Page 55 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

He lifted her hand from his elbow and placed a long, hard kiss upon her knuckles, then enveloped her in that warmth she’d been fantasizing about, which only added to the turmoil she felt about leaving. She rested her head against his chest. He’d clearly bathed, as had she. The smell of soap was strong upon him. His tunic, too, was sun bleached and freshly scented with dried herbs, and she buried her nose against it to inhale his musk. Did she want to give up this feeling and return to Urquhart? Nay. But after Brighde’s remarks, ought she ask him what his sister had been talking about?

He looked down at her, as if he had more he wished to say. But didn’t.

“What’s yer first command of the night, lassie?” shouted a guardsman at Maudie.

Goodness, she’d forgotten about all the people watching! She pulled back, knowing her cheeks burned pink once again. And yet no one seemed to notice. It was as if they accepted her with their laird and paid their affection no mind.

Maudie looked up at them both, an impish smile curving her lips and lighting her eyes with mischief.

“I might just get my wish,” James murmured.

Aileana chuckled, raising her eyes heavenward.

“I command that the laird and lady share the first dance of the night!”

A cheer rose up. Even the arrow-wounded soldiers who sat along the wall on benches shouted approval, and the troupe struck an initial cord and launched into a reel.

“Oh, goodness, I—”

“Come, my lady, it’s been so ordered,” James taunted, cutting Aileana off and grinning so big, he revived the boyish divot in his cheek.

The song was spritely, and James dragged her into the center of the hall where the rushes had been swept away as their people gathered around, laughing, clapping; she fell into step, twirling, such a joyous release. How long had it been since she’d been so carefree? James spun her. The gathering stomped and clapped the rhythm. Her hair, secured in netting, loosened with each jump and twirl until a pin fell loose.

“My hair!” she fussed, grappling for it, but James pulled her hands away and dragged out the remaining pins, discarding them carelessly over his shoulder.

Her auburn curls tumbled loose.

“I could get lost in yer tresses, Allie,” James declared, fondness causing his blue eyes to warm.

“Bonny lass!” she heard an old man shout. “If the lady wasnae already taken, I’d dub her the winter maiden!”

Aileana tipped her head back and closed her eyes, twirling around, giving herself over to the mead and basking in the warm gaze of her enemy husband, basking in the happy crowd, content to know her people were warm and well fed and likely feasting, thanks to James’s change of heart. For the first time since arriving here, these people’s innuendos about her and James didn’t upset her. They emboldened her.

The song concluding, James caught her in his arms so they could catch their breath as the troupe launched into another reel and the people around them flooded in to dance. Brighde had once mentioned James was light of foot, and such wasn’t a lie. James hoisted her up in his arms.

“Jamie!” she gasped, gripping him around his corded neck, but he only chuckled and carried her through the crowd amid whoops and whistles, until they reached the main door. A guard dragged it open, and he stepped through into the crisp night air, where he finally set her down.

“Ah, such fun.” Aileana sighed. “I havenae danced since before the…”

Since before the MacDonald attack two years before. James’s glittering eyes went dark, and his brooding furrow returned. He looked away, letting go of her and raking his fingers through his hair. “Aileana, I—”

“I forgive ye. As I hope ye’ll forgive me for what my brother has done to ye. Brighde told me about yer cousin MacRuaidhri’s attack. And how my brother involved himself.”

The statement left her lips so swiftly, she scarcely realized she’d uttered it, and a breath later, she was pushing up on her toes to press her lips to his. He held still. Rigid.

“Kiss me, James. I nay want to lose the happiness I’m feeling tonight,” she whispered.

He relented, sinking so heavily into the kiss, he gripped her tightly, growling as his tongue thrust boldly against her. He exhaled hard, inhaled hard, and, sakes, was she floating? Nay, he swiveled her toward the outer wall and braced her there, his body blanketing hers against the chill as the stone against her back pierced her with cold. Yet she only felt heat. And hands. And his mouth crushed to hers. And his thighs straddling hers, and his… God above, the stiff column of his arousal pressed mercilessly against her hip, infusing her with wanton heat. Or perhaps it was the mead warming her, for she’d consumed a fair amount of that…

She clung to his neck, kissing him fervently back, anxious to feel more, to be more to him. Her fingers splayed into his hair, over the healing scab above his ear, gripping his nape and braids, while her other hand smoothed over his shoulder and around his back to clench his tunic.

“Ah, lass, ye make me mad for ye. Ye make me mad for the things I cannae have from ye, what I want from ye.”

His declaration, a low rumble as their lips clashed, caused her to arch instinctively against him and tighten her arms. He sucked in hard at the reaction, ground himself more tightly against her waist and hip. His fingers kneaded her hair and back, wrapping into her tresses and gripping her there. With a tug on her hair, he tipped her head, improving his angle and control, and yet she sensed if she balked even slightly, he’d step back.

“Jamie,” she whined, unclear what else to say.

“Christ, but if I carry ye above stairs, I dare say we’ll have a flock of revelers taunting us through the keyhole,” he murmured before partaking in another helping of her lips.