The Devil in Plaid(31)

“They must have terrified ye when ye were a wee bairn,” she said softly still staring at the fire.

“What do ye mean?” he asked.

“The demons,” she said, gesturing to the hearth.

He smiled. “To be sure, but I’ll tell ye one thing. My parents never had to worry about me getting too close to the flames.”

She looked at him, a smile slowly curving her lips.

He had never seen her smile before. Struck by her innocent beauty, he reached out to graze his fingers down her cheek, but she flinched suddenly, drawing away.

His chest tightened.

She blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Nay, lass,” he said softly. “Ye do not owe me an apology. ‘Tis I who wronged ye. Ye will learn to trust me. I’m really not the monster ye’ve thought me to be. And I wager, ye have a great deal more worth than I have given ye credit for.” He cleared his throat. “Considering these last days, and the ordeal I put ye through last night, ye must be exhausted.”

Her eyes darted to the bed. He glimpsed fresh apprehension in her gaze. His eyes traveled over her round, pert breasts, pressed against the thin fabric of her underdress. Her small waist flared out at her hips. She was small, her body strong, and yet she had soft curves he longed to touch. Despite the sudden desire coursing through him, he stayed his hands. “I have never laid with a woman who did not want me as much as I wanted her.”

Her brows drew together. “Ye do not want me?”

“On the contrary, I find ye to be incredibly beautiful. Even when I believed yer character to be greatly wanting, I still could not help but admire yer womanly assets.”

She blushed. “Then what are ye saying?”

He could not believe what he was about to say. But now that he realized his marriage was not necessarily doomed from the start, he wanted to do it right. “I think we should wait until we know each other better. It would seem ye and I are full of assumptions and misunderstandings.”

She glanced at the bed. “But everyone will talk if there is no bridal sheet.”

He ran his hand through his hair as he looked at the crisp white linen. She was right. In the morning, the priest would inspect the sheet, and if her virgin blood did not stain the fabric, either she would be shamed, or his kin would know their union was not yet consummated.

He lifted her off his lap and set her on her feet. A moment later, he withdrew the small dirk from his boot and ran the blade across his palm. He allowed several drops of his blood to mar the sheet before he fisted his hand to stop the flow. “There,” he said, meeting her gaze. “It will be our secret.”

She smiled slowly, then a giggle burst from her lips. And for a moment, he saw her face without her usual guard. Her blue eyes shone. Her cheeks pinkened. Then her gaze dropped to his hand. Her brows pinched together before she turned to the table near the bed that boasted a platter of cooked meat, cheese, and bread. She grabbed one of the linen napkins before turning to face him. “Allow me,” she said. Gently, she cradled his hand and dabbed at the slice that still bled. Then she reached for the hem of her underdress and tore the fabric, wrapping the strip around his small wound.

“Ye have a gentle touch,” he said softly. She blushed. Again, he was struck by the softness of her beauty.

“Shall we to bed then,” she said with wide, innocent eyes.

He took a deep breath. His body grew hard. He wanted her. His eyes once more trailed across her sheer garment. His mouth ached to taste her skin, to suckle her dusky pink nipples, to feel her body shudder around his as he brought her to sweet fulfillment.

He cleared his throat and lifted her into his arms. Then he laid her down on the bed and pulled the covers up to her shoulders before he stood and stepped back.

“Are ye not tired?”

He swallowed hard. “I think it best if I rest in the chair.”

She nodded and nestled beneath the blanket, her gaze never wavering from his.

“Ye’re so different than I thought” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Their eyes locked. She reached up and cupped his cheek. Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers. Her full lips trembled at his touch, then softened, molding to his. She tasted so good, so sweet. He pulled away and stepped back, determined to honor his vow to wait until they knew each other better.

“Good night, wife,” he said.

“Good night,” came her soft reply.

He sat down in the chair near the hearth, all the while meeting her gaze. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by an excitement he had not known for some time. He prayed the morrow came quickly, because more than anything, he was looking forward to the dawn and a new day with his beautiful wife.





Chapter Twenty


In the morning, Fiona awoke feeling better than she had in days. She stretched her arms above her head. Then she sat up on her side and looked expectantly toward the hearth.

The chair by the fire was empty.

Relief and disappointment battled for domination in her mind. She laid back and stared up at the high ceiling while the events of the day before raced through her thoughts.

She had started the day a terrified bride, but by nightfall she had become a hopeful wife.

A new world had emerged, one where reason revealed the hollowness of their clans’ mutual prejudices—but had it all really happened, or had she dreamt their truce?