Page 93 of Tempted
“He loves all women. They are his weakness.”
“No, I mean, does he truly love her?” she pressed.
“No, he doesn’t,” Ram said low. “The one and only true love of his life was Margaret Drummond. I believe they were secretly wed, then due tae pressure he agreed tae take Henry Tudor’s daughter, Margaret, uniting England and Scotland by a bond of blood so there would be peace. James married Margaret Tudor by proxy in January 1502, but when November rolled around he was still sharing his bed with Margaret Drummond, who’d given him a child by then. He hadn’t even signed the marriage treaty. Someone took it upon himself to remove Margaret Drummond, who was such an impediment tae the union between England and Scotland. Someone poisoned her. It broke James’s heart, but within a month he signed the marriage treaty at St. Mungo’s Abbey here in Glasgow, and preparations for Queen Margaret’s journey to Scotland began. It is any wonder he hates her? Every time he looks at her, he knows his beloved was sacrificed for the Tudor bitch.”
To dispel the darklings, Ram poured them wine and sat on the edge of the bed to share the loving cup with her. Tina sat up, her back against the padded silk headboard, the tendrils of her hair curled about her breasts like flames, and Ram could not help letting his fingers play among the curls until her nipples stood out like taut rosebuds. “This is indeed a luxurious chamber. Naked nymphs upon the ceiling are most conducive to lovemaking.”
Ram teased, “I prefer a mirror above the bed.”
Tina picked up a hand mirror from the bedside table and said dreamily, “Just think of all the secrets a mirror’s depths must hold, hidden away in its crystal cave.”
“Ye are fanciful and fey tonight,” he murmured against her temple.
She put the mirror down and picked up a small lacquered box. Inside upon a black velvet cushion sat five tiny ivory spheres. “Ivory marbles from afar.”
Ram’s mouth curved with amusement. “They’re not marbles, sweetheart.”
“Then what are they?” she puzzled.
“Sexual toys.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
“These are Chinese pleasure balls. Chinese culture is more civilized than ours. Their concubines are given these by their lords. When their lords are absent for many days and nights, these ivory spheres bring pleasure. They are designed to keep a woman from taking a lover. They keep her chaste.”
“How?” asked Tina, completely baffled.
He put his lips to her ear and whispered, “The wee balls go up inside ye, then ye sit upon a swing and glide back and forth until ye come.”
“Ram!” she cried, shocked. “You are making it up!”
He touched his lips to hers, then murmured wickedly, “I’ll show ye.” He picked up the black lace nightgown and put it on her, then he laid her back against the pillows, opened her thighs, and gently inserted the ivory spheres. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her down the steps that led to the walled garden. She clasped her arms about his neck and clung to his naked body, already aroused by the taboos they were breaking.
The night was all dark shades of lavender. A cuckoo called hauntingly. He sat her upon the swing and pushed her. The sensations happened at the apex of the swinging when she changed direction and glided back to Ram.
“Oh!” she cried with surprise. “Oh, oh, ohhhh.”
Immediately Ram stopped the swing and lifted her in his arms. “I cannot bear ye tae become aroused by anything but me,” he said fiercely. His mouth came down savagely upon hers, branding her as his woman, and his woman alone.
He sat down upon the swing and took her onto his lap. His hand went beneath the black lace and his finger slipped inside her to remove the ivory spheres. “Straddle me,” he commanded.
She pulled up the black lace and straddled his lap. As his marble shaft penetrated her from this unique angle, she knew she had never experienced anything so deliciously intense before. As Ram pumped his legs to set the swing in motion, the friction against her taut woman’s bud made her scream with excitement. Threads of molten, burning gold shot up through her belly into her breasts and all the way down her legs to her knees. All she could do was cling and gasp and ride upon the wind with him to paradise.
Chapter 27
The first stop Ram made along Glasgow’s Great Western Road was at the fur merchant’s shop. Valentina could not resist the lure of the soft, luxurious pelts on display. She touched dozens of different furs, each appealing more than the last. Womanlike, she twirled in front of the polished mirrors and stroked the deep pile.
Ram, however, knew exactly what he wanted. When the furrier settled the black sable cloak upon her shoulders, Tina knew she had never looked lovelier. The inside was lined with cream satin, and both the black and the cream contrasted with her hair, turning it to red flame.
The furrier, wise in the way of men and their beautiful mistresses, brought out an emerald velvet cape with a red fox hood. There was a red fox muff to match the cape. “Oh Ram, ‘tis my favorite color!” Tina cried.
“Try it on,” he said indulgently.
She surveyed her reflection in the mirrors, then turned to him for his reaction. His pewter eyes licked over her like candle flames. “Ye look exactly like a vixen.” He nodded his assent to the furrier and told him to have the two furs sent to Garrowhill.
At the dressmaker’s Ram left all the choices up to Tina. Her gowns, whether simple or ornate, always put other women in the shade. He knew she had impeccable taste and that she knew best what suited her vivid coloring. The modiste had two shop assistants who helped Tina remove her gown so that they could take her measurements. As she stood before them in white lace stockings and short embroidered white shift, the women oohed and ahed at her undergarments and asked where she had acquired such exquisite creations.
Tina’s cheeks flushed. “My woman designs and sews them for me. I am lucky to have her. I need a couple of gowns for court.”
