CHAPTER ELEVEN
T ried as he might, Ruben could not figure out why the lass was egging him on, why she was testing him. He did not want to scar the girl but if she was daring him, he would oblige her.
“I prefer wanton women in bed and non-existent outside of it,” he said. “Those times were only to slake a physical need, nothin’ more. They were nay vows of undyin’ love to any of the lasses and before ye ask, nay, there is nay bairn who is goin’ to land on our doorstep and claim me as their own.”
Their gazes held, and Ruben saw how she actively turned away from him; Tension crackled in the space between them. This strange, magnetic attraction had been there from the moment they met but it had presented itself as animosity. He knew she felt it too—but was hellbent on denying it.
Perhaps animosity and attraction are two sides of the same coin.
“I… see.” She lifted her chin, dropped her leg and fanned her skirts out. “Thank ye for makin’ sure I wasnae harmed today.”
“Tryin’ to change the subject?” he asked.
“Nay,” she said. “I just want to give ye me appreciation.”
“Ye daenae have to thank me more than once, lass,” Ruben shrugged. “I always protect what’s mine.”
Paige swallowed. “I’m nae yers.”
“The marriage vows say so,” he said.
“We’re enemies.” Paige stated plainly.
“I am yer husband,” he said. “I cannae be yer enemy.”
“The vows—” She shook her head and spoke crossly. “Do ye nae think they were all lies? Nay future exists, nae for any of us.”
He crouched before her and forced her to meet his eyes. “I ken I am nae the man ye wanted to marry. I am nae that fabled prince with the heart of gold and unsullied hands.
“Yer hands are surely nae pure,” she said.
“We still have a duty to perform,” he said. “And as much as ye hate me, I daenae think that is a deterrent.”
Her look was flat, “Ye’re nae much of a seducer.”
“Ye think I’d take a woman to bed if I dinnae find her genuinely attractive?” He shook his head. “Lass, I’m nae that much of a gentleman. The first thing ye need to ken about desire is that it’s a base instinct, an appetite, if ye will. If ye feed it, it’ll grow.”
“If that is yer version of seduction, I shudder at what ye’d use for flattery.” Paige shook her head.
He cocked his head. “What?”
Her next words emerged as mere whispers. “Some of the men would said I am overly… plump for their tastes.”
Ruben’s face morphed into one of disbelief. “Ye? Overly plump? What in God’s blood does that mean?”
Paige turned her face away, “They say I am too… rich in the blood for them.”
“Lass, whoever thought ye are overly plump is a dobberin’ eejit,” he said.
“Ye daenae have to lie,” Paige shot him a look. “I ken I am nae what most people desire.”
Shaking his head, Ruben said. “Ye’re perfectly fine lass. And if ye daenae believe me, I can prove it to ye.”
Her head snapped in shock and when his meaning sunk in, her cheeks went red in mortification. She turned her head to the window and swallowed tightly. “It’s nae amusin’,” she muttered.
“It is to me,” he said.
Paige shook her head and stood, “I daenae think I can—can do that— with someone I daenae take kindly to,” she said.
“Ye daenae despise me to the depths of yer soul anymore?” he asked.
She blushed. “I’m nae sayin’ that. But I cannae forgive ye for the war.”
“I cannae change what happened in the past.” Ruben sobered, eyes narrowing. “But lass, ye daenae ken much about the war, so ye should shut yer mouth on that.”
She looked over her shoulder, “Or what?”
“Or I will shut it for ye,” he said.
Ruben pulled Paige’s face into both palms and as his mouth came crashing down on hers, all rational thought scattered to the four winds.
Ruben felt the beast in him come out. Just like a predator hunting its prey, the more Paige challenged him the more he wanted to devour her. All he knew was he had to kiss Paige's sweet lips. The more she challenged, the more the hunter within came to the fore.
His spine snapped straight at the thought she would reject him but the moment his lips touched hers, Ruben felt something… shift. He had been with women before, but none of them compared to this sweet, innocent woman he was holding.
From Paige's tentative response, he felt how innocent she was, and yet he sensed a dormant passion within her. If only he could pull it forward. He coaxed her lips apart so he could taste her with his tongue, gently encouraging her, guiding her until he felt her response.
Ruben's hands explored her luscious body, surprised by the abundant breasts and curvaceous bottom concealed by her attire. Her body was sumptuous, and he was tempted to carry her right to his bed.
As he deepened the kiss, he heard Paige moan. He knew she was just as affected by their embrace. He felt her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as Paige moved to deepen the kiss.
If he felt this much desire from only a kiss, how much more would it feel to be inside her and have her writhing beneath him as he pumped his essence into her body?
Ruben felt his control slipping from him the more his lips coasted over hers. He had to stop.
. On that thought, Ruben pulled his lips away, taking the fleeting moment to appreciating her lashes resting on her cheek, her plump lips glistening. When she peeled her eyes open, she looked dazed.
She blinked, “W-what was that?”
“Desire,” he said. “Or lust, if ye want to be crude. There are a lot more bawdy terms for the intimate act, ones I ken would scald yer ears and leave ye questionin’ mankind.”
Paige pulled away and headed to the doorway. “I daenae need to question mankind,” she paused. “I have questions about the war ye wrecked on me people and nay one is givin’ me any answers.”
When he did not give her any reply, she sighed and headed to the door. “I suppose nay clarification will be forthcomin’ today either.”
The rhythmic thud of the squires’ wooden sword-blades colliding rang out across the arena.
Ignoring them, Ruben dashed the sweat on his forehead away then hefted his sword and gestured Galan forward. As expected, his friend attacked and parried with calm determination, warding off his strikes with his small round shield.
“How’s yer wife?” Galan asked, as their swords locked.
Grinding his boot into the ground, Ruben scowled, “We’re here trainin’. I daenae want to talk about me wife.”
“Ye may nae,” Galan said. “But I want to. I daenae ken much about her but from the way she looks at you, is she a vixen in bed?”
“Ye may be me second, but if ye dare utter those words again,” Ruben furiously spun on his heel to deliver a backhanded strike to Galan that sent his second stumbling, he added, “I’ll have yer tongue.”
The chaotic thud and clack of the trainee’s sword and shield were in the background as Ruben side-stepped, he skipped back and struck at him in a wide arc—their blades joining for a moment before Galan twisted away and dodged out of reach.
“Concentrate on the fight,” Ruben growled.
“Me apologies. I will never cast aspersions on yer dear wife again.” Galan said. “How about a simpler question?”
“Mind yer tongue,” Ruben warned as they circled each other,
Have ye thought of how many bairns ye want?” Galan asked. “Me Nara and I want three.”
“Ye’re aggravatin’,” Ruben scowled, doing his best to keep his man-at-arms alert. Galan met his strike with a snapping deflect and swiftly tried to undercut Ruben.
They circled each other once more, Galan leading the attacks, although Ruben’s parries and feints grew gradually more aggressive. Then he suddenly attacked, swift and silent as a striking wolf.
Galan leaped backward to avoid him, but he was too slow. Ruben managed to backhand Galan’s sword of his hand and sent it spinning across the enclosure.
Grunting, Galan said. “That wasnae nice.”
Cocking his blade over the back of his shoulder, Ruben said, “If ye would keep yer mind on the fight ye’d still have yer sword in hand.”
After retrieving his blade, Ruben asked, “Ye havenae touched her yet, have ye.”
Remembering the arousal from earlier, Ruben shifted. “That doesnae sound like a question.”
“Because it wasnae one.” Galan replied, extending his hands for a shake. “Do ye want to go to one of the village’s taverns tonight and speak over it? Being away from this castle could give ye a fresh perception on this matter.”
The almost instant answer that nearly flew off Ruben’s tongue was no— he did not drink spirits as a rule. No leader that was worth calling a leader allowed himself to drink to excess.
A light mead couldnae hurt.
Rubbing his face, Ruben replied, “Against all of me rules…I think I’ll go with ye this night.” He rubbed the back of his neck and winced at the tense muscles that went right down to his shoulders. “What time are ye going?”
Looking down at the needlepoint on her embroidery hoop, Paige dropped her hands and looked down at her work. As pretty as it was—it felt meaningless.
What was a pretty image going to help anyone? It had hardly kept her mind off the problems facing her at every turn. Why would no one tell her the full truth about the war? What did Ruben decide to do about them consummating the marriage?
The most worrying question?—
Why do I feel he doesnae hate me, that he only hates the situation? Worst of all, why do I want to feel this… heat for him?
“I shouldnae like him much less want to…” she winced. “…kiss him again.”
While his indifference grated, she reminded herself that he was a murderer and did not deserve anything from him. He’d told her he like wonton women and to a man like McKinnon, he probably enjoyed such intimacies all the time.
His defense of her to the other men who had dismissed her did warm her heart—but it was probably for nothing. It did not mean he like her, or wanted her, or was a bit interested in her as the woman she was.
Even with that, she doubted he found her interests appealing. She played the harp and flute, could sew and spoke three languages.