Moon Craving (11 page)

"She sleeps in your arms as if she trusts you with her very life."

"Does she have a choice?" He was her husband. She had no better protection.

"No," Niall acknowledged, "but she is not afraid."

"She fears something." He'd noticed the trepidation right away and believed that meant she was weak. Now he wasn't so sure.

"Aye. But not you."

"She's nervous about the marriage bed."

"You claimed her last night. Every Chrechte warrior here could smell it. Hell, even a human soldier probably would have."

Just as he'd meant it to be. "Not completely."

"What are you waiting for?" Niall frowned. "You aren't going to try to annul the marriage?"

"You think she is a fitting mate for your laird?"

"Before we met her, I would have said no. She was English."

"Now?"

"She hasn't likened you to a goat yet."

"There is that."

"So, you
will
keep her?"

"She is mine."

"Yet you wait to claim her."

"I will not perform the Chrechte mating rite on any land but my own."

Understanding dawned in Niall's eyes. "So, that's why we're riding so damn fast.

We didn't keep this pace on the way to the MacDonald holding."

"I want to get home," Talorc growled.

Abigail shifted in his arms and tilted her head back so she could see his face. "Did I sleep long?" she whispered.

"Aye."

She blushed but didn't say anything else.

"You can talk," he told her.

"We're off your rival's land?"

"Yes."

"My father's soldiers said nothing of having to pass through enemy territory when they were in Scotland escorting Emily."

"The whole time they were out of England they were in his enemy's domain."

"But our kings are allies."

Talorc shrugged.

She crossed her arms and glared. "You do that every time you don't feel like answering."

"What?"

"Shrug."

He did again. Just to see what she would do.

She laughed, a soft, muted music he wanted to kiss from her lips.

She screeched as he bent to do just that, but he swallowed that sound, too. She tasted like sleepy innocence.

When he lifted his head, she looked dazed.

Niall laughed, loud and long. "I believe your ways will take some getting used to."

The other Chrechte soldiers around them stared at Niall as if they had never seen him before. True, the man rarely laughed. Okay, until this trip, Talorc had not heard him do so in years, but that was no reason to gawk like a bunch of gossiping women.

He gave his warriors a look that told them so, and they went back to watching the terrain as they should do. Talorc never lost his awareness of their surroundings, even when his mouth molded to Abigail's.

"Will we be at the Sinclair holding soon?"

"We will be on Sinclair land late tomorrow."

He felt the tension fill her. She knew exactly what that meant. "You do not think it would be better to wait until we reached your keep?"

She did not say what would be better, but they were both fully aware.

"No."

"Oh."

His wolf would kill something if Talorc made the beast wait to claim his mate.

"Why did you take me off my horse earlier?" she asked.

"You were tired."

"You noticed?" She sounded chagrined by the possibility.

"Yes." He had, but he'd also noticed the way she'd been bonding with Niall, and rational or not, his wolf had insisted Talorc stake his claim.

"You are not as I expected."

"Why?"

"You hate the English and you would have killed my stepfather without blinking, but you have shown me consideration."

"You are my bride."

"Emily was to be your bride, but you were not so considerate of her."

"I had no intention of marrying Emily."

"So, why agree to marry me?"

He had lived almost three more years without a mate and realized he would probably never find one. "My king offered sufficient incentive."

"My dowry."

"Aye."

"At least you get something you want from this marriage." She spoke quietly, almost as if to herself.

"I want you, too."

"You don't want an English wife."

"You aren't English."

"What am I, then?"

"Mine."

Abigail was once again riding her own horse the next day when Talorc signed for his soldiers to stop. It was nowhere near nightfall and they had watered the horses recently. It had been another silent ride today, and Abigail had not minded a bit.

Trying to keep track of the conversations around her while on horseback was quite taxing.

She did not ask why they had stopped because she did not know if it was safe to speak.

Talorc swung down off his horse, said something to Niall and then crossed to Abigail's horse. He put his hands out. "Come."

She reached toward him, allowing her husband to lift her from the horse. He helped her to find her feet, holding on to her until her stiff muscles started working again.

"Why have we stopped?" Not that she was complaining.

"Would you like a bath?" he asked.

She looked around, unsure where such a feat might be performed. She saw no source of water, but she did not allow the apparent lack to dull her enthusiasm. If he offered, he had a way to make it happen.

"Yes!"

He laughed and then turned and walked away. She assumed she was supposed to follow, so she did. He led her to a cave opening. She hung back as he entered the cave.

He stopped inside the entrance and put his hand out. "Come."

She shook her head.

He nodded.

"What if there are wild animals in there?"

"You must trust me."

"It is not you I mistrust."

"Who then?"

"Wild animals." She swallowed, trying to wet her dry throat. "I do not easily make friends."

In truth, she had made none since discovering what the fever had taken from her.

But her friendship with Jack, son of Jon the blacksmith, had predated her fever.

And he had not let her push him away afterward. He'd even ferreted out her secret—to this day she did not know how. But the young lad had told her it didn't matter and insisted on being kind to her.

"So?" Talorc asked.

"There was a boy I played with as a girl. My father's blacksmith's son. He was torn apart by a wolf. I saw his body." She shivered at the grisly memory, not faded one iota by the years that had come between. "It was horrible. Death comes too easily."

Talorc went curiously still. "You have nothing to fear from wolves."

"You think not?"

"I will protect you."

"What about bears?"

His lips quirked in a half smile, no impatience at her reticence in his face. "You have nothing to fear at all when you are with me."

She nodded and that seemed to please him.

"I had my soldier scout ahead."

"Oh."

She let him pull her into the cave and noticed immediately that rather than the dank, cold air she associated with caves, it was warm with a faint scent of sulfur. He led her down a long tunnel into a cavern lit by torches and ambient light from somewhere above. Their light reflected off the water of a large pool in the center. Beside the pool, the furs they had slept in the past two nights were piled invitingly beside the water.

Abigail stared around herself marveling at the warmth of the cavern. "A hot spring?" she asked in awe. She had heard of such a thing but never seen one.

"Yes. One of the reasons we fought for this section of land. The springs have healing properties."

"Really?"

"So it has been believed by my people."

"And these caves are yours now? Because of your king's gift?"

"Aye." Talorc smiled savagely. "Though it is my responsibility to keep them."

"Will you establish an outpost?" Her father had guard posts on the four corners of his lands.

Talorc shrugged.

"Do you simply not want to answer or do you not know?"

"I know you are delaying the inevitable with conversation."

Smart man. "I am nervous."

"I'm not."

She opened her mouth but honestly did not know what to reply to such arrogance, so she snapped it shut again.

He smiled, this time almost gently, and produced a soap cake. "You can have a proper bath."

"I . . ." This was the Talorc her sister had written of in her letters? Abigail could not believe it. "Thank you."

She had to blink back tears. No one but Emily had ever been so concerned for Abigail's comfort.

He looked around the cavern with satisfaction. "'Tis a suitable place for a Chrechte mating."

"Mating?" Oh, he meant joining their bodies. Heat crawled along her skin as images assaulted her mind from the discussion they had had back at the MacDonald holding.

For some reason, he looked chagrined by his own choice of words. "I simply meant the marriage claiming."

She nodded, having no desire to argue, even if she saw nothing simple about the physical consummation of their marriage. Though he looked as if he expected her to.

He indicated the pool. "You will bathe now."

"In front of you?" She'd learned already he had a much different sense of modesty than she did—and Heaven help her, he seemed to expect her to adjust to his. But did he really expect her to bathe in front of him?

"Is that how it is done in your clan? Your men and women bathe together?" she asked, scandalized to her core.

"I did not offer to bathe with you, but if that is your preference, I will indulge you."

Before she could get the horrified
no
out of her tightly constricted throat, he had shed his plaid.

She stared in mute shock as he disrobed right there in front of her, as he had the past two nights in the privacy of their tent—
at night
.

"It's only midday. Surely you do not plan to accomplish the bedding right now?"

Had she thought him considerate? He was worse than the goat her sister had called him . . . He was a
randy
goat with no sense of decorum or modesty. Or . . . or . . . or
anything
else.

"It is time."

"No . . . no . . . we should wait until to
night
. You said I could wash, with soap."

"I will wash you." He closed the distance between them before she realized he was moving. "Let me help you with this."

She pulled back, but it was too late. He had her belt undone that fast. The pleats of her plaid simply fell, leaving the Scottish garment hanging over her shoulder like a long blanket. He tugged and it was gone completely, falling to a pool of fabric around her feet.

She turned and leapt for the relative safety of the pool, grateful that unlike her older sister, Abigail had learned to swim. It was deeper than she expected, and warmer than any bath she had ever taken. Her head submerged before her feet hit the bottom of the pool. Water swirled around her from Talorc's entry into the pool as she kicked upward and away from where she had felt him come in.

His hands locked on her waist and she broke the surface right in front of him. He was looking at her quizzically. "Do the English bathe in their clothes, then?"

"My blouse needed washing." Which was nothing less than the truth.

"It is not the time for laundry; it is time for you to become my wife."

"No . . . I . . ."

He leaned down and brushed a kiss over her wet lips. "Yes."

"But . . ."

"I have waited long enough."

"It has only been two nights."

"I will have you now."

She shook her head.

He nodded.

Just like outside the cave. Only this time, she did not have some puny ravenous wild beast to worry about; she had her new husband's amorous nature.

She leaned back, trying to put distance between them.

"Take off your blouse."

Taking comfort in the fact he had not mentioned her shift, she tugged the now-soaking blouse over her head and tossed it to the side. It really would need a washing tomorrow after that treatment.

He looked down at her and his eyes burned. "Perhaps we should develop a new tradition of washing your shifts on you."

She looked down and immediately tried to cover herself. The thin fabric was completely transparent in the water. "You should not look at me like that."

"I am the only man that should."

"Naturally, no one else should either."

He pulled her toward him in the heated water until their bodies brushed. "Get used to it. I like looking at you."

"It is not decent."

"It is."

"Talorc . . ."

"Come, let us wash your shift." He let go of her waist but immediately slipped one of his arms around her so that he held her just as securely to him. Only he now did so with one hand free.

Backing toward the edge of the pool, he reached behind him with his hand. "Aha."

He held the soap up for her to see.

For a moment Abigail's need for cleanliness overshadowed her shyness and she reached for it.

But he shook his head. "I will play your handmaiden."