Chapter 21
Lachlan was grumbling something as he started down the path outside the abbey. He still held her hand, but his pace was faster than Rosalyn’s legs wanted to pump.
“What are you running from?” she asked, panting, tugging on his hand to stop.
Turning, he gave her an apologetic shrug.
Still winded, she held her side and her ground. “Or should I ask from whom?”
That made Lachlan gaze above her head and toward the guests who were filling out of the abbey. After staring blankly over her for a few moments, letting her catch her breath, he returned his attention and gave her hand a gentle tug. “Come, Wife, we have a proper reception to ready for.”
“And at this pace, I may beg for you to carry me, Lachlan.”
“Lachlan? You should call me husband,” he insisted, picking up speed.
Husband? Oh, my. Rosalyn hadn’t even gotten used to calling him Lockie yet. “What about sire?” she suggested.
Lachlan slowed to laugh. “Sire? As in Your Majesty?” He paused for a moment and gazed into her eyes.
Then before she had a chance to protest, Lachlan gathered her up into his arms and began to race across the courtyard toward the keep’s entrance. In a matter of moments, while she took deep calming breaths, he carried her across the entire lower bailey.
Once inside the king’s grand castle, Lachlan strode briskly down the sconce-lined hallway. But instead of entering the great hall, he veered to the right down a corridor foreign to her.
“Where are you taking me La—Husband?” she asked, trying not to let the panic she felt show in her voice.
“To bed, Wife. Where else would we go?”
Rosalyn’s heart started to beat wildly. “To bed?” she screeched, not worrying whether anyone else was privy to their conversation. “You promised we would not consummate the marriage.”
“I did?” he asked innocently, his mischievous grin so close to her lips that he could have begun a seduction right there in the king’s hallway.
“You did, Lachlan. Set me down at once,” she insisted, arching her back and squirming to put distance between their lips.
He laughed at her resistance and to show her he was in command, tossed her over his shoulder like a bag of lumpy potatoes, then swatted her arse hard.
She began to kick her legs in protest, thinking he’d give up the domineering way he was treating her and set her back on her feet, but instead, her resistance fueled the need for him to swat her bottom a few more times as he continued unrelentingly down the corridor.
“You will regret this, Lachlan,” she said in a muffled voice with her lips pressed against his back.
A deep chuckle was the only response he gave. It rumbled through her, making her more aware than ever, that he could force himself upon her. He had the legal right now.
A loud thwacking sound brought Rosalyn out of her dread quickly when she realized Lachlan was kicking the chamber door open with his hands full of her squirming arse.
“Put me down, Lachlan. Put me down. This is not the way you want to start our marriage,” she demanded, struggling even more violently after he’d kicked the door shut. “If you arenae careful it will end before it’s begun.”
And in an instant Rosalyn found herself face down on a fur coverlet.
“Before what’s begun, Wife?”
Furious that she’d been tossed onto the bed as if discarded, she lifted her head so she could speak. “Am I no longer Rosalyn to you?” she asked, trying to hold back tears. “Only property?”
“If I call you ‘Wife’, I am not referring to you as a hog or parcel of land,” he assured her, chuckling.
She couldn’t see what he was doing from her position, but a loud thud echoed behind her that sounded like a boot dropping to the floor. Before she could take in another shaky breath, a second thud confirmed her suspicion.
“La—Husband,” she began, but before she got the rest of her thoughts out, a bare-chested Lachlan leaped onto the mattress beside her.
“Oh, no! Off, off, get off this bed,” she shouted, taking her hands and shoving against his muscular chest. The instant she touched his skin, a jolt of irresponsible passion surged through her body. No, she told herself, she had to fight it and him.
“I have nowhere else to go,” he said with a husky voice, ignoring her pleas and staying put beside her.
She sighed and stopped her attempt to shove him off the bed. “Lachlan, why are we not in the great hall?”
“We will be, my love, after we’ve proven to the king that the marriage is consummated.”
She wanted to start pounding his chest, but instead she bit her lip to keep from shouting out her protests again.
“Come,” he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and turning around on his stomach so he could reach for her.
Awkward in her long wedding dress, she tried to roll farther away from his grasp, but she kept her gaze on him as she moved. Half-expecting he would be angry with her for resisting, she was surprised when his dark eyes sparkled with mischief and his lips curled into a cocky grin.
While he began to strip off more of his clothes, she didn’t stop, but rolled to the other side of the bed, getting to her feet as quickly and efficiently as she could.
Once she was steady, she eyed him up and down, relieved his breeches were still on as they stood at opposite ends of the massive marriage bed. Giving him a little nod, she raced for the door.
“You cannot escape, Rosalyn,” he said softly and calmly. “The door is locked from the outside.”
She ignored him and in moments was at the door, grasping the iron lever, pushing down with all her might. But the handle did not budge.
She let out an exasperated huff. “From the outside?” she gasped, spinning to face him, fists clenched at her side.
He nodded solemnly, but with that mischievous grin still on his face. “This is the marriage chamber. Did your mother not counsel you?”
Rosalyn took a step back and clung to the wooden door as if a cliff jutted out inches before her feet, wondering if other virgins had done the same.
She refused to be intimidated. “Of course, I’ve been counseled, but ours is a marriage of convenience. Do not fool yourself that tis anything otherwise,” she said, finishing with a huff.
But as she pressed her back to the door dreading the outcome, like the railing of a sinking ship, she shuddered when she remembered what she’d been taught on coupling. Where the woman lay on her back and the man shoved his stiff cock between her legs and pushed into her channel with a rocking motion until it hurt.
When Lachlan started a slow stroll toward her, Rosalyn began to move from the door, sliding against the wall away from him. Although there was no escape from the chamber, she wanted to give herself time to think.
“Those in the great hall need proof we have tied the knot, not only in ceremony, but with blood evidence.”
Rosalyn’s breathing became shallow and she closed her eyes, praying something or someone would come to her aid. Mayhap Bishop Passarelli with a kind word or prayer. But before she even began to think that was possible, his lips were on hers in a moist ambush of passion. What little air she had left in her lungs was unable to make it to her head as she swooned slightly.
In response, Lachlan released her lips only to grab her arse and draw her into his chest. Without time to protest, he lifted her up into his arms again and carried her back to the marriage bed.
“Wife, you are not going to kick and scream again, are you now?” he asked, eyes glowing soft as he gazed upon her, his lips slightly reddened from his kissing.
She bit her tongue and shook her head no. It would be in her best interest to play along until she figured out another way to stay a virgin.
He stopped short of the foot of the bed and set her gently back on her feet. “That is better. I know you did not promise to obey me, but at least give me some cooperation.”
Rosalyn nodded.
“Good. Now let’s take a look at you,” he said, gently, tossing her veil aside and brushing her hair off her shoulders till it hung down her back. Then he reached forward as if to kiss her, but his grin moved past her lips to nip her earlobe. In slow, soft pecks he made his way down her neck, stopping at her shoulder, then his hands moved around her back and began unlacing her crisscross ties. When the bodice began to give way, her heart began to pound as if it wanted to be released from an iron cage.
Reaching the nape of her neck, Lachlan moved down to the swell of her breasts, propped high and proud. With his teeth, he tugged the ivory, silk fabric off one shoulder while she held her breath. And before his ministrations started up again, the bodice of her wedding dress drooped so low that her breasts spilled out.
Lachlan groaned and began sucking on one nipple that hardened like a traitor under his seduction. Her groin reacted with minute spasms and her throat went dry. This was not in the counsel her mother had given. “Wife, you are more enchanting than I could have ever dreamed,” Lachlan admitted, as if surprised, gazing up at her after releasing her nipple, but continuing the seduction as he rubbed his thumb there.
What was Lachlan up to? Why was he toying with her like a wench? For if his aim was to take her virginity, should he dally with all of Scotland waiting?
But just as she was about to protest, his gaze met hers, revealing the passion trapped inside begging to be released. With his other hand, he shoved the remaining silk strap off her shoulder and let the wedding gown fall to her feet. She was totally exposed to her new husband’s whims. Nothing covered her but her own passion.
“You are so beautiful,” he gushed like a lad with a new shiny object. “I would savor you like a feast, but the guests and the king await.” As he held her gaze, he gathered her into his arms and gently laid her back on the bed.
Even though he had every right to take her, and he’d ignited a passion storm inside her, she was not ready to give up her virginity just because a king wanted her to. So when Lachlan turned away from her and began to loosen his belt, Rosalyn swiftly and silently stole his dagger from its sheath.
Now, would she have the courage to use it?