Page 8 of The Handfasting
His voice sounded much surer than hers. “I, Sir No?l de Ware, take ye, Lady Cathalin ingen Gille, Maid o’ Rivenloch, as my bride—”
“To my wedded wife,” she corrected in a murmur.
“To my wedded wife…till death…comes…”
She fought back a giggle. “Till death parts ye and me.”
“Till death parts ye and me…”
“And thereto I pledge ye my troth,” she prompted.
“Aye,” he said, finishing with a triumphant smile. “And thereto I pledge ye my troth.”
“’Tis done then,” her father said in satisfaction, clapping the matter from his hands.
Ysenda hardly heard him. Her attention was riveted on the man before her—the man who had somehow, improbably, just become her husband. A warm twinkle glimmered in his eyes. His smile was captivating. And the thumb he stroked softly over the top of their joined hands sent a curious tingle through her veins.
The laird raised a cup of ale in salute, and the clan followed with cheers.
But No?l wasn’t finished. He held his hand out to the man on his left, who placed a gold ring in his palm. Unwinding the handfasting ribbon to free her hand, No?l then gently slipped the ring onto Ysenda’s third finger.
She stared down at it. It was heavy, carved with the figure of a wolf’s head.
“’Tis the great Wolf o’ de Ware,” he told her.
She bit her lip, troubled by its scowling face. The ring was loose on her finger. She hoped that it wouldn’t slip off, that she wouldn’t lose it, for it rightfully belonged to Cathalin.
He bent his head down to murmur, “I vow, my lady, from this time forward, ye shall have the protection o’ the Wolf.”
For one foolish moment, she wished that could be true. She wouldn’t mind having an army of fierce wolfish knights at her beck and call.
She gave him a faltering smile, which he returned with a wide grin that made her heart skip. But this was Cathalin’s husband, not hers. And part of her burned with envy at that truth.
He was still clasping the fingers of her right hand when he lifted his left hand to cup her cheek. He tipped her head up, commanding her gaze. His dark eyes sparked at her like a smoldering coal. She had trouble drawing breath. His thumb brushed at the corner of her mouth, coaxing her lips apart. In a sensual daze, she let her jaw relax as her eyes lowered to his tempting mouth.
He was going to kiss her.
Cathalin’s bridegroom was going to kiss her.
She should have stopped him. But she had to play out this fiction, for her brother’s sake.
At least that was what she told herself as he closed the distance.
But it wasn’t completely true.
She wanted to see what it felt like to kiss a man. And she wanted to pretend, even if only for a moment, that she was just as worthy and desirable as her sister.
When he touched his lips to hers, the cheering clan seemed to fade away. There were only the two of them, connected by their joined hands and their searching mouths. Her eyes fell closed. His light breath upon her cheek sent a current of pleasure rippling through her.
And then he leaned closer, increasing the sweet pressure.
She expected, by his formidable appearance, that his kiss would be rough and aggressive. But the warrior somehow reined in his strength. His lips were soft, tender, and deft. His fingertips gently caressed the sensitive flesh beneath her ear, making her shiver.
As he kissed her, he entwined the fingers of his right hand with hers and drew her closer, until their tangled hands formed a lover’s knot between their hearts. Ysenda felt like warm candle wax, melting into him. Her heart beat forcefully against her ribs. A quiet, joyful moan sounded in her throat as he inclined his head to deepen the kiss.
No?l never wanted the kiss to end.
It was mad—the strong, inexplicable attraction he felt to his new bride. His heart was pounding. His mouth was ravenous. He didn’t dare ponder what was happening below his belt.
