Some Like It Wicked (12 page)

A stranger who was now her husband.

As the blacksmith boomed out, “What God joins together, let no man put asunder!” she stole a glance skyward, half expecting a bolt of lightning to sizzle her into ashes where she stood.

They had exchanged no heartfelt vows, no golden rings, no tender kiss. It was a wedding without pledges or promises, tailor-made for a man like Simon Wescott.

“Is that all there is?” she asked, desperate to forestall the inevitable.

The blacksmith’s broad, leathery face split in a grin. “Aye, lass, that’s all there is. Once you and yer young man sign the register over there, ’tis every bit as bindin’ as a proper church weddin’ in the eyes o’ the law. And the Lord,” he added, shooting a glance toward the dusty rafters of the barn as if to cue a choir of angels eager to lend approval to their unholy union.

Simon quickly scrawled his name in the leather-bound register, then handed her the feather quill, his warm hand brushing hers. Catriona was trying to still her trembling long enough to dot her
i
’s when another couple burst through the door of the barn, laughing and shaking rain from their hair. Although they looked like a pair of drowned rats, their faces were glowing brighter than the forge.

“Are you the bloke who can make all my dreams come true?” the copper-haired young man demanded of the blacksmith, wrapping an arm around his apple-cheeked companion.

She patted his drooping shirtfront and gazed adoringly up at his freckled face. “You made all my dreams come true on the day you defied my father and begged me to elope with you.”

Her eager young groom cupped her radiant face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with a tender yet passionate ardor that made a barbed blade of envy twist in Catriona’s heart.

The blacksmith cleared his throat. “Unless you want yer first bairn on the way before I can pronounce you man and wife, I suggest the two o’ you step over here to the anvil.”

The couple broke apart, giggling and blushing. The girl glanced toward the table where the register lay, noticing Simon and Catriona for the first time.

She smiled shyly, revealing a winsome gap between her two front teeth. “Did the two of you just marry?”

Catriona nodded. “Right before you came in.”

The girl rushed over and threw her arms around Catriona in an impulsive hug. “Oh, I hope you’ll be as happy as me and my Jem!”

Catriona gave the girl’s back an awkward pat before stepping away. Avoiding Simon’s eyes, she said, “Thank you. I’m certain we will.”

The young man strode over to give Simon’s hand an enthusiastic pump. “May your marriage bed be blessed with sons, sir. Lots of strapping sons.” He gave Catriona’s hips an appreciative glance before winking at Simon. “Your new missus there looks like she’ll make as fine a breeder as my Bess.”

As Catriona let out a shocked gasp and his Bess smothered a giggle behind her hand, Simon winked back at the boy, his stage whisper loud enough to be heard by them all.

“You’ve a good eye, son. That’s precisely why I married the lass.”

******************

Keenly aware of Simon’s presence behind her, Catriona trudged up the inn stairs to their room. There would be no leaving him standing in the hallway tonight. He had laid claim to her heart five years ago and as far as society and the law were concerned, her body now belonged to him as well.

She couldn’t even count on Robert the Bruce to defend her honor tonight. Despite Catriona’s protests, the innkeeper had insisted that the cat remain in the stables with the coachman.

As they reached the top of the stairs, the shadows that draped the narrow corridor threatened to consume her. No one in Gretna Green was worried about the elegance of their accommodations. The only requirement for a room was that it contain a bed. And judging from the grappling couple they had glimpsed in the courtyard, some of the more eager newlyweds were even willing to forgo that luxury. She felt her cheeks heat all over again as she remembered the man’s groan of appreciation as the woman’s naked breast had spilled from her bodice into his eager hand.

“Ah, here we are,” she said with false cheer as they reached the room they had been assigned.

After she’d made three futile stabs at unlocking the door, Simon gently removed the key from her trembling hand and slid it smoothly into the keyhole. Their bodies brushed as he held the door open and ushered her inside, making her aware all over again of how much stronger and larger than her he was.

The innkeeper had delivered their baggage, but the stone hearth was cold, with no fire to welcome them or burn the damp chill from the air. A rough-hewn table squatted in front of it. There was no wedding supper waiting for them either. No steaming pigeon pie or even a moldy hunk of cheese and stale bread.

Perhaps that was just as well, Catriona thought. With all of the butterflies waltzing in her belly, she doubted there would be any room for food.

The single lamp cast a grudging glow over the narrow iron bedstead in the corner. It looked as if it had barely enough room for one occupant, much less two. It was a far cry from the luxurious half-tester she and Simon had shared at her uncle’s house.

She was fretting needlessly, she told herself. Simon had probably already forgotten the foolish pledge she’d made in the jail. He had only been bluffing to frighten her away. She removed her bonnet and placed it on the table before turning to face him.

Eyeing her with an intensity that could only be called predatory, he leaned his back against the door as if to block any hope of escape, tugged the knot from his cravat and said, “Enough dawdling, darling. Let’s have done with it, then, shall we?”

C
atriona froze. Given Simon’s reputation, she had expected at least a token attempt at seduction—a coaxing smile, a tender touch, some honeyed words flattering the silkiness of her hair or the intoxicating aroma of the lavender water she had dabbed behind her ears. She knew firsthand just how persuasive his tongue could be. Especially when employed in the service of a kiss. But at the moment he was eyeing her as if he had every intention of bending her over the table, throwing her skirts up over her head and ravishing her like some sort of marauding Viking.

She awkwardly cleared her throat. “We just arrived. There’s really no need to rush, is there?”

He straightened to his full height, the impressive breadth of his shoulders making him look even more forbidding than he had in the forge. “And why not? I’ve done the deed and now it’s your turn. I want what I was promised.”

Catriona gazed at his implacable face for a long moment before slowly nodding. “Very well. Now that we’re wed, I suppose I have no right to deny you.”

With shaking hands she stripped off her damp cloak and draped it neatly over one of the rickety chairs. She moved toward the bed, measuring her every step as if it were carrying her toward the gallows. She settled herself gingerly on the thin heather-stuffed tick, then lay back and squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps if he was ruthless and impersonal—taking his own pleasure without offering any in return—she would be better able to hide her feelings for him. There would be no danger of her melting beneath his tender caresses or crying out his name in a moment of blissful madness.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?”

Catriona opened her eyes to find Simon leaning over the bed, frowning down at her as if she’d lost the last of her wits.

She blinked up at him. “Preparing to perform my wifely duties.”

“You look more like you’re preparing to be roasted on a spit.” He grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her to a sitting position. “If I were you, I’d sit up before someone stuffs an apple in your mouth.”

Flushing to the roots of her hair, she jerked her arm out of his grip, mortified that he found her so clumsy. “As you probably guessed from our earlier encounter, I’m not particularly well versed in the art of lovemaking.”

Taking his pained cough to be one of agreement, she scowled. “I’ve never been a professional libertine, while you, undoubtedly, have had the opportunity to practice any number of creative perversions.”

“Oh, dozens. Each more creative than the last,” he agreed cheerfully.

“What I’m trying to say,” she continued through gritted teeth, “is that I might require your instruction. I have no idea what will please a man like you.”

Simon dropped to his knees in front of her and gently folded her hands in his own. As Catriona met his eyes, she felt a reckless hope stir in her heart. Perhaps she had misjudged him. Perhaps he too had secret hopes that their marriage could be more than just convenient.

He stroked his thumbs over her knuckles, his touch even more seductive than she’d dreamed it could be, his voice even more tender. “I can tell you
exactly
what would please a man like me.”

“Can you?” She was mesmerized by his husky murmur, and her gaze wandered from the sparkling green depths of his eyes to the beguiling curve of his lips.

He leaned closer to her, his warm breath caressing the wispy curls at her temple.

“Nothing would please me more than…”

She closed her eyes and held her breath, promising herself she would maintain her composure no matter how scandalous his suggestion.

“…being paid the money that I am owed.”

Catriona’s eyes flew open. Snatching her hands out of his, she rose to her feet so quickly she nearly sent him tumbling to his backside. He recovered his balance and slowly straightened, but she was already pacing fitfully in front of the hearth.

For a few foolish seconds, she had allowed herself to forget just what sort of man she was dealing with. A rogue. A mercenary. A man who would barter away his own soul if it meant he had a fistful of farthings to squander in the brothels or at the gaming tables. Of course, she had bartered her innocence away with even less care, so she supposed she had no right to condemn him for his greed.

She swung around to face him. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

He eyed her warily. “And why not?”

“Because you haven’t yet completed the task for which I hired you.”

“You hired me to marry you.”

It sounded even more humiliating when stated so baldly, as if it had been the only way for her to obtain a husband. “I also hired you to escort me to my brother in the Highlands. Once you’ve completed that task to my satisfaction, you’ll receive your payment in full. Until then, I can’t have you sneaking off in the dead of night and leaving me to my own devices.”

They gazed at each other in silence. They both knew he now had the legal right to not only his half of the dowry, but hers as well. According to the courts, every one of her pennies, every stitch of clothing she owned, every hair on her head had become his sole personal property in the moment they had signed the marriage register. He could steal from her, ravish her, even beat her with his fists, and no judge in England or Scotland would condemn him.

“Let me make sure I have this straight,” he said softly, stealing a glance at the bed. “You were willing to trust me with your body, but you refuse to trust me with my own money.”

She had no answer for that. Especially since he’d made it painfully clear that he was more interested in the money than her body.

“You disappoint me, Mrs. Wescott,” he finally said. “I know I’m not a man of my word, but I thought you were a woman of yours.”

He turned and strode toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” he said shortly without slowing his stride.

Catriona watched him walk away from her, her sense of helplessness growing. Even though their marriage was to be only a mock one, she couldn’t bear the thought of him spending
their
wedding night in another woman’s arms.

“No! You mustn’t go!”

He turned on his heel, lifting one eyebrow in blatant challenge. “And why not? Can you give me a good reason to stay?”

For one desperate moment, Catriona considered marching over to him, throwing her arms around his neck, pressing her lips against his and doing just that. But if he refused her again, she didn’t think her bruised pride would survive the blow.

She lifted her chin, squarely meeting his gaze. “My uncle. I told you he was a canny man and I’m not sure he was entirely convinced by our charade. He may very well have hired a spy to follow us. Why, it could even be the coachman! John has been a devoted servant of Uncle Ross’s for years.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed as he considered her words.

“If word gets back to him that my new husband didn’t spend our wedding night in my bedchamber, he’ll send men after us to bring me home. I’ll never see my brother again and you’ll never see a single penny of that dowry.”

Simon raked a hand through his hair, then turned back to the door. Her spirits sank as she realized he had no intention of heeding her words.

“I’ll leave you to your privacy to prepare for bed,” he said, his words clipped. “I’ll be back within the hour with some supper for the both of us.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, but he was already gone, leaving the echo of the door’s slam ringing in her ears.

Simon stormed through the inn’s common room, only too aware of the curious glances he was garnering from the handful of diners scattered among the long wooden tables.

They probably didn’t expect to see a groom fleeing his bride’s bedchamber as if the devil himself had gotten there first.

He shoved open the front door and was halfway across the courtyard before he realized he had nowhere to go. Biting off an oath, he wheeled around and turned his face to the sky. A bashful moon peeped through the shredded veil of clouds, casting a lustrous glow over the courtyard. The rain had softened to a fine mist, but not even its soothing caress could completely melt the scowl from his brow.