Chapter Thirty
Listen as our bodies speak.
Listen as our blood sings.
—Iain Montgomerie Ogilvie
At a given signal, Noel scooped up a surprised Skena from her chair, and then ran for the stairs. Guillaume, Stephan and Emory neatly stepped in to a phalanx to block the doorway of the Great Hall, thus preventing the merrymakers from giving chase. He had heard tales Scots oft played mischief makers, even abducted the bride in an effort to torment the married couple’s wedded bliss. While all for the spirit of good fun and tradition, he would have naught of those devilries. Nor did he want to go through the damnable bedding ceremony. He just wanted Skena all to himself.
Once through the door of the lord’s chamber, Noel kicked it closed, then stalked to the bed and playfully tossed Skena upon it. Going back, he slid the bolt on the lock to prevent any well-meaning interruptions. His chest filled with the heady male sense of ownership. As he slowly returned to the high platform bed, his eyes drank in this beauty who was now his. Life felt good. Damn good, indeed.
“Smartly done, de Servian. You out-foxed the foxes.” Skena laughed, shifting to walk across the bed on her knees to him. Eyes flashing, she reached out and unbuckled his belt.
He grinned. “I have my…moments.”
“Moments?” She ran her hand down the front of his surcoat, setting his erection to throb insistently. “Just... fleeting...shards...of...time? I wouldst have thought you capable of more...so...much...more.”
As the belt dropped to the floor, his hands seized Skena’s waist and pulled her against him. His woman. His lady wife. His life. Finally, after all these empty years, he was no longer alone.
“Of late, I find that I am quite possessive. I want no men stealing kisses from you after your maidservants tuck you up in bed, or worse some of them carrying you off to vex me.” He lowered his head to take her mouth in a branding kiss of ownership. Suddenly, kissing was not enough. Not nearly enough. He pulled away from her and ordered, “Take off your kirtle, wife.”
“You constantly demand I remove my attire.” She pushed her first finger at his belly. “I want to take things off you, de Servian. You, with your fox ways, foiled the bedding ritual, thus I be forced to perform the inspection on my own. I needs must ken if you come to me without flaw before I accept you as worthy to be my lord husband.”
He chuckled at her mischievousness. “You already know my every blemish. I have a wound healing on my back, and there is a line on my left arm―reminder never to underestimate the quickness of Julian Challon. As I recall, you little minded either. Then, there is something about me being beautiful?”
“Cease the blether, or I shall go call for help with the disrobing,” Skena threatened, climbing off the high bed.
“You call for help from those meddling mischief makers, and I will beat you.” He turned to catch her, only she evaded him, spinning around behind his back.
“Always with threats, de Servian.” She laughed musically.
He rotated after her. “Cease making me go around in a circle, or I shall beat you for making me dizzy. No more idle threats―I mean it.”
“Stop turning and you will no’ get lightheaded.” She pushed at his chest, until he dropped back to sit on the edge of the bed. Kneeling before him, she worked at the knots on his boot lacings.
With Skena on her knees before him, Noel had a hard time drawing air. He grinned like a king’s fool. Someday soon he would teach her why. “If I kiss you, may I be Noel again?”
“I be nay lass to be had for a kiss,” she taunted, pulling his boots off. “Stand, whilst I disrobe and inspect you.”
He arched a brow in challenge. “I require a bribe, wife.”
“A kiss?” she asked, her face softening.
Noel nodded slowly. “Already she comes to know my thoughts.”
Skena wiggled her fingers as if trying to make up her mind. “’Tis only one problem, de Servian―you have a habit of not stopping at a single kiss.”
“I heard no maidenly protestings. If my memory serves me correct, I recall someone gasping, oh, Noel, do no’ stop…please do no’ stop last night.” His hands gripped her about the ribcage, his thumbs brushing under her breasts.
Swatting at his hands, she lifted his surcoat over his head, and then loosened the drawstring on his silk sark. Skena slowly pushed the material up his chest and then tugged it off.
Her eyes glowed with appreciation. “I admit a passing fondness for your chest.” She ran her palms up the smooth ripples of his stomach to his strong shoulders, then fanned them outward. “As well, I concede your arms are―”
“Beautiful?” he mocked, standing to pull her to him.
Damn, but he loved this woman! She made him happy. Skena gave him the bright promise of joyful days to come. The only regret now to touch his life was that Fate had not set them on the road to finding each other long before ravens and a snowstorm brought him to her.
She nodded faintly. “One might say that.”
“One, or Skena?” he teased.
“Oh, aye, Skena might say that.” Her hand on his shoulder, she walked slowly around him. Placing a kiss between his shoulder blades, she stopped by his right side to undo the points of his chausses, where the lacings attached to his braies at the hips. She moved in front of him, and leaned to brush her lips over his, taunting, then hopped away as he tried to grab her.
“Enough, Skena. This grows maddening,” he growled.
“Cease fashin’ or I shall scream for help,” she teased, untying the points on the other side of his hips. “Surely, the brave warriors of Challon wouldst rush to a maiden’s aid and restrain you whilst I complete the viewing?”
“One move toward that door, my love, and I shall stuff a rag in your mouth and lash you to the bedposts,” he warned, kicking out of the woolen chausses.
Skena stepped against him, pressing her soft lips to the side of his throat, while she dragged her fingernails lightly up the insides of his thighs. His body flexed taut as a bow when her hands continued across the front of the braies to loosen the drawstring. Small beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
Eyes flashing, she nipped at his chin, as she pushed the cloth down over his hips. Bringing her hand up between their bodies, she wrapped her strong fingers around the base of his shaft and then leisurely worked the soft, burning flesh toward the tip. “Is this one of those other ways for a woman to warm a man’s blood? Faster ways?”
“Ah…aye…lass. ’Tis also a way…to push him…ah…to madness.” He sucked air, fighting to focus on what she was saying. Unable to stand it anymore, his hand clamped around her wrist, stopping her movements. “Enough, witch, or this will be a short bedding. Have you finished your scrutiny? Am I deemed of worth?”
Skena ran her hands over his arms, then to his neck and finally his chest. She nipped his earlobe and whispered, “I think you will do.”
“Good.” Taking hold of her hips, he spun her to face away. “’Tis my turn to assure myself you are without fault, and thus fit to be my lady wife.”
With trembling hands, he took hold of the ends of the gold lacings up the back of her gown, and somehow, he managed to undo the knot. As he slid the golden cord through the eye hooks, he reined in the urgency pressing him to rip open the back of the gown. He had a feeling Skena would treasure this dress, and mayhap, one day, Annis might don it to wed some handsome warrior. Stiffening his resolve, he carefully drew the cord back and forth, until he feared his teeth might crack from gnashing them.
Finally, the long cord pulled free. Sucking in a steadying breath, he pushed the dark red velvet to each side to reveal the perfection of Skena’s back. Noel slid his trembling hands inside the kirtle, feeling the heat of her flesh through the thin gauze of her chemise. She shivered. As he peeled the gown over her shoulders, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her back. Trapped by the gown across her upper arms, she could only stand while he chained kisses along the strong slope to her neck. She shivered, the gooseflesh raising as his tongue swiped out to taste her. Pressing his body to mold to hers, he savored the power in him, relished how she trembled. How he felt the shiver through his body, every muscle.
He craved to push her forward, her belly to the plane of the bed, and take her with one swift plunge. Only this night was for Skena. He had a feeling her wedding night to Fadden had fallen far short of what young girls dream. This night was about teaching her the full meaning of love, how this physical expression would seal their bond, making them one. Instead of releasing the full strength of his yearnings, he carefully kissed his way down her spine until he was on his knees. Turning her around, he pulled her to him, squeezing her tightly as he placed the side of his head to her heart, listening to the rapid beating.
Skena’s hand reached out to cup his chin softly, and then lifted until their eyes met. Her thumb swiped away the single tear that fell from his eye. “Why do you cry? Are you not happy with me?” Her lip trembled as she awaited his answer.
His throat choked with emotions. Speaking was too hard. Finally, he forced out the words. “Happy? Yes. I feel that and more. Howbeit, I am humbled by our love―and more terrifying mayhap because of my child’s days―I taste the panic of what would happen to me if I ever lose you.” He could not rid himself of the image of her fighting for her life, half over the battlement. Had he arrived a few heartbeats later...every muscle tightened, fighting against that horror washing through him.
This time, the tear that fell came from her eye. “I understand, for I as well, tremble with that fear. Love me, Noel. Make me forget that darkness.”
Skena reached out and took his face into her hands, her shimmering eyes speaking more than words ever could. She leaned to him, her soft mouth moving over his, burning as fired-iron. Muscles in his arms tensed to steel to prevent him from crushing her any tighter, so moved by the power of this rare emotion. Love. A force that could topple kingdoms. Or drive a man insane. He loved Skena with every shade of his soul, to the depth of his heart, a magic no wizard could ever match. It made him stronger. It saw him weak.
Pulling back, she kissed his right cheek, then the left. “I love you my snowy knight. What magic was cast that night which brought me to you? What wondrous, beautiful magic!”
Noel could no longer rein in. Rising to his feet, he took her mouth and let loose age-old mating instincts. He kissed her, holding back nothing, spearing his tongue into her mouth in an echo of how his body would soon claim hers. Scarcely aware of what he was doing, he pushed the gown downward off her arms, the soft velvet pooling at their feet. Skena was left in only a chemise, so thin, so gossamer it seemed fashioned of cobwebs. He started to remove that as well, but changed his mind, liking how it both shielded and revealed her flesh at the same time. Leaning her back to the bed’s plane, he followed her down, relishing the feel of having Skena under him.
Running her hands up his arms and to his shoulders, she toyed with the curls at the back of his neck. Skena rasped out a plea, “Show me all the ways to make a man burn.”
Her mating scent filtered through his blood, setting scorching fire to roll within him. It nearly blotted out all thoughts, so primitive the power. He covered her body with his, pressing down with the heaviness of his muscles, letting her feel his heart thunder a cadence of love. He kissed her hair and whispered the raw desperation, born of years of loneliness, “Love me, Skena. Never stop.” His hand cupped her neck, his thumbs brushing lightly along her throat. “So many years I have yearned for you. Needed you.”
He chained kisses along her jaw, then over her cheek and to her temple. Leaning his head against hers, he closed his eyes and reveled in the overpowering emotions filling his entire being. Like most men, love seemed a word used by bards. Wind could not be seen, but you felt it, it pushed the clouds and drove the rain. And like the wind, he could not see love, but it moved him, shook him to the core. Love so intense, all that had come before was made pale shades by comparison. He could tell her a thousand score over that he loved her. It would not be enough. Never enough.
His hand palmed over the side of her hip, and then down to her bare thigh until he found the hem of the chemise. Slowly, agonizingly, he gathered the fabric to her waist, the gauzy material rasping over her sensitized skin. Rolling to his side, he drank in the arousing beauty of her body, how the thin material clung to her full breasts, how the shadowy tips pushed against the fabric with each breath. He gently curved his hand around her right breast, feeling the tightness of the soft mound, speaking to him of how she responded to him. It was torture. Finally, he dragged the chemise over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her naked.
Skena was still unsure of the ways of men and women. She trembled, but held still for his gaze to devour her, clearly wanting his eyes to look upon her breasts, yearned for him to stare at her with his unveiled desire. In the days to come, she would become more bold. For now, he relished his role as tutor.
Barely breathing, he just gazed at her. “My beautiful lady wife.” He did not move for several heartbeats, stunned by the impact of his dreams now made a reality. He wanted to make this last, but feared his body would betray him. The wanting twisted his gut, a writhing, living creature demanding appeasement. The insistent pounding of his groin was agony.
He searched her eyes, allowing her mind to speak to him with the Kenning, for yes, he was now coming to believe she could reach him in this fae manner. No longer fearing this power, he opened himself to her. What he saw in her brilliant eyes was more than any man could hope for, more than any deserved. He had been blessed―whether it was his God or hers he little knew. Little cared. She was his and he would fight to protect her, kill to keep her.
Lowering his mouth to her breast, he heard the hiss of air from Skena as his lips latched around the tip. His tongue swirled around the stiffening peak, feeling the flesh tighten with each stroke. When he suddenly drew on it her hips flexed off the bed. Her hands fisted in his hair at the back of his head as if she needed an anchor to keep her from coming apart.
He moved to press his mouth to the valley between her breasts and then slowly glided kisses down the center of her belly. She tensed when he reached the dark curls, likely affright he planned to move even lower…mayhap even was secretly curious about that dark lure. He hesitated, hovering just above her, allowing his hot breath to caress the soft hair. A wicked grin spreading across his lips, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her mons, feeling her hips arch in fear…in temptation.
“The night is so wonderfully long this time of year,” he whispered as he covered her body with his. When her muscles relaxed, he laughed.
He laced his fingers with hers, raising her arms above her head, at the same time his legs spread hers wide. In excruciating torment, the tip of his shaft nudged against her slit, moistening his sensitive skin with the scalding hot dew her body wept. The solid weight of his warrior-honed muscles pressed Skena into the bedding, the deep feathered ticking almost cocooning them in a nest. Her rounded softness met and conformed to his. Perfection, as if she had been fashioned for him and him alone. He was heavy, yet he could see reflected in her luminous eyes that she relished the sensation. Offered up her surrender.
For a breathless moment, he just stared down at her. He wanted to capture the image of Skena’s pagan beauty in his mind’s eye, almost seal this shard of time in amber. Years from now he would summon the precious memory, revisit it, and treasure its special glory and power. He wanted to recall his beautiful wife adored by shadow and firelight.
“I have dreamt of this—of a wife, a family, for many long, cold years. Too many. I had begun to think such wishes were naught but a chimera that existed only to torment me with what I could never have. But you are real, Skena. You are mine. Mine.”
He kissed her, his mouth ravaging hers at the same instant he plunged into her, forged their bodies into one in the crucible of their passion. Her female heat surrounded his swollen flesh, blistered him, branded him. His tongue pressed along the seam of her lips and she opened for him with a sigh. His warrior lady did not just accept what he wanted of her, but she demanded, their muscles working against each other, yet straining together in a fervent urgency.
Leaving her gasping, breathless, he trailed his mouth along her jaw, then down the side of her neck, pausing to lave his tongue against the spot where her pulse frantically jumped. Her heart slammed against her ribs. He felt the force next to his and knew the potency of this magic between them.
Lifting slightly, he stroked inside her again, going deeper, his body slamming to hers in a dance primeval. Skena moaned. Pleasure, not pain. He whispered against her temple, “See, wishes do come true and shall reign forevermore in our lives.”
He set a frantic rhythm of plunges that had Skena clinging to him, her sharp fingernails biting into the flesh covering his shoulder blades. Then clinging was not enough for her. She arched hard to meet his frenzied thrusts.
Noel’s body went rigid, vibrating with the need of his release. He fought it, wanting to prolong the beauty, the splendor, only her internal muscles tightened around his flesh like a fist, followed by the undulations rippling down the length of his erection. There was no holding back. His mind and body exploded into a thousand score, blue-hot cinders, blinding his sight as Skena pulled him into a maelstrom of consuming fire. She clung to him as the scalding heat of his seed poured into her welcoming body.
His mouth latched onto the side of her neck, drawing hard. He would mark her. Noel smiled. She had marked his back with her fingernails. The tracks they had cut into his flesh would quickly heal. The marks she left on his soul branded him as hers.
He would have it no other way.
♦◊♦
Waking up at first light, Noel slid from the cozy bed and tugged on his sark. Padding silently across the floor barefooted, he went to fetch his bride’s present. When he had been preparing to come north, he heard these Highlands were often wet and bitter. Using common sense, he had commissioned two heavy mantles made for him, a serviceable brown wool lined with wolf fur. Now he smiled, having a gift for Skena. He had seen how threadbare both her mantles were. He wanted her warm through this coming winter. Going to the chest at the foot of the bed, Noel lifted the lid and removed the neatly folded item.
Sitting on the edge of the bed he offered her a gentle smile, as she blinked, and then stifled a yawn. “My bride’s gift to my lady wife.”
Skena scooted up in the bed, rubbing the sleep sand from her eyes. “But you already gifted me with this lovely ring.” She wiggled the ring on her finger.
“Guillaume gave that to me for you. It was his lady mother’s, intended one day for his lady wife.”
“Then, why is he no’ saving it to give to Rowanne? Surely, we needs must give it back to him? The gesture was lovely, but I canno’ accept something that rightfully belongs to my cousin.”
“I spoke the same words to him. He answered whilst he treasured the ring, something whispered to him that it was not meant for Rowanne. I saw his eyes. He meant it. Still, I wanted something from me to you.” He stood and unfurled the heavy garment. The mantle was a deep brown wool, lined with fur of wolves killed in summer, when the fur was reddish brown. It was perfect for Skena’s coloring. Holding it up he said, “Your mantle is not warm enough. I would have you better protected. Come, try it on.”
Skena laughed. “I be unclothed, husband dear.”
Noel felt deep happiness filling his heart, his soul. “You shall find, lady wife, I am observant of such details.”
She shyly slid off the bed, allowing him to wrap the mantle about her shoulders. Pursing her lips, she finally smiled. “’Tis strange...to feel the fur against my skin.”
“I had two mantles sewn for myself, fearing the wrath of this North Country winter. My applied foresight did not reveal that one wouldst cover such a beautiful woman. And she would be mine.” When her mouth opened, Noel knew she was going to protest his use of the word. Taking hold of her shoulders, he tugged Skena to him and kissed her ever so softly. “Yes, beautiful. I shall hear none of your prattle otherwise. The cloak suits you well, enhances your striking hair and eyes.”
She looked up at him, her expression hungry to believe he meant his praise. He wanted desperately to make her understand all that she caused him to feel, how important, so vital, that she was to him now. All that she gave him. Only, it was too much. Love filled his heart to overflowing, the emotions overwhelming him. Words were too feeble to express the blinding intensity of this pagan magic.
So instead, he let the passion say what he could not speak. Leaning to her, he brushed his lips against hers. When she gave a small gasp, feeling the power of their bond, he deepened it. She moved against him, wanting the pressure, the friction of their bodies. The minx slid her knee against the outside of his thigh, rubbing like a cat.
Something in his mind snapped, and he moved so fast she had no time to react. Pushing her against the stone wall, his mouth claimed hers with a hunger that seared his soul. Bracing his lower arm against the wall, he parted the mantle and leaned into her. The stone was cold, but the heat of her body encased in the warm mantle shielded her from the chill. He used his lips, his teeth, his tongue, working her mouth until she gave him what he wanted. He was not rough, yet he devoured her, kissed her again and again with a ravenous need that was frightening.
Part of him was terrified just how important Skena was to him. Those images of almost losing her saw him vulnerable. He had no liking for that ever-present fear, but there was no changing it. Skena was everything he longed for in the dark, empty nights; she was the sun in his life.
Head spinning, these thoughts and sensations eddied through his blood until it was painful.
Skena clung to him as if fearing her legs would not support her. Her fingers bit into his upper arms, as she embraced the wildness in his passion. Encouraged it. His left hand snaked over her hip, then the fingers sifted through the soft curls, the middle one slipping over her mound, along the wet crease and finally then into her blistering heat.
Echoes of the dream.
His throat corded with the intense yearning for her. In near desperation, he broke the kiss and lightly nipped her lip. Moving the finger in and out slowly, he spoke low husky words. “I dreamt of you when you worked to heal me. Of me taking you in an orchard, feeling how your body wept liquid heat for me. So real, ’tis like a memory within me.” He chained kisses up her jaw, then nuzzled the hair over her ear. “I want to taste your fire. You sensed I did last night.”
Her eyes widened as she understood what he meant. “But that is―”
“Forget what anyone has told you about such things. Between us there are no rules, no limits.” Noel’s voice was husky with his yearning. “My mouth moving on you…my tongue thrusting in you.” He pushed his finger slowly in and then out, agonizingly, setting her body to tremble with the white-hot urgency.
In a surreal blending, these moments with Skena now swirled and combined with the memory of that vision. Her hips flexed against his hand as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He could sense her shock in what he was asking of her, sensed she was surrendering to the dark lure. “We have so many delights to explore, you and I.”
His hand worked magic on her, and instantly his mind conjured the dark image, of him on his knees before her, doing everything he promised. And she wanted that, ached for that. He could almost feel her thoughts, knew the Kenning vibrated between them, allowing her to see the tableau within his mind.
Her thighs clamped around his hand, holding him as lightning arced through her. So attuned, his body throbbed feeling her release coming. Grabbing her hips, he lifted her high, pinning her against the wall as he thrust deeply into her, allowing the climax to ripple down his shaft. Before she came down from the pinnacle of ecstasy, he backed out of her slick channel, then flexed hard, to the hilt, causing her to shudder all over again. Like a whirlwind, the feelings of lust and love spun through him, making him dizzy. His spine arched once more. The world seemed to vanish…then slowly put itself together again.
He held onto Skena, knowing she could keep him safe.
Knowing he would kill to protect her. He would die for her.