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I Wish to Look Upon My Wife
June 7, 1559, Ulster, Ireland
The elaborate bath hadn’t been worth the toil. My skin, scented with rose water and rubbed with fragrant oils, left me like mutton ready for roasting. My hair, hanging down my shoulders with no shape nor style, resembled a horse’s mane. My breath, sweetened with mint and parsley water to please my prominent husband, better suited a courtesan than a noblewoman.
No matter. He’ll not care for any of it once he has me in his clutches. The notion brought on a wave of sickness.
“Just look, a leanbh!” Aine draped a shift over her arms. “Made from the finest silk your mother could find!”
The shift was the color of whipped butter, voluminous yet light and delicate, with gold leaf embroidery and gossamer lace insets at the collar and hem. It was the only garment I’d wear.
I swayed on my feet as Aine released the silky fabric over my trembling body, the hem falling to the floor.
My mother walked in, and after regarding me for a long moment, sank down on a settee with a sigh.
“My daughter, you’re a woman wed now,” she uttered with all the excitement of a priest at a wake. “And to none other than the O’Neal, the King of Tyrone himself! D’you understand the implications of your new position?”
“I do, mother,” I muttered, sitting beside her. I could do without a sermon tonight.
She shook her head. “D’you, now? Your father had spoiled you rotten, but it would be most calamitous if the O’Neal casts you aside should you not prove a respectful, obedient wife. Your father would be hard-pressed to win favor with him again after such a thing.” She touched my shoulder. “You understand your obligations, don’t you? You’re to lie with your husband until you produce a child—whether you fancy it or no.” She put a heavy emphasis on the “no.” “You may well not fancy it, but you’ll do it all the same.” She fell silent, waiting for her words to sink in. “It will end once you’re with child.”
Did mother speak of her marriage? I’d rather not have known.
She pressed her lips to my forehead. “By God’s miracle, the O’Neal has taken you for a wife, Neave. Your position and dowry, fine as they are, fade compared to his station and wealth. Aside from youth and beauty, you bring precious little to the marriage, and no mistake. Be a good wife to him this night and henceforth. Give him all he fancies. Do not disappoint him, daughter.”
I bit the inside of my lip hard as she closed the door behind her. What evil spirit possessed me to rush into this marriage? I could’ve waited until I was too old to wed, then joined a peaceful convent or even lived out my days in the haven of my father’s castle. But I had to have Lord O’Neal like he was a shiny new trinket sold by a passing merchant.
Aine took my mother’s place, her face tight with worry. “Listen here, a leanbh, the first time is... what it is. Clench your teeth, and it’ll be done and over before you know it. Should he—” She chewed on her forefinger. “Beg him to be gentle, and he might take kindness to you. May Brigid protect you—”
I stopped breathing at the sight of her swimming eyes. “Should he... what?”
“Nothing! Whispers spread by fools—all of it! You’ve heard them, a leanbh.”
My heart thudded like a drum. “Have I?”
She brushed away her tears. “You have. Tales his foes spin.”
“What tales?”
“Those same ones.”
“Tell me, Aine!”
“That he has affinity for... strange, unnatural tricks with women, like. That he’s... uh... depraved in bed.” She paled. “The talk is false, a leanbh.”
I stared at her, unblinking, his reason for dismissing witnesses suddenly too clear. Why hadn’t I listened while I was free? I’d only heard of his insatiability and of bedding more than one woman at a time. Still, didn’t all young men sow their wild oats? But depravity?
Aine took my cold hands, squeezing tight. “Your father is no fool, mind! He’s installing sentries outside the matrimonial chamber. I’ll stand guard there, too. Bedding ceremony or no, we’ll not leave you alone with him. You just scream, a leanbh, and the guards will rush in outright! The brehon will annul the marriage on such grounds—”
She clamped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late.
“I do not wish to go through with this!” I dug my fingers into her arm. “Tell father I called it off! Tell him I changed my mind!”
“Oh, what a fool I am.” She hugged me tight. “Listen here—the O’Neal is a bit jealous for witnesses, is all. It’s no secret he’d not wed you for your rank or dowry.”
“But Aine—”
“Twice now, I asked for protection.” She produced a basket from under the settee. “When the moon waxed and when it was full. I’ll ask once more now it wanes. It’s no bad omen, Neave. The waning moon signifies the end of your girlhood and the beginning of your life as a woman wed. The timing is auspicious.”
She took out a vial of oil with crushed sprigs of rosemary, thyme, and lavender and sprinkled the concoction over my head, lips moving with silent invocation.
“Take this, too—a protection charm.” She dropped a carved river pebble into my hand. “A trinity knot: one for life, one for death, one for rebirth, and the circle is for eternity. Place it under the bed, Neave.”
***
The fire in the matrimonial chamber’s hearth crackled as cheerfully as if it were any old night. In the middle stood a large bed with white sheets and fur coverlets, its heavy curtains parted high and wide. The sight made me queasy. Daisies, rose petals, mint leaves, and sprigs of marjoram lay strewn throughout, infusing the air with their cloying bouquet. The smell sickened me. A myriad of candles threw all manner of shadows on the walls and no doubt drew notice to my red nose and puffy eyes. Just as well—may he be put off by my miserable countenance.
I plopped down on the bed, tossed Aine’s stone under, and twisted my extravagant Claddagh ring round my finger. A sure payment. My gaze fell on my exposed chest in the too-thin shift. I’d scream the moment he touched me. But would they hear me through the blaring roar of piping, singing, and dancing?
Before I could think on this, the door opened, and my new husband entered the chamber. He wore an embroidered white léine that stopped short of his knee and an elaborate gold torque that circled his neck. His dusky hair gathered about his massive shoulders, steely gaze pierced like a blade, willful mouth tightened against his square jaw. How I fancied this mouth on mine only four weeks past was now beyond my grasp.
My heart pounded. This man, infamous for his depravities, wants no bedding ceremony. I smoothed my shift over my knee, my hand cold and clammy.
His unexpected smile dimpled in a familiar flash of white. I released my breath. There had been nothing depraved in his kiss—could the whispers be unfounded? Unlikely. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. And while I lacked experience, I was no one’s fool. I’d scream at the top of my lungs.
“We’re wed now, Lady Neave.” My new husband’s smile faded as he approached the bed. “Remove your shift. I wish to look upon my wife.”
I stared, unblinking. How could I abide such a demand? Scream, then. But he hadn’t even touched me. It would be peculiar to scream just now.
He motioned for me to rise. Recalling mother’s mandate, I stood. He extended his hand and untied my laces with one finger while taking care not to touch me at all. I peered into his pools of cool blue. This was Aedan O’Neal, who I’ve loved for eight long years. Did I trust myself so little that a few ill-spirited whispers had swayed me into thinking him a marauding Viking from my girlhood’s bedtime stories?
He tugged at the laces, and the shift slid down, pooling on the floor. Eyes trained on mine, he took my hand to help me step out, then drew back a few paces. I held my breath as his gaze skimmed my face, ambled down my shoulders, lingered at my breasts, brushed past my abdomen to the small golden triangle, and swept the length of my legs.
I should have been mortified, standing nude before this clothed man, but I grew fascinated. I’d never been looked at so, as if caressed only with eyes. Heat, swift and pounding, rushed to my face, and the spell broke. I tossed the curtain of my hair to the front to conceal my nakedness.
He stepped closer and pulled it back.
“You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Breath quickening, he ran the back of his hand along my jaw, tugged at my lips, stopped at my chin.
I inhaled a head-spinning fragrance of fresh linen, thyme soap, and him as he glided his fingers down my throat, traced the space between my breasts. His touch seared my skin and made everything inside me clench—nothing depraved in it.
“Let go of the old wives’ tales.” His deep voice grew low and husky. “You’ll enjoy this too, m’lady... my Neave.”
The way he spoke my name, it was like a dollop of honey he rolled on his tongue, savoring it. It had the same effect as his sure, steady fingers on my skin.
He cupped my chin and set his lips on mine as he had at the waterfall. His kiss deepened rapidly this time, mouth more demanding, tongue more insistent. His hunger surged through me, taking root, blooming like a flame. He placed me on the bed. His hot kisses on my neck sent shivers throughout, stoking the flame. He moved to my breasts—single-minded, unflagging, no longer holding back. Too much, not enough. I arched my back and grasped at the bedsheets as the flame spread into my every corner. Don’t stop.
He had no intention of stopping. Relentless, he trailed kisses farther down as I struggled to suppress the soft whimpers that had replaced my breathing. Hands pressing down on my hips, he kissed my navel, then continued to the most intimate part of me. I gasped, and he lifted his head to give me a crooked smile, leaving me burning and craving more.