Page 9 of The Handfasting
He supposed he should withdraw soon. He wasn’t even sure public kissing was proper among the Highlanders. Yet he couldn’t pry himself away.
Lady Cathalin was irresistible. Soft and sweet, young and lovely, passionate and willing.
She was the best Yuletide gift he’d ever received.
What he’d done to deserve such a treasure he didn’t know.
But she was his now.
And he didn’t plan to ever let her go.
Chapter 3
It took the taunts and jostling of his men and the clan to break them apart at last. But when No?l, hot and breathless, peered down at his bride, she appeared as stunned as he felt.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her silvery eyes were glazed with desire. She lifted trembling fingers to her rosy lips. If he hadn’t been holding her by the hand, she might have staggered backward in dizzy surprise.
The thought gave him immense pleasure. One corner of his lip curved up as he gazed down at her. He fought the powerful urge to whisk her off her feet, carry her up the stairs, and claim his husbandly rights at once.
But he’d vowed he would not—not tonight. And if there was anything that defined the Knights of de Ware more than their healthy appetites for women, it was their honor.
So he leashed the beast in his braies and stepped back with a respectful nod of his head.
“Eat! Drink!” the laird encouraged. “Ye’ll need strength tonight, lad, to wield your braw claymore.” He made a nasty gesture that caused a roar of raucous laughter and made his new bride blush.
No?l, with a sudden surge of protectiveness, clenched his jaw. No one—especially not her own father—should speak so crudely in the presence of a lady.
But he didn’t wish to upset her more, so he wouldn’t challenge the laird for his lack of courtesy. Still, he was inclined to pack up his wife and his men and leave the keep at once.
He settled for guiding her to her place at the table and seating himself between her and her father, where he could shield her from the drunken laird’s vulgarity. The last thing a skittish bride needed was more fuel for her fear.
And more delay.
No?l might agree to put off the consummation of his marriage by a day. But more than that was bordering on unreasonable. He wanted to get home. Besides, if his wifedidharbor feelings for that young man, Caimbeul, it was probably best to make a quick, clean break of it.
Still, he knew he couldn’t leave until their wedding was official. And so he intended to employ his considerable powers of seduction to ensure that, come tomorrow night, he’d bed a very willing bride.
Ysenda was still reeling from that earth-shaking kiss when Caimbeul leaned toward her, clearly upset.
“Oh, sister, why?” he whispered in despair. “Why did ye do it? Why did ye agree to marry him?”
She rested a comforting hand on her brother’s forearm. “Caimbeul, I couldn’t let ye be hurt.”
He looked miserable. “I’d rather die than have ye wed to a stranger.”
“’Twill be fine. Ye’ll see,” she promised in a murmur, hoping she was right. “The Norman has vowed not to touch me tonight. The handfastin’ won’t stand. On the morrow, Da will see the error of his ways. He’ll realize he can’t defy the king. ’Twill be undone faster than ye can blink.”
Caimbeul didn’t look convinced, especially when he glanced past her at Sir No?l. But he nodded. “Promise ye won’t let him touch ye.”
She gave him a scheming grin. “I’ll sleep with a dagger in my hand.”
But Caimbeul didn’t return her smile.
In the next moment, her attention was drawn away by No?l’s men. As if by magic, they’d produced a cask of wine. No?l said it was the finest from Bordeaux, which he wished to share with his new clan.
Ysenda was impressed, both by the gesture and by the wine. She’d never had wine before. In the Highlands, they drank cider, ale, and, on special occasions, mead.
No?l filled a cup for the two of them to share. She took a sip of the ruby-colored liquid. It was clear, smooth, and sweet. It was also quite strong.
