Page 17

Chapter

Fifteen

Adara

A dara swallowed her last bite of roasted pheasant.

Worry slicked the savoury flavour from her tongue.

Across from her, Grahame ate slowly, chewing with more diligence than she’d ever seen.

His eyes lifted to hers then dove toward Hagan who had finished his plate long before.

Knives clanked, the only sound other than the crackle of the fire.

“Shall we retire?” Muretta asked, her tone too innocent.

With a nod, Hagan stood. His gaze remained locked on the table, his cheeks tinged pink.

As a man and her guard, he and Thorhild would be trusted with viewing the bedding.

Oswald suggested the legitimacy of the union would be contested if there was not a priest present but Grahame had become something akin to a roaring beast at the suggestion.

He’d stood in front of Adara, almost backing her into the fire, refusing to move until Oswald agreed to vouch for the union without viewing the coupling.

Thorhild had offered to escort the priest back to the property’s small church.

Adara pressed her shoulder blades back. She fought the impulse to bite her lip. Her false confidence didn’t help the feeling of butterfly wings that scraped along her midsection. “I suppose so.”

From across the table, Grahame’s gaze sank into her as he drained his wine. She had called for a good bottle to be brought out. Unfortunately, the drink did not loosen her limbs or the knot in her belly like she wished it to.

Without speaking, Grahame stood, his chair scraping slowly against the floor. The hair on the back of Adara’s neck stood. Her hands felt clammy.

“Hagan, please accompany us to the bedchamber.”

She could not help the way her chin dipped with embarrassment as she rounded the table and heard the men follow. There was a slight murmuring between Muretta and Hagan before Muretta retreated to the kitchens.

Adara began to count backwards from one hundred.

It was an old habit she employed when she had to lay beneath Elvin’s sweating mass.

Now, it seemed out of place. She had chosen her groom, and though Grahame seemed to hate her, they had cared for one another once.

Perhaps he would go slow. Though his earlier threat rang in her ears.

He promised to take his due. Whether out of lust or hate, she guessed it did not matter. She would not blame him for using her.

Adara’s heart thrummed an unsteady beat as the reality of what she demanded of him hit her.

She was no better than Elvin. The dream of bedding him had kept a spark alive within her for years.

As she grew into an adult, imagining their coupling was one of her favorite past-times.

Yet, with the deed looming before them, Adara was faltering.

“You may remain stationed at the door. No need to enter,” she said, as the men halted at the door to her bedchamber. A shallow breath was not enough to calm the swirling that crawled from her middle up to her chest.

“Yes, My Lady,” Thor murmured.

Adara stepped into the room. The bedclothes had been fluffed.

Soft scents of woodsmoke and daisies hung in the air while the vermillion glow of candles brightened the tapestried walls.

It was a beautiful marital chamber. Adara bit the inside of her cheek, hard, to halt the sting of tears that caused the bridge of her nose to prickle.

“How would you like to proceed, Lady?” Grahame asked, his tone too formal. He had not so much as moved from the doorway. For less than a heartbeat, Adara allowed regret to overwhelm her.

It was all wrong. Before they even knew what coupling was, she’d been Grahame’s. The sun-drenched summer with her farm boy was the happiest she’d ever been. Once, they’d been free. Once, she thought she would be his wife. Not like this.

Never like this.

“Adara?” Grahame’s voice was husky, closer than before.

It snapped her out of her trance. She brushed a finger beneath the eye that dared release moisture.

Like a gust of wind, Grahame was at her back.

“Adara, look at me,” he said.

His fingers grasped her elbow. The pressure was delicious, warming her arm. He would be gentle, she knew it in her bones. Slowly, she allowed him to turn her. Her face was stone when she met his searching gaze.

Grahame’s jaw worked over words he did not speak.

Instead, he stared into her, his brow furrowed as if trying to learn her through a look.

The hand that cupped her elbow inched up her arm, his fingers spread wide over her flesh.

Unable to withstand the scrutiny, she dropped her gaze to the hollow of his throat.

She could do this. She had to do this.

Adara had done much worse in her life. Making the beast with two backs with Grahame wouldn’t be a hardship. An attack of feeling wouldn’t derail her.

“Let’s get this over with,” she grumbled.

Without preamble, she rucked up her skirts, diving a hand beneath to drag her undergarments down. They were small, chosen specifically for the purpose of not having to remove her dress. With Elvin, she’d found short, dainty undergarments easier than having him rip at her longer underthings.

Tears welled again, for all that she and all women before her had endured. Before she could pull the material down, however, Grahame’s hands were on the front of her shoulders, pressing her upward.

“’Dara, wait,” he said, his voice soft.

She didn’t resist his touch, but could not bring herself to look at him.

That was until he caught her chin with his finger to lift her face.

Blinking away the tears that spiked her lashes, Adara glared up at him, her petulance an armor she was not ready to discard.

A line appeared between his sandy brows.

Adara had to stifle the urge to reach up and smooth it away.

When Grahame pulled her into his embrace, Adara stiffened.

“Shhh,” he said, his arms resting on the tops of her shoulders.

They were heavy and solid and a comfort she didn’t deserve. His grass-sweet scent wrapped around her, beckoning the tears she fought with gritted teeth. Still, wetness slid down her cheeks.

He should have been taking his due out of her skin, using her up in the way men did when they wanted to exert their anger.

Then his lips were brushing the bridge of her nose, his hands wandering to her lower back to bring her body flush with his.

He was all hard muscle and warm strength.

His lips met with the blade of her cheek.

Softer than she remembered. Grahame dragged those perfect lips across one cheekbone, then the other, quietly kissing away her tears.

“I…” she started. She could not finish. Her men were watching, likely impatient.

“There is no rush, ’Dara, no rush,” Grahame murmured against her skin, shifting downward to place a gentle kiss at the corner of her mouth. His tenderness made her tremble. Her traitorous arms wrapped around his waist and clung.

“It was never supposed to happen this way,” she said as she dipped her chin.

The movement pressed her forehead to his chest. Grahame buried his nose to her hair, inhaling.

“I know, ’Dara. I know. If I have wished for one thing—” he stopped.

What could he have wished for? They hadn’t spoken in years. Curiosity gnawed at the words he left hanging. Instead, Grahame released her shoulders to cup her face. He had no reason to be so careful. It caused the stony wall she’d built within her to crumble a little.

“My husband was rough with me,” she said. She had to make him aware in order to assert her dominance in a situation she was losing control of. Adara blew out a breath. “I didn’t make it easy. Though, perhaps I should have. It may have been over quicker if I had simply laid there.”

“This can be as quick or slow as you need,” Grahame whispered.

His breath caressed her cheeks and lips.

It stole along her neck causing her skin to heat from the inside out.

There was a fervour in his green eyes, whether from the wine or her confession or satisfaction of her discomfort.

The latter seemed unlikely, however, as he carefully shifted his body so that she was entirely engulfed by him, blocked from the eyes at the door.

“I want this over with. I know you said you’ll take what you believe I owe. I understand what a husband requires, but tonight, let us move this along, for the men’s sake,” she insisted, releasing his waist to grip his wrists.

His hands did not move from her face, though his thumbs scraped her jawline. The sensation was slow and rough and sent a shiver down Adara’s spine.

“I don’t think you know how a proper husband treats his wife. How I would have treated you, had we been able to marry.”

Her scarred heart broke a little at that. She did not know when—or if—they would further discuss their past.

“’Dara, forget the men. It is just you and me in this room. After all these years, it’s just you and me.” His thumbs hadn’t stopped stroking.

Adara wanted to look away but couldn’t. Her heart was no match for the sweet way he held her as his mouth descended on hers.

Gone was the furious passion of their first kiss. Grahame’s lips were soft, moving in slow, purposeful motions against hers. Adara’s muscles unwound at the calm insistence of his mouth.

Steady, that was what Grahame had become.

She hadn’t realized it until her own lips answered his.

He was jest and fire, loyalty and spirit.

Somehow, instead of the reckless smiling youth she’d known, he had turned into a kind, humorous man.

Despite every reason to be terrible, Grahame suddenly became a rock for her to cling to. And cling to him Adara did.