Page 31 of Eloping with the Laird
Chapter Thirteen
Moira trembled. This was it. She’d heard the chamber door open and knew Rory was there, but he’d not said a word and she didn’t dare open her eyes. Fear licked upon her limbs and it was all she could do not to flee and run from her chamber. Memories of Peter and their couplings flickered hot and bright in her mind, tripping over one after another as they had for the time she’d lain here awaiting her new husband’s visit. While she couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Rory standing above her full of expectation, the memories of the past with Peter were more terrifying. Perhaps she should just open her eyes and face the truth of it.
Nay. She couldn’t. She clutched the bedclothes in her hands and shivered. The waiting. The moments before it began were always the worst. She clenched her jaw and commanded herself to breathe.
You made an agreement. This is part of it. Just lie still, do as he says, and it will be over quickly.
It always was. She’d learned early on in her marriage to Peter that resistance only made it worse in all ways. A small creak on the floorboards brought her back to the moment. Gooseflesh rose along her skin as she heard Rory’s approach. One step and then another. Not boots upon the floor, but a soft padding of feet. Perhaps he was barefoot. Naked even.
She swallowed hard and prayed he wasn’t. She wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready. She squeezed her eyes shut and a tremble seized her once more. This marriage to Rory McKenna was her last chance at some semblance of happiness or at least contentment, and if she didn’t fulfil her wifely duties, any hope of a future of her own would be null and void.
Give me the strength.
Soft furs fell over her skin in a smooth ripple, first at her feet and then all the way up her body, settling just along her shoulders and below her neck. She was being covered in a blanket of some sort and her eyes shot open in a panic. Had she already disappointed him? Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she noted the back of her husband’s tall, fully clothed muscular form across the room. He picked up a chair and brought it to the side of the bed. Settling it on the ground, he sat in it. She was startled by the handsome rugged planes of his face and boyish look of him in his rumpled tunic without his jacket and formal neckcloth. He ran his hands down his trews and rested his weight on his elbows. His tunic sagged open from where it had been loosened about his throat, and she caught a glimpse of his chest and the dark hair sprinkled along it. Worry danced along the shadows of his face and something more potent rested in his gaze.
‘Moira...’ He linked his hands together, searching her face. ‘I...’ he began and faltered once more, looking around the room as if his words had been scattered about the walls and he was desperate to collect them.
‘Have I disappointed you, my laird?’ she rushed out, beginning to sit up, the furs slipping down to her waist leaving her exposed.
His gaze slipped to her breasts and then away to her waist. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. ‘Please cover yourself,’ he pleaded, his voice husky and deep.
She gripped the fur to her chest, her loose hair spilling about her shoulders. Her heart thundered against her ribs. She could not be banished so soon. Not yet. ‘I know Peter said I did not have a very desirable form, but I will try to please you, my laird. I will. Before you cast me out, let me try—’
His eyes widened, and he shook his head. ‘Nay.’ His brow furrowed and he reached out to her and stopped his hand just short of touching her arm. ‘You are beautiful, Moira. So much so that I do not trust myself.’ He gifted her a brief smile before it faded away.
Beautiful?She was confused. If he found her so attractive, why had he just covered her from head to toe and pleaded for her to re-cover herself?
‘I feel I have faltered somewhere in this. To see you lying here, in such a state, I...’ He swallowed hard and glanced away, fixing his gaze upon the candle burning brightly on the table behind her. ‘I have not been a husband before, and I did not think how you would feel about this night. You do not really know me.’ He met her gaze. ‘And despite the urgency with which I wish to sire an heir, I cannot place that ahead of your comfort. I respect you. I have made a promise to cherish and protect you as my wife, even if that is from myself.’ He fisted his hand and sat back in his chair, which creaked under his weight.
What?
She blinked and sat dumbfounded, unable to understand his words.He was worried about her comfort and her happiness over his own needs?Her gaze narrowed. Perhaps it was a trick. She’d never known a man to put her needs before his own, and she had no idea how to process such a concept. She shifted under the warmth of the soft furs and studied him. Could he possibly be telling her the truth? Was this the real Rory McKenna? She studied his profile as he stood and approached the bank of windows, staring out in the darkness with his hands resting on his waist.
Agony rippled along his furrowed brow and rigid shoulders. Perhaps hewasbeing truthful. ‘I will not touch you until you are ready, Moira. I have no desire to force myself upon my wife. I will leave you,’ he whispered and turned, heading to his adjoining chamber before she could utter a word of reply.
As the door closed softly behind him, Moira realised Rory McKenna was not Peter. He would never force himself upon her. Emotion gathered in her chest tightening her throat and she softly wept.
Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God.
Rory had no idea how to be a husband. Why had no one told him what to expect and prepared him? Perhaps because no man he knew well was actually married. He frowned. Uncle, Angus and the few servants who Rory still knew well were all untethered, so he had no experience to draw upon.
He slipped on his boots and headed down to the study. Despite the chill in the air, he’d no need for a jacket. His blood was heated through and through from the sight of his beautiful wife lying naked before him. Although he’d assumed she would be beautiful, he hadn’t been prepared for the perfection of her all at once. It had been an assault to his senses and his body had thrummed in kind. As he reached the study, he released a shaky breath, took in the familiar sights and musty smells of the room and allowed it to help slow his thundering pulse and raging desire. He sat on the oversized sill of the large bay of windows that looked out upon the cliffs and sea beyond. Waves crashed in a gentle regular rhythm against the cliff side, and the wind whipped through the trees.
If he’d stayed in that chamber one moment longer, he’d not have been able to walk away. His wife was too beautiful and held the promise of all of the hope of the future he’d longed for. She possessed a wink at happiness, and he’d been alone and full of despair for so long that every part of him had burned to hold her and seize the hope her body held.
He sighed. He’d been a cad to believe she would have been ready for them to make their union official this eve. And the way she had prepared herself for him shook him to his core. The sight of her there naked, waiting, trembling. He’d never be able to forget such an image for as long as he drew breath. What the hell had Peter Fraser done to her to make her believe that she was undesirable and that the act itself was to be feared? He scrubbed his hand through his hair and slammed his fist against the windowpane. He knew he didn’t wish to ever know.
But he did wish to turn the tide of her view of it, especially when time was of the essence in his case. Hurrying from the windowsill, he went to his desk and found a blank page of parchment. Unearthing his quill from the correspondence it was buried beneath, he found his ink pot and settled into his chair.
A wicked smile formed on his lips. He would seduce his wife one gesture at a time until she couldn’t resist him. He faltered. Buthowdid one do that? And should he really do it? He’d never had to win over a woman before, and having to win over his wife was an unexpected complication. It also sounded ridiculous. He was a laird, and she’d agreed to his terms.
The sight of her flashed through his memory once more. This simple marriage was transforming into something else entirely. He didn’t wish for their agreement to become more than what they’d intended. He’d tried love before and it had turned to ash and besides, soon he’d be dead.
Dunking his quill in the ink pot, he decided to begin a list of what she liked. No harm could come frommakingthe list. He’d probably not even use it.
1) Plants
2) Books
