The Wedding (14 page)

“You're going to freeze to death. Come out. Now.” His hard command didn't leave room for argument.

“I will not get out. I'm not wearing anything. I really must have privacy now.”

He pretended not to notice she'd shouted at him. “No one's here,” he said.

“You're here, and you're standing right in the moonlight. I cannot come out until you leave.”

His bride had dared to shout at him again. He shook his head over her audacity. “Don't raise your voice to me.”

He sounded as though he'd run out of patience. She reminded herself she'd vowed to get along and thought that perhaps if she gave him what he wanted, he would naturally reciprocate in kind.

Her lips were getting numb from the frigid water and her teeth were chattering so, she could barely speak at all now. “All right then. I won't shout. Will you please leave now?”

“No.”

Her husband obviously didn't understand how to reciprocate. She'd have to explain it all to him later, but not now. Her skin was wrinkling like old prunes, and if she didn't get out soon, she really would freeze to death.

Pride was killing her. “I cannot possibly get out.”

“Why? Are you embarrassed?”

He sounded surprised by the possibility. She closed her eyes, said a fast prayer for endurance, then answered, “Of course I'm embarrassed.”

“Shyness has no place between us. Do you want me to come in after you?”

“I'll drown you if you do.”

The ridiculous threat made him smile. “Will it help if I take my clothes off?”

“No.”

She didn't realize he was teasing her, and honest to God, if she shouted at him once more, he thought he just might go in and get her.

“Connor, will you at least turn your back while I get dressed?”

His sigh was strong enough to push her under the water. “You're being very foolish.”

She didn't mind his criticism. She got what she wanted, after all. He finally turned around. She hurried up the bank and dried herself with all possible haste. Fearing there wouldn't be enough time before her impatient husband turned around, she didn't bother putting on her chemise but slipped the white cotton gown over her head.

Pink ribbons secured the thin undergown from the bottom of her waist to the top of her chin. Her fingers felt as though they were being pricked by a thousand sharp pins now, making the task terribly awkward, and try as she did, she couldn't get the delicate ribbons properly tied.

She gave up on the task for the moment. The heavy tunic she planned to put over the undergown would sufficiently cover her bare chest. The problem was getting to the thing. She'd draped the garment on a low-hanging branch so it wouldn't get dirty, but she'd have to walk around Connor to get to it. She wasn't about to let him see her in such an indecent state and was forced to ask him to please hand it to her.

He turned around instead. She started backing away from him, thinking only to put a little distance between them, but then she felt herself slipping on the wet slope. She would have fallen flat on her face or plunged back into the water, but Connor saved her from disgracing herself by pulling her back to safety.

If he hadn't looked so disgruntled, she would have thanked him for his assistance.

She pulled her gown tight over her breasts and frowned with disapproval.

“I want you to understand you have nothing to fear from me. My duty is to take care of you, not harm you.”

“I don't fear you.”

“You just backed away from me,” he reminded her dryly. “You were obviously frightened a minute ago.”

She shook her head. The ribbon holding her hair up in a lopsided knot near the top of her crown flew into the water, and the thick mass of curls dropped down around her shoulders.

Looking at her in such a disheveled state gave him a sudden rush of pleasure. She was the most provocative creature he'd ever met. A man could get lost in the magic of those big blue eyes of hers and forget all about his duties while he paused to admire the sensual grace in the way she moved.

What the hell was wrong with him? Brenna wasn't casting a spell on him, yet he was acting as though she were. He quickly became irritated. He wasn't about to let her rob him of his discipline, and damn, but she was a bother.

And a temptress. All he wanted to think about was kissing her frown away and making hard, hot love to her.

She would probably die of fright if she had any idea of his thoughts. She couldn't possibly know how alluring she was, or how his body was reacting to her near nakedness. She wouldn't be frowning up at him with such indignation if she realized how close she was to being tossed onto the nearest blanket.

“Stop shaking your head at me,” he ordered in a gruff voice.

“I was merely letting you know, most emphatically, that I wasn't frightened. It's just that I didn't expect you to turn around, and I was surprised. Your manners do give me grave concerns.”

He smiled. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Manners aren't important to you?”

“No.”

“No? But you should think they're important.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she repeated. Her mind went blank. Heaven help her, she couldn't come up with a single reason. The way Connor was looking at her, with such warmth and tenderness in his eyes, made her forget even what they'd been talking about.

She took a step closer to him. “You are a very confusing man,” she whispered. “But if I am to keep my sanity, I guess I'll have to try to understand you. You'd better be worth the bother, Connor.”

Almost as an afterthought, she said, “You may let go of me now.”

He didn't feel like letting go of her, and because he was accustomed to doing exactly what he wanted to do, he ignored her wishes. Her soft skin, as smooth as an angel's and the color of pale gold in the moonlight, felt good against his rough, callused hands.

How had this treasure eluded other men?

“Haven't you ever been courted by other men?”

“I was betrothed to a baron, but he died before I was old enough to marry him. I never actually met the man, or many others for that matter. Father wouldn't allow any men around his daughters, especially Rachel,” she explained. “She's the pretty one.”

“Did the baron to whom you were pledged die in battle?”

“In bed.”

“He died in bed?”

“It was tragic,” she snapped. “Not amusing.”

“Only an Englishman would die in his bed.”

She thought his opinion too ignorant to argue about. “Will you stop squeezing my arms now?”

He lessened his hold. “Are you still feeling embarrassed?”

“Just a little.”

“I don't want you to be embarrassed at all. You will stop it now.”

She started to laugh before she realized he was perfectly serious. “Do you have any idea how arrogant you sound?”

She didn't wait for him to answer her. “I'm getting cold again. If you'll let go of me, I'll finish getting dressed.”

“There isn't any need to dress. We're going to bed.”

It wasn't what he said, but how he said it that made her panic. He reeked with authority and looked as tense as a warrior about to go in for the kill.

She deliberately tried to misunderstand. “Together?”

“Of course.”

“Now? You want to go to bed now?”

He really was beginning to hate that word. “Yes, now.”

“I'd rather not.”

“I'd rather so.”

“You might as well know I'm dreading it, Connor. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I must be honest with you. Surely you don't want to force your attentions on an unwilling . . . Now what are you doing?”

“Putting the MacAlister plaid around you. Will you stop backing away from me every time I reach for you? It's damned irritating. Lift your hair out of my way.”

“I'd rather you left me alone.”

“You're trying my patience.”

Why wouldn't he understand? She tried once again to get through to him.

“Connor, I don't have any experience.”

She was sure she didn't need to explain in more detail. Surely he could hear the worry in her voice, see it in her eyes, and feel it in the way she trembled. Any decent, caring man would immediately try to soothe her.

“I do.”

“That's it?” she cried out. “I'm supposed to be comforted because you have experience?”

“You want me to comfort you?” He sounded appalled by the very idea.

His reaction didn't sit well with her. Her frustration mounted until she wanted to scream. She took a slow, deep breath, instead, to calm herself.

It didn't help. “Yes, I most certainly do want you to comfort me.”

He was afraid she was going to say that. For the first time in a very long while, he was at a loss for words. No other woman had ever made such a strange request of him before. In the past, women had always come to him willingly and offered their bodies, and if he'd been in the mood to accommodate them—which, he had to admit, was most of the time—he'd accepted. He'd been mindful of his responsibility to be gentle with them, of course, and he'd always made certain their enjoyment matched his own. None of them had been virgins, though; he wouldn't have taken them to his bed if they had been, and now that he thought about it, damned near every one of them had been wellversed in the art of pleasuring a man. In fact, they'd usually had more experience than he had.

But they'd all left smiling.

This gentle lady standing before him wasn't at all like other women. She was his bride, the woman who would carry his name and bear his children. He should respect her by doing whatever was required of him to allay her fears. Admittedly, he was completely lacking in experience when it came to meeting the emotional needs of women, but he was certain that, if he put his mind to it, he could draw from past observations.

No, no, he was wrong about that, Connor realized after contemplating the dilemma for a moment. He guessed he'd never taken the time to notice what other men did with their women, not even his brother, Alec.

Now what? He wasn't about to tell her she was out of luck. She'd probably start crying then, and he wouldn't have any idea how to get her to stop. His brother always left the hall whenever his wife wept and returned only after she'd calmed down enough to listen to reason. He wasn't going to follow Alec's example now. He'd never get her bedded if he walked away from her. Hell, she'd think she'd been given a reprieve.

There seemed to be only one way out of this mire. He was going to have to help her get over this foolish worry of hers, no matter how long it took.

He prayed for the unthinkable—understanding, “I have decided to comfort you.”

“You have?” She looked thrilled.

“Yes, I have. However, you're going to have to explain this duty to me first so I'll know how to proceed. You may begin.”

“This isn't the time for jests.”

“I wasn't jesting.”

“You're really telling me the truth?”

The scowl on his face told her he didn't like being doubted. She hurried to calm him. “Yes, of course you're telling the truth. You're a laird, for heaven's sake. You wouldn't ever lie.”

“Will you get on with it?”

She nodded, but didn't say another word.

“Brenna . . .”

“I'm thinking about it,” she cried. “Your impatience is making me nervous. How to give comfort is rather difficult to explain. I don't want to make a muck of it.”

She lapsed into silence again for what seemed like an hour. He couldn't understand what was taking her so long. He hadn't asked her to solve an impossible riddle, for the love of God. Why was she acting as though he had? He honestly didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to stand there without touching her. Couldn't she see what she was doing to him? No, of course she couldn't. She was fully occupied thinking about comfort, of all things. She seemed to have forgotten how to speak. She'd forgotten she was half naked too, but he hadn't. The second she stopped holding her gown together over her chest, the gap in the material widened enough for him to see the gentle swell of her breasts.

It almost killed him to look away. He suddenly realized that if he didn't get her covered up at once, he was going to completely lose his sense of discipline. He would run his fingers down her smooth, enticing skin, gently, of course, and then rip the thin-as-air gown off her.

She sure as hell wouldn't be thinking about comfort then, would she?

Connor quickly wrapped the plaid around her. He draped one long end over her shoulder, spread the material wide to cover her breasts, and secured the wool with the roped belt he'd carried along. The back of his hands deliberately brushed across her bare skin, not once but twice, while he dressed her, and damned if he didn't feel as though he'd been struck by hot lightning.

Covering her up didn't make his primitive urges go away. Now all he wanted to do was tear the plaid and her gown off her.

He stared into the distance instead.

“I'm pleased you're thinking about this.”

She certainly gained his full attention with her remark. “You are?”

“Yes.”

He gave her a hard look. “Exactly what do you think I'm thinking about?”

“Comfort.”

He didn't laugh. She wouldn't understand why he was amused, and God help him, he'd probably tell her.