Her One Desire (37 page)

“’Ods toes! These are good.” Celeste sucked the tips of her fingers. “John has to try these.”

“How is your husband faring?” Lizzy asked with genuine interest.

“He is a lusty Scotsman who is still using his injury to gain my sympathies. You need to quit fretting over him. You have spoiled him with your daily visits and your medicines.”

“I will continue to fret over whomever I wish, and for however long I choose.” Lizzy slid another pansy from the bowl, set it on her tongue, and propped her head on her fist.

“What troubles ye, Lizzy? Do ye fret over the state of affairs in England?”

“Mayhap a little.” ‘Twas true she still didn’t know what became of Lord Hollister and Buckingham, not to mention the princes who were now residing in the Tower. She had hoped Father would at least send a missive to let her know he was well.

“The whole clan is fretting over ye.”

“ Tis naught.”

‘”Tis something to have ye over here and your husband over there.”

Lizzy wished to tell someone of her woes. Celeste had been a good friend to her, but the woman had difficulty curbing her tongue.

“Some of the womenfolk worry ye might be having trouble in the bedchamber.”

“Nay. ‘Tis not that at all,” Lizzy answered quickly. Broc would put her over his knee if he knew his virility was being discussed.

“Then what is it?”

Truth was, Lizzy wanted to know if she behaved foolishly.

“When did you know John was in love with you?” Celeste searched the ceiling with her lips pulled to the side. “I s’pose when he told me.” Her brows stitched together. “Are ye thinking your husband does not love ye?” “Of course he loves me.” Lizzy defended and searched over both shoulders to see if anyone overheard them. One fist went to Celeste’s thick hips as her eyes rounded, and her head craned forward. “Damned mule-faced Scotsman hasn’t said the words, has he?”

Lizzy shook her head and filled her mouth with one pansy after another so she wouldn’t have to converse. Her protective friend glared at Broc and huffed, as if it were her sworn duty to see the matter settled.

Curse it!
Why had she shared such foolishness? She panicked, swallowed, and then took a drink of watered wine. “Oh, Celeste, you mustn’t say anything. Please, ‘tis a personal matter. He is the chieftain. He would be humiliated. I know he loves me. He does not have to say it.” While Celeste might have agreed to hold her tongue with a slow nod,

‘twas doubtful the woman wouldn’t make some attempt to intervene. “I want to help. Wait here whilst I run to the cottage. I will be back a ten.”

Before Lizzy could give her leave, Celeste had her skirts in her fists and was running out of the keep. If only she could help. Though mildly curious about Celeste’s intentions, Lizzy dismissed any foolish notions she might have momentarily entertained. How was Celeste supposed to make Broc love her? Before Lizzy finished the first helping of pansies, Lucy appeared with two more bowls. Lizzy plastered a smile over her brooding frown and rubbed the pinch in her jaw below her ear. “Tell your Grandmum Rae I will be seeking out her recipe.”

“Aye, m’lady. I will tell her on the morrow. She has retired for the eve.” Lucy joined the others in a circle dance around Lady Juliana. While the woman who once held Broc’s eye possessed unequivocal beauty, Lizzy recognized Lady Juliana’s timidity. With hands clasped against a rose skirt, her pale yellow curls fell over her bowed head hiding gemstone eyes that studied her surroundings. Muira would eat the girl at the noontide meal if she didn’t lengthen her backbone. Lady Juliana’s gaze traveled the length of the Great Hall and met Lizzy’s. Of course they’d been introduced, but Ian spoke for his new bride. Now recollecting, Lizzy realized the girl hadn’t said anything this day save for her wedding vows. Lizzy’s smile brought Lady Juliana’s chin up.

Muira waved Lizzy in. “Come dance with your new sister, Lady Maxwell.”

Sister.
“Sister,” Lizzy said, wanting to hear the word aloud. Warmth swelled around her heart. Bubbling emotions made her want to laugh. Lizzy resolved to guard Lady Juliana until she found a voice strong enough to protect her from the Maxwell womenfolk. Needing an excuse to wait for Celeste, Lizzy popped two flowers in her mouth and pointed at the bowls in front of her. “I’ll be about shortly.”

“No rush. Eat all ye want.” Broc’s mother appeared wistful, as did Grandmum. They smiled the same as Broc did when he was up to mischief. No doubt the whisky made them that way. Ian swooped in and plucked his new bride off her toes, drawing the attention back to the dance and off Lizzy.

She swished a sip of wine around her teeth to lessen the celebration going on inside her mouth and fanned her warm cheeks. An intense zing spiraled through her insides. She didn’t have to look at her husband to feel his eyes caress her. Laird Scott carried on, but Broc no longer paid him any heed. Instead, he matched her stare from the corner of his eye, stalking her like the powerful buck he was. But she was a skittish doe no more. Just once, she wanted to see her husband lose his control. Mayhap then the words would slip out.
And mayhap the reason he has not said the words is that he does not love you.
Lizzy shushed the internal voice she knew belonged to Lady Ives.

“Here. ‘Twas my mum’s.” Celeste appeared at her side, panting with a small square bundle tied with a red ribbon. “Put it on and make him beg. He will say the words.” “Put it on?” Lizzy looked at the package wrapped in black velvet. “Tis a garment inside?”

Thick cheeks rounded with Celeste’s meddlesome grin. She shrugged with feigned innocence and eyed the pansies. “May I take a bowl to John? He is waiting for me at the cottage.” “Aye. Do take care with the man. He is in a healing process. I will be about on the morrow.” Lizzy’s words grew in volume as Celeste made a hasty departure. She waved and flew out of the keep like a virgin on her wedding night. Mesmerized by the small package, Lizzy brushed her finger over the red ribbon holding the material together.
Put it on, aye?
Could she seduce her husband? Would he want to be seduced?

She’d certainly thought about it often enough. A blindfold and a feather came to mind. Her toes curled inside silk slippers. A trickle of sweat fell between her breasts. Desire thrummed deep in her womb.

Mercy Mary!
She tucked the bundle beneath her arm and grabbed the third bowl of pansies. She inched her way to the edge of the trestle bench and waited for Broc’s attention to be pulled elsewhere, then walked briskly toward the north tower. The race up the stairwell had her holding her chest to ease the sharp pains slicing her lungs. The moment she closed the door to the laird’s solar, she laughed out loud. She was lightheaded, giddy, aroused to the point she was near mad. Anticipation had her thighs sliding together beneath her skirts. She pulled the ribbon and unwrapped the black velvet cloth, crazed to see what was inside.

Her hand flew to her chest, a tickle between her legs made her twitch. “Oh, Broderick Maxwell, ye are in verra big trouble. Verra, verra, big trouble.”

“The Yorkists believe him a fair and able man. Mayhap England’s new king will seek peace. What think ye?” Laird Scott asked and tipped a quaff of whisky.

“Gloucester has only recently announced his intention to
claim the throne,” Broc answered, eager to free himself from Laird Scott and talk of politics.

“Aye. He will claim it though. The princes have been deemed bastards by Gloucester’s tongue. ‘Tis rumored he locked his nephews in the Tower.”

“Ach. Hearsay.” Broc wanted to roll his eyes at the man’s naivete. “They are being safeguarded in the Tower. I doubt they are prisoners. Gloucester is their protector.” Broc bit into another pine nut. Why was he defending his enemy? Mayhap because Lizbeth still continued to do so. Of course, her moods swayed like a sapling in a whirlwind. He popped the last pine nut in his mouth and glanced at the high table only to find the bench vacant. Now blatantly ignoring Laird Scott, he scanned the Great Hall. “If ye would excuse me, I need to find my wife.’* He swallowed, set the empty bowl on the closest trestle table, and made a hasty escape, leaving Laird Scott in the able hands of his brethren. Mam stepped into his path and offered him another bowl of pine nuts slathered in syrup. “Have ye tried Radella’s newest recipe?”

Ach!
He popped his neck on both sides and clasped his hands in front of him. “I’ve already eaten two bowls.” He knew Mam’s interest didn’t lie with a bowl of pine nuts. Why she chose now to be docile, he didn’t know. “I’ve set a meeting with Laird Scott and his council to discuss—“ Mam stuffed a pine nut in his mouth. “I’m confident whatever ye and Laird Scott have planned will be in the best interests of the clan. Now, mayhap ye should dance with your wife.” Broc chewed, swallowed, and gave his mam a look of distrust.

“My wife appears to have retired early.”

“Oh?” Mam’s lips maintained the innocent O shape as she made a show of searching the high table where Lizbeth had been sitting the better part of the eve.

“Ye are meddling.”

Mam brought her hand to her chest and widened hazel eyes. Her dramatics were so overly done Broc laughed out loud. The women in his clan were wowf, his wife included. If they would say what was on their minds, life would be so much simpler. Mam pushed up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Mayhap I am meddling, but I have your best interests at heart, son,” she admitted in a soft voice he’d never heard. She set the pine nuts in his hand and then blended into the dance with the other kinsfolk. Mam had been good to Lizbeth since their return, as had the aunts and all his sisters. His wife was surrounded by people who loved her. Mayhap she missed her own kin. He hoped he might one day fill the void her past left in her heart, but his efforts to make her happy had only failed, and failure was not an option.

Determined to set his wife down and flesh out the mystery behind her dour mood, he set the nuts on a side table and strode out of the Great Hall. He was the chieftain, a fearless warrior, and he refused to live another day walking behind her. If she wouldn’t open up to him, then he would demand her honesty.

As he climbed the stairs to his solar, his skin began to tingle as it had the first time he met Lizbeth. Her exotic scent lingered in the corridor, reminding him of their first encounter in the tunnel. His memories spiked his senses. Gooseflesh raised on his scalp. Excess saliva pooled in his mouth. His pulse echoed through his veins and sent blood rushing into the head of his cock. He stopped outside the solar and rested his forehead against the cool wood.
God’s hooks!
He did not possess the wit for conversation. He closed his eyes and initiated the calming technique

Brother Mel had taught him, but all he could see were Lizbeth’s gold eyes looking back at him.
Talk to me. Tell me
what pains ye.

He opened the door … and whimpered. Any comment he might have prepared upon his entry was lost to him. Lizbeth stood in the moonlight in what could only be described as a robe of gold ribbons. The remnants of braids spiraled in dark red curls down her back and pointed to her heart-shaped backside seductively hidden behind a veil of gold dust. She turned.

He backed beneath the archway and crossed himself.
Oh, God
repeated in his head three times until he could form words. “Where did ye get that?”

“A friend.” She drew the back of her nail over the hem following the curve of her breast. Her nipples shadowed the silk of a short gold undergarment falling just below her hips, and it swished when she took a step toward him.

He swallowed repeatedly and cupped his groin.
Devil take

her! You are the chieftain. You are a warrior. You are a lusty
Scotsman. Act like it!
he scolded himself mentally, yet took another step backward.

“Come back inside, husband, and close the door.” His wee wife was trying to be bold, but the quiver in her chin gave away her angst. Broc drew air into his lungs and reentered his solar.

She walked around him trailing two fingers across his chest, his shoulder, his back until she completed her circle. Her robe billowed like shimmering smoke, making her look like an angel, a queen … a goddess.

“Disrobe,” she demanded.

He blinked and only then did he see the dirk in her hand. In his mind’s eye he saw himself following her orders, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He held his breath and had no idea how long he’d been doing so.

She pressed her blade into the dip of his neck. While her hand trembled, her voice did not. “Obey.”

He didn’t recognize her tone. “Is Edlynn in your head?”

“Nay. I am in complete control of my senses.” He, however, was not. He set his broadsword and dirk on the trestle table, then removed the leather belt around his waist and pulled the pin fastening his
plaid
around his shoulder. With one tug, he divested himself of his ensemble, never once taking his eyes from her. She looked him up and down, caressing him with her gaze. “Remove your boots and kneel before me.” He didn’t know who this woman was, but she was wowf. He tilted his head. “I kneel before my God and my king.” “And your wife.” Her nostrils flared, her eyes blazed, and all traces of anxiety fled her.

“What are your intentions, wife?”

“I intend to teach you how to make me happy.”
That
he wanted. He would demean himself, if need be, to learn this secret. He did as she asked and got to his knees on a carpet at the foot of the bed. His aching cock stood away from his body and gave a little jerk when she stepped over his legs behind him. When the hem of her gown brushed the backs of his calves, his eyes rolled upward. He felt the press of her breasts against his back as she bent over him. The pendant he’d given her felt like ice against his hot skin. She pulled his chin toward her. “There are six places a woman wants to be touched.”

“I trust I’ve touched all of them,” he jested, but his Lizbeth was in no laughing mood.

“All of them, but one,” she whispered; then her teeth found his earlobe and tugged a little before she released his chin. “Tell me where the last is, and I will touch this mysterious place,” he demanded, though his tone was not sharp. She crawled out from behind him, leaving a trail of silk over his backside. “I cannot do this. You must discover this place on your own.” She drew a line with the tip of her blade from his jaw, over the knot in his throat, and down to his navel.