Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cain looked across the great hall to where Aleysia stood with a small group of women from the village. He thought of her body beneath his, naked and sublime. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He knew whores, not virgins. She’d wanted to do it, of course. She was brave and bold.
But what they did was intimate, no less. She came for him. She broke down his defenses stone by stone until she breached his inner core and dusted off his heart.
He found himself remembering things, like a flash of a face or the sound of a voice. It had nearly driven him mad once. He didn’t want to miss them again.
But remembering didn’t hurt. In fact, it felt wonderful.
He smiled at her when he caught her eye. She blushed and tempted him to go to her.
“So ye are not angry that I invited everyone from the village to the celebration?”
Cain sipped the last of his whisky and looked down at Father Timothy. “Nae, I am not angry. They are her kin.”
“Aye,” the priest agreed. “Is it not odd to think that now ye have kin, too?”
“Aye,” Cain turned his eyes toward his wee brother, who was not so wee anymore. “Nicholas!” he called out and gathered the lad in his arms when he reached him. He had his brother back because of the two people who loved him.
“Has the announcement been made aboot who ye are?”
“Hours ago,” Father Timothy replied for his brother.
“Come,” Cain said, urging them to their chairs. “We have much to discuss.”
“Oh, what is it, Brother?”
Hell, would he ever grow accustomed to hearing the lad he’d called William for a pair of months now call him brother?
He smiled into his cup and thought for a moment about how much Aleysia d’Argentan had changed his life.
“There is somethin’ I would tell ye,” Cain said, taking a seat beside him. He finished off his whisky and called on the nerves of steel that aided him on the battlefield to help him now. “I…ehm…I have been tryin’ to remember things.”
“Son.” Father Timothy placed his hand over Cain’s larger one. Once it had been the other way around. Cain remembered that, too.
He smiled at his old friend and then returned his gaze to his brother. Nicholas had lost much. They all had. He wanted to give his brother something back. “I remember our mother holdin’ ye.” Tears gathered at the rims of his eyes as the memory played out before him as though it happened yesterday, bringing with it waves of emotion. “She carried ye with her while she did her work and called over her shoulder…” He had to stop and remember to breathe. “…as Torin and I wrestled in her carrot patch.”
“Torin.” Nicholas repeated the name, as if needing to hear it on his tongue. “Tell me about him, and our parents.”
Cain looked across the table and found Aleysia watching him, knowing what this meant to him, for him. He would thank her for it all later.
“He was five when last I saw him,” he told his brother. “He was fairer than ye and I, more like our mother and he enjoyed when mother told him stories.” He shared what he remembered of their parents, their mother especially—the one whose love he remembered most.
Aye, it had been painful at first, almost maddening—going back and finding her in the ashes. But in the end, her smile and gentle voice was worth the search.
He hadn’t been alone on the difficult journey. Aleysia had been with him. It wasn’t over, but she would be with him for it all. She was more courageous, more determined than any man he’d ever known. He wanted to spend the rest of his days with her. He wanted to go to sleep beside her each night and wake every morning to her bonny face. He wanted to watch her belly grow full with his bairns and be there to help them grow. Hell, he loved her. He hadn’t told her yet. He wanted to tell her now.
He rose from his seat just as someone called out a toast. He raised his empty cup and smiled with his men. Someone else rose up with another cheer for him and Aleysia, more for him and Nicholas. Before he knew it, everyone was gathered around his table, patting his back.
His eyes found Aleysia as the cheering settled down. She was speaking to an older woman with her back to him. When his betrothed looked up, he smiled and moved to go to her. The woman turned to have a look at him—from his boots to the top of his head. Beatrice. Hell. He averted his eyes from her the instant she looked at him.
“Ye look…happy.”
Cain turned to the warm, salient eyes of his oldest, only friend. “I am.”
“I am glad to hear that, Son.”
Cain knew he spoke the truth. Father Timothy had been the only comfort Cain knew in the cruelty of his world.
“Withoot ye and God lookin’ after me,” he said. “I might have died and never seen this day. Thank ye, Father.”
Father Timothy scrunched up his face and his large eyes filled with tears. Cain drew him in for an embrace he wished he hadn’t waited so long to give.
“In case ye didna know, I love ye, old man,” he managed and then patted the priest on the back and released him. “We will require ye in the chapel later. Just us.”
Father Timothy raised his brows. “Ye will marry her before ye speak to the king?”
“Aye,” Cainnech didn’t hesitate to tell him. Why wait? Nothing would stop him from having her. “I willna lose her.”
“Ye will need witnesses,” the priest reminded him gently.
Cain nodded, looking toward Aleysia and moving instinctively toward her. “Bring Nicholas and Richard.”
Beatrice was gone and his betrothed wore a smile touched by an inner light, radiating outward. She loved him. He still could not believe it. How had she fallen in love with such an unlovable heart?
“You are not rubbing your belly,” she noted, stepping into his arms.
“It no longer pains me,” he told her and dipped his mouth to hers. Their kiss was brief but she tasted of honey mead and desire.
“I spoke with Beatrice,” she told him quietly, stepping out of his embrace. “All is well. The pain is eased by a tender lover. Will you be tender?”
Her eyes were so green, so round with anticipation of his reply he couldn’t do anything but nod his head. He would do his best.
She moved in closer. He inhaled the top of her head. “She said we should do pleasurable things to each other.”
“Oh?” he asked. “Like?”
She laughed softly. “I did not ask her.”
“Good.” He took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes. “We will learn as we go.” He pulled her hands up behind his neck and leaned down close to her ear. “I am eager to begin.”
“As am I,” she whispered along his jaw and set his blood on fire.
“Father!” he called and pulled her toward the priest. “To the chapel!”
They couldn’t find Richard, but picked up Nicholas and Mattie on the way. Mattie wept and stared at Nicholas while Father Timothy gave his benediction. Cain tapped his foot and the priest kept it brief. He and Aleysia gave their consent. Father Timothy made the sign of the cross, and told them they were husband and wife.
Cain’s heart leaped for the first time in—well, for the first time.
Eager for each other, they bid good eve to the priest and their witnesses and hurried out of the great hall. When they reached the solar and opened the door, they found the hearth fire, along with a dozen candles, lit, and Aleysia’s bed sprinkled with rose petals.
She turned to cast him a surprised, delighted look. He shook his head. It wasn’t he, but now he knew something she enjoyed…besides fighting and lying in bluebells.
“Oh, it must have been Mattie!” she sang out, smiling. “She is always so considerate.”
“Aye.” He smiled, entering the room behind her. He bolted the door and turned to look at her standing before the bed bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. His heart beat madly against his chest. She was his. She had braved the battlefield for his heart and won it. It was hers. It would always be hers.
He walked to her tall wooden chest and took her comb in his fingers. He brought it to his nose and smiled at her behind it. “Ye are hauntin’, lass.”
Her eyes followed him as he moved nearer and pushed his plaid off his shoulder. Her gaze dipped to his belly after he lifted his léine over his head.
He watched her unlace her bodice and slip it off. His body hardened for her.
“The first time I had ye in this bed,” he told her, his voice thickening as he reached her. “I knew I wanted ye there always.”
She tilted back her head and laughed softly. “Do you mean the night I almost killed you?”
He snaked his arm around her waist and brushed his lips over her exposed throat. “Ye didna want to kill me even then.”
“I was a coward. Nothing more.” She laughed when he gently bit her neck. “I hated you!” She squealed when he tickled her and pushed away from him. She fell back on the bed and he fell with her.
He grew serious looking down at her against a backdrop of rose petals. He picked one up and brushed it over her cheekbone. “Ye are everythin’ to me, lass,” he told her, his voice a deep-throated rasp. “Yer heart calls out to mine and I answer—” he looked into her eyes. “I love ye.”
Tears gathered at the rim of her inky lashes. She didn’t have to speak, for he could see her heart in her eyes. “Oh, Cainnech, I love you, too.”
He kissed her, taking her full, lush mouth with measured control. He swept his tongue over hers, and she answered by joining him in his sensual exploration. Her body felt soft and warm beneath him. His, on the other hand, was as tight as a drum string.
He moved his hands over her and liked that she had the boldness to do the same to him. Her fingers running down his arms made his muscles tremble. She asked him modestly to turn his head while she undressed.
Doing as she bid, he waited on his knees facing the head of her rose-covered bed. He felt her moving behind him and closed his eyes to pray for control, to be a tender, gentle lover with his untried wife.
She came up behind him slowly, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her body was warm at his back. He turned his face toward her when she dragged her bottom lip up his arm. He inhaled her, aching for more of her. She came around slowly, tantalizing him with her breath, each fluid movement of her body. He’d wanted her in the glade. Even more now.
He unclasped his plaid from around his waist and unwound himself from it. He heard her gasp and, reaching out, he pulled her around and set her down on the bed. He took in the sight of her long, lithe curves, the tight tips of her breasts beckoning to be kissed, the sensual slope of her belly, the sweet tuft of black hair below.
He lay beside her, leaned on his shoulder and faced her. “Everythin’ will be well,” he promised on the tenderest whisper he could manage. “I will see to it.”
“I am not afraid, Cainnech,” she assured him, her warm, honey-scented breath falling on his face. “I wish to join with you and bring you pleasure.”
What had he done to deserve such a wife? “Lookin’ at ye gives me pleasure.”
She stared into his eyes and ran her fingers over his smile. “I feel the same way about you. Still, I want more. Do you not?”
He bent in close to her lips. “Aye, I want more.”
They coiled their limbs around each other, unable to get close enough.
“Does it pain you?” she asked of his heavy cock resting between them. “May I touch it?”
She ran her fingertips along his length, stretching his control to its limit. He groaned and grew even harder. When she closed her fingers around him, he grazed his teeth over her erect nipples and moved over her. They explored and enjoyed each other’s bodies with their fingers, lips, and tongues.
Taking his time at such pleasures was a new experience for Cain. Each kiss, every moan he pulled from her would be forever emblazoned on his memory. He would never forget this night with her. He loved her. He loved, and it didn’t hurt.
He told her while he kissed her body, tasting the sweet fruit of her breasts, the tight nub between her milky white thighs. His brave, beautiful woman didn’t flinch at his scandalous exploration and delight. No. She writhed in his mouth and drove him mad with the need to have her.
When he lifted himself above her, she smiled, ready to take him.
I will be tender. I will be tender. He chanted the litany over and over in his mind.
“Thank ye fer takin’ me as yer husband,” he said against her mouth as he lowered his body and rested himself on her.
Her warmth and inviting arms were nearly his undoing. He slipped his hand between them to guide himself to her entrance. He closed his eyes, afraid of hurting her, but her long legs parted for him.
“My love,” she whispered on the sultriest of breath, “thank you for taking me as your wife.”
He pulled her legs around him and pushed forward.
Tender.
He pushed a little more, leaning down to kiss her face, her neck, and to tell her he loved her. He moved slowly, grinding his teeth with the effort not to thrust into her. She held him as he pushed deeper, breaking her veil. At times, he paused and spoke softly to her when it seemed too painful, but she would not release him and, finally, she began to move under him.
Burying his face into her neck, he groaned and kissed a fiery path to her ear. He pressed her hands to the bed on either side of her and twined his fingers through hers.
He pushed forward on his knees and lifted her up with the force of his thighs. He almost withdrew, and then thrust himself deep into her.
She was sleek and tight around him. When he lifted his face from her throat, her languorous, sensual gaze captured his. They shared an intimate smile and then she closed her eyes and arched her back.
He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked until she undulated like a wave beneath him.
She grew tighter, wetter, hotter around him, gripping his shoulders. He released her nipple and clenched his jaw, watching her surrender all to him. She cried out. He sank into her again, surging against her slowly and with scintillating purpose until they both found their sweet release.