Page 22 of When a Warrior Woos a Lass
“’Tis a good thing I agreed to dance with yer wife,” Alex teased Munroe, who stood unmoving in the path of dancers. He had his partner’s hand gripped in his, but both he and the lass were staring at something across the room. Alex followed their eyes, and apprehension hit him square in the chest. Fardley, a nice but sometimes foolish man, stood in front of Lena. He could see Lena’s face, sheet white and twisted with terror.
“Dear God above,” he muttered, releasing Lara. He strode away without explanation, his clansmen and women parting without him having to say a word. His only thought and concern was for Lena. He had no doubt her fear had struck her. Mentally, he berated himself for not considering that she may be asked to dance and feel compelled to do so. He should have gone straight back to the table instead of allowing Lara to drag him to the dance floor.
Broch reached Lena before Alex was even halfway across the room. The man must have been watching her, as Alex should have been. Broch shoved Fardley back and reached for Lena, but she threw up her arms as if she expected Broch to strike her. Even with the distance that still separated them, her cry of horror speared Alex in the heart. His body jerked reflexively, her pain completely his.
“Dance, dance,” he encouraged as he strode past his clansmen, wanting to protect his wife from the numerous stares. Even if his people had wanted to stand and watch the scene unfolding, they knew better.
He got to her just as Broch reached for her again, and she hissed while scampering farther back until she knocked into Marsaili, who had come up behind her.
“Lena!” Alex and Marsaili said at the same time. Lena raised her hands as if to pummel anyone who dared to come near. Her head snapped in Alex’s direction, and Lena blinked once, twice, and then she came back to the moment. He knew it by the way her face flamed and her gaze darted around her. Her eyes locked on Fardley, whose color drained from his face.
“My lady, I did nae realize…”
Alex’s gut wrenched as Lena blink back tears. Her lips trembled slightly, and as she raised her hands to straighten her hair, they shook. “I beg ye,” she said, her voice hushed and laden with shame, “the next time I ask ye to release me, please do so.”
Anger choked Alex that his man would have disobeyed Lena’s plea. “My wife,” Alex growled, “should but have to give ye a look, and ye obey it. Meet me at the shore when the sun breaks. Bring yer sword and naught else. Ye shall learn to obey a command, or I’ve nary a use for ye as one of my warriors.”
“Alex!” Lena gasped, but he shook his head at her. He’d never want to deny her anything she desired. The realization was both a shocking burden and a welcome blessing that he could feel so much for this woman to whom he had only been wed a fortnight earlier. The connection between them was palpable to him, but in her plea for mercy—for he knew that’s what she was going to voice—he had to deny her. Fardley had failed to truly see what was happening and assess accurately how he should act. Alex had to have warriors that saw all, understood all, and reacted instinctually to the information they took in. That was the only sort of warrior worthy to guard his wife and, with God’s blessing, the children they would have someday.
“Aye, Laird,” Fardley responded with a jerk of his head before moving to depart the great hall. Around them, the noise of the great hall rose to a dull roar, and Alex imagined much of the conversation swirled around Lena and Fardley.
“I’m sorry,” Lena said. The tautness and shame in her tone brought Alex’s attention back to his wife and away from watching Fardley’s progress toward the door. Alex had wanted to ensure the man was not such a clot-heid as to stop to tell anyone what had occurred. Alex frowned with the realization that Lena had moved close to Broch. She stared at Alex with sorrowful eyes. “I’ll go to the bedchamber.”
“I’ll attend to her safety,” Broch said.
“Nay,” Alex clipped. He stared hard at Broch, wanting to ensure the man understood how things would be from this moment forward. “I ken Iain sent ye with Lena to watch over her, but as long as I am near, I’ll be defending my wife. If I’ve need of ye,” he said, even as he could tell Broch wanted to argue, “I’ll tell ye.”
“I dunnae wish to make ye leave the celebration,” Lena said quietly.
Alex stepped toward his wife and took her hand, relieved that she did not try to pull away. He guided her a short distance away from Broch and Marsaili before he leaned close and whispered in her hear, “I told ye before, lass, there will nae ever be a place I’m needed more than by yer side. I dunnae think ye truly kenned me, so I will try to be clearer. There is nae anywhere I’d rather be than by yer side. I wish to accompany ye to our bedchamber, unless ye dunnae wish it.”
“But I shamed ye and myself,” she said, her astonishment evident on her face.
He burned with anger, imagining what sort of torment of the mind and body she had lived through to believe her vulnerability was shameful. He cupped her cheek, and when she pressed her cheek against his hand, he brushed the pad of his thumb across her lips. “Nay, lass. Ye dunnae shame yerself or me. Ye are strong, and ye grow stronger every day. Pride and awe swell in my chest when I consider what ye have overcome. Will ye depart with me now to our bedchamber?” He did not voice his deepest desire—that she become his wife in full—but he was certain she knew.
She nodded. “Aye. There is nae anywhere I’d rather be.”
He led her out of the great hall, making sure to shield her as best he could from his people’s stares. Most of his clansmen looked quickly away with a simple glare from him, but there were a few whose gazes lingered longer than Alex liked. Those men and women would answer to him tomorrow, and he would ensure they did nothing to make Lena feel more uncomfortable or embarrassed than she already did.
His desire for his wife mounted with each step he took toward her bedchamber, but he leashed the need and pulled it back, fearful of scaring her. He would be gentle and slow—two things he had never been in the bedchamber before. He’d never wanted tenderness, but with her, he craved it.
After leading her into the bedchamber, he closed the door with a soft click and then turned to look at her. Her hands were tangled together at her stomach, and she was worrying her lip. Yanking his yearning back even further, he strode past her to the table on the far wall under the window and picked up the jug of wine he’d had a servant put there earlier. He’d thought Lena might need a bit of wine to ease her nerves tonight, and he saw now that his notion had been correct. Once he poured them each a glass, he closed the distance between them and offered one to her, making sure his fingers caressed her. Her gaze went straight to where they had touched.
He slid his forefinger over the back of her hand once more. “I love the feel of yer silky skin,” he admitted.
Her lips tugged into a smirk as she curled her hands around her wine goblet. “Dunnae try to convince me ye’ve nae ever felt a woman’s soft skin before.”
“Of course I have,” he replied solemnly, raising his hand to run it down the slope of her cheek. “But I vow to ye it was nae ever the same.”
“Hmph,” she said, a doubtful look on her face.
He chuckled. He understood why she might not believe him. He could hardly comprehend himself what had blocked his mind from ever truly drinking a woman in, body and soul, except that mayhap he’d needed one particular woman. He stood soaking in all the details that made up his wife, from her russet hair to her dainty feet.
Propelled by a burning wish to know all of her, he motioned to the bed. “Sit with me?”
She frowned. “Is this how a seduction starts?”
Her innocent question hit him hard. She’d never experienced passion, and she equated seduction with passion. Seduction, as he had always practiced it, was for the sole purpose of fulfilling a primitive raw need. This was different. He didn’t want to simply sate his lust with Lena.
