Page 17 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

His chest came flush with her back, his, his…sakes, his masculine parts nestling against her rear, his legs now purposefully tangling with her skirts. He rustled for a moment to settle into a comfortable position, and her body burned where he shifted against her. And then his other hand fished for the hem of her cloak, migrated beneath it, and his arm settled heavily around her stomach, toned, long muscle, cinching her tightly to him.

Goodness, she trembled now, and not from shivering. To be touched so brazenly when a man had never wrapped her waist in his embrace before. And still, as if unconsciously, his thumb began to rub back and forth across her stomach, calming her jitters.

“I meant what I promised yer family,” came his voice, husky and deep against her neck and inducing another shiver as she imagined him whispering in her ear, perhaps nipping at it.

But after a moment of rubbing his head against the pack to dent a comfortable position, he exhaled, breezing against her nape, relaxed, and moments later, seemed to fall into the easy breathing of sleep.

Just like that? He could fall asleep tangled with her so, when not long before they had been enemies? Fascinating, for her heart was skipping frantically, and her chest rose and fell with ragged, ill-measured breaths, so much so she was certain she wouldn’t sleep a wink. Had he been speaking the truth when he said he’d never kept a woman? Was she the first that he would publicly announce? Even if this marriage was only an illusion? Either that or he was lying and indeed was no novice wrapping himself around a woman abed any night that he wished. She lifted her eyes heavenward and exhaled harshly. She wanted the latter sentiment to be the truth so she could continue to hate the handsome cretin, and yet he’d made her doubt all her beliefs about him.

How long she lay stone still, listening to the wood pop and watching the fire turn slowly to coals, it was impossible to say. But at some point, her shivering subsided beneath his possessive grip, and her eyelids grew heavy. His breaths came in deep, steady puffs upon the back of her hair. Slowly, she relented to the comfort of his embrace, drifting, as visions of his feral hair and sparkling eyes from astride his stallion, as he stared at her through Urquhart’s portcullis, danced in her mind.

…

25th of December

James smelled the herbal scent of Lady Aileana’s hair all damn night. So soft, so silky against his cheek and nose. And this newfound gentleness in her beckoned him to move closer. To be wanted by her. He opened his eyes, giving up on sleep, and took in the dark sky of early morn…and felt the warmth of her breasts pressed against his stomach, her cheek upon his pectoral, her palm slung upon his navel beneath the covers as if to torment him, for his manhood was well aware that her slender fingers lay so close to his belts. His skin buzzed as he tried to tether his wayward thoughts, squinting out at the predawn light casting grayness upon the snowy world. From this barbed woman, her touch, so gentle, was a gift.

She shifted ever so slightly, her fingers brushing upon his belts, and he froze, swallowing a groan, closing his eyes. But hell, if his thoughts didn’t gallop away, imagining things he would never do with her. Motionless and daring not to move, lest he disturb this sliver of contentment, when yesterday this woman had attempted to shred his patience, he tightened his arm around her, holding her more snuggly upon his chest.

Yet the throbbing of blood pulsing through his loins couldn’t be helped, lying so intimately with her. Fok, but he couldn’t remain any longer, cocooned together, while her wild hair filled his senses with desire, tickling his stubble. How had he lived his life at Tioram, a mere day’s ride from Urquhart, and never met Aileana Grant? Not even at a gathering or council between clans?

A breeze disrupted the surface flurries and sprayed them inward, causing them both to shift, and she softly sighed, a high, groggy moan drawing from her throat. He pondered her: such a spiked tongue when awake, such an angelic doe when asleep. Hell, it was just an innocent sound, and yet sensual, wanting.

He released his hold upon her, easing himself away and from beneath the covers to stand. The stark chill of winter stung his arms through his doublet and his bare legs. Oh, to tarry on this journey home with Aileana, joining in a kiss, a dalliance of lips and tongues… Would she be just as acerbic abed as she was when she was verbally sparring with him? Or would she blossom into a seductress?

Eejit. I build fantasies where there are none. Lady Aileana wants nothing to do with me. Even if she softened to me last night. She softened because of Marjorie’s plight, nay mine. Nay that I actually did much to win her affection yesterday, coercing her into a jest of a marriage…

Aileana’s eyes fluttered open as he gazed down at her, and he settled the fur around her, tucking her back in. “Sleep, lass.”

Her eyes drifted shut and she rolled over. “I thank thee, Jamie…” she mumbled so softly, it was clear she wasn’t awake, to have spoken so kindly to him.

Jamie. His breath caught. Only Marjorie had called him that, a sweet pet name that had been enough to feel loved.

He stalked out of the shelter to tend to his morning ablutions and catch his breath. Did such an unconscious utterance on her part mean she might feel affection for him? Or at least a desire to forge trust? Daft man. Ye need her to remain in this union so ye can claim yer money. But it was going to become hard to manipulate someone who didn’t want to stay into staying, if he started having feelings for her.

He found the nearest dip in the hillside to flip aside his kilt and take care of his morning needs, then wandered until light brightened the eastern horizon, losing himself in thought. He’d meant to offer her a return home last night, but her disappearing act, and ensuing argument, had thrown him off course. As he returned to camp, he glanced at her form. She lay still. She’d been nervous and as rigid as a curtain wall in his arms, and she must have stayed awake half the night, to sleep so now.

Devil flipped his ears backward at his approach. Coming up beside the beast, he stroked his powerful neck.

“Good morn, man,” he whispered, and he reached into his sporran for a wrapping of dried apples he kept stashed there, palming one to the horse’s mouth.

Devil lipped it up, and he rubbed the stallion’s muzzle. Turning toward the countryside, he plopped a bite in his mouth, idly offering another to his horse, who nudged his sporran for more, when a rustling noise drew his attention, as if something was routing through leaves buried beneath the snow. A critter. He quieted, until the pointed black tip of a nose attached to red fur and a bushy tail peered out from behind some rocks.

They regarded each other, the fox’s tail flicking curiously. James smiled and squatted. The wee beast would harm them none, and probably hoped for a nibble of food. Digging out a strip of jerked meat from his sporran, he broke off a piece and held it forth while the fox’s nose sniffed the air.

“Come hither,” he rumbled softly, clicking his tongue for encouragement. “I’ll hurt ye none.”

The fox darted back and forth, edging its way forward, tantalized enough by the prospect of meat to dare a closer encounter.

“That’s the way, beastie.” He wiggled the meat as he rested on his heels and lured the fox closer.

Furtively, it strained forward and snipped the treat out of James’s fingers, scurrying back to its den. James shook his head with amusement, slipped another piece of apple into his mouth, and chewed. But as he glanced back at Aileana, he saw her propped on her elbows, watching him.

His smile fell and he pushed up. How long had the lass been spying? He cleared his throat and returned within.

“Did ye sleep well?” he asked, and a sliver of concern gripped him. Her face was pale. He leaned down and touched the backs of his fingers to her forehead.

She gazed up at him, crinkling her brow at the unexpected contact, perhaps thinking about something she wasn’t sharing. “Ye’re fond of animals.”