Read Online The Spellbound Bride by Theresa Meyers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Theresa Meyers
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rendered expediently and to be done. Did you want a lover then?"
She shook her head.
"Nay, I don’t want a lover, but neither do I feel right about this." She pressed a hand to her head. How could she explain she wanted him to be gentle?
Ian shrugged and leaned back against the bedpost, resting his spine against the wood, completely indifferent to her turmoil.
"It makes no difference to me, wife. I can just as easily do without."
She threw up her hands in frustration and strode over as close to him as she dared.
"But I can’t. You have to do this, but you could at least make it pleasant." There. She had not begged him, but at least she had said something.
His gaze lifted to meet hers. He deliberately glanced at the bed, then slowly raked her with a searing gaze that made a liquid heat pool low in her belly.
"Oh, I could easily make it pleasant enough for both of us."
He pushed away from the bedpost, took her by the shoulders and lifted her aside, then stamped past.
"But I’ll lie with you only if I please. And you haven’t pleased me yet."
The warmth that had overtaken her senses instantly evaporated. Her mouth gaped like a beached fish. Of all the pompous, asinine men.
"But they’ll, they’ll look!" she stammered. She had to make him understand the seriousness of what she faced. "The village midwife will check to see on the morrow if I still hold my maidenhead. If I do, then Rorick and his men may as well truss me up and start gathering firewood."
He turned, just enough to bring them face to face. The sheer power he radiated made her skin feel too tight. He tilted her chin upward with a stroke of his finger that left her breathless, then bent slowly down until there remained a fraction of space between their lips. She could feel his warm breath, still sweet with ale, against her mouth, causing her to recall his very real, very potent kiss.
"We’re wedded. That changes everything." He brushed her lips with his, neither kissing her, nor denying her the pleasure of his touch. "I can solve your dilemma, my sweet, and neither of us need bother with anything more."
Sorcha closed her eyes expecting his kiss, expecting that he would give in and do his husbandly duty, but instead, she felt cool air brush her cheek as he stalked away from her to the bed and shoved aside the coverlet.
"They’ll not check as long as there’s evidence on the sheets and we both claim it is yours." Taking out his dirk, he ran the sharp blade along the edge of his finger. A crimson line swelled and darkened. Ian reached into the bed and smeared his blood on the sheets.
"There. No one will dare to check now."
He might be braw, but obviously the muscle between his ears was underworked.
"And you believe it so easy?" she muttered, fisting her hands upon her hips.
He braced his legs apart and crossed his arms over his bare chest, his male confidence completely ludicrous to her.
"Aye."
"And what of when Henna wishes me to spread my legs?"
"She’ll do no such thing."
She spun away from him and began pacing.
"But she will!" she insisted, her voice thinning as the strain of explaining the situation yet again to this thick-headed lout of a husband wore on her. "She’s done so each time."
He smiled, radiating confidence. "The most critical skill one needs in battle is to understand your enemy. If there is evidence on the sheets of your maiden’s blood, the midwife would show herself a fool to check you."
She huffed.
"This is not a battle! I don’t need strategy— "
He grasped her as she passed him, holding her still long enough to force her gaze to meet his.
"Then why hire a mercenary?"
She knew he baited her, but her frustration could not be controlled. She sighed.
"It had to be someone not from the clan. Someone who will go away when the job is done."
The wrong part of him hardened at her response. Instead of prolonging the enjoyment of their banter, her innocent words pointed to the ugly truth that calcified his heart.
She shook her head.
"Nay, I don’t want a lover, but neither do I feel right about this." She pressed a hand to her head. How could she explain she wanted him to be gentle?
Ian shrugged and leaned back against the bedpost, resting his spine against the wood, completely indifferent to her turmoil.
"It makes no difference to me, wife. I can just as easily do without."
She threw up her hands in frustration and strode over as close to him as she dared.
"But I can’t. You have to do this, but you could at least make it pleasant." There. She had not begged him, but at least she had said something.
His gaze lifted to meet hers. He deliberately glanced at the bed, then slowly raked her with a searing gaze that made a liquid heat pool low in her belly.
"Oh, I could easily make it pleasant enough for both of us."
He pushed away from the bedpost, took her by the shoulders and lifted her aside, then stamped past.
"But I’ll lie with you only if I please. And you haven’t pleased me yet."
The warmth that had overtaken her senses instantly evaporated. Her mouth gaped like a beached fish. Of all the pompous, asinine men.
"But they’ll, they’ll look!" she stammered. She had to make him understand the seriousness of what she faced. "The village midwife will check to see on the morrow if I still hold my maidenhead. If I do, then Rorick and his men may as well truss me up and start gathering firewood."
He turned, just enough to bring them face to face. The sheer power he radiated made her skin feel too tight. He tilted her chin upward with a stroke of his finger that left her breathless, then bent slowly down until there remained a fraction of space between their lips. She could feel his warm breath, still sweet with ale, against her mouth, causing her to recall his very real, very potent kiss.
"We’re wedded. That changes everything." He brushed her lips with his, neither kissing her, nor denying her the pleasure of his touch. "I can solve your dilemma, my sweet, and neither of us need bother with anything more."
Sorcha closed her eyes expecting his kiss, expecting that he would give in and do his husbandly duty, but instead, she felt cool air brush her cheek as he stalked away from her to the bed and shoved aside the coverlet.
"They’ll not check as long as there’s evidence on the sheets and we both claim it is yours." Taking out his dirk, he ran the sharp blade along the edge of his finger. A crimson line swelled and darkened. Ian reached into the bed and smeared his blood on the sheets.
"There. No one will dare to check now."
He might be braw, but obviously the muscle between his ears was underworked.
"And you believe it so easy?" she muttered, fisting her hands upon her hips.
He braced his legs apart and crossed his arms over his bare chest, his male confidence completely ludicrous to her.
"Aye."
"And what of when Henna wishes me to spread my legs?"
"She’ll do no such thing."
She spun away from him and began pacing.
"But she will!" she insisted, her voice thinning as the strain of explaining the situation yet again to this thick-headed lout of a husband wore on her. "She’s done so each time."
He smiled, radiating confidence. "The most critical skill one needs in battle is to understand your enemy. If there is evidence on the sheets of your maiden’s blood, the midwife would show herself a fool to check you."
She huffed.
"This is not a battle! I don’t need strategy— "
He grasped her as she passed him, holding her still long enough to force her gaze to meet his.
"Then why hire a mercenary?"
She knew he baited her, but her frustration could not be controlled. She sighed.
"It had to be someone not from the clan. Someone who will go away when the job is done."
The wrong part of him hardened at her response. Instead of prolonging the enjoyment of their banter, her innocent words pointed to the ugly truth that calcified his heart.
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