Page 22 of Highlanders for the Holidays
When he’d awakened to find her gone, he feared it might have all been a dream. But the rumpled sheets smelled like her—fresh, warm, and womanly—and that scent had stirred him to life.
Now, walking beside his lovely new wife, he had to resist the urge to sweep her up the stairs, toss her onto the bed, and make love to her…all day long.
“There should be bannocks in the bakehouse,” she said, ushering him out the door of the great hall.
The courtyard was still covered in white. But the sun had peeped out this morn. Icicles dripped from the thatched roofs of the outbuildings. The snowy expanse twinkled like crystals.
His bride was still in her slippers. So he scooped her up to carry her toward the bakehouse.
She squeaked, startled.
He grinned down at her. Then he noticed something that made his smile vanish. One side of her face was red, as if someone had clouted her.
He stopped walking and tipped up her chin to examine the mark. He clenched his teeth. “Your cheek—did someone strike ye?”
She frowned, tugging her chin away. “Nae,” she told him. “I probably just slept on it.”
He suspected she wasn’t telling him the truth. “Ye know that I’m your protector now.” Indeed, he was surprised by just how fiercely protective he felt. “If anyone touches ye, he’ll have to answer to me.”
Her eyes went all soft and dewy when he said that. But he was serious. Any man who laid a hand on a defenseless woman deserved to be beaten to a bloody pulp.
“’Tis very chivalrous,” she said. “But ye knowIcome from a long line o’ warrior maids.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Still, he had a hard time believing his wee wisp of a wife could fend off a grown man. If someonehadstruck her—and he suspected it might be her father—perhaps it was a good thing he was taking her away from this place.
He carried her to the bakehouse. As she’d promised, there were oat bannocks, fresh out of the pan. They were warm, buttery, and filling. He ate three of them. But he saved his last bite for her. He fed her from his hand, letting his fingertip linger on her lip.
He’d appeased one hunger, but the other still nagged at him. He stared at her beautiful mouth. Then, not caring whether it was proper in Scotland, he pulled her close, lifted her chin, and placed a soft kiss on her lips.
She responded at once, letting her eyes drift closed. Her lips were pliant beneath his as she dissolved against him. He pulled her closer, reveling in her warmth. Her arms traveled up around his neck. And then he felt a strong surge of lust in his braies, one he had trouble concealing.
She gasped lightly, and he knew she felt it as well. Without another word, he finished the kiss, nodded to the baker, picked up his bride, and headed back to the keep.
Thankfully, no one stood in his way—not her unpleasant father, not No?l’s knights, not the Caimbeul lad. He climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to her chamber.
Then he stopped. Her sister was there, rummaging through Cathalin’s clothes.
“Oh!’ she exclaimed in surprise, looking back and forth between the two. “I…I just needed to…borrow a gown…from Cathalin. Is that all right…Cathalin?”
* * *
Ysenda had never felt moreawkward. There was no question now. They were all conspiring together to fool the Norman knight. When he found out…
She glanced at him and gulped. Considering the breadth of his chest, his powerful muscles, and the formidable men who followed him about…she didn’t want to be there when he found out.
But there was nothing she could do about it now. As far as Cathalin, it seemed that as long as her sister was granted access to her extravagant gowns, she wasn’t in the least perturbed that Ysenda might be swiving the man who should have beenherhusband.
“Cathalin?” her sister prompted again.
“O’ course,” Ysenda said. “Help yourself.”
She gave them a knowing smirk. “I can come back later if—”
“Nae,” she said. “We’re only—”
“Aye,” No?l said simultaneously. “Come back later.”
