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“Aye, and a true beauty,” Aidan agreed. “Yer the envy of every man in the hall tonight.”

Gavin grimaced. He didn’t feel confident. He felt unsure. He’d visited alehouses and whorehouses, where the female companionship was experienced, lustful, and plentiful. He had been married twice and each time submitted to a rowdy bedding ceremony, with the male guests and his retainers accompanying him to the bridal chamber amid bawdy comments.

But he had never bedded a mistress within the walls of his own castle, while his household was gathered below, their ears most likely attuned to every sound. It somehow felt base, sordid.

Yet this twinge of conscience in no way diminished the desire he felt, nor lessened his determination to take Fiona to his bed. Damn if he wasn’t becoming addled over the lass.

Gavin glanced toward the stairs for the tenth time in as many minutes, then quickly looked away, worried one of his men might have noticed. The last thing he needed was Duncan’s jesting or Aidan’s sarcastic quips. He was nervous enough.

Ignoring the pointed stares he was receiving from Duncan, Connor, Aidan, and God only knew who else, Gavin casually lifted his tankard.

“Will we not have some singing tonight?” he asked.

“How can it be that ye’ve got songs on yer mind tonight?” Duncan inquired with a wry expression. “That’s the telltale mark of an old codger, wanting to stay with his men drinking and singing instead of joining the bonnie lass who’s waiting fer him above stairs, warming his bed.”

“An old codger! I’ll have ye know I’m a man in my prime,” Gavin declared, trying not to smile.

“Yer actions tell a different story,” Aidan insisted with a teasing grin.

Gavin gulped down another mouthful of ale and then banged the tankard on the table. “I bested ye on the practice field today,” he said smugly. “All three of ye.”

Duncan grumbled, while Aidan mumbled something under his breath about getting lucky at catching him off guard.

“Well, that only proves yer not too old forsomethings,” Connor said, smiling like a buffoon. He drained his tankard, then started singing. Before long, the rest of the men joined in.

Hark, hear it now—

those ale brewers are turning Arras into Scotland!

By St. Andrew, hear it!

Good men and good times,

cry charity to Holy Mary!

The songs became progressively lecherous as the drink continued to flow, but it provided the distraction that Gavin craved.

It was late when he finally mounted the stairs to his chamber, taking them two at a time. Drawing himself up to his full height, Gavin reached for the door latch, then hesitated. Would Fiona be sitting in his bed, naked and alluring? Or would she be in the small chamber he had assigned her, waiting to be summoned?

He glanced back and forth between the two doors, trying to decide. Going with his gut instinct, he yanked open the heavy wooden door of the smaller chamber.

There was a gasp, followed by an odd little squeak. Fiona stood. Gavin stepped forward. The door closed behind him, leaving him in uncomfortable seclusion with his brand-new mistress.

No candle was lit, only moonlight brightened the room. Still, he could make out the glow of her unbound golden hair, the fine curves of her lush body. He was a man who appreciated beauty in its many forms and Fiona’s was special, rare.

She seemed to expect him to say something. Perhaps give her a command?Strip off yer nightclothes, lay on yer back, and open yer legs.

If he said it, she would obey. Like a supplicant before her master, she would do his bidding. Hell, he could rip off her thin nightgown, toss her on the bed and have his way with her and she’d never utter a word of protest. But the idea did neither heat his blood or raise his passion, nor did it give him a heady feeling of power and command. Instead it made him feel like a brutal tyrant.

He was a leader of men, having taken the mantle of leadership of his people as a young man of twenty-three. Dominating, commanding, being in control was as much a part of his nature as it was a fulfillment of his duty.

Yet Gavin had learned as a youth that bed sport was far more enjoyable if both partners participated. With patience and skill he had coaxed a passionate response from his virgin brides. Did his mistress not deserve the same consideration?

“Why are ye standing here in the darkness?” he asked. “I expected to find ye in my chamber.”

Her color flared, yet when she spoke, her voice was even. “You gave me no specific instructions. I thought it best to wait here instead of invading your bedchamber.”

She was watching him, but nothing in the depths of her emerald-green eyes gave any hint to what she was truly thinking, what she was feeling. She presented a placid facade, but Gavin would wager every gold coin he possessed that her heart was fluttering like a trapped bird.