“What?” Moibeal asked weakly.

“Ye must tell me everything ye ken about pleasing a man,” Edith repeated firmly, quite sure the girl would be shy about such a conversation.

“Me?” the maid asked with dismay.

“Well ye’re more experienced than me, Moibeal. I ken ye and Kenny are . . . er . . . friendly,” she said lamely.

“Aye, but . . .” The maid hesitated, and then nodded with a sigh and walked over to sit down next to her. “All right then, I’ll tell ye what I ken. Which is no’ much,” she warned.

“It’s still more than I ken,” Edith pointed out.

Moibeal nodded acknowledgment of that and then looked thoughtful. “Well,” she said finally, “men seem to like it standing up.”

“Do they?” Edith asked with surprise. No one had mentioned that to her. She’d just assumed since it was called bedding that it was done in the bed. Lying down.

“They all seem to do it standing up,” Moibeal pointed out. “Kenny is forever urging me up against a wall or tree, even a fence the one time.”

“Hmm,” Edith murmured and supposed it might be true. After all, animals did it standing up, well on all fours, but still on their feet. And the servants, serfs and soldiers she’d caught in the act on occasion seemed to be up against a wall or such too. And then there was Niels. In the meadow when he’d been touching her down there, he’d wanted her standing. He’d only had her kneel because her legs were shaking so badly and had obviously been about to collapse.

That thought made her frown as Edith wondered now if he’d been disappointed that she hadn’t been able to remain standing.

“They seem to prefer it dark too,” Moibeal added after a moment, obviously struggling to help her.

“Dark?” Edith straightened where she sat.

“Aye, well, when it’s done, it seems always in a dark corner so I assume they prefer it that way,” she pointed out.

“Oh, aye.” Edith nodded and even sort of understood it. Niels’s manhood had been a bit intimidating when she’d seen it . . . and kind of odd-looking at the same time, really. She supposed it was best not to have to see it. Although, he hadn’t seemed to mind looking at her naked, she recalled. But perhaps he was just being polite and trying not to hurt her feelings, Edith thought and then glanced to Moibeal expectantly. When the maid merely stared back blankly, she asked, “What about kissing him and such below?”

“His bottom?” Moibeal asked with surprise.

“Nay, below in front,” Edith said, blushing.

“Oh. Oh! Ye mean—” She raised her eyebrows up and down “—there.”

Edith hesitated. “I’m no’ sure. By there do ye mean . . . there?”

“I mean his fiddle,” Moibeal said with exasperation.

“Aye,” Edith agreed, brightening. She should have thought to call it that herself. She’d heard her brothers refer to it as such. Saying things like, “the oaf-brained bastard just stood there with his fiddle in hand and naught to say,” and such.

“Well,” Moibeal said and Edith returned her attention to the maid to see that she was frowning. Expression apologetic, the girl admitted, “I’ve ne’er done that meself.”

“Oh,” Edith said with disappointment and admitted, “He did it to me and I thought to please him back that way, but was no’ sure how.”

“He did?” Moibeal asked breathlessly and then demanded, “When? Where?”

“In the meadow today,” Edith admitted, flushing brightly, and then assured her, “He did no’ take me innocence though.”

Moibeal snorted. “Well, that’s debatable.”

“Nay. He said so. He said me maidenhead had no’ been harmed,” Edith assured her firmly.

“Hmm.” Moibeal bit her lip and then asked, “What was it like?”

A small smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the experience and then Edith breathed, “It was heavenly. A revelation. I did no’ ken such pleasure existed.”

“Gor,” Moibeal breathed.

“Aye,” Edith said on a sigh. “And that’s why I was hoping to please him back the same way, but I do no’ ken how.”

The maid glanced down with a frown, and then sighed and said, “Well, while I’ve no’ done it meself, Magda and Agnes were talking about it one day.”

“Aye?” Edith asked hopefully, recognizing the names of a couple of the maids who worked in the kitchens.

“Aye. Agnes was complaining to Magda that her Donald was too big and she could no’ get him all in her mouth without gagging, but he was always pushing in deep when he got excited,” Moibeal explained.

Edith’s eyes widened incredulously at the thought of putting Niels’s manhood in her mouth. The man was huge. She’d surely gag too. She’d thought she would only be expected to kiss and lick him there as he had her. It seemed there was more to it than that though.

“So, Magda says as how Agnes should wrap her hand around him in front o’ her mouth so as he can no’ go in so far, but still feels like he is.”

“Hand in front o’ her mouth,” Edith murmured, trying to imagine it.

“Aye, like this.” Moibeal jumped up and grabbed the hairbrush from beside the basin, wrapped her hand around it just above the bristles and place the uncovered handle in her mouth and then moved it in and out.

“All right.” Edith nodded, she could do that.

Tossing the brush back on the table by the basin, Moibeal dropped onto the bed again and added, “And then Agnes said as how she’d try it, but she did no’ like doing it anyway, as Donald’s seed tasted bitter, especially when he drank too much.”

Edith’s eyes widened. She would get his seed in her mouth? That was not something she’d expected. And what if Niels’s seed was bitter too? She wouldn’t want to offend him by spitting it out. That thought made her worry about what she’d tasted like to Niels. Had she tasted bitter too? Worried now, she asked, “Did Magda ha’e any advice about that?”

“Aye.” Moibeal nodded. “Magda said as how a dollop o’ Jaimie’s fruit preserves would fix that right up.”

“I see,” Edith breathed, wondering if it would work for the woman’s taste as well . . . just in case.

“And that’s all I ken on that subject,” Moibeal said apologetically.

“’Tis fine.” Edith patted her hand. “’Tis more than I kenned before.”

They both glanced to the door when a knock sounded.

“That’ll be yer bath,” Moibeal said, standing up.

“Aye.” Edith stood as well, but caught the maid’s arm before she could go answer it and said, “Do no’ do it now, but ere the bedding, mayhap ye should bring up some o’ Jaimie’s preserves for me.”

“Aye.” Moibeal nodded solemnly. “I’ll no’ forget.”

“Thank ye,” Edith murmured and released her so the girl could answer the door.

“Would ye care fer something else to drink, lass?” Niels asked Edith gently, noting that she’d hardly touched her mead and was simply sitting there looking lost in thought. And fretful thoughts too, it seemed, if one was to guess by her expression as she looked over the great hall full of people celebrating their wedding.

“Nay. Thank ye.” Edith managed a smile, and then said, “Actually, m’lord, I think I might like to go prepare fer bed.”

“As ye wish,” Niels said and stood up at once, more than happy to retire, early as it was.

“Nay.” She patted his hand, her smile a little strained. “Finish yer ale, m’lord. I would have a moment alone to prepare meself anyway.”

Niels hesitated, wanting to assure her there was no preparation necessary, but it was her wedding night and if she wished a moment alone, he would grant her that, he decided, and nodded. “Go along, then. I’ll no’ be long . . . wife,” he tagged on at the end with a smile.

Edith returned his smile and squeezed his arm, and then murmured, “Thank ye . . . husband.”

They grinned at each other briefly, and then she squeezed his arm again and turned to head for the stairs as Niels sank slowly back onto his seat. He watched her until she’d disappeared along the upper landing. He then elbowed Rory to get his attention.

Breaking off his conversation with Tormod, the younger man turned to him in question. “What?”

“Did Edith look pale to ye?” Niels asked with a frown. “She seemed quiet and a touch pale to me.” When Rory raised an eyebrow and glanced around for the woman in question, he added, “She’s gone above stairs to prepare fer bed.”

“Oh.” Rory peered toward the stairs, but said, “I did no’ notice her looking pale. She did seem a bit quiet though,” he admitted and then shrugged. “But ’tis her wedding day. She’s most like nervous about tonight . . . unless ye already—”

“Nay,” Niels interrupted firmly. “I have no’ bedded her. I wished to wait until I had her wedded all good and proper.”

“Well, then there ye have it,” Rory said reassuringly. “No doubt she is simply nervous o’ what is to come tonight. She is fine.”

“Aye,” Niels muttered and Rory turned back to Tormod, leaving Niels to fret. He supposed it could just be nerves Edith was suffering, but she’d been fine during the ceremony. It hadn’t been until they’d sat down to eat that she’d seemed to go quiet and pale. Besides, he’d rather hoped that what they’d done in the meadow might have lessened her anxiety about the bedding somewhat. Although, as he’d told her himself, he hadn’t taken her maidenhead that morning, so there was still that to contend with and he knew that could hurt greatly for some women. She probably knew it too, he supposed. Niels took another drink of ale, and then eyed the liquid in his goblet, measuring how many more swallows he would have to take before he could go above stairs. By his guess, he had six or seven swallows left. Not so much, he assured himself, setting down the goblet briefly.

“Oy!” Alick said, slapping his back as he dropped to sit on the bench next to him. “When do we get to cart ye up to the bedchamber, strip ye and throw ye in bed with Edith?”

“Yer no’ doing that,” Niels assured him firmly.

“Oh, come now, brother,” Geordie chided, settling next to Alick. “A wedding is no’ a wedding without a bedding ceremony.”

“Mayhap, but out o’ respect to her father and brothers who have no’ been dead a full month, Edith and I decided to bypass the bedding ceremony,” Niels announced, lying through his teeth. He hadn’t talked to Edith about the bedding ceremony. He hadn’t even thought about it until Alick had just brought it up, but recalling Edith’s quiet pale face, he had no intention of putting her through that.

“Oh, aye,” Alick said now, sounding much more subdued. “In truth I forgot about that.”

“’Tis easy to forget,” Geordie said quietly. “Other than the way she fell apart when Cawley died, Edith has handled everything like a soldier.”

“She’s no’ had the chance to grieve,” Rory said, turning to join the conversation now. “They died and Edith immediately was terribly ill, and then she recovered only to have to nurse her maid, and then was ill and recovered again to discover her family was murdered. In truth, the lass has had little opportunity to deal with any o’ the upsets to her life o’ late.” Eyeing Niels seriously, he said, “She’ll need to do that soon, Niels. Else it will all hit her at once and may crush her.”

“Aye,” Niels muttered, frowning. He couldn’t imagine anything crushing Edith. Her strength in dealing with everything was one of the things he admired most about her.

“Well, if we’re no’ having a bedding ceremony, why are ye still down here?” Geordie asked, changing the subject.

“Because Edith asked for a moment to prepare herself fer bed ere I join her,” Niels admitted, and then added, “Unfortunately, I’m no’ sure how long that is.”

“Well, since her maid is coming down the stairs, I suspect that would be this long,” Rory murmured, looking past Niels toward the stairs.

Turning abruptly, he spotted Moibeal halfway down the stairs and stood at once. The moment he did, the maid glanced to him, smiled and gave a slight nod. Taking that as an indication that Edith was ready for him, Niels grabbed up his ale, gulped down the last of it and slammed the goblet down on the table.

“Good sleep,” he muttered to everyone in general and then headed for the stairs. He wanted to run, but didn’t. He made himself move at a sedate pace that was in total contrast to the rapid beating of his heart as he finally allowed himself to think on all the things he planned to do to Edith tonight. Niels had been refusing to allow himself that luxury all afternoon and evening through the talk with the priest, the ceremony and the meal. Mostly because he’d feared if he thought too much on it, he’d have dragged Edith straight from the ceremony to her bedchamber, and he’d wanted her to enjoy the celebration of their marriage.

Now, though, that danger was past and he let himself contemplate all the things he could do to her in an effort to select the ones he would do that night. He wanted to taste her again, the lass had been sweet as honey on his tongue and he wanted that again. He’d give her pleasure that way, he decided, and then caress her to pleasure a second time to ensure she was good and ready for when he breached her. Hopefully, that might minimize the pain for her somewhat. He’d have to be careful with her, o’ course, this being her first time. He’d take her in the bed in the traditional manner first, and then if it did no’ pain her much as he hoped, and if he did no’ spill his seed right away as he feared he would when her sweet heat closed over him, he’d try different positions to find the one they both liked best.

For some reason Niels was liking the idea of having her in front of him, his hands clasping her breasts as he slid in and out of her. That image had him going hard as stone so that his plaid suddenly had a notable bulge. Ignoring it, he thought that he’d let Edith try riding him as well, to see if she liked it . . . mayhap on the bed, or even on one of the chairs in the room . . . or both. Then, if it was no’ yet morning, he might take her on the fur in front of the fire, the flames warming them and casting shadows in the room as he explored her body and then claimed her again, this time with her feet on his shoulders so he could plunge deep inside her while caressing the nub at her sweet center until she was begging him for her release.

Niels had reached the door to the bedchamber they would share now, and raised a hand to knock, but then lowered it and simply reached for the handle. She was expecting him after all.

Opening the door, he took one step into the room and then paused as he saw that it was nearly completely dark with naught but dying embers in the fireplace.

“Edith?” he said uncertainly.

“Over here, m’lord husband.”

Turning in the direction of her voice, he squinted and could just make out her figure in the darkness. After the briefest hesitation, he closed the door and then started to move cautiously toward her. “Why is it so dark in here, lass?”

“Do ye no’ like it?” she asked sounding anxious. “Moibeal said men seemed to prefer to perform the consummation in the dark.”

Niels blinked at her use of the formal term for the bedding, but asked with confusion, “Moibeal?”

“Me maid,” she explained. “I wanted to pleasure ye this night as ye did me in the meadow so asked her advice. She’s more experienced at these things than me,” she explained almost apologetically.

“Ah,” Niels murmured, shifting to the right as his hip bumped into what he thought was one of the chairs in the room. Touched that she wanted to please him, but a little concerned by the advice she may have been given, he asked, “And what else did she say?”

“That men prefer to perform the bedding standing up,” she admitted. “I thought this was a good spot. That way if me knees go weak again like they did in the meadow I can lean against the wall and brace me hand on this table so ye’ll no’ be disappointed.”

Niels stopped walking and frowned at her words. She had in no way disappointed him that day and he didn’t like that she thought she might have. He also didn’t like not being able to see her as they talked.

“Ye did no’ disappoint me in the meadow,” he said firmly, changing direction and moving toward the glow of the dying fire. “And I do no’ prefer to love ye in the dark. I would see yer face while I pleasure ye.”

Dropping to his haunches by the fire, he grabbed several pieces of wood and began to build up the fire. Fortunately, the embers were hot enough that he soon had it roaring back to life. Straightening then, he grabbed the candles from the small ledges built into the wall on either side of the fireplace and lit them from the flames. Setting them back on their respective ledges, he finally turned to find Edith and nearly swallowed his tongue. The woman made quite a sight standing next to the small table she’d mentioned, completely naked but for the shadows cast by the dancing flames.

Blushing now that he was looking at her in light, Edith tried to cover her breasts and the thatch of hair between her legs with her hands.

Already hard from his imaginings on the way up here, Niels grew harder still at the sight of her and was hard put not to cross the room, yank up his tartan and take her there against the wall as she had apparently expected. Forcing himself to remain still, he cleared his throat and said, “And the reason most o’ the men take their women standing up in dark corners is because ’tis the only privacy they can find no’ having a bedchamber.”

“Oh,” Edith said, blinking and then she asked uncertainly, “Would ye prefer the bed then?”

“Aye,” he growled.

Nodding, she turned and hurried to the bed, but stopped abruptly before climbing onto it and swung back to wave him over.

Niels hesitated a moment, but then walked over to join her. The moment she could reach him, Edith grabbed his arm and urged him to turn with his back to the bed, then quickly began to work on the pin that held his tartan in place.

“Lass,” he said catching her hands. “What are ye doing?”

“I want to please ye,” she said shyly, shaking his hands off and returning her efforts to his pin.

Niels frowned and almost told her it wasn’t necessary, but she managed to undo the pin just then and his tartan fell away at once to drop to the floor. When Edith then caught the bottom of his shirt and began to tug it up, Niels helped lift it off and even tossed it aside. He started to reach for her then, but gasped instead and reached behind him as she suddenly shoved him in the chest and he fell to sit on the bed.

“There,” she said with satisfaction. “Now I can pleasure ye as ye did me.”

Niels’s eyes widened when Edith spread his legs and dropped to kneel between his still-booted feet, but then she just as quickly popped back to her feet and rushed away, muttering, “I almost forgot.”

His eyes followed her curiously, but then dropped to her behind and got caught there as he watched the full round globes shift as she walked. His gaze did not lift when she stopped briefly at the table by the fire and then turned to head back. Instead, it focused on the spot between her legs that he was eager to explore and stayed there, until she suddenly stopped in front of him and dropped to her knees again. Her breasts were immediately in his line of vision and he sighed as he tried to decide what he wanted to touch, caress, lick and taste first. Should he suckle her breasts first or throw her on the bed and dive between her legs where her sweetness waited? Or perhaps he should just lick her all over and—

His thoughts died on a gasp and his gaze shot down to himself as Edith suddenly took his fiddle in hand. It was not a tentative caress or touch, it was a firm, no-nonsense grasping and pulling his erection down so that it pointed straight between her breasts. Even more surprising though, was the fact that even as he looked down she began to pour what looked like some kind of cooked fruit in a sauce on his fiddle.

“Er . . . Edith?” he said uncertainly. “What are ye doing?”

“Agnes does no’ like to pleasure Donald with her mouth because she says his seed is bitter,” she said.

“Ah . . .” Niels’s face scrunched up as he tried to understand what that had to do with what she was doing.

And then she continued, “But Magda said a dollop o’ Jaimie’s preserves would take the taste away, so I thought I’d try it. No’ that I think ye might taste bitter,” she added earnestly, lifting her pale face to look at him. “But just in case. Ye ken?”

Lowering her head, she added, “I could no’ ask ye if I taste bitter because ye were no’ here, so I put some on meself as well in case I tasted bitter to ye earlier.”

Niels simply stared at the top of her head, a confusion of responses rolling through his head. First, he suspected Magda, whoever she was, had meant that Agnes, whoever she was, should eat a dollop o’ preserves to rid herself of the taste. He highly doubted there was a fellow named Donald walking about Drummond with preserves on his fiddle. Second, he was having trouble getting past the idea that Edith was presently kneeling in front of him with preserves smeared all over her quoniam. He would definitely have to lick every last drop of that off her ere doing anything else he wanted to do, so it was good he’d decided to start by pleasuring her with his mouth and tongue first, Niels decided.

Above all of that, however, was the image in his mind of Edith’s face when she’d lifted it and he’d seen it by firelight. While he’d thought her pale below stairs, she was dead white now and he’d caught a flicker of discomfort on her face before she’d ducked it to continue to dump cooked fruit on his cock.

Concern struggled briefly with desire for the upper hand, but won easily and Niels leaned forward intending to catch her chin, lift it and ask if she felt all right. But before his fingers could reach her, she finished dressing his fiddle in fruit and popped the tip into her mouth to begin licking and sucking the sweet off.

Niels froze, his mouth opening and closing and his body almost lifting off the bed as he was hit by sensation after sensation. By Satan’s warty prick! The woman was—God’s teeth! Did she—? By the Virgin, she—

Closing his eyes briefly, he tried to regain control of himself, but he simply couldn’t and opened his eyes again almost at once. Edith obviously didn’t have a lick of skill at what she was attempting, but she was enthusiastic as hell as she conscientiously removed every last drop of the preserves she’d just applied. And damned if just the sight of her kneeling there with his cock in her mouth wasn’t near to killing him with excitement.

Niels had barely had the thought about her lack of skill when Edith stopped removing the preserves she’d put on and began to move her mouth up and down his length in a rhythmic manner with her hand leading. It was a rhythm he recognized, three strokes and a slight pause and then three more repeated over and over. Niels recognized it because it was how he played the fiddle as a rule, and how he’d played it that morning in the meadow as he’d given her pleasure the second time. He’d noted her watching a time or two, but apparently, the clever minx had been paying more attention than he’d realized.

And unless Moibeal had advised her on the mechanics of grasp and whatnot, Edith appeared to be a natural, he noted as a groan slid from his lips. She was holding him firmly with both lips and hand, but not too tightly. She was also being careful to avoid grazing him with her teeth, which he would thank God for later, Niels decided as he drew close to the point of exploding and his body began to tighten and strain toward it.

Niels was about to warn her that he was about to spill his seed so that she could remove her mouth if she wished, when Edith suddenly froze. Blinking his eyes open, he glanced to her just in time to see the confusion and panic on her face as she began to heave and then puke up preserves all over his prick.

Jaw dropping, Niels gaped at her briefly, and then reached forward with concern when she suddenly toppled over and lay on the floor convulsing and heaving and bringing up the rest of what she’d eaten that day.

“Edith!” Niels cried, lunging off the bed to kneel beside her. Grabbing her shoulders, he held her until she’d finished purging and then rolled her on her back. Peering at her pale, unconscious face with both concern and confusion, he brushed her hair away from her cheeks, and then did what he’d seen Rory do several times and lifted her eyelids. His head jerked back at once as if from a blow as Niels noted that her eyes were dilated. It was how they’d been when they’d first arrived at Drummond and Rory had seemed to see that as an indication that she’d been poisoned. Recalling that, Niels felt his heart lodge itself somewhere in his throat.

Scooping her up off the floor, he carried her around to lay her in the bed, and then turned and rushed to the door, his boots thumping as grimly as the thoughts in his head at that moment. Tugging the door open, Niels rushed out and up the hall to the top of the stairs, bellowing for Rory.