Page 57 of Beguiled By the Highlander
The tip of her tongue moistened the seam of her lips, a fleeting gesture and one he found uncommonly fascinating. “Ye do know,” she said at last, “that doesn’t make sense at all.”
He could scarcely recall what they’d been talking about. “When I look at ye, my brains addle. Don’t condemn me for it, since I fear I’ll never be able to look at ye with a clear head.”
“That’s a pity. I should like to know yer clear-headed thoughts, and that’s a fact.”
Too late, he realized discussing the state of his mind was likely the worst thing to talk about while she still harbored doubts about him. But tomorrow, after he’d proved how much she meant to him, she’d see the truth.
“Ye cannot expect such a thing while I hold my beautiful bride in my arms on our wedding night.” He cupped her face, before threading his fingers through her hair and pulling her close. “Ye’ve bewitched me, and I’ve no wish to be released from yer spell.”
“Tis not a bewitched husband I want, but one I can speak with plainly.”
“Ye can say whatever ye wish to me.”
“If only that was true.”
Belatedly, he realized she wasn’t merely jesting with him. She may have welcomed him into their bed tonight, but she was still irked.
“I’m grieved ye doubt it.” More than she’d ever know. “But there’s no reason why we can’t find what we had on Eigg here at Creagdoun.”
“What we had on Eigg wasn’t real.” There was a wistful note in her voice that tugged at his heart. “There’s no going back. I know that.”
“Then we’ll find a new way forward. ’Tis better that way, surely? A fresh beginning to start our married life together.”
“Ye could be right.” She sounded reluctant, but at least she wasn’t disagreeing with him. That had to be a good sign.
She tipped her head back, and her lips were a temptation he could not resist. His mouth captured hers, his tongue penetrating and exploring, and her small gasp of pleasure ignited his blood in a blaze of lust.
He pulled her shawl from her shoulders and dropped it to the floor, and memories of when he’d done this before flickered through his mind. But tonight, everything was different. Because tonight there was no risk to her reputation.
Panting, he pulled back to drink in his fill of her flushed cheeks and how her delectable breasts strained against the fabric of her shift. Except something caught his eye and he glanced at her feet, where Sjor regarded him with an unblinking stare.
“God damn.” The oath slipped from him before he could prevent it. ’Twas just the dog, but for a heartbeat all he’d seen were a pair of black, glowing eyes. “Should Sjor be in here with us?”
Her lips twitched with evident mirth. “Will knowing Sjor is watching affect yer performance?”
“My performance is for yer benefit only. I fear loyal Sjor might attack my arse at a vital moment.”
“That would be unfortunate, indeed.” There was no mistaking the laughter in her voice. “A wedding night to remember, that’s for certain.”
“Aye. But I’d rather remember it for other reasons than a dog bite.”
“I’m not against sending Sjor to the antechamber. But he’ll be alone, and he’s missing his littermates dreadfully.”
Momentarily lost for words, he gazed into her eyes. Of all the things he’d imagined might occur on this belated wedding night, discussing how Isolde’s dog was homesick hadn’t even crossed his mind. He gave Sjor a doubtful sideways glance. The terrier still stared at him in apparent wounded affront.
A disbelieving laugh escaped. He was becoming as daft as Isolde was over her beloved dog. But the fact remained, allowing Sjor to stay in the bedchamber was a small price to pay for Isolde’s peace of mind.
“Can ye extract a promise from him that he’ll mind his business if we let him stay?”
“Sjor, bed.” Isolde pointed to a pile of blankets in a corner by the hearth, and the dog obeyed without so much as a snuffle. She gave him another mocking smile. “Are ye satisfied now?”
“Not yet.” It took every shred of willpower he possessed not to rip the shift from her body and take her where she stood, but somehow he managed to contain himself. “But before this night is done, we’ll both be well satisfied, Isolde. Ye have my word.”
With that, he unwound his plaid, a torturous maneuver, with Isolde watching his every move as though she had never witnessed anything so intriguing before. With a silent sigh of relief, he dropped it onto a nearby stool before kicking off hisboots. But when he began to unlace his shirt, she stepped closer and unlaced him herself.
“’Tis only fair.” She glanced up at him through her lashes, and the breath damn near stalled in his chest. “Ye didn’t give me the chance to strip ye the last time we were together.”
With Isolde’s fingers brushing against his naked chest, and a delightful frown of concentration on her brow as she loosened the ties, he could scarcely recall the last time they’d been together. In truth, he could barely remember his own name. Which all things considered, should have been a worry.
