to make it appear as though this marriage has been consummated. There will be certain people who will inquire after the evidence. I would prefer not to be plagued by other people’s gossip on the matter.”
I realized my fists were digging little crescents into my palms and loosened my grip as I tried to absorb his meaning.What?
My voice sounded breathy and frightened even to myself when I asked hopefully, “Will we...notconsummate this marriage now?”
“Good God, nay. ’Tis clear you believe otherwise, but I would never force a woman to bed me against her will, particularly not my own wife. Truth be told, as outrageously appealing as you are, you’re doing little to stoke my desire by continually looking at me that way.”
Iwas doing little to stokehisdesire? Indignant, I said, “What way?”
“As though I’m about to string you up on a torture rack and flay you to death. ’Tis unnecessary. I’ll not force you, nor will I do anything at all that you don’t beg me to do.”
I was somewhat taken aback by his words. Relieved, to be sure, and also surprised. Could it be that my husband wasn’t quite as unfeeling as I’d first predicted?
Again, his severity became laced with an underlying thread of humor, which, at this moment and in my fragile state, I found more irritating than engaging. I thought it unlikely I’d ever beg my husband to do anything except leave.
Nevertheless, I was mildly intrigued. I couldn’t help asking, “What was it you imagine I would beg you to do, husband?”
He paused, and the intensity of his skewering gaze was enough to steal away any boldness I might have enjoyed only moments ago. “All manner of things, when the time is right,” was his quiet response. “Now open your legs.”
My heart thumped in my chest, and the overzealous pulse could be felt elsewhere, curiously, as I moved very slowly to obey him. I moved my knees just slightly apart, thankful that my shift barely covered my most intimate places. The light fabric didn’t feel like enough, though, and I placed my hands over myself in a last attempt at modesty.
But my husband would have none of it. “First, by covering yourself you are only succeeding in rousing my curiosity further. I’m more likely to seek out what you hide from me. Remember that. Second, I am your husband, whom you are hereby obliged to obey at all times. You will do well to also remember that. Now remove your hands, Stella. I’ll not hurt you.” In truth, hearing my name spoken in the rasping tones of his warrior’s voice, then followed by his unexpectedly gentle assurance: it touched something in me. It made me feelas if we were in this together somehow, this ruse. Us, fooling them, taking our time, allowing me my hesitations. It made me want to believe him, and obey him. “At least not unless you want me to,” he added, to which I had no reply.
Unexpectedly, he pulled a knife from the scabbard strung to his belt. I felt my eyes widen at the sight of it, but my husband wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he ran the blade of the knife lightly along the skin of his tanned, hair-dusted forearm. Then he turned his arm over and, to my astonishment, he pressed the blade deeper, drawing a small clean line along a single vein of the finer skin of his inner arm. Blood began to flow freely and trickled from his arm, spilling a drop onto the stone floor.
He raised his eyes to me and he repeated his soft demand. “Now.” His tone left no room for argument.
I removed my hands and placed them by my sides and he watched me all the while, waiting for me until I did as he asked.
Then he touched his fingers to the pooling blood of his wound, and, very carefully, he reached those bloodied fingers to slide under the thin film of my shift. His eyes were on my body and I thought I detected a slight quickening of his breath. I gasped before he even touched my skin, at this bold and sudden intimacy, from the startling sensation of localized heat.
I felt his warm touch very lightly paint the blood to my skin of my upper thigh. Shockingly, the hot silken glide of his fingers spread a sudden molten awarenessthrough my veins, suffusing me with an unfamiliar sensation, which gathered warmly in the innermost regions of my body. He withdrew his touch, reapplying his paint. And then, when his fingertips sought my most secret place, I could not move or breathe. I closed my eyes. His fingers stroked softly, prodding lightly, parting my intimate folds to stain me with his blood. He carried out his task with tender, careful deliberation. The smooth glide of his touch shocked me with its gentle potency. His fingers were barely inside me, and his thumb rubbed against the sensitive hooded nub. My mind went blank, overwhelmed by the rush of vibrant sensation and the complete vulnerability. Involuntarily, my legs opened wider, causing my shift to rise. I writhed slightly against him, not entirely sure whether I meant to move with him or away from him. His thumb circled the little peak again, while an agile finger probed deeper, in a silky, languid rhythm, as though ensuring that he was making a proper job of the task at hand.
Vivid, collecting energy warmed me where his wicked fingers touched me, his movement unhurried and sure. I tried to keep quiet, but I couldn’t stop a small gasp from climbing in my throat.
And then his touch was removed.
My eyes opened, and my awareness returned to me. My shift was raised and my legs were parted. I thought of adjusting my position, and covering myself, but he was touching his fingers again to the blood on his arm. I kept myself still. Waiting to see what he would do next. My body was tense with a subdued anticipation.My intimate flesh, revealed to him, was heated with a light throb. Would he touch me again? I found that I was not averse to the thought. Instead, my body seemed to pulse at the possibility. I was afraid of him, aye, afraid of the dark, challenging glimmer in his shadowed eyes. Yet my fear and a cautious expectancy bundled into a glowing ache that I could not name.
Watching my eyes, he reached instead to paint a light stain on the sheet between my legs. A ripple of amusement, which I was now becoming used to, played across his expression fleetingly. Then he pulled the hem of my shift down to cover me.
“There,” he said. “That will satisfy anyone who wishes to inquire after the validity of our marriage. And you can lay your terror momentarily to rest.” He rose to his feet and walked to a table where a pitcher of water and a bowl sat. He poured some water over his cut to clean it, then wrapped a small thin strip of cloth around it, tucking the end in place. And I, still dazed by the lingering effects of his slick, debauched fingers, pulled the furs to my neck and lay back in the large bed. “Although,” he drawled, “for such a timid, hesitant creature, you react to me in a way that suggests that you are not as averse to my attentions as you may think you are. ’Tis something I had already suspected, aye. A very pleasing detail in a wife, to be sure, and one I intend to make the most of.”
I had no idea what he was referring to, yet I had the feeling I should perhaps be offended. Or flattered. My confusion frustrated me somewhat. Would I everunderstand the complexity of his textured, layered insinuations? “What do you mean?” I asked quietly.
“’Tis a topic we will revisit later,” he said enigmatically, then, to my shock: “Avert your gaze now, if you’re as chaste and innocent as you act. Or feast your eyes—whatever pleases you. I prefer to sleep in the raw.”
“What—” I began. Then, as realization dawned, I whispered,“Oh.”
I squeezed my eyes closed.
I could hear him begin to unfasten the straps and holsters that held his many weapons, and the clang of metal striking against the stone floor as he gently dropped them.
“But don’t worry, lass,” he said, to which I dared to barely open one eye. He was shirtless—and for a moment my eye roved the contours of his broad chest, his skin tawny and glowing from the dancing firelight, until he began to pull at the ties of his leather trews, at which point I squeezed my eyes closed once again. “I always keep my weapons within reach and at the ready.”
“That’s...that’s good,” I murmured, unsure of what reply he might be expecting.
