Page 65 of Winter Longing
Ailsa lowered her head, the flicker of hope she had been nurturing all evening snuffed out.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. But then Cole’s voice came again, quieter this time, more measured. “Ailsa...” He hesitated, as though weighing his words. “I don’t know what’s expected of me in this marriage. But I promise you this—I’ll never hurt you. And I’ll try my damnedest not to cause you any more trouble than I already have.”
She looked up at him, warmed by the sincerity in his tone. Though his words weren’t overflowing with affection, they held a kind of promise—small, but steady. And though it wasn’t the declaration she had been hoping for—was scarcely a declaration at all—it was something. And for now, she decided, it would have to be enough.
She smiled with a wee bit of gratefulness at him.
Though Ailsa knew she and Cole were expected to retire to her bedchamber together—and feast or no, sooner rather than later—Ailsa still needed to be prodded by her brother.
“'Tis time ye took yer leave of the hall,” Tavis said to her shortly after the platters had been cleared, when only tankards and crusts of bread remained on the table.
She nodded without meeting her brother’s gaze, her cheeks warming instantly with heat.
She angled her face toward Cole but did not meet his eye. “We will retire now,” she advised and waited for him to stand.
He hesitated but a moment before rising to his feet and pulling out her chair.
It wasn’t often that she felt either put on display or deeply aware of scrutiny in her own home, but she felt it now. The weight of the hall’s collective gaze settled heavily on her shoulders as she rose from the head table. The low murmur of conversation ceased almost instantly, replaced by a silence that seemed deafening in its intensity. Even the crackling of the fire in the great hearth seemed to fade to silence.
Though her cheeks burned, Ailsa kept her head high. She was acutely aware of Cole at her side, his presence solid and calm, his hand at her elbow, his stride steady and purposeful as he steered her away from the table.
She, on the other hand, felt as though she might stumble.
They were all watching her—of that, she was certain. Were they thinking of her wedding night, mayhap more than she was? Did they imagine her blushing beneath a veil of stoicism, or picture her submitting meekly to her new husband, a stranger to Torr Cinnteag? The thought made her stomach twist into knots. It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought of it—of course she had—though the idea of intimacy with a man she barely knew left her feeling more wary than wistful, despite what she was sure was some feeling for Cole Carter—despite even the tantalizing thrill she’d known from his kisses.
They strode through the corridor and climbed the stairs to the second floor, Cole’s hand having dropped away from her arm as soon as they’d left the hall.
Lifting her chin, Ailsa pushed open the door to her chamber and stepped inside. Once there, however, she paused, not quite sure what to do, where to stand even. Nervously, she scratched her right arm with her left hand, turning near the bed to face her husband.
She watched as he surveyed the chamber, his eyes seeming to linger on the details—the tapestries, the low glow of the firelight on the stone walls, the carved bedposts. Did he find it strange? Dull? Did it lack the comforts he might be accustomed to, wherever—or whenever—he was from?
To her, the chamber was a sanctuary, familiar and comfortable. To him, she realized, it might seem a relic, an odd mix of austerity and charm, stripped of any modern convenience he might have known. Did he see the years of history in thestone? The care in the stitching of the coverlet? Or was it simply another reminder of how far from home he was?
“So, I’m not sure how this works,” Cole confessed. He turned and slowly closed the door before facing her again. “Is this to be a real marriage, or am I here in your bedroom only to pretend that it is?”
Ailsa felt a sudden constriction in her chest. Any idea that this would not be a real marriage hadn’t occurred to her, and she felt suddenly ridiculous for not having considered it. “I...dinna even think to imagine... what were ye expecting?”
“I think this comes back to: expectations regarding...the time-travel thing,” he said, wiping a hand over his mouth and jaw.
She thought the answer was a wee bit evasive. She wondered if, rather as she’d just done, he’d simply tossed it back to her to answer.
Meaning to settle it here and now, Ailsa bravely asked, “If nae for the time-travel...event, if ye had nae expectation that ye might possibly be returned to your time, how would... ye like our marriage to proceed?” She swallowed nervously, waiting his reply.
Cole unclenched his fists and crossed the chamber toward her, his gaze locked on hers.
“I’m here and well, we’re in this,” he began, “and you are fully aware that I simply can’t guarantee a future, but...” He stopped two feet away from her and ran a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. “I don’t mean that we need to rush into... anything. But then, I won’t lie and say I’m not attracted to you or that I don’t want to kiss you again or...”
His words hung in the air, heavy and uncertain, but oh, so invigorating.
And yet, Ailsa wasn’t quite sure how to respond.
“I’d like to kiss you,” he repeated with greater certainty, as if he knew this one thing for certain. His mesmerizing blue eyes imprisoned her, holding her gaze. “I’ve thought of little else all day.”
Ailsa’s responding smile, small and wobbly, one she’d have not been able to deny even if her life depended on it, likely served as permission granted, so that her new husband took two steps forward and did not stop, but kept coming until he’d taken her face in his hands and covered her mouth with his.
Her eyes drifted close, and she was jolted by wild, glorious sensations as his tongue explored her mouth until, wanting to give and not only receive, she touched her tongue to his. Cole groaned and he curved his hand around her nape. He moved his other hand to her waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of her léine, pulling her closer. He sucked her tongue deep into his mouth, twisting his against it with a muted sound of desire.
Anwen had repeatedly warned Ailsa that a man could be carried away by his ardor, and that he might begin to behave in an inappropriate—though unspecified—way. Presently, and despite her vast innocence, Ailsa had a theory that she desperately wanted Cole to behave inappropriately. Her insides were melting, like wax becoming liquid over a flame. She brought her hands up to his chest and shivered as his lips slid away from hers, moving along the column of her throat as she instinctively arched her neck. She felt his hand come between them and curve around the side of her breast. Heat bloomed within her and her nipples tightened.
