The Highlander's French Bride Page 21

  Chapter 27

  The room was small but clean and comfortable, with a tiny fire behind a metal grate. Melisende glided across the floor, her fingers plucking nervously at the folds of her gown. Her chest grew tight, as though Kinnon’s presence emptied the room of its air. Have I done the right thing? So sudden? She peeked at him over her shoulder as he draped his cloak over a wooden chair. Her skin tingled, blood warming her as her heart doubled its beat. A smile of pleasure spread across her face. It is like a dream. One I do not wish to wake from.

  It was suddenly imperative she touch him, reassure herself he was real—their marriage was real. A small cry escaped her as she whirled about, throwing herself into his arms.

  “Are ye well, mo chridhe?” he murmured against her ear. “Ye arenae wishing to take back those lovely words, are ye?”

  The absurd notion to laugh bubbled at the back of her throat. “You will think me silly, but I am having a difficult time believing this is real.”

  “Let us take things nice and slow, then, lass, so ye can savor every moment.”

  A tremor ran through her. “I find myself a bit adrift, Kinnon. I do not know what to expect.”

  He nibbled her ear and she shivered. “I was hoping ye would show me,” he sighed.

  Melisende laughed, her tension eased. “Do not lie to me and say you have not done this before,” she chided him, snuggling closer.

  “But this is the first time with ye, and there will never be another woman in my bed. That makes this verra special, aye?”

  “I never want to wake again without your arms about me.”

  “This morning was the last time, mo chridhe,” he reassured her. “The verra last time.”

  Nervousness stirred tiny whirlpools in her belly. She took a step back and reached behind her to undo the laces of the dress. “I do know I should set this aside,” she quipped. Presenting her back to him, she pulled her hair to one side. “Would you help?”

  Kinnon kissed her neck, his breath lighting flames along her skin, as he plied his nimble fingers to the silken laces. “I willnae be so slow to undress ye again, mo chridhe. My mind is muddled with the sight of ye, is my only excuse this time.”

  His words, and the muttered curse as the laces fouled, made her giggle again, a sensation as heady as wine. In moments, she was standing in her thin undergown, slightly dismayed at the tips of her breasts as they puckered visibly beneath the fabric. Kinnon brushed his thumb gently across the peaks, sending a jolt of passion through her. Taking her hands, he guided her to the chair and she sat as he removed her shoes and stockings.

  Motioning for her to stay, he filled a wash basin with water. Gathering it along with a piece of linen, he knelt before her and washed her feet. Pure longing filled her as his eyes told her of his love, and his gentle hands promised his service to her.

  “I dinnae have much to offer ye, Melisende, but I will never give ye cause to doubt me and I will always love and care for ye. Despite the words the priest said over us, tell me again. Will ye love me the rest of our days?”

  Leaning forward, she cradled his cheeks in her palms and kissed his lips. “I will love you forever.”

  Kinnon rose, pulling her to her feet with him. He wrapped his arms about her, his lips claiming hers, slanting his mouth as he deepened the kiss. Hunger and need dissolved her bones, and she clung to him, returning his kiss with fervor. Slipping an arm behind her knees, he lifted her against his chest and carried her to the bed. Swiping the coverlet aside, he followed her onto the softness, stretching beside her.

  He toyed with the string at the neckline of her gown. “I want to see ye naked, Melisende.”

  The idea was not unexpected, but the experience was new, and she hesitated. “Completely?” she teased, a smile playing about her lips.

  “’Tis the general idea,” he admitted, removing his belt and tossing it aside. His plaide billowed loose and he shoved it to the floor. He pointed from his leine to her gown. “We’re a bit more even now. Want to race?”

  Melisende dissolved into laughter. Kinnon regarded her with a pained look. “A bit louder and the men will be doubting my ability to please my wife.”

  She bit her lip. “I am sorry. No one has ever made me laugh as you do.”

  “’Tis a gift,” he agreed. Nodding at her undergown, he added, “Take all the time ye need.”

  He’d never meant words less, but he wanted her willing, unafraid, wanting to grow their relationship in every way. He shrugged out of his leine, letting the fabric drop to the floor, and waited for her next move.

  Melisende sat, curling her legs beneath her as she loosened the lace at her neck. With a shimmy of her hips and shoulders that nearly pushed Kinnon past the edge of his good intentions, she swept the thin gown from beneath her bottom and over her head. His gaze wandered over her, drinking in the beauty of her breasts, the perfect size to fill his palms, the luminous glow of her skin in the gentle glow of the fire, and the tantalizing view of the shadow at the junction of her thighs.

  “Kinnon?” The squeak of doubt in Melisende’s voice snapped his attention back to her, and he mentally chastised himself for causing the look of apprehension on her face. He gave a lopsided grin.

  “I am a verra lucky man, mo chridhe.”

  The taut line of her shoulders relaxed. “Tell me,” she invited.

  Kinnon leaned forward, his lips brushing hers. “Let me show ye.”

  She fell back onto the bed within the safety of his arms, and he rose over her, his mouth trailing over her skin. She tasted of warm honey and smelled of sweet spring flowers. He inhaled deeply, swept away by a wave of need. Burying his face in the valley between her breasts, his hands exploring the softness of her belly, he waited for the fire within him to settle.

  “Touch me, Meli,” he groaned. “Need me as much as I need ye.”

  Her palms slid slowly over his sides, then along his flanks, fingers rounding behind his back to splay across his buttocks. He pushed against her, responding to her hands as they kneaded him. He rolled to the side, trailing one hand across her belly then lower, cupping the mounded flesh that had tantalized him earlier. She tensed with a gasp, then relaxed slightly, her knees drifting apart as she offered herself to him. She moaned, lifting her hips, pressing herself against his hand.

  “Mo chridhe, this time ye may be a bit tight, and I’m told it may likely hurt for a few moments as yer body adjust to the feel of me inside ye. Are ye willing for this?”

  Her hand slipped between them, her slender finger wrapping about his cock. “It seems we are both ready, mon amour,” she murmured. She squeezed gently and his ability to think clearly vanished. With a deliberate attempt at regaining control, he stilled, his breath harsh in his chest.

  He covered her mouth with his, his tongue seeking entrance as he rolled atop her and pressed his cock slowly within. His blood ran hot through his veins and pressure built deep inside. Her small cry was like a dash of cold water and he waited to feel her move beneath him again.

  The need for her roared through him, and as she stroked herself against him, he gave in. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and she shook hard as a different cry tore from her. With a groan of satisfaction, Kinnon followed her over the edge.

  * * *

  Morning was a faint glow on the horizon when Kinnon eased from the bed. He fed a few pieces of wood to the small grated fire and the resulting flames shot their amber light about the small room. Melisende sighed softly and reached for him. He stepped back to the bed and gathered her hands, kissing both palms before settling a lingering kiss on her lips.

  “We have a journey to begin, mo chridhe.”

  “Last night was a good beginning,” she remarked, stretching languidly beneath the sheets.

  “I am verra glad we had last night to ourselves, and a proper bed.”

  She slanted him a sultry gaze. “Every night will be like this?”

  He grinned. “Och, I am fair certain we will sleep mayhap a night or two. But
the days will be long and my arms will ache to have ye in them again.”

  “More like your cock will ache,” she chuckled, eyeing him as he pulled his leine over his cock as it stretched eagerly toward her.

  Heat rushed to his cheeks, surprising him. He paused, plaide in hand. “We could satisfy that ache now—for a time at least. My hunger for ye is no secret.”

  Melisende sat up, waving him away as she pulled the linen sheet over her breasts. “Be off with you,” she laughed. “I am not sure how I will sit a horse this day as it is.”

  Kinnon was instantly contrite. “I am sorry, mo chridhe. We can wait until tomorrow to leave, or even the next day if ye wish.”

  She blew him a kiss. “I will be fine. Give me a few moments to wash and dress without you tempting me to take you up on your generous offer.”

  “Are ye certain?” he asked, not sure how he, with his cock growing harder by the second, would sit a horse, either.

  “Oui.” She waved him toward the door. “And see that there is food to break our fast. I am famished!”

  Kinnon snagged another kiss from his bride and gave her a salute as he opened the door. “’Tis my wish to fill yer every hunger. I will rouse the kitchen.”

  Her laughter followed him down the hall.

  Kinnon stepped into the great room, gratified to see two of his men seated at a table closest to the stairway leading to the room he and Melisende shared. Two more eyed him from their spot near the door as they tucked away the morning fare. Rory crossed to him.

  “We can be ready in a few moments,” he said. “When shall we expect yer wife to be down?”

  “My wife,” Kinnon said, liking the way the words tripped off his tongue, “will be down in a few moments.” He grinned at his friend. “At least ’tis what she said. My guess is she will be a bit longer than that, and she did mention a good breakfast.” His stomach rumbled.

  Rory’s eyebrow rose. “Worked up an appetite, aye?” He did not flinch as Kinnon clouted his shoulder in mock reprimand. “I can have a wagon arranged if ye are too weak to ride.”

  “Save yer cheek for someone else,” Kinnon growled, his crinkled eyes denying any antagonism. “I wouldnae ask my worst enemy to sit a wagon on some of the trails we crossed getting here.” He shuddered in memory. “I will see to the horses. Wait for Melisende and see she is fed. I will break my fast on the trail.”

  Rory nodded and Kinnon left the inn, enduring the men’s good-natured ribbing about leaving his bride so early in the morning.

  He hurried along the cobbled road to the Hospitaller stables, eager to start the journey, to see Melisende and himself settled in Scotland. As he passed through the stable gates, horse heads shoved through open half-doors here and there along the edge of the U-shaped building. Stable lads stumbled sleepily into the courtyard. A few knights strode past. One broke away and made his way somewhat unsteadily back toward Kinnon. He halted before him, blocking the path. Hands fisted at his sides, his chin jutted out, he glared at Kinnon.

  “Bloody Scot. You think you are better than me.”

  Kinnon eyed the man, recognizing the knight of Melisende’s acquaintance. “Get some rest,” he said dismissively. “Ye are drunk.”

  Jean-Luc jabbed a finger at Kinnon’s chest. “Not so drunk I do not know who the better man is. I would have had her in my bed had you not shown up. She would have been grateful to have me for her protector.”

  Kinnon’s light-hearted mood darkened. “Ye can shut yer mouth now, or I can do it for ye.” He paused a moment as a wave of anger swept over him. “I would be pleased to do it for ye.”

  The Hospitaller searched him up and down with a disdainful look. “You are not man enough.” He drew his arm back, hand fisted, and threw a punch at Kinnon’s head.

  Rocking slightly to one side, Kinnon easily avoided the strike and grabbed the other man’s wrist as it passed. Taking one step away, he dropped his weight and turned, snaring Jean-Luc’s arm behind his back. Straightening, he shoved the knight’s fist up between his shoulder blades and Jean-Luc grimaced, sagging a bit to counter the painful arm lock.

  Kinnon leaned forward, his mouth close to Jean-Luc’s ear. “This would be where ye apologize for being a fool and challenging me. Even sober, ye wouldnae stand a chance.”

  Rage purpled Jean-Luc’s face and his mouth worked as he assembled adequate words. “I apologize.”

  Kinnon shook his head, aware he would likely not get a further admission from the knight unless he took the time to teach him some manners. An ache in his leg reminded him he was not as agile as he once was, and he was a married man now. He did not need to be acting like a hot-headed youth.

  Giving Jean-Luc a shove forward, he released him. The knight stumbled several steps, catching himself against a wooden rail used to tie horses. Kinnon wiped his hand down the length of his plaide, disgust tugging his lips down. He turned to the stalls given over to his horses.

  With a roar, Jean-Luc surged to his feet and rushed Kinnon. Half-expecting something of the sort, Kinnon swung around mid-stride, catching the glint of steel in the knight’s hand and the glare of deadly intent in his eyes. Kinnon’s blade slipped effortlessly from its scabbard and he pivoted, forcing Jean-Luc to stare into the rising sun.

  * * *

  Melisende greeted the Scotsmen as she entered the small gathering room of the inn. Rory stepped immediately to her side, smoothly taking her cloak and leather satchel of belongings from her. With a solicitous hand at her elbow, he motioned for her to have a seat at a nearby table. A single place had been set, a platter with a mug at its side, and a covered basket from which wafted the tantalizing aroma of fresh bread. She glanced at Rory.

  “Merci, but can you tell me where Kinnon is? It would be nice to eat with him.”

  “He has gone to see about the horses, madame. He said he would eat along the way.”

  Melisende laid her palm against Rory’s sleeve. “Then I will do so as well.” She snuck a speculative look at the table. “Mayhap a sip whilst this is wrapped up.”

  “As ye wish. ’Twill take no more than a moment.” Rory summoned a serving lass with a jerk of his head. Melisende swallowed a mouthful of watered ale and a bite of bread against the rumble in her belly.

  “Do ye have other belongings?” he asked.

  Melisende shook her head. “My belongings are in my satchel,” she replied. “As a pilgrim, I carried only what I needed.”

  “Smart lass,” he grinned. His smile of approval vanished into a look of mild horror. “Milady,” he corrected himself.

  “Do not call me milady,” Melisende laughed. “For I am certain I will never learn to answer to it. Madame if you must, Melisende if you would.”

  Clearly discomfited, Rory gave a short nod. “I will see what I can do. Though the men willnae call ye by yer given name, no matter how charmingly ye ask.”

  Melisende stepped into the cloak as he held it for her. “I shall endeavor to remember this,” she answered. “We have many days of travel together ahead. Let us not trip ourselves up on manières.”

  His hand motioning her to join him, he led her to the door of the inn. Four braw Scotsmen fell into step behind them. Their boots clattered on the cobbles of the street, the sound mixing with the scattered calls from merchants opening their shops for the day. Not too far ahead, a murmur rose, and heads swiveled at the noise.

  Rory stepped round in front of Melisende, pointing a rigid finger at her nose. “Stay put.” “Watch her,” he commanded the Scotsmen, who had gathered close, and broke into a jog through the gathering crowd.

  Melisende hesitated only a second before darting after him, her guard in tow. Ignoring their protests, she wound through the throng, pulling up short just inside the Hospitaller stable where two men circled each other, swords drawn.

  Kinnon! She recognized her husband’s form immediately. Her gaze flew to the other man. Jean-Luc! Her stomach clenched around its meager breakfast as she realized the men had little to dispute except her.<
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  Horses whinnied, sensing danger in the air, but the people about her remained silent, anticipation evident in the lines of their bodies and the expressions on their faces. To her left she glimpsed a man as he eased forward, wearing the Hospitaller colors of white cross on a black tunic. A furtive look on his face, his hand drifted to the sword at his belt.

  Slipping her dagger from the pocket in her cloak, Melisende turned toward the man, hand fisted on the knife’s hilt, angled just below belt level. “This is their fight, not yours, monsieur knight,” she admonished softly. His head turned at her words, distaste on the sneer of his lips as he saw who gave him challenge.

  Melisende nudged him with the tip of her dagger, glancing down as she did to ensure he understood her threat, offering him a chance to reconsider. “Should you wish to assist, you will do so as a eunuch.” The knight blanched and stepped a pace away. Giving her an angry look, he disappeared into the crowd.

  A quick look showed Kinnon’s men scattered at the perimeter of the crowd, and Melisende took a deep breath, satisfied they would do their best to keep others from interfering. The ring of steel shifted her attention back to the combatants.

  Jean-Luc circled Kinnon. Melisende cringed to see the subtle change in Kinnon’s balance as he favored his injured leg. His gaze bore into Jean-Luc as he deflected the knight’s attacks. Melisende fumed. Fall, Jean-Luc. Trip over your overwhelming ego and be done with this nonsense. Furious barking sounded from within the stables. Jean-Baptiste!

  Jean-Luc lunged again, just inside Kinnon’s defensive circle. Kinnon parried the thrust, but did not advance. “Fight me!” Jean-Luc roared. “Let us see who is the better man.”

  For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Jean-Luc’s guard relaxed, the line of his shoulders drooped slightly, allowing the tip of his sword to dip down. “Coward.”