what is it you wish to ken?”
She fought against the urge to jump up and run across the chamber, seeking some measure of protection and shelter on the far side of the large bed. Jocelyn instead forced her fingers to relax their grip on the handle of her hairbrush. Placing the brush carefully on the table before her, she slid her hands onto her lap and tried to form an answer in her mind.
What did she wish to know? Everything? Nothing? She knew the mechanics of the coming act; that was not what had bothered her since she’d heard the news of her impending marriage. Finally, the question pushed itself forward.
“Why me?”
She did not meet his gaze. Jocelyn was not certain that she wanted to see what would be revealed there. His manner toward her so far had been less than welcoming, even bordering on hostile and contemptuous, but the reason behind their marriage had plagued her.
“I had need of a wife and you were available.”
His voice carried no sign of hostility, no sign that this was more or less than the truth. His explanation spoke of a thing common to lives like theirs—marriages were not made with any regard for the tender feelings of those involved. And the tender feelings that she bore for another had even less importance now.
Jocelyn sensed his movement forward for he made no sound as he approached. Only the crackling of the wood in the hearth broke the tense silence. She turned to face him.
“You do not wish to be married?” She thought ’twas clear from his words and from his treatment of her.
“I have no feelings one way or the other on it. I am laird—I need heirs. For that, I must have a wife.”
“And any woman would do?” She closed her mouth, but the words had escaped. He blinked at her tone and even she could hear the sarcasm in it. This was truly not the time to anger him. His reaction surprised her. His laughter filled the room. Connor looked almost approachable when he smiled.
“Nay, I am more discriminating than that. I asked for a wife who was plain of face and not an empty-headed ninny.”
She gasped in surprise—both that he would think of such requirements and that he would admit them to her. It took only a few moments for her to realize the insult to her appearance in his words and she looked away before he could see the hurt she knew would be there.
“I meant no insult, lady,” he said walking closer. His voice dropped to a whisper as he crouched next to her stool. “I did not want a wife who cowered from me or cringed at my every word. I wanted a wife with gumption.”
“And a plain face?” She lifted the brush from the table, mostly to distract herself from the pain she felt.
“I confess ’twas more of a jest than a true requirement.” Connor reached out and took the brush from her. “Can we move onto something less argumentative?”
The skin on her neck tingled as he lifted some of her hair and pushed it over her shoulder. Would it be now? Was it time?
Chapter Four
“I do not know what to do.”
Horrified that she’d let the words escape her mouth, Jocelyn stepped away from him. His size and strength and nearness unnerved her in so many ways and she needed some distance to keep her fears under control. That he allowed her to move from his grasp surprised her. Once a few paces away, she turned back to look at him.
“I would not expect it of you, lady. Someone who had never milked a cow or slaughtered a hog would not know how to do such a task when it was asked of them.”
Taken aback that he was comparing what would happen between them to the duties of a butcher or milkmaid, Jocelyn felt her mouth drop open. He held out his hand to stop any reply she would make and took a step toward her.
“I can see the argument building within you. Is this to be the way between us in all matters, then? I say something and you contest it?” His gaze grew dark as he spoke and his expression changed from smiling to intense.
Jocelyn considered his words before speaking. It had been that way since their first meeting, then in the hall at their meal, even now. She closed her mouth and found she had no words to answer him. Oh, there was an argument within her as he’d said, but the warmth of the room and his scent crowded around her and she remembered once more what awaited her. The heat of a blush flooded her cheeks and she touched them as she felt it.
“Ah,” he said, walking now to a small table at the bed’s side. He lifted the jug of wine there and poured some into two goblets. “I suspect that the true problem here is an innocent’s fear and not a wife’s challenge to her husband.”
He turned and held one out to her, waiting for her to take it. Jocelyn crossed to him and accepted it. Wine might soothe her nerves a bit and make the rest somehow easier to allow. Not that she had a choice. Her brother’s life, even the very life of her clan, all depended on her agreement to this bargain. If she were sent home in disgrace… She nodded in acceptance of the cup and then realized that she was inadvertently agreeing with his words.
He held his goblet up and drank it down in one mouthful. Over the rim of his cup, he watched as she tilted hers to her lips and drank it down as well. The wine slid into her stomach and she felt its warmth spread out to her limbs. Mayhap more would help ease the fear she did feel? Jocelyn held out her cup.
As he poured more of the wine into her goblet, Connor looked closely at her face. A deep pink filled her cheeks and a bead of sweat trickled down her brow. Aye, the fears of the innocent. In consideration of those fears, he poured a small amount in and handed it back to her. Wine to soothe her nervousness was one thing; a puking woman in his bed was another.
Connor put his own cup down and took a step toward her. The sooner started, the sooner finished, he thought as he reached out and lifted her hair in his hands. The woman nearly stopped breathing so he waited for her to swallow the last of the very strong wine before he came closer. Her cup had just settled on the table when he grasped the belt of her robe and, tugging her closer, pulled it loose. The garment fell away revealing a thin linen gown and her lush figure.
Jocelyn stiffened at first as he slid his hands inside the robe and took hold of her hips. In spite of her stance, she was soft in all the right places and he breathed in the scent of the oil she’d used in her bathwater. She was breathing, a good thing, but she stared off into the room above his shoulder.
“Put your hands on my waist,” he said.
She startled again but met his gaze. “What?”
“You said you knew not what to do. I am telling you. Put your hands on my waist.”
He wore a plain shirt and plaid, but he could feel the heat of her touch through it. And the trembling, which he forced himself to ignore. His body, tempted by the curves so close beneath his hands, readied itself admirably for what was to come. He waited for a moment and then drew her closer, sliding his hands behind her and pressing himself against her.
Her nipples tightened, whether in fear or anticipation he knew not, and he turned her slightly, rubbing his chest over hers. The gasp that escaped left her openmouthed, but he would not touch her there. Instead he leaned in to her and kissed the edge of her chin, and
