The Snow White Bride (6 page)

Alexander snorted and rolled over to his back, then began to snore with gusto. The sisters laughed, then scurried from the chamber with Eleanor’s garb, closing the door behind them.

The key turned in the lock and Eleanor folded her arms
across her chest. Their footfalls and whispers faded from earshot, but she stood long in the same place.

Once alone in a locked chamber with a man, she could not help wondering at the folly of what she had done.

* * * * *

T
he snow had stopped and the sky was clear outside the window of Kinfairlie’s laird, the stars shining brilliantly. The air was icy, prompting Eleanor to shiver. She crossed the floor with measured steps, the wood cold beneath her feet, lured by the temptation of a warm bed.

Alexander slept like a dead man, and Eleanor knew there was no chance of her awakening him soon. The red of her own blood glistened against the white of the linens, taunting her with the import of her deed.

By this time on the morrow, Alexander would be her wedded spouse. They would meet abed in truth. She would be his possession and she would have many years to learn whether her glimpse of his nature this night showed the truth or not.

It was, in many ways, a fearsome prospect.

Eleanor pulled back the coverlet and looked more boldly upon Alexander than she would have the audacity to do when he was awake. He was, as she had suspected, finely wrought, and something deep within her thrilled at the prospect of coupling with a man who was neither aged nor fat.

Alexander was muscled, evidence that he actively trained at arms. The last vestige of a tan faded from his hands and face. There was a dark tangle of hair upon his chest and a darker one somewhat lower, a finer smattering of dark hair on his forearms and legs. His thick ebony lashes would have served any woman proudly, but there was no doubting his gender. She studied his firm lips, still slightly curved in sleep as if he dreamed of some hilarious jest. It was his merriment that beguiled her, his humor in contrast with his thoughtfulness.

She stood a long time and gazed upon him. Reassured that he did not waken or move or expire, she stretched out on the bed alongside him. She ensured that she did not touch him at any point despite the chill in her limbs.

But no sooner had she pulled up the coverlet than Alexander curled up behind her. Eleanor stiffened in shock as he slipped an arm around her waist, her eyes flying open. He grunted and pulled her closer, coaxing her back against his chest, her buttocks against his thighs.

She stiffened, startled, and waited for the amorous assault that would surely come. But the moments passed, and Alexander did not seize her breast or force his erection against her.

Indeed, he did not seem to have an erection. His breath stirred her hair, his breathing slow and deep. And he was warm, blessedly warm. His lips were against her shoulder, his brow at the back of her neck, as if he had fallen asleep while pressing a kiss to her nape.

He was asleep. Of course. The elixir had ensured that he would not be otherwise. They lay together, like two spoons on a shelf, an intimate yet not sexual embrace.

Eleanor had never been embraced, not without a specific sexual goal in her partner’s thoughts. She dared to place her hand over Alexander’s hand, which rested on the mattress before her belly.

He immediately, instinctively, entwined their fingers,
then nestled his knees more closely behind hers. Again she caught her breath, but their interlocked fingers were the sum of his objective. She marveled at this. She felt cosseted, surrounded by his warmth, protected.

Safe. She felt his pulse, letting its regular pace soothe her like a lullaby. She closed her eyes, the sanctuary Alexander offered to her welcome beyond belief.

Fortune had finally smiled upon Eleanor and she was not so foolish as to spurn that lady’s offerings.

* * * * *

A
lexander awakened the following morning with a groan.

He rolled to his back, then grimaced at the clamor in his head. He opened his eyes warily, intending to seek the rat that had apparently slept in his mouth, and was assaulted by a rogue beam of sunlight. He fell back against the linens, stunned.

He might have lingered abed, but it became imperative that he hasten to the bucket beneath the window. His belly churned, then settled, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. At least he had not emptied his belly’s contents. A bead of sweat coursed down his back and he felt unwell.

Alexander leaned against the wall, wondering at his state. How much had he drunk the night before? Indeed, what had happened the night before? His thoughts were an uncommon muddle.

He kept his eyes closed as he considered his course. Morning had clearly come, but he was exhausted. How long had he slept? He recalled little of the night before, so little that he was leery of the truth. There had been
wine, he remembered that, and he had spu
rn
ed responsibility.

Wine and music and himself carefree—and a beauteous woman named Eleanor. Alexander groaned, certain he must have offended her beyond expectation. His tongue felt thick and foul, unfamiliar in his mouth. His head hurt; indeed, his very marrow ached.

What had he done?

His signet ring was gone, its familiar weight absent from his finger. He recalled his appointment of a Lord of Misrule and was relieved that Matthew would yet have the ring.

“And a merry Christmas to you,” a woman said at startling proximity.

Alexander yelped and straightened, his eyes wide open now. Mercifully, the wall did not show any inclination to move, as he was compelled to hold fast to it to keep his balance.

He gaped at Eleanor, who reclined upon his bed wearing no more than one of his sheets. Her hair hung loose, the golden tresses cascading over her bare shoulders and pooling upon the mattress. Her pose was stiff, as if she knew not what to expect from him, and her gaze was wary if not condemning.

Suddenly there were a number of pertinent details about the previous night that Alexander would have paid his soul to recall. How had Eleanor come to be in his bed? And what had happened once she had arrived there?

He, too, was nude, which might have been promising, had the lady looked more pleased. Alexander had never been so intoxicated that he had disappointed a lady— much less that he could not recall having done so—and
this morning, with this lady, was, in his estimation, a poor place to begin such a habit.

Nonetheless, he could not remember.

He washed, taking elaborate care with his toilet, even as he tried to muster his thoughts. There was a cup of ale left for him, perhaps by a thoughtful Anthony, who knew he would need ale to spurn ale’s effects. He rinsed his mouth thrice, then quaffed a goodly swallow of the ale, reassured that his belly welcomed it.

Alexander returned to the bed and eased his weight to his elbow as he stretched out beside Eleanor, endeavoring to look unsurprised by her presence. He doubted, however, that her keen gaze had missed his astonishment.

He sighed in mock dismay. “I see that you do not smile as yet.”

“Would you abandon your quest then?”

Alexander watched Eleanor, unable to understand her hard tone. What had he forgotten? Something of import, he would wager. It was unlike him to forget anything, but there were great gaps in his recollection of the night before.

“I am nothing if not persistent in pursuit of my goals,” he said, then reached across the expanse of the bed to touch her. “We must still try to coax your smile. After all, the most lofty goal is not won by a man who abandons the quest too soon.”

His hand very nearly landed upon her waist; then his fingers closed upon empty air. Eleanor had slipped from the far side of the bed, eluding his caress in the last moment. She even took the linens with her and wrapped them about herself with a fierce gesture, ensuring that he did not win the barest glimpse of her nudity.

What had he done to insult her? For she was insulted, of that he could have no doubt. Her
li
ps were set in a thin line and her eyes snapped with a fire that would have been more beguiling, had it been bo
rn
of ardor instead of anger.

“Perhaps you would prefer to meet the bold wench who offered you a morsel from her trencher.”

Alexander fought to recall this detail. “Anna, the ostler’s daughter?” He scratched his head, and even that hurt. “I should think she would have found another suitor by this time.”

“But she is ambitious all the same, to try to tempt the laird himself. We might well find her outside the door, awaiting your favor.”

Alexander grinned. “Hardly that! Anthony would not endure it.”

“Anthony?”

“My castellan. All must slumber in their place, by his reckoning. He does not rest until all is as it should be.”

“Which explains, of course, my presence here. Does he oft indulge your whimsy in taking women to your bed?”

“I do not take women to my
be
d…”

Eleanor coughed, politely correcting him.

“Perhaps you seduced me,” he teased. “Perhaps you evaded Anthony’s keen eye to join me abed. You said you were a courtesan, after all.”

“Perhaps not.” And she gestured then with a single finger to the mattress.

Alexander frowned and looked downward in confusion, the vivid red stain upon the linens silencing any clever comment he might have made. He gaped. He
blinked. He shook his head, but there was the mark of a broken maidenhead upon his linens all the same.

No wonder she was vexed. Indeed, he was vexed himself that he did not recall this particular mating.

When he glanced up, wordless for once in his life, Eleanor regarded him coolly. She was wrapped fully in that linen sheet, one end cast over her shoulder, her arms folded across her chest

“You are not a courtesan,” he said.

“You were right in that.”

Alexander shook his head, still fighting to make sense of the blood. “You said you were twice widowed.”

“And without a child from either match,” she said quietly, then arched a brow, as if daring him to calculate how that circumstance might have come to be.

Alexander fell back across the mattress, perplexed beyond belief. Eleanor, the most enticing woman he had met in years, had been wed twice and two different men had failed to consummate their match with her. They might have been elderly men or sickly men, but Alexander could not imagine forgoing a consummation with Eleanor if he were dead.

Perhaps the lady had been the one to decline.

Then why would she have surrendered her all to him, on the first night of their acquaintance, and that when he was drunk? He glanced her way, finding her as impassive as previously.

Oh, he had erred beyond belief.

“Why? Why me?”

Eleanor shrugged. “I was curious.”

“I was drunk!”

“Yet, amorous all the same.”

“But I remember nothing of it!” He sat up and looked around the chamber. He resisted the urge to protest the unfairness of it all. “I do not even recall returning here.”

She watched him, her expression turning shrewd. “Perhaps that was part of your allure.”

“What is this?” Alexander rose from the bed in one bound, casting the linens aside and pursuing her across the chamber. The floor was cold, but he did not care.

Eleanor’s eyes widened, and perhaps her grip upon the linens tightened somewhat, but she did not retreat. They stood toe to toe and he could smell the sweet sleepy scent of her flesh, see the myriad hues of green in her eyes.

“You chose me because I would be oblivious?” he demanded, incredulous when she nodded minutely. “What manner of woman wishes an insensible lover? What manner of woman uses a man for her own pleasure and grants nothing in return?”

She tilted her head to regard him. “Have you not known men to do as much?”

“No! Yes!” Alexander shoved a hand through his hair and paced the width of the chamber. “It is not of import.”

“Have you not done as much yourself?”

He flushed, then glared at her. “If so, it was different.”

Eleanor folded her arms more tightly across her chest. “As was this. It matters little what I have done, much less why. What is done is done.”

“What has been done is but begun,” Alexander retorted. Before she could retreat, he caught her chin in his hand and kissed her. His was not a forceful embrace, but it clearly surprised her. She stiffened, but Alexander slanted his mouth across hers.

He would have a kiss to remember, if not more.

She kissed like a virgin, breathless and tentative and frightened of what he might do. It was as if she had never embraced a man before. Alexander saw that red stain in his mind’s eye. Perhaps she was sore this morning. Perhaps he had not been as gentle as he might have been. Perhaps he had injured her.

He wished he could have recalled. He felt a surge of compassion for her and lifted his lips from hers. She regarded him in astonishment for a moment, then stepped back.

“I trust that will suffice to sate you,” she said, her words hoarse.

Alexander felt a cur, but he was determined not to let this matter be. “It will not begin to suffice,” he murmured, savoring her quick glance of confusion.

“What do you mean?” She was uncertain, so uncertain that she was not able to hide her thoughts from him Could it be that the lady was unaware of her many charms?

Alexander knew how he would become better acquainted with this lady. He would disarm her with his caress. It might take years, but he would show her the pleasure that could be found abed, he would court her and cajole her, and he would win the conquest of that smile.

There was but one way to do that honorably, for he had already taken more than had been his to claim.

Alexander smiled with a confidence he did not quit
e feel. “We will be wed this morn
,” he said with resolve, fully anticipating that she would spurn him. “It will never be said that the laird of Kinfairlie does not finish what he has begun.”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed but she gave no other hint that she was surprised, though surely she must be. She
glanced toward the bed, swallowed, and then nodded with a meekness he had not known she possessed. “So it shall be,” she agreed quietly.

Alexander hesitated for a heartbeat. From any of his sisters, such complacency would have been a sign of conspiracy, but Eleanor regarded him, her eyes wide with innocence. He smiled and closed the distance between them once more.

“Such an agreement should be sealed with a kiss,” he murmured.

“Surely one will do?” she said, her words breathless.

“Surely not. Your kiss is most restorative, my lady fair. Perhaps it will even restore my recollection of our first night abed together.” Her eyes widened at that prospect. “Surely you cannot fear as much,” he teased. Alexander winked when she said nothing, then claimed her lips anew.