Read Online The Spellbound Bride by Theresa Meyers - Free Book Online
Authors: Theresa Meyers
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at his bride. Her unblinking profile could have been made of stone, she sat so still. Instinct caused him to stop drinking and set the pewter tankard aside.
He leaned closer and whispered, "Are you ailing, wife?"
She snapped to face him, placing them mere inches apart, her veil and a breathing space the only thing separating them from another kiss. The thought fired his blood.
"I don’t think…nay, I’m fine."
"Then let us retire to our chambers."
Her eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing and dutifully rose.
A silence crept over the hall, dulling the revelry as they realized the bride and groom intended to leave the head table. From the expressions around the room it was though they were watching a man go to the gallows. The palpable tension put Ian on edge, but his gut instinct urged him forward.
He left the hall to follow his bride up the stairs to their private chamber. A heavy oak door swung open on well-oiled hinges to reveal a dimly lit chamber dominated by a bedspread with a blood red coverlet. The candles sputtered making the flames throw odd shapes about the room. A roaring fire made the room hotter than expected. Oddly it seemed more like entering the audience chamber to hell, than a nuptial suite.
She stopped short. He was close enough to sense a shiver running the length of her, causing the veil to flutter ever so slightly.
"Does the night ahead trouble you so?" he asked, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. For as tall as she was, her bones were delicate underneath his touch.
"I suppose the unknown is always troublesome." The slight tremor in her voice betrayed her discomfort.
He turned away, shutting the door behind them, thinking of how he could distract her from worrisome thoughts.
"Is this where the others died?" He knew the moment he’d uttered the words that they’d been a mistake.
She stamped over to the bed, whipped the coverlet back, then lifted her head a notch higher as she glared defiantly at him.
"Aye. Care to inspect the bed for weapons?"
He laughed. She’d been offended by his question, not hurt, and the boldness of her reply pleased him.
"Nay. I only asked of curiosity. I shouldn’t like to be surprised by a ghost in the midst of my first night with my bride." He moved closer, and reached out, offering her a hand, as he would to a skittish mare. "Don’t fear lass. I’ll live this night."
She looked at his hand, but did not take it. Her tone was cold and raw even as heat radiated off of her skin. "How can you be so sure?"
His skin prickled. Ian shook off the sensation. If she would not take his hand, then he would make sure she did not mistake his intent.
Her spine lost all the stiffness she had mustered as he moved toward her, blocking out the rest of the room. The sharp green scent of rosemary filled her nose.
"I’m sure because, my bonnie bride, I’ve no plans to sleep," he teased, reaching to lift the veil from her face.
Her hands came down lightly upon his and she noticed the muscles in his jaw flex, then relax. How much further she could press him was uncertain.
"Do you expect us to continue the night with you in a veil?"
"Nay. Only allow me to lift it."
Ian dropped his hands.
Henna had done little to prepare the girls in her clan for their marriage bed, save tell them how a man would mount them like an animal and to be silent until they were done. To this point, Ian had given her no reason to doubt that he would be kind rather than harsh, but as she had no way of kenning what might happen, she was nervous all the same. Compounding her worry was the knowledge that the protective she’d poured into his drink had been merely a last desperate attempt. She had no idea if it would really save him or not. This could very well be their last conversation, as it had been with Harold and Magnus.
She shivered at the thought, and closed her eyes to steady herself. Now was not the time to keep him at bay. He needed to take her virginity, and she assumed,
He leaned closer and whispered, "Are you ailing, wife?"
She snapped to face him, placing them mere inches apart, her veil and a breathing space the only thing separating them from another kiss. The thought fired his blood.
"I don’t think…nay, I’m fine."
"Then let us retire to our chambers."
Her eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing and dutifully rose.
A silence crept over the hall, dulling the revelry as they realized the bride and groom intended to leave the head table. From the expressions around the room it was though they were watching a man go to the gallows. The palpable tension put Ian on edge, but his gut instinct urged him forward.
He left the hall to follow his bride up the stairs to their private chamber. A heavy oak door swung open on well-oiled hinges to reveal a dimly lit chamber dominated by a bedspread with a blood red coverlet. The candles sputtered making the flames throw odd shapes about the room. A roaring fire made the room hotter than expected. Oddly it seemed more like entering the audience chamber to hell, than a nuptial suite.
She stopped short. He was close enough to sense a shiver running the length of her, causing the veil to flutter ever so slightly.
"Does the night ahead trouble you so?" he asked, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. For as tall as she was, her bones were delicate underneath his touch.
"I suppose the unknown is always troublesome." The slight tremor in her voice betrayed her discomfort.
He turned away, shutting the door behind them, thinking of how he could distract her from worrisome thoughts.
"Is this where the others died?" He knew the moment he’d uttered the words that they’d been a mistake.
She stamped over to the bed, whipped the coverlet back, then lifted her head a notch higher as she glared defiantly at him.
"Aye. Care to inspect the bed for weapons?"
He laughed. She’d been offended by his question, not hurt, and the boldness of her reply pleased him.
"Nay. I only asked of curiosity. I shouldn’t like to be surprised by a ghost in the midst of my first night with my bride." He moved closer, and reached out, offering her a hand, as he would to a skittish mare. "Don’t fear lass. I’ll live this night."
She looked at his hand, but did not take it. Her tone was cold and raw even as heat radiated off of her skin. "How can you be so sure?"
His skin prickled. Ian shook off the sensation. If she would not take his hand, then he would make sure she did not mistake his intent.
Her spine lost all the stiffness she had mustered as he moved toward her, blocking out the rest of the room. The sharp green scent of rosemary filled her nose.
"I’m sure because, my bonnie bride, I’ve no plans to sleep," he teased, reaching to lift the veil from her face.
Her hands came down lightly upon his and she noticed the muscles in his jaw flex, then relax. How much further she could press him was uncertain.
"Do you expect us to continue the night with you in a veil?"
"Nay. Only allow me to lift it."
Ian dropped his hands.
Henna had done little to prepare the girls in her clan for their marriage bed, save tell them how a man would mount them like an animal and to be silent until they were done. To this point, Ian had given her no reason to doubt that he would be kind rather than harsh, but as she had no way of kenning what might happen, she was nervous all the same. Compounding her worry was the knowledge that the protective she’d poured into his drink had been merely a last desperate attempt. She had no idea if it would really save him or not. This could very well be their last conversation, as it had been with Harold and Magnus.
She shivered at the thought, and closed her eyes to steady herself. Now was not the time to keep him at bay. He needed to take her virginity, and she assumed,
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