Page 38 of The Chief's Wild Promise
“Aye,” she whispered. “Very well.”
His mouth quirked, and he lifted a hand, brushing a lock of hair off her face. “Ye look bonnie in the morning light,” he murmured. “Yer hair wild … yer eyes soft.”
Makenna’s heart did a little skip. She raised her hand, pushing her hair back. Indeed, it was a tangle—a reminder of their passion. She cleared her throat then, suddenly embarrassed. “Well … at least our wedding night is over with.”
His gaze shadowed at her words, and she immediately kicked herself. Why had she said that?
“I didn’t bruise ye … did I?” he asked after a pause. A groove etched itself between his eyebrows, one she itched to reach out and smooth away. Clenching her hand, she prevented herself. “I meant to go slower but forgot myself in the end.”
“Ye didn’t hurt me,” she assured him, even as her cheeks warmed. Indeed, after the initial discomfort, there hadn’t been any pain. Just gut-twisting, soul-pounding pleasure.
His gaze met hers then, his expression solemn now. “It’s not right … the way all of this was done.” He paused then. “If I were a farmer and ye a local lass, we’d have had the chance to get to know each other … for me towooye before we tumbled.”
She snorted. “Instead, I tried to kill ye … and then we fought.”
He huffed a laugh. “I suppose love play takes many forms.”
Makenna stilled.Love play.They both knew that wasn’t what had happened on the days leading up to their wedding. Could one lusty night wash all the resentment away?
Their gazes met again, and then Bran lifted his hand once more. This time, he brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. “I’ll not pretend things between us will be easy,” he said softly. “But I’m willing to try … if ye are?”
There it was—another challenge issued. Already, he’d learned that Makenna could never resist a gauntlet thrown down before her.A pause followed before she lowered her gaze. “Once ye discover more about me … ye might wish ye hadn’t.”
It was his turn to snort. “Before our wedding, I thought ye were a blade-tongued hellcat … but last night, I learned there’s more to ye.”
Her chin kicked up.A blade-tongued hellcat?“And I thought ye were a haughty lairdling with a pike stuck up yer arse.”
His eyes snapped wide at her response. And then, to her surprise, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. He then propped himself up on an elbow and grinned at her. “Ye know … I think we might be well-matched.”
“Aye?” His mirth both affronted and flustered her. She’d just insulted him, but he didn’t appear to mind.
“Aye.” His grin faded now, his smoky eyes growing limpid. He then drew back the blanket covering them, his gaze dragging down the exposed length of her body. Her skin tingled under the weight of his stare, her breathing suddenly shallow. He cupped her face with his hand, his attention shifting to her mouth. “Now … let’s put that sharp tongue of yers to better use.”
17: THE MORNING HUNT
BRAN ROSE FROM the bed and gave a long, languid stretch. A sense of well-being, unlike any he’d ever experienced, washed over him then, and a smile tugged at his mouth. This morning felt like a new start—for them both.
Maybe marriage to Makenna wouldn’t be so onerous, after all.
He glanced over his shoulder at where his bride still lay abed, and the sight of her delicious curves made his breathing grow shallow. Makenna was dozing, sprawled on her front, her long auburn hair tangled after their last tumble. His gaze raked down the curve of her back and the twin rounded globes of her buttocks. She was just lovely.
They’d feasted on each other, but he couldn’t wait for the day to pass so that he could be alone with her again. There was so much more to discover.
Stretching once more, Bran then padded across to where the privy sat behind a screen. Once he’d used it, he roused the fire and put another log on. Ruddy light flooded through the bower as he crossed back to the bed.
The light peeking in around the sacking on the window was brighter now. Soon, a servant would bring up their morning bannocks; he should really get dressed. Even so, the urge to join Makenna once more was stronger.
He was about to do just that when he noticed the book sitting on a shelf next to the bed.
Curiosity wreathed up. He wondered if it was a book of poetry. His mother had one that Tara loved reading.
Reaching out, he picked it up. However, when he turned it over and read the title embossed upon the red leather cover, he frowned.The Art of Coupling. That didn’t sound like a poetry book to him.
He opened it and scanned the first page. He then turned to the next. And the next.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Makenna?”
“Mm?” She was still half-asleep.