Captured by a Laird (10 page)

And she would rather be boiled in oil.

What troubled him even more than her aversion to him and their marriage was this dangerous longing he had to fight to hold at bay when he imagined a lifetime with her.

***

Alison felt woozy as she watched David Hume, Laird of Wedderburn, wrap the symbolic binding around their joined hands as he recited the words that would bind them together as man and wife. His hand dwarfed hers, and his palm was rough with callouses from swinging sword and ax.

She glanced to the side until she found her daughters and was relieved to see Will standing between them and holding their hands. How did Wedderburn get such a sweet brother? Wedderburn had insisted the girls attend the ceremony, knowing she would put on a brave face for them. She smiled at her daughters, just as he expected her to, and pretended she was content to become the wife of the Beast who had stolen their lands and castle.

The ceremony brought back a flood of terrible memories. Although she was just as powerless to stop her marriage now as then, she was not the naive thirteen-year-old girl she had been ten years ago. At least this time she already knew the groom was a monster.

Unlike her first husband, however, Wedderburn was undeniably handsome. She would give him that. His striking features were harsh and forbidding, reminding her of the old stories of the Norse warrior god Thor. He wore his sun-streaked bronze hair loose, except for two braids on either side at his temples—probably to keep his hair out of his eyes while he was swinging his murderous weapons. Though he had traded his chain mail for a clean linen shirt and fine tunic, he remained every inch the warrior.

She stared at their hands, bound together now, and felt the tension flowing between them. When she looked up, she realized Wedderburn must have stopped speaking some time ago and was waiting for her to say her part. He had three hundred witnesses who would swear she made her vows freely. It would be pointless to provoke his temper by refusing.

Alison looked into the eyes of the most dangerous man she had ever met and pledged her body, heart, and loyalty to him, until death.

The ritual was complete. So why did Wedderburn continue to stare down at her, unmoving, as if there was something more to say?

“As soon as I can,” he finally said in a low voice meant for her ears alone, “I’ll find a priest to bless our union.”

Unfortunately, the church’s blessing was not required to make a valid marriage.

“Would a blessing ease your guilt?” she asked.

He turned abruptly to face the hall and raised their bound hands into the air as if proclaiming victory. The shouts of his men thundered in her ears as he led her to her usual place at the high table. He sat next to her in the ornately carved chair that had belonged to Blackadder chiefs for generations.

In the absence of a priest, Wedderburn signaled to one of his men to say grace.

“God bless this food and all of us Humes.”

The Humes must be accustomed to such brevity, for they immediately began filling their trenchers from the platters.

“Ye must eat,” Wedderburn said, glaring down at her untouched meal.

She did not answer. How could he expect her to eat?

“I apologize that there was no time to prepare a grand wedding feast,” Wedderburn said, “with lavish dishes, music, and dancing.”

Though the quickly prepared meal was paltry for a wedding feast, it seemed bountiful after their days of want. He must have sent for the additional food to be brought with his brothers.

“I had a grand feast at my first wedding.” She fixed her gaze on the wine cup clenched between her hands. “I don’t need another.”

“Well, this is my first wedding, and the only one I’m likely to have, so I do wish it could be different.” Wedderburn tilted his head back and drained his cup.

“Ye wish it to be different?” she snapped, her anger making her forget her fear momentarily. “Ye
chose
to do this and got precisely what ye wanted, while I must suffer to do as ye command.”

He pressed his lips into a tight line and did not speak for a long moment.

“I forced ye to wed me because I
must
,” he said beneath the noise of the hall. “But I will protect ye better than your own family did.”

“So you’ve told me,” she said.

She jumped when he slammed his cup on the table.

“Let us finish this,” he said. “’Tis time for the bedding ceremony.”

CHAPTER 12

The bedding ceremony.
Alison squeezed her eyes shut.

“I understand I cannot avoid…what will happen this night,” she said. “But must we observe this particular custom?”

“Aye. I will have witnesses to say we were properly bedded,” he said. “There can be no doubt as to whether we are fully and irreparably wed.”

Her cheeks were hot with shame and her head pounded. No woman should have to go through the humiliation of the bedding ceremony twice. She remembered vividly the ribald jokes, the men gawking at her, almost drooling. They made no effort to hide that they were imagining touching her most private places and doing the vile things to her that her new husband had the right to do.

“If ye wish your daughters to miss it, bid them goodnight now,” Wedderburn said.

She was surprised it occurred to him that she would not want her daughters to witness the bedding ceremony, but she was grateful. She would be unable to hide how much it upset her, and they would fret.

“Thank you for that,” she managed to choke out.

Though he spoke of the bedding as if it were just another formality, she knew his thoughts were on what he would do after the others left them alone in the bedchamber. David Hume, Laird of Wedderburn, desired her. It was in his eyes every time he looked at her.

She felt them on her now as she left her seat to kiss her daughters and send them off to bed with their nursemaid.

“Sleep well, my sweetlings,” she said, forcing a smile. “Be good for Flora and don’t argue over the puppy.”

After returning to her seat, she gulped down the rest of her wine to fortify herself and kept her gaze on the table. When Wedderburn stood and held his hand out to her, the hall erupted in shouts. Panic squeezed the air out of her lungs as he led her from the hall. The floor and walls seemed to vibrate with the clapping, stomping, and shouting of the Hume men.

She must have been lagging behind, for Wedderburn turned to give her a penetrating look and tucked her hand more tightly into the crook of his arm. The noise grew still louder inside the stone stairwell, and she felt as if it were pounding against her skull. When she stumbled, Wedderburn picked her up without pausing and took the remaining stairs three a time.

His expression was shuttered, revealing nothing, as he carried her inside the bedchamber and set her on her feet.

Her two least favorite serving women were waiting and led her behind a screen, where they stripped her of all her clothing except for her plain linen shift. In a flash of memory, she saw the dark bloodstain on the finely embroidered night shift she had worn on her first wedding night, and she felt ill.

From the other side of the screen, the hum of voices, shuffling of feet, and barks of laughter filled the bedchamber. The two women unfastened her braid and combed out her hair, jerking her head with rough, impatient hands. After applying lavender water to her throat and wrists, they signaled that she was ready.

But she was not ready. It had all happened too quickly.

When she did not move, the women took her arms and pulled her out from behind the screen. She let her hair fall forward to hide her face and kept her gaze on her bare feet as the two women led her across the room to the bed. Still, the buzz of male voices filled her ears, and she felt their eyes on her, stripping her of the thin shift.

The women folded back the bedclothes and scattered dried flower petals on the sheets. An odd gesture, as if there was a grain of romance to this forced marriage or what would happen in this bed tonight. She risked a glance at Wedderburn, who stood still fully clothed on the other side of the bed. His expression was stony, as if he were already displeased with her.

At least she was not a thirteen-year-old virgin this time. Nothing could be as terrible as that.
Nothing
. She had been wrong to believe that memory was safely buried beneath the later years of Blackadder’s tedious but demeaning routine in the bedchamber.

He had used her body without a hint of affection, as if she were just another possession he owned, an instrument he could do with as he pleased. She knew other women suffered worse at their husbands’ hands. Blackadder never beat her. But he berated her and made her feel dirty, humiliated.

Would Wedderburn treat her the same way? Perhaps worse?

Her hands shook as she climbed into the bed. When she quickly pulled the bedclothes up to her chin, hoots of laughter filled the room. The bed sank under Wedderburn’s weight as he climbed into it from the other side, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Alison fought to keep from weeping as she waited for the public humiliation to end—and the private one to begin.

***

David had witnessed beddings before, but he’d been too drunk to notice if the bride was upset. And if every man had looked at the bride with lust when she was put in the bed, well, he had not seen anything wrong with that. But this time the bride was his, and David found that he did not like the ritual one damned bit.

Alison’s prickliness during their wedding feast had irritated him, but seeing her lie beside him looking frightened and vulnerable choked him with frustrated fury.

No man should see his woman in bed but him. His men had the sense not to make remarks loud enough for him to hear, but from the moment she stepped out from behind the screen, they were whispering and elbowing each other. They stared at his bride with open lust while the two serving women took their damned time spreading her rich, dark hair over the pillow.

“Leave her be,” David snapped when he could not bear the tortured look on his bride’s face another moment.

The two women straightened and stared at him wide-eyed.

“Out!” he shouted at them, then he turned to the others. “You’ve seen enough! Everyone out! Now!”

They emptied the room as quickly as captured wild horses escaping through a broken gate. David got up and barred the door behind them.

At last, he was alone with his bride.

He paused to calm his temper before turning around. How did this lass provoke such unwieldy emotions in him? Not only rage at those who upset her, but a throbbing desire that threatened to rob him of his reason.

He told himself it was damned lucky he found her appealing since he was stuck with her for life. But he should not want her this much. Alison’s beauty had a fragile quality that reminded him too much of his stepmother.

He thought of how his father’s blind affection for his second wife had caused him to make decisions that endangered the clan and ultimately cost him his life. Surely David was not at risk of that fate. Love would never find him. What he felt for his bride was only lust, and lust could be sated.

He had all night to do it. His breath grew shallow and his cock hard as he anticipated the hours ahead. Finally, he turned around to join his bride.

God help him.
Alison was holding her hands over her face as if the sight of him was past bearing. When he lifted the bedclothes and climbed in next to her, she made a high-pitched squeak.

He stretched out on his side, propped his head up on his elbow, and examined his reluctant bride. Though he was not even touching her, she was trembling.

He had the sense to realize that how he started this marriage could set how things would be between them for a long time. While he could not abide a woman who fawned over him, he wanted a wife who welcomed him into bed—not just tonight, but every night.

Alison presented a problem, another challenge to overcome. He would succeed, it was just a matter of how.

As he watched her, he thought long and hard about that burned bed.

“Alison, look at me.”

She jumped when he ran a finger across the back of her hand. Ach, she was drawn tighter than a bowstring.

“I won’t hurt ye.” He would try his best not to, but she was such a frail thing.

When she finally dropped her hands from her face, his breath hitched and hot desire flooded through him. He was a healthy young man in bed with an absurdly lovely woman. And this was his wedding night. He had imagined being in bed with her from the first moment he saw her.

He could not wait any longer to touch her. Her violet eyes went wide as he enveloped her small hand in his and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“You’ll become accustomed to me in time,” he said.

Though it would take all his control, he would make love to her slowly. He wanted to discover how she liked to be touched, to learn the meaning of her sighs, to explore every inch of her.

She bit her plump bottom lip, sending another surge of lust pulsing through his veins. Yet the terror in her eyes warned him to be cautious. Lord above, he wanted her so badly his teeth ached. But not like this. Nay, he wanted her hot and wet and willing.

He was a determined man.

He would make her want him.

CHAPTER 13

Strange, but there was something inexplicably comforting about the way Wedderburn’s huge hand engulfed hers. If only he would stop at that.

“No need to be frightened.” His lips turned up at the corners in a slight smile that made him look somewhat less forbidding. “Since ye have two children, we both know you’ve done this before.”

Just because she had done it did not mean she wanted to do it again.
Ever
. She glanced at his chest and shoulders, which were all rippling muscle, and her heart beat frantically.

“We’re married, no matter how it came about,” he said. “We both have needs.”

Alison refrained from rolling her eyes. She knew whose needs he was concerned about.

“Why not give each other pleasure?” he asked in a husky voice.