Averyl lifted a quilt over her sleeping husband with shaking hands. Sleep softened his angled features, the hard slant of his mouth. He looked tired, and after speaking so much of the past he clearly hated, Averyl knew he needed whatever brief rest the ale could give him.

Disillusionment was exhausting, as experience had taught her. Hope, a brief, shining star against the backdrop of her life, always died a slow, wearying death, leaving behind only bleak reality. Learning to live without her mother, without her father’s approval, and most recently without a husband’s adoration, had taught her to understand such bitterness. Drake had learned, too, from his mother’s rejection, Murdoch’s cruelties, and the Clan MacDougall’s murder accusations.

His self-imposed distance made sense now. After Diera’s betrayal, he had sealed off his heart from any possible hurt that might mirror his beloved father’s. Drake needed love. Instead of feeling the hunger for it, as she did, he guarded himself with mail-clad barricades so tight he could not see that truth.

He seemed determined to believe he was utterly alone in this world and even more determined to convince himself that he preferred life in solitude. Only ’twas not true. Averyl saw now his great need, even as he continued to deny it.

A sad smile floated across her mouth. Drake could pretend evil, could try to convince her of his harmful intent. She knew better, indeed probably understood more than he wished.

With a light touch of her finger, she caressed his stubbled cheek. He needed the very comforts she sought: understanding, acceptance, to believe that someone cared.

’Twas her duty as his wife to provide them. But the burgeoning sentiment in her heart had only to do with a bond she now felt linked them. Aye, she understood him, knew him.

Cared for him.

’Twas a foolish feeling, one he would never return for many reasons, chief among them his scarred heart and her homeliness. Still, she clung to her notion like a treasured secret. She could treat him well when the rest of the world wished him ill and hope he held some regard for her. That seemed her only recourse, for to tell him of her sentiment would only drive a wedge between them the size of Abbotsford’s debts.

 

* * * * *

 

Drake woke the next morning to the assault of sunlight and Averyl cheerily humming by the stove, clad in modest gray and one of those frilly white caps he hated. Groaning, he rolled away from his pallet and donned his breeches, feeling as if a hairy creature had taken up residence in his mouth and a marching army now lived inside his head.

He also felt as if his senses had taken leave of him last night.

Turning to him, Averyl gazed at him with soft eyes and a face flushed. “Would you break your fast?”

Food? He grimaced and shook his head.

A moment later, she sat down with some heated wine and a bread. Drake watched her, wondering when his head would cease aching…and what Averyl thought of his foolish loose tongue.

Aye, he remembered—with unfortunate clarity—what he had told her in his drunken state. Never, from the day he had taken Averyl from Dunollie, had he intended to tell her of the past, particularly the goriest of details, the kind which he’d revealed last night.

Then he’d seized her in his drunken grip, likened her to his mother, and all but told her he wanted to swive her.

Damnation! Could he have been any more thoughtless?

Whispering a curse, he strode to the window and glared out. The late morn air held a breeze. The sun shone upon the tufts of green grass swaying across the ravine floor. Drake sighed.

Averyl did not need to know of his past, of his mother and father, what motivated him to seek revenge. She had no notion what linked him to Murdoch, nor would he tell her.

More power over him Averyl did not need, for as the ache in his head subsided, the ache in his loins grew. A yearning to be beside her seized his logic. He wanted her in a way that went beyond mere desire. ’Twas not something he understood—or liked. But Drake feared nothing he did, short of lowering her to his mattress and taking her repeatedly until he could no longer want, would change his craving for her.

Still, he owed her an apology—more than one—for his behavior last night. For his surly mood of late. For allowing her to believe he’d thought her too homely to consummate their marriage.

“Are you certain you’ve no wish to break your fast?” came her soft inquiry from across the room.

“Aye,” he said, facing her. “I must fish, else we will have no meal this eve.”

A wistful yearning filled her eyes with green, just as spring did the land. “Aye.”

On silent footsteps, he approached, softened by her expression, the lonely turn of her mouth. Averyl’s melancholy disturbed him, even pained him in some silent way.

He frowned. “Averyl, I know when we were last here you did not leave this cottage much for the out of doors.”

“True.” Her smile looked tight and grim. “As a child, my father used to tell me I liked sun too much, for it gave me freckles upon my nose.”

Drake pictured her, all blond curls, freckles, and mischief darting about the green Scottish hills, laughing, pretending…

He shook the image away, disgruntled with the thought he had taken that pleasure from her. “Would you like… You could walk along the beach whilst I fish, if it would please you.”

Her hazel gaze flashed up to his, full of appreciation and excitement, like a child with an unexpected sweet.

“It would please me greatly.”

Together, they left the cottage. Ascending the steep hill to the gate, Drake turned and retrieved the key. He unlocked the barrier and let her through with a wave of his hand.

Her gentle smile, the one that curled her pink mouth and brought joy to her eyes, flashed across her face. Before he could stop himself, Drake found himself responding in kind.

With a shy duck of her head, she stepped through the gate, onto the grassy plateau above. Drake followed, watching the swish of her flowing gray skirts about her hips.

A recent rain had muddied the earth, bringing its scent, along with Scottish wind and a sea salt about them. As he moved to stand beside Averyl, she cast him a blushing glance.

He felt an odd sense of contentment move through him, warm like a soft wind upon a hill in summer, or thick like honey on fresh bread.

“What did you do when you were younger?” she asked, peering at him. “Were you a stern child, always bent to study?”

Drake smiled at the image. “Nay, I made much mischief, so my father sent me to train as a knight when I was seven. There, I met Kieran and another friend, Aric.”

“You have been friends a long time?”

Drake found himself answering with pleasure as the years rolled away and he remembered the past. “As boys, we were ever wayward, thanks mostly to Kieran. Aric tried to remain the voice of reason. I…was always somewhere in the middle. I took my duties seriously but did not turn from frolic very often.”

“You and Kieran and Aric are close still?”

“Very.” He nodded almost to himself. “A man could not have better warriors at his back, nor friends beside him. They are like brothers.”

Drake hesitated, wondering if he should say more. But something about the gentle harmony of the conversation lulled him. He much liked the idea of talking with Averyl without threats and ugly words between them.

“Aric and Kieran rescued me from Murdoch’s dungeons. Had they not, death would have come soon.”

Her gaze turned soft. “No wonder you hold great affection for them.”

Drake sobered. “Aye. I owe them my life.”

Together, they began down the hill that led to the quiet roar of the beach and the endless sea beyond. Averyl took a step upon the decline, then another—before she slipped.

While she wobbled to right her balance, Drake reached for her falling form. He caught her around the waist and set her upright once more as the soft flower of her scent awashed him.

He could not bring himself to take his hands off of her.

“Drake?” Averyl sent him a questioning stare.

“I would not have you fall,” he said, tightening his hold on the slight curve of her waist, fingers resting near her hip.

She seemed to relax into his touch. Drake glanced down as the summer sun pierced the clouds, shooting golden rays to light her hair with the brilliance of a halo. Sweat beaded his brow. Damnation and hell, how he wanted his own wife.

“I know of your mother, Drake. ’Tis sorry I am. Children deserve better.”

“It means naught.” Not wanting to discuss her, Drake shrugged her words away with a frown as they reached the shore.

Reluctantly, he released his grip on Averyl. The water lapped against rock and sand alike, and gulls wailed above. Averyl looked good beside the sea, like a water nymph resting upon land, letting the breeze play with her curls.

Shoving aside such fanciful thoughts, Drake waded out to the chilled water and dragged his nets to the damp sand.

“Did your father care at least?” Averyl asked suddenly. “Were you close?”

All manner of feelings stirred, leaving him with a mood he recognized as grief.

“Aye,” he answered. “He was steadfast and kind and caring. The very things your father should have been with you.”

Averyl shook her head. “I could not be…the daughter he wanted. If I could, perhaps he would be proud to call me his.”

Drake released the nets and gripped her hands in his. “You did not disappoint him. ’Twas his own foolishness that did not allow him to see the good in you.”

She hesitated, contemplating. “Do you think so, truly?”

She wanted to believe him so badly, her expression said. All the yearning and uncertainty in her soft heart appeared upon her fragile face. He felt the strangest, strongest urge to kiss away her fears, assure her of her beauty.

Their gazes clung. Pleasure and want rippled through him.

“Truly,” he murmured finally. “I am certain.”

Then she smiled, something timid yet full of hope and appreciation. He stopped—moving, breathing, blinking.

“Thank you.”

Though she squeezed his hands in appreciation, her eyes held a measure of care that spoke to him, like a siren calling his name upon the wind. Desire pooled in his gut, along with something he did not recognize, something gentler.

Something disturbing.

He moved away and bent to his nets once more.

“Do you like the shore?” he asked.

“’Tis peaceful here, as if we are a thousand miles from the rest of the world.”

“Why do you think I chose this place?”

Averyl nodded, conceding the point. But a frown marred the ripe red of her mouth.

“If it pleases you, I shall bring you to the shore anytime you like,” he found himself saying to ease her discomfort.

Surprise, then pleasure, cascaded over her features. “That would please me.” She laid a soft hand on his shoulder that made him want to touch her in return. “That would please me much.”

 

* * * * *

 

Back at the cottage, Drake wandered about as sunset fell over the ravine. Though he tried to think of aught else except Averyl—Aric and Kieran, Guilford, even Murdoch—no other subject held his mind captive as did his own wife.

As if his wishful thoughts had conjured her up, Averyl appeared as the pink-orange sky dimmed around them. But naught dimmed his view of her.

Gone was Averyl’s unflattering headdress. In its stead, she wore a lone braid that slid over her shoulder and caressed the valley between the sweet breasts he remembered possessing with his hands, his mouth. His fingers itched to touch her. His mouth burned to taste her. The rest of him… Want did not fully describe how much he ached to possess her.

She blushed pinkly under his scrutiny and turned away. Drake fisted a hand to keep from reaching out to touch her.

“The fish is ready when you are,” Averyl said, heading back to the cottage.

The rhythmic sway of her slender hips beneath the folds of her soft gray dress drew his gaze. Remembrances of their wedding night assailed him, largely the moments when he’d nearly possessed her, those trembling ticks of time while he had held her body a quivering breath apart from his.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Drake tugged his tunic lower to cover his erection and followed Averyl inside.

They ate in silence. He could scarce concentrate on food, so ate little. But his stare remained on Averyl. The shy return of his glances indicated she had taken note of his gaze.

Wiping her hands clean, Averyl turned to him as if hesitant. “Drake, I must ask…” She sighed. “I am puzzled.”

Puzzled. The word was rife with many meanings in their context. Puzzled about their marriage? Their unshared bed? His offer to walk the shore with her? His confession last night?

“Are you?” he asked carefully.

She nodded her golden head, that twining braid rubbing the side of her breast in a way that made him jealous. “Indeed. Why do you not confront Murdoch with the truth of your innocence in his father’s murder?”

His innocence…? Her words penetrated. Cold shock washed over Drake. He sat staring at her, open-mouthed.

“What say you?”

Even to his own ears, his whisper sounded raw and hesitant in the confined cottage’s space. As he awaited her answer, body tense, he heard only the popping of a dying fire and his own breathing. Was it possible she believed him innocent?

“Why can you not confront Murdoch and the MacDougalls? ’Tis clear to me that no one who truly knows you would believe you capable of such a despicable deed.”

He frowned, even as hope leapt to life inside him that he truly had her good opinion. “No one who knows me? And you believe you do?”

Averyl cast an uncomfortable glance at the table between them. He crushed another urge to touch her.

“Enough,” she answered. “You clearly respect your father, even from his grave, and sought affection from a mother not willing to give it. As your captive, you could have hurt me. No one would have naysayed you.” She ducked her head. “Yet you have not. At times, you have comforted me, been kind.”

Drake cast an amazed stare at her. He’d taken her from her family, dragged her to a remote island, only to threaten her and bully her into a marriage she wanted not. Instead of bitterness, she felt empathy. Averyl looked beyond his actions to the feelings beneath.

How?

“I do not mean to imply you have any feelings for me, of course,” she rushed to assure him.

But he did have feelings for her. An abiding lust he could not shake. An intense craving that converged in the center of his gut, all but ready to explode.

“’Tis just that I think someone with your nature cannot be the kind of heartless monster who would stab a man to death without a fair fight,” she clarified.

Still, Drake said nothing but continued to stare. Would this woman’s gentle temper ever cease to astound him? She believed in him, his innocence. And he had only hurt her at every turn, denying her the freedom he could not afford to grant, refusing the gift of her body she offered so sweetly.

Seemingly unnerved by his silence, Averyl rose and made for the door. With the scrape of his bench against the floor and the pounding of his heart in his ears, Drake rose and whirled after her. He caught her with a firm grip on her elbow. She faced him, soft surprise etching her ivory features.

Averyl was foolish. Too naïve by half. And Drake knew he had never wanted anything, anyone, more than he wanted her.

“Nay,” he whispered hoarsely. “Do not go.”

With a nervous swallow, Averyl shot him a cautious glance. “Did you need something?”

Nodding slowly, Drake memorized the amber-green of her eyes, the soft rose of her lips. “You.”

Before she could do more than gasp, he seized her delicate cheek in his palm and lowered his head to capture her tender mouth. A hesitant response lay upon her lips. He wrapped his arms about her, bringing her flush against the eager length of his body.

Within moments, she melted under his touch, as if she were made to mold around him. Fingers tangling in the hair at his nape, she moaned into his mouth. Her tongue touched his with a fervency that sent his clamoring passions into a tempest.

The compelling innocence of her kiss swept across his senses like a stormy summer breeze on a windswept moor. Her tongue matched his ardent rhythm, dancing with his in an intimate imitation of the act he hoped would follow.

Yet he wanted more, to feel every honeyed inch of her, to consume the alabaster pink of her flesh. The past, the future, their enemies be damned.

Dragging his hands to her shoulders, one palm drifted lower, to the breast his fingers ached to encompass. Soft and taut, her flesh filled his hand perfectly, its weight infusing him with her heat. Brushing his thumb across the peak of her breast once, twice, he felt arousal in its stiff response.

Averyl clung to him, his name a whispered caress in the air. And he knew he could deny his desire no more. He anticipated her scent, her taste. He craved the feel of her around him in ecstasy, purging himself of this strange need.

Drake set determined fingers to the decorative hip girdle that began at her small waist. She shivered beneath his touch as he ripped the tasseled ornament apart and it fell to the floor.

Then he knelt before her, grasping the hem of her flowing skirt in his hands and lifting. Past strong calves, dimpled knees, firm thighs, he raised the dress.

When he stood with her skirt bunched in his hands at her hips, Drake brought her closer and met her wide green gaze. He read acceptance, even pleasure. No fear. Only trust and desire shone from her eyes. Aye, for this one moment, he would be with her, refusing to give thought to what had been, or what would be if she learned the truth of his link to Murdoch. Tonight, he would give in to his gnawing need and be a husband to his wife.

He placed a light kiss on her responsive mouth before lifting the form-fitting bodice past her waist. That indentation heated his hand an instant before the pouting curve of her breast slid into his palm. Pausing only long enough to rub the pebbled peaks with the pads of his thumbs, then take in the shallow gasp of her reaction, he hoisted her dress past her shoulders, above her head, to the floor.

Then he stared. Gaped, actually, at Averyl’s pale glory. Her milky skin beckoned from beneath her white chemise, cut low enough to expose the upper swells of her breasts. The thin undergarment clung to every dip and curve of her body. The rosy, puckered flesh of her nipples stood visible through the fabric, reminding him of delights he yearned to taste again.

Fitting his hands beneath the transparent smock, Drake lifted it above her head until she stood perfect, naked, minutes from his possession.

Hearing his own labored breathing, he swallowed and reached for her. His kiss was wild, an expression of all his desire-muddled mind could not find the words to say. Averyl responded without hesitation or artifice. He nipped at the scented skin of her neck, and she rewarded him by arching that graceful throat for his pleasure. Into her ear he whispered his need to touch her, consume her. She moaned and clung tighter, leaving him to wonder why God had gifted him with such a beautiful bride in the midst of the ugliness his life had become.

As the thought formed, it flitted away. Drake concentrated on the perfect circle of her nipple as he drew his mouth closer, closer to the floral scent of her skin.

The peak filled his mouth, accompanied by her soft moans in his ears. Her small fingers worked through his hair, down his shoulders, gripping, clutching, gasping.

Lifting her against his body, Drake carried her to the bed. He laid her across the straw mattress on which he’d dreamed night after agonizing night of sharing with her. The crush of their weight upon it filled his ears, its sound a heady seduction.

As he captured her breast in his lips again, wonder filled him. Averyl arched as his tongue worked at her turgid crest. A moment later, he smoothed his palm down the flat plain of her stomach, into the pale curls between her thighs.

He felt her momentary tensing and lifted his gaze to her. “I will not hurt you, my wife.”

After no more than a moment’s hesitation, she nodded.

“Open for me, love,” he instructed. “Let me please you.”

Seconds later, accompanied by the sound of rustling sheets, she did as he bid.

Her flesh beneath his fingers was warm and slick. Ready and willing. Fighting down a rising tide of primal joy, Drake fingered the nub of her desire in light circles. Averyl rewarded him with closed eyes and soft mews of encouragement.

Her body was flushed, damp. Still, he wanted to give her this pleasure in case her virginal body was too tense to feel it upon their first joining.

Patiently, he tightened the circle his thumb traced over her heated, hardening flesh. She clutched the sheets in her fists, staring wide-eyed. “Drake…”

“Aye, love. That’s it,” he encouraged.

Her knees bent and parted, her hips arched. He caressed her once more, twice more, before she quivered and cried out, a chant of pleasure in the dusk-darkened room.

Again, he pleasured her, twirling his finger about her sensitive nubbin. Seconds blurred into minutes, one release into her next until Averyl trembled, pleaded, perspired, her skin a flushed rose, her core cascading with the dew of her readiness.

Satisfaction and need swept over Drake as he lifted frenzied fingers from his bride to the lacings of his hose. Her hands joined his there. Together, they tugged and pulled until the garment lay at his feet in a discarded heap.

Clamoring need consuming him, Drake divested himself of his tunic and braies. Her dilated hazel gaze wandered down his now-naked form. He stood a moment and let her look, though it cost him dearly in restraint.

Her stare encompassed his shoulders, past the battle scars of his torso, then lower. Her eyes widened.

“Will we fit?” she whispered.

A gentle smile curved his mouth, in spite of the gravity of the moment. “Aye. ’Tis as nature intended, lass.”

She nodded again and lay back without another word. Clearly, she trusted him. Him, her abductor, her tormentor, her husband by force. What had he done to deserve this moment?

“Will—will you stay this time?”

Her hesitant question reminded him of their last intimacies and the ultimate pleasures he’d rejected. Regret pierced him, and he waited not a moment to assure her. “A whole army of warriors could not drag me away.”

At her shy smile, he joined her on the mattress. He smoothed her grin away by nibbling her bottom lip, slowly drawing it into his mouth. Briefly, he sucked it, then covered the rest of her mouth, reaping the instant passion of her response.

His mouth and hands covered her flesh again, claiming her. Averyl lifted her arms about him and returned each touch. With the tender kisses he pressed to the damp skin of her neck and the caresses stirring the flesh of her thighs, he vowed he would make their first coupling the best it could be.

With a touch, he parted her legs and slid his knee between Averyl’s. Again, he grazed her most intimate flesh. Her slickness and her responsive gasp sent heat reeling through him.

Urgency coiling throughout him, Drake took her mouth again, aware of her arching invitation tempting him, the musky moistness of her center shouting his name. The ache gnawed at him, chafed with impatience, stronger than he ever recalled.

As their mouths mated, he guided himself to her.

“I know naught of virgins,” he confessed, sweat beading his forehead. “You must tell me if I hurt you.”

“But surely you’ve—”

“Nay,” he interrupted. “Not with an innocent.”

Surprise floated across her soft face. “If I feel pain, I will tell you.”

With a nod, he placed gentle hands on her hips and slowly drew himself inside. Tight and moist, she began to close around him in an exquisite joining that brushed the bounds of heaven. He fought to stifle a groan, knowing he must still break her barrier gently while his entire body clamored to thrust himself to the hilt.

Drake dragged in a deep breath and surged forward. Beneath him, Averyl gasped and tensed. He felt her body give way and open slowly for his passage. Shuddering, he sank down into her honeyed depths, completely within her, then gazed into her face.

Pain did not reside there. Surprise, perhaps, but no more.

“Averyl?” he asked, despite the strain he heard in his own voice and the sweat bathing his chest.

She touched his face, branding him softly. “I am not hurt.”

“You are certain?” he asked one last time, though the delay began to feel like brilliant torture.

Beneath him, she rocked her hips, inviting him further within her silken body. Drake did not hesitate. He withdrew to stroke her again. Once more. Over and over until Averyl rewarded him with her responses, until he knew naught but her scent, her feel, her moans, her need.

About his waist, her thighs tensed and trembled. Her sheath gripped him without mercy, and he thought he might lose his mind. She clutched him tighter, demanding his mouth upon hers as her pleasure peaked and scattered over his senses, which felt already saturated with her.

Before he could stop it, satisfaction surged upon him. A shattering release consumed him, even as her pleasure-filled cry echoed in the cottage, cleansing him of all but rapture, infusing him with a blinding bolt of something bright and warm.

Long moments later, he clasped her against him in exhaustion and awe. She placed tiny kisses on his face. Absently, he stroked her hair, oddly reluctant to let her go in the face of his sated bliss and her amazing sensuality.

Never had he wanted to hold a woman after partaking of her body. Such requests always irritated him for the intimacy they implied. Averyl asked for nothing, simply falling naturally into his arms when he willingly opened them.

This coupling somehow felt different, almost binding in its intensity, though the act itself was the same. Why?

Shaking away the odd thought, Drake lifted his head to ask Averyl if she hurt. He found her eyes peacefully closed, her breathing the even rhythm of sleep.

Into the lengthening shadows of darkness he smiled and held her. Tomorrow, this awe, this feeling of connection would die. Tonight, though, he would forget all the reasons he could form no lasting attachment to her and enjoy the delight of his wife’s body as many times as she would have him.