Read Online By God's Grace by Felicia Rogers - Free Book Online

all depend on how well ye performed in other areas.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œI hate to spell this out for ye in such a blunt manner, but for most men, it all depends on how ye are in the marriage bed.” He frowned. Now why had he said that? He was sure Sarra would have disapproved.
    Arbella sat straight, the covers slipping. She leaned forward. Duncan’s gaze was drawn to the sight before him like a moth to the flame. He averted his eyes.
    â€œAnd how do you think it would be?” she asked, shyly.
    Blood pumped in his ears. He didn’t think he could answer. What he wanted to do was sling her across the bed, throw her clothes aside, and test his theory that she would be as good at lovemaking as she was at everything else. But he must control these thoughts, or they would only cause him trouble.
    His eyes closed as his mind betrayed him. All he could think about was Arbella’s beauty. Desire to kiss her caused his palms to sweat and blood to rush through his veins. There were muffled sounds of movement. He heard the sound of sliding sheets and covers being thrown back. The feel of a silken calf coming into contact with his hairy one meant Arbella had thrown her legs off the side and placed them near his own. The linen tunic he wore was parted, and a smooth, cool hand was spread wide across his exposed chest, resting against his fluttering heart.
    His tongue darted out and licked his dry lips. She leaned toward him, their lips brushing across one another. The touch was light and brief, causing Duncan to question if it was real. With his eyes still closed, he stayed silent. Then just as suddenly as the warmth had been felt, it dissipated. His eyelids fluttered open. Arbella was gone.
    Arbella lay on her side with her back facing him. Breath was rhythmic like she’d slept for hours. Had it all been a dream? Had he conjured up a fantasy? Was he so desperate he’d reached the point of having fantasies about sleeping lasses?
    Rising from the seat and resting the remaining broth on a table, he crossed to the window and peeked out. The moon shone. The light bounced into the room, landing on Arbella’s sleeping form. While he’d been turned, she had rolled onto her back, the soft brown curls of her hair flared out around her, enhanced by the glowing of the moon.
    Duncan’s mind mulled over the question Arbella asked about what he wanted in a wife. With suddenness he realized he knew the answer. One final look in her direction, and he tiptoed to the door, leaving to find a place to rest his own head for the night.

 
Chapter Twelve
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    The next morning Duncan walked to his quarters, weaving a way through the temporary tent housing of the festival participants. Once inside the keep, the stairs were taken two at a time. There was no slowing of movement until the room was reached. Filled with an uncommon jubilation, he knocked. If the lass remained asleep, he held no desire to wake her.
    â€œCome in,” said Tamara, with a tremor in her voice.
    The first thing he noticed upon entering the room was Tamara straightening an empty bed. His gaze shifted around the room. Perhaps Arbella was standing in a corner or hiding in the wardrobe. After a few minutes he knew she was nowhere in sight. Trepidation filled his voice, making it gruff. “Tamara, where is she?”
    Intimidated by his brusque manner, the young girl’s voice quivered as she stumbled and tripped, groping for the correct words. “Well, my laird, the lass said she was going home.”
    â€œGoing home!” shouted Duncan, causing Tamara to squirm. Unhappily, he added, “Thank ye,” and strode out the door.
    The need to find Arbella consumed him like a raging fire. Not sure why he wanted to speak with her, he just did. With a finger tapping his head, he pondered what Arbella would consider home. As his mind wondered and considered this question, his feet led him to the Kincade tent.