Page 19 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)
“It’s glorious!”
Velvet exclaimed. “Where did he ever find such a gown?”
Maggie laughed. “When a Borderer gies ye a gift, lassie, ’tis nae wise to ask where he got it.”
She dug into her pocket and pulled out a necklace that blazed with diamonds and pearls set in rose gold. “These are Hepburn family jewels, and he says for you to hae the loan of them for yer wedding.”
“Oh, Maggie, please thank Lord Bothwell for me!”
Maggie smiled and nodded, then went about the task of helping Pansy to ready the bride. The serving woman had seen the woebegone expression on Mistress de Marisco’s face earlier, and the men were already talking of the fierce argument between Lord Gordon and his betrothed wife. His lordship must have seen her look, too, and had obviously comforted the lass before sending along the jewelry. He was a man who knew how to make a woman smile, was Francis Stewart-Hepburn, thought Maggie, who had known him all her life.
Stripped of her filthy riding clothes, Velvet climbed into the high oak tub and sighed blissfully. Then suddenly she sniffed. “Gillyflowers!”
she exclaimed.
“Aye,”
said Pansy. “I may have had to pack light, mistress, but there was no need to forget the essentials. I slipped a small vial of your scent into the pack.”
Together the two women soaped Velvet, then washed her long auburn hair. There was no time to dally, Maggie said, for the wedding was set for eight o’clock. The men were already decorating the hall, delighted at the diversion. Half a dozen of Lord Bothwell’s men had ridden into the nearby village to bring back the preacher. She chattered on, Pansy joining in, while Velvet only half listened to them.
Married. She turned the word over in her mind. Married. She still felt as strongly about her situation as she had five months ago when she had first heard of Alexander Gordon. It was not that she didn’t care for him, for to her discomfort she found that she did. Whether or not it was love she couldn’t be sure, never having been in love before. What she did know was that she felt trapped. She was willing to marry Alex, but not quite yet. I’m not even sixteen, she thought.
Her mother had been married for the first time at fifteen, and Velvet knew that that was precisely why she had wanted her youngest child to have more time. Somehow Velvet didn’t believe that she would be like her mother with several husbands and so many adventures, but it would have been nice to have had a little more time at court. She was also unhappy about Alex’s tricking her into a handfast marriage, followed by this hurried religious ceremony by a Calvinist preacher. She had been raised in the holy Catholic church, and although she was not particularly religious, she knew in her heart that until she was wed in her own church, she would feel slightly wicked.
Pansy and Maggie worked quickly to prepare the bride who silently obeyed their orders. Another serving wench arrived with a tray containing a small meat pie, steaming hot from the oven, and a tall goblet of heady, sweet red wine. Velvet ravenously wolfed the meal down, for she was very hungry. Then she suffered her face and hands to be rewashed. Silken undergarments and charming silk stockings with gold roses embroidered on them were brought and put on her. Somewhere a pair of shoes that fit her were obtained, and finally the gown was dropped over her head. The fastenings were neatly done up, then Pansy sat her on a chair and brushed her long, auburn hair until it shone with dark red and gold lights. The hair was left unbound to signify her virgin state and her head crowned with a wreath of wheat, symbolizing fertility. Then Pansy carefully fastened the necklace about Velvet’s neck. As the young tiring woman stepped back, she gaped in awe when Velvet stood and turned to face her.
“Oh, mistress! You’re absolutely beautiful!”
Maggie’s face was also soft with admiration. “I dinna believe that Hermitage has ever seen a more beautiful bride,”
she declared.
There was a knock on the door, and Maggie opened it to admit Lord Bothwell. He was dressed in the elegant red and green Hepburn plaid and a black velvet jacket. His blue eyes swept approvingly over the bride as he said, “Christ almighty, lass, ye’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. With each minute that passes I further envy Alexander Gordon.”
He held out his hand to her. “Will ye gie me the honor of escorting ye?”
“With pleasure, my lord,”
Velvet answered. “Since my own dear papa isn’t here. I cannot think of anyone else I would prefer but you.”
Bothwell winced at the mention of her father. Dear Lord! He certainly wasn’t old enough to be the lass’s father—or was he? He dismissed the thought immediately with a grimace and sent Maggie a black look, for he had heard her muffled chuckle. Her gray eyes danced with merriment.
Velvet put her hand into Francis Stewart-Hepburn’s, and together they walked from the room and down the narrow stone stairway into the Great Hall. Velvet’s eyes were round with amazement at the transformation that had taken place in just the few hours that she had been at Hermitage. The hall was decorated with pine, red whortleberry, and white heather. At the entry to the Great Hall Lord Both well said something low to one of his retainers, and the man hurried away to return a moment later with a small bouquet of white roses and white heather.
“The very last of the roses.”
Bothwell smiled at her. “One of the serving girls found them by a sheltered wall and cut them for ye.”
“You’re so very kind, my lord,”
Velvet said. “You almost make me feel guilty for being such a reluctant bride.”
“Captive brides are a tradition here on the Border, lass,”
was his reply, “but I believe that within a few short days yer anger will have cooled. He’s a good man, ye know.”
“Aye, the queen said that of him,”
Velvet replied.
“Did she now? Well ’twas never said that Bess Tudor was a stupid woman.”
Bothwell stopped a moment and lifted her face with his hand. “Gie us a wee smile now, Velvet de Marisco, for I can see ye love the man, even if ye’re too stubborn to admit it. Pride is something I well understand.”
She smiled up at him, and he said, “Aye, lassie, that’s it! Now, come forward, and we’ll meet yer fate head-on. Never fear to meet yer fate!”
Then he led her into the Great Hall, and a mighty cheer went up from the Borderers gathered there. Before the high board stood the hastily summoned preacher of Scotland’s new kirk and Alexander Gordon, the Earl of BrocCairn, freshly scrubbed, and with a black velvet jacket borrowed from Lord Bothwell to wear over his dark green, blue, and yellow Gordon plaid. On his shoulder he sported a magnificent gold clan crest, identifying him as the chief of his clan, the Gordons of BrocCairn. On the pin was the raised and snarling badger with red ruby eyes, and around the beast were inscribed the words “Defend or Die.”
The pipes began to skirl softly as the bride was led forward. Lord Bothwell placed Velvet’s hand in Alex’s, and without further ado the preacher commenced reading the marriage ceremony. Where are the beeswax tapers in the gold candelabrum, the sweetly singing choir, and the family priest in his glorious white and gold vestments? thought Velvet. For a moment she almost cried, for she so wanted her parents, her sisters and brothers, Uncle Robbie, Dame Cecily, Uncle Conn, and sweet Aunt Aiden. Instead she found herself in the stone hall of a Border castle surrounded by men, being married by a Calvinist preacher to a man she half feared.
“Say aye!”
Alex hissed at her, and she said, “Aye,”
as he pushed his own chieftain’s heavy gold ring upon her marriage finger. She had been paying absolutely no attention to what was happening at all. This was her wedding. Was she going to tell her children and her grandchildren one day that she didn’t remember the ceremony because she had been daydreaming? She giggled, and the preacher looked sourly at her, making her want to laugh all the more. Alex squeezed her hand in warning, and Velvet got a grip on her emotions though she was becoming nearly hysterical.
“I pronounce ye husband and wife,”
the preacher said, and another mighty cheer went up in the hall.
Alex pulled her into his arms roughly and kissed her with a passion that left her breathless. When he let her go she was blushing, and his eyes mocked her. “Now, m’lady, ye’re most truly wed wi’ me,”
he said softly. “Wedded, and soon to be bedded.”
“I will never truly feel wed with you until we are married in our own church and my family is about me,”
Velvet said stubbornly.
“God’s blood, madame! How many weddings do ye want?”
“I think,”
said Bothwell, interrupting what seemed to be another storm brewing between the Earl and Countess of BrocCairn, “that it is my turn to kiss the bride.”
Velvet held up a cheek for him to kiss, but Francis Stewart-Hepburn laughed mischievously and said, “Nay, lass,”
as he took her lips. It was but a moment, and it was a sweet kiss. As he let her go he said, “ ’Tis the only time I’ve an excuse to sip yer honey, lass, and ye’re far too sweet to resist.”
The preacher had disappeared, and the lord of the castle led them up to the high board. “I must apologize for such a simple wedding feast, my lady,”
Bothwell continued, “but I was not expecting to gie a bride away tonight.”
Then he signaled the servants to bring in the meal. There was venison, boar, pheasant, quail, duck, and capon. There were platters of salmon and trout dressed with cress, bowls of peas and carrots and beans, as well as hot breads and tubs of butter and cheese. Ale and wine were both served.
Velvet ate sparingly, taking a bit of capon and another slice of trout, some vegetables, bread, and cheese. She was very nervous now, and her stomach was rolling. Only the wine seemed to settle it, but she drank sparingly even of that. She had been placed between Alex and Lord Bothwell, both of whom took delight in filling and refilling their plates and goblets until she thought that they would surely burst. A large apple tart with heavy cream was the last thing to be presented and it was the only dish that tasted good to her, so she ate two large pieces of it.
The pipes started up again, and the men began to dance upon the gray stone floor. The fireplaces and the tapers smoked as the wind had risen outside, somehow managing to slip through cracks in the stone walls. Above Velvet were many colored banners and pendants. Francis leaned over to tell her that they were taken in various battles over the centuries by the Hepburns and their allies. The skirling bagpipes, the kilted clansmen dancing a dance she was told was the sword dance, the orange firelight shadowing the hall as it leaped in time with the pipes—all combined to create a savage splendor that she would not soon forget. This was what she would tell her children and grandchildren. It was all really quite exciting.
Then Lord Bothwell said quietly, “Maggie is outside the hall, Lady Gordon. She will escort ye to yer bedchamber.”
Velvet started at the address “Lady Gordon.”
“Is it time so soon?”
she asked him plaintively.
“Aye, but remember what I told ye to do, lass. Face yer fate bravely and squarely. Alex has told me of yer parents, and I suspect beneath yer maiden fears ye’re their daughter well and true.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “Go along now, my lady Gordon. I’ll be sending ye yer man in a few minutes.”
As Velvet stood to leave the high board, Bothwell raised his goblet and cried out, “The bride!”
His words were echoed by the hundred men who were in the hall. “The bride!”
was their toast. Her head held high, she acknowledged them with a return toast. “A Bothwell!”
she shouted, and they cheered her as she drank. And then she made her way out of the hall to where Maggie and Pansy awaited her.
“God, she’s bonny!”
Francis Stewart-Hepburn said admiringly after she had gone.
“Aye,”
replied Alex. “And stubborn, and beautiful, and maddening, but, damn me, I want her!”
He sighed. “I’m not so sure I should not have married a more biddable female.”
Bothwell laughed somewhat bitterly. “Biddable females breed up weak sons, cousin. This little wench of yers will give ye a litter of fire-eaters for BrocCairn. Have another cup wi’ me, and then go to her.”
While they drank of Lord Bothwell’s excellent Burgundy, Velvet was shown to the bedchamber she would share with her new husband. There she was divested of her finery by Maggie, while Pansy brought her a silver basin in which to wash her face, hands, and teeth.
“Have you eaten?”
Velvet asked her tiring woman.
“Aye, mistress, I mean, my lady Velvet.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“Maggie is letting me stay with her, me lady,”
“Steer clear of Dugald, Pansy. He means to seduce you, I suspect.”
Pansy giggled at her mistress’s words. “I may be a country girl, me lady, but I’m wise to the likes of Dugald. He’ll get naught without a wedding ring for me finger first.”
Velvet was completely nude now and she looked surprised when the two women led her to the big bed. “My nightshift, Pansy,”
she scolded the servant.
“Nay,”
said Maggie. “ ’Tis the custom in the Border that ye greet yer new lord in yer bed without a shift, but as God has made ye, m’lady.”
She tucked Velvet beneath the lavender-scented sheets and the soft fur coverlet. Then she plumped up the fat goosedown pillows behind her back. “There! Now ye’re ready, and just in time, I vow!”
In the hallway outside they heard men shouting, and then the door was flung open and the room filled up with laughing clansmen. Velvet clutched the covers to her bosom, drawing them almost to her chin.
God’s blood, Lord Bothwell thought as he looked at her gardenia skin, wide green eyes, and auburn hair. She’s exquisite! I’d best get my men from this room before there’s a riot. He shoved his cousin forward. Alex had been stripped down to just the lower half of his plaid. “Yer husband, Lady Gordon!”
Bothwell announced. Then he said to his men, “Come, lads! There’s a troupe of gypsies outside Hermitage walls this night, and I’m thinking we should invite some dancers in to entertain us.”
He moved out of the room, and thus diverted, the two serving women and his retainers followed him.
The door closed behind them, and Alex, swiveling, shot the bolt before turning back to Velvet. He gazed at her for a long moment, and she reddened beneath his close scrutiny. Then he moved about the bedchamber blowing out the candles until only the one on the table by his side of the bed remained. A small, cheery fire burned in the fireplace. Without a word he pulled off his plaid and climbed into bed before she even had a chance to see him, except for a flash of taut buttocks.
Her heart was hammering wildly as she sat stiffly in the bed, next to him. She wasn’t sure she was even breathing. There was a fluttery feeling of anticipation in her stomach, and yet she was also afraid. She desperately wished now that her mother had not believed her to be too young to discuss the marriage bed before Skye had left for India. Velvet didn’t know what to do, or even if she should do anything, and she felt like a perfect fool. Her fingers clutching the bedcovers were white with her tension.
“Lower the bedclothes, Velvet.”
Alex’s voice in the heavy silence startled her and she jumped. Gently he broke her death grip on the sheets and the coverlet, and her hands fell into her lap. She stared straight ahead, for she was terrified of looking at him.
Alex felt his breath catch in his throat. That one time all those long weeks ago that he had caressed her lovely body had not prepared him for such perfection. Free of any restraints, her beautiful young breasts sprang forth, as smooth and as round and as firm as young apples. Her skin was smooth in texture and creamy in color.
Velvet felt herself blushing again under his warm gaze. She wished he would hurry and do whatever it was he was going to do, and then leave her be. But when Alex reached out to caress one of her breasts, she was unable to restrain the little cry of fear that struggled from her tight throat as she tried to push his hand away.
“No, sweetheart,”
he said softly, “don’t, for I love ye.”
“I am so afraid,”
Velvet whispered.
He knew what that admission must have cost her. “Why are ye afraid, lovey? Ye know I won’t hurt ye.”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,”
she said miserably.
Laughter bubbled up in his throat. “Do? God’s blood, Velvet, the marriage bed is nae a performance.”
“Don’t you dare to laugh at me, Alex Gordon!”
she cried. “From the moment I first heard your name, all I have been told is that you must breed sons quickly to protect your damned direct line of descent. Well, my mother has been gone from me for over two years, and she did not think me old enough before she left to discuss adult things with me. I know nothing of how sons are bred up, you arrogant ass! I asked Lord Bothwell earlier, but he told me naught. In fact I think now that I probably embarrassed him.”
Alex could not help it. He howled his laughter. The thought of the elegant and urbane Earl of Bothwell being asked to mother-hen his bride was too delicious. “Y-you asked Francis about t-the, t-the marriage bed? Ah, ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ouch!”
This last came as Velvet, desperate to retaliate, grabbed a handful of his thick, black hair and yanked.
“Dammit, ye little vixen, let go!”
“Don’t you dare laugh at me!”
she raged at him. “Don’t you dare!”
She tried to slap him, but Alex, now realizing that she was deadly serious, grabbed for her. Fiercely they wrestled across the bed, she trying to smack at him; he trying to prevent it. They battled back and forth for several minutes until suddenly Alex found her beneath him.
Her eyes widened with sudden realization as she felt his hard body pressed atop her. She groaned in defeat as his mouth captured hers in a deep and tender kiss.
In that moment Velvet knew that she was lost. His lips moved gently and sweetly against her own, coaxing her to respond, willing her to meet his passion with her own. Hungrily he kissed her, sending the blood racing through her veins and into her head with a pounding roar that left her dizzy. She had the feeling that she was falling, and she clung to him desperately.
“Ah, lovey, how ye intoxicate me,”
he murmured against her mouth, kissing her again, this time parting her lips to plunder its sweetness. For a moment this new intimacy drained her will completely. Only once before had he kissed her like that and then but briefly. Now his tongue probed deeply with slow, exaggerated movements, stroking and caressing the satin of her tongue until small flames of undiluted desire began to burn deep within her.
Alex thought he would go mad from the pleasure that her lips presented. He had never believed that any woman could offer such delights, and he was in no great hurry to rush them into the final act of consummation. As her head fell back against his arm, he trailed his slender fingers down her graceful throat, lingering a moment to touch lightly the visibly beating pulse in its blue-veined hollow. Then he bent his head and kissed the quivering throb.
He lay back a moment, his dark head next to her auburn one on the pillows. “Look at me, Velvet, my love.”
She turned her passion-glazed green eyes toward his lionlike golden ones, which now gazed down on her. With feathery touches he stroked a tender breast, his fingers gently encircling it slowly in a delicious, mesmerizing action. Velvet felt a lovely warmth begin to suffuse her limbs. Without realizing it she sighed, and Alex smiled softly. His fingers moved upward and began to tease the sensitive nipple until she thought the flesh would burst open and pour forth a liquid sweetness. But then, when he twisted his body and, lowering his head, took her little nipple into his mouth, Velvet understood that the pleasure was only beginning.
Suddenly she was no longer afraid. She realized that she hadn’t understood anything about this marvelous thing called lovemaking. She still didn’t understand what was expected of her, or exactly what the act of consummation would involve, but she was content for now to trust in Alex Gordon. After all, she reasoned for one brief, sane moment, he was her betrothed husband and she certainly could not deter him from his intent. A great burst of tenderness overcame her and, reaching up, she caressed his thick hair with her hand.
He felt her touch, and his heart quickened with delight, for he recognized that at least for the time being she was free of fear. When he turned his attention to her other breast lest it feel neglected, she moaned low, and the passionate sound sent a shiver through him. His curious hand slipped down her torso to her belly, and he tenderly rubbed it, sending a small dart of delight through her.
Then to his surprise she said, “May I touch you, Alex?”
“Aye, lovey, for if I gie ye pleasure wi’ my touch, so can ye gie me pleasure wi’ yers.”
He lay back, barely breathing lest he startle her.
Velvet raised herself onto an elbow and gazed down at him. He was lean and muscled, and upon his broad chest was a wide mat of dark hair that narrowed as it traveled down his belly. She followed the dark line, her green eyes widening suddenly, her gaze flying back upward as her cheeks reddened. Then, shyly, she caressed his shoulder, her hand running down his chest, tangling in the soft fur of him. Her touch inflamed him, and his own heart beat wildly as she indulged her virgin’s curiosity.
Reaching up, his arm encircled her neck and drew her back down so that her firm, young breasts were pressing against his chest. Their lips met again, and this time Velvet did not simply receive his homage. This time she kissed him back. He rolled her onto her back, enfolding her in his hungry embrace. She could feel his long body matching hers: his legs against her legs, his long torso pressing into her soft flesh.
His lips became more frantic as desire rose from deep within him. He kissed her eyes, the tip of her nose, her stubborn little chin, and her mouth again. “Tell me that ye want me, Velvet,”
he almost pleaded with her. “Tell me that ye want me as much as I want ye!”
And he shuddered with his desperate need.
She shivered, too, feeling the hard length of him that had not been there before. It pressed insistently against her thigh, almost a separate entity of its own, seeking entry into her young body. Suddenly she was afraid again, and she sobbed her fear.
“Dear God, Velvet, dinna put me off now when I long so desperately for ye!”
Shifting his weight, he slipped his hand between her legs and, moving swiftly up, touched her in that most secret of places.
“No!”
She twisted beneath him, her fright evident.
He groaned. “I won’t hurt ye, sweetheart. I swear it!”
“Liar!”
she whispered. “Do you not remember my brother’s wedding night? I do!”
“The pain is sweet, my darling, and ’tis only once. For God’s sake, let us have done with this damned virginity of yers!”
He caught her hands and, pulling them above her head, pinioned her firmly. Then his knee nudged her resisting thighs apart while with his other hand he guided his manhood to the mark.
Feeling him gain a small entry, she cried out as the swelling pressure invaded her and she begged him to stop. Maddened now with his own needs, he barely heard her. Carefully so as not to give her any more pain than necessary, he slowly pushed himself into her virgin sheath. She could feel him filling her with a fullness that shattered her, and then, before she could protest his actions further, he thrust through her maiden barrier with one swift movement.
She felt but a single stinging pain and cried out sharply, but her cry was more of a lament for something lost rather than from any serious hurt she had received.
He lay very still within her, allowing her tender body to adjust itself to his invasion, and then he said softly, “There, sweetheart, ’tis over. Now let me teach ye the honeyed sweetness that two bodies can create.”
There was a little discomfort as he began to move in her, but with each stroke of his manhood it lessened. His breathing became labored, then suddenly he shuddered and lay still once again.
“God’s blood!”
he swore angrily, and, curious, she asked, “What is it, my lord? Have I displeased you in some way?”
She didn’t understand why, but suddenly she wanted to make him happy.
He rolled off her and, laying next to her in the big bed, said, “Nay, sweetheart, ye’ve not displeased me. I am angered at myself, for I was so damned hot for ye that I was only interested in my own pleasure and gae ye none. ’Twill not happen again, Velvet, I promise ye. I behaved like a green boy, spilling my seed so quickly.”
She really didn’t quite understand what he meant, and so, innocently, she soothed him. “You didn’t hurt me greatly, Alex. After the first pain it was rather pleasant. Really it was!”
He laughed gently. “Pleasant, Velvet, is not quite what it should have been. There should have been a lovely melting feeling, and I know that ye did not receive that, did ye?”
“Nay,”
she answered him, puzzled. “A melting feeling? Nay, I had no melting feeling. Is it necessary, this melting feeling?”
“Not necessary, but wonderful, sweetheart. Gie me time to recover myself and then we shall love again. Ye hae made me very happy, lovey, and I would make ye happy also.”
He put an arm about her and said gently, “Sleep now, sweetheart. ’Tis been an exciting day for us both.”
When Velvet opened her eyes again, the gray dawn was just beginning to filter through the narrow windows of the room. For a second she forgot where she was, but then Alex snored lightly beside her and she remembered. Curious, she sat up and stared down at him. It was the very first time she had really looked hard at him, and in sleep there was a vulnerability about him he did not have when awake. Just above his left eyebrow was a tiny scar that she had not noticed before. Gently she reached out and touched it, letting her fingers trail softly down his jawline. He was really quite attractive, this man who was her betrothed husband, even if he was totally impossible to get along with and far more stubborn than anyone else she had ever known in her whole life. Her husband. This man was her husband. Nay! She was betrothed to him, but he was not her real husband yet, and neither a handfast marriage nor a Calvinist preacher could make it so if she would not accept it. When her parents returned from the Indies, when they were properly wed in a church by a priest of their own religion, then she would accept him as her husband.
“Ye’re even beautiful when ye frown,”
he remarked, opening his wonderful eyes.
She smiled at him, noticing that his speech had become even more Scots in character since they had crossed over the border yesterday. “How did you get the scar over your eye?”
she asked him.
“When I was a boy, my brother Nigel and I were practicing with swords and his foot slipped. My father beat him for it, and me also. He said we should have been better swordsmen.”
He reached up and pulled her down. “I want ye, lass,”
he said thickly, and then he was kissing her.
She had no fear of the unknown this time, and her body softened against him. She felt his hands smoothing down her back to cup and caress her buttocks, and then he turned her onto her back, finding her breasts once more and loving them with both his hands and his mouth. Velvet found his touch delicious and murmured her approval of his actions. Her lovely young breasts grew swollen with her longing as the nipples began to ache, becoming tiny and tight.
His hand slipped down her body, sliding between her legs, and she tensed slightly, but he kissed her ear and whispered, “Nay, sweetheart, but trust me.”
His fingers were incredibly gentle, and for a moment she hardly realized that he was stroking her soft secret. Then without warning that little jewel began to tingle with such an intense feeling that very quickly the only thing she was conscious of was the fierce throbbing.
“Oh.”
She gasped softly. “Oh! Oh!”
Twisting his big body, Alex swung over Velvet and, in one smooth motion, drove into her. Again she gasped, but the sound was one of pleasure. His hands rested on her hips, holding her firmly as he moved upon her, and this time it was far different than it had been the night before. Her senses were awash with pleasure, and behind her closed eyes images whirled in a pinwheel of kaleidoscopic colors.
Velvet met passion head-on for the very first time, her head thrashing wildly. She was lost in a blazing world, and, sure now of her pleasure, Alex took his own.
When afterward she became aware of herself and her surroundings again, Velvet lay quietly next to Alex, waiting for her breathing to even and her heart to stop pounding wildly. Finally she said, “ ’Twas more like an explosion than a melting, my lord.”
Reaching out, he took her hand in his and squeezed it. “I love ye, my Velvet Gordon, Countess of BrocCairn. I love ye very much.”
“I—I love you, too, Alex,”
she admitted finally. “Oh, but please understand how I feel about our wedding! I know now that my fear of you, of the marriage bed, was nothing but maiden foolishness, but I honestly do not feel married to you, and I won’t until we are wed before my family by a priest of our own church. Take me back to England and let us wait until the spring when my parents will return. I am yours, Alex. I am yours now and for always! Do this for me, my lord … husband.”
“Nay, Velvet! Nay! We are home in Scotland. We are far closer to Dun Broc than we are to London. By spring ye could be wi’ child, our child!”
“A bastard child!”
she flung at him. “Would you bring that shame upon me? You say you love me!”
“He’ll be no bastard, Velvet! We are wed under the laws of Scotland and in the eyes of the new kirk!”
“But not in the eyes of the church in which we were both raised, Alex!”
He had no answer to give her. Angrily he flung himself from their bed and, pulling on his clothes, slammed wordlessly from the room.
Velvet lay silently for a long moment, and then she felt a tear slide down her cheek. “Damn you, Alexander Gordon,”
she whispered to herself. “You’re the most impossible man I’ve ever met!
I’ll not be beaten though, my fine love! I’ll get back to England, and you’ll marry me properly before any child of ours is birthed. That I can promise you!”
Then, yanking the crumpled covers back up over her naked shoulders, Velvet snuggled down in the bed and fell asleep.