union.” Gordon felt his frustration peak once again, but he offered Curan a smirk. “Ye might recall that little challenge from yer own attempts to celebrate yer wedding with pretty Bridget.”
“And you have no issue with sending my sister to me outside your walls to tell me she is pleased to be your wife?”
“If that is what is needed.”
“Possibly.” Curan’s reply lost some of its edge when his eyes lit with satisfaction. “I am pleasantly surprised, Barras. I didn’t believe there was a way for you to prove the matter to me; I stand corrected.”
Gordon nodded, feeling the tension release between his shoulder blades. He valued his neighbor’s goodwill even if there was little the man might do to reclaim his sister. It was a harsh fact but one he realized he’d have resorted to if it was the only way to keep Jemma.
“Then I’ll leave ye now, Ryppon, for I have a bride to seek. Ye might recall the feeling.”
“I do, Barras.”
“And as much as I like ye, I’d appreciate some time alone with me bride before ye come to visit.”
“Something else I understand.” Curan considered his next words. “A few days.”
He’d never enjoyed hearing three words so much. But Gordon couldn’t let her go now. Not after last night. She had come to him, cementing something inside him that refused to bend. Like mortar it was solid now, unmovable deep inside his chest. He didn’t know what it was, only that the idea of not seeing her waiting for him was unendurable. It was more than the desire to bed her. He wanted to smell her hair again and taste her soft kiss when she leaned forward to press her lips against his of her own free will. That was the gift that filled him with tenderness when he’d always considered such emotions merely the stuff of sonnets, the babbling of insane men.
Maybe he had just gone soft, Gordon didn’t care. He tightened his hand around the reins, and his stallion pawed at the ground, eager to begin covering the miles between them and home.
Home, aye, that was what he craved, and was what Jemma made Barras Castle feel like now.
The bells rang again well after sunset. Jemma sat in her chamber unable to stomach returning to Gordon’s. She pulled a brush through her hair, lifting it gently so that the heat from the fire could help it dry. She felt on edge while she waited.
Would he want her tonight? Or would he decide to rest before taking up the challenge of consummating their union? Both were valid questions. In truth she knew very little about Gordon, his likes and dislikes or his expectations of their marriage.
She knew full well that the man desired her body.
Was that lust? For certain it was, but was there more between them, some deeper emotion tugging them together? She felt like there was.
Many would brand her foolish for thinking such.
But her brother loved his wife Bridget. There was no way to deny it, because she had witnessed it. The Church would tell her love was insanity, a sickness that needed healing, but she had seen how her brother and his wife looked at each other. If that was suffering, she would give herself into its keeping willingly.
She felt Gordon before she heard him. A tingle brushed over her nape and down her back. It rippled over her skin, and her nipples contracted until they were hard points behind the dressing robe she wore. It was her only garment because she couldn’t seem to bring herself to dress any further when she was so newly a bride.
She drew the brush along her hair again and felt his attention shift to the motion. There was not much light in the chamber, only the fire casting deep scarlet shadows onto the floor near the hearth. Gordon stepped out of the darkness, looking for all the world like some highlander from legend. His hair was curling slightly and held back from his face by a thin braid. His knees peeked out from beneath the pleats of his kilt, and his doublet was missing. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and tied at the shoulders, exposing his forearms. There was such a raw appearance to the man, as though he could survive anything the rugged Scottish hills gave him.
“I approve of yer attire if not the place that ye choose to wait, lass.” He reached up and pulled something from his bonnet. “But I brought ye a token of my affections to soften yer heart toward me.”
It was a small stalk of heather, the flowers delicate and the scent teasing her nose with sunshine and afternoon breezes. The fragile stem didn’t fit with his powerful body, but that was what sent her lips upward in a smile. The fact that he had taken the time to bring her something that most men thought silly woman foolishness. Girls wove flower wreaths, but men preferred the beauty of a good sword. The stock was cool against her fingers, and she trembled for it was such a tender gesture. One she had never imagined.
“Ah, does that smile mean I shall not have to carry ye to my bed?”
“Only if you wish to.”
He chuckled and reached out to grasp a handful of her hair. He dropped to one knee and held it against his face while he inhaled its fragrance.
“I didn’t put any perfume in it. Some ladies do.”
“Do nae become one of them. I daydreamed today about the way ye smell, and I enjoyed every moment of it, but the reality is far better, I assure ye.”
He stood up. “Come and greet me with a sweet kiss of welcome, wife.”
She placed the brush aside and rose to her feet. “A sweet kiss?”
“Aye.”
Jemma felt her belly quiver and her knees threaten to collapse, but she mustered her determination and closed the distance between them. She noticed how much larger he was than her; somehow that fact impacted her more
