On their silent journey to the inn, Averyl walked beside Drake, struggling to match his rapid strides. Everything about his tense posture and shuttered expression bespoke turmoil. Beside him, she bit her lip, feeling a cauldron of anxiety in her belly. Did her husband think of the coming night?
Their handfast union was so sudden. And unless her new husband perished, she would be unable to wed the MacDougall before the bitter winter and Abbotsford’s ruin. Even knowing that, she could not bring herself to wish for Drake’s demise.
Nay, to save her home, she had but two options. Neither was likely. Drake was hardly apt to give her any funds, no matter how prettily she begged. Nor was she likely to see Murdoch so that she might plead with him to save her home. But her home did not reign supreme in her mind now.
Chirping crickets, green fields, and a damp breeze reminded Averyl she had this summer night—her wedding night—to face before considering the harsh consequences winter would bring.
She knew what Drake would expect tonight, at least in the vaguest sense. Her belly clenched, winding as tightly as the ribbon atop her head. Aye, she would deny him at every turn. But what if she weakened under the gentle assault of his kisses? What if she foolishly surrendered?
Casting a glance at her new handfast husband, Averyl felt a new claw of anxiety. Upon her abduction two weeks ago, she would never have imagined Drake possessed even one redeeming quality. Yet she realized he had most shown her only the sides of himself he’d wanted her to know. The gentle comforting, his protective concern, those had slipped out, she suspected, only to be quickly covered again by his gruff impersonality or anger.
But she had seen those glimpses of a different man beneath. Was the real Drake not a criminal at all, but a mere man fighting to win back his honor while struggling to accept his mother’s rejection?
His granite profile and distant mood told her naught.
When they arrived at the Gibsons’, Gordan and Edina were waiting. Mrs. Gibson hugged Drake as they walked in the door. “So pleased I am, lad. If anyone deserves happiness, ’tis ye.”
Drake returned the plump woman’s smile stiffly while shaking Gordan’s hand. “Thank you both, for everything.”
Mr. Gibson waved his words away. “Ach, get ye to the table so I can congratulate yer new bride.”
Drake disengaged his hand from Gordan’s and, with a troubled glance, left for the inn’s private rooms.
“Lassie, such a long face on yer wedding day?” Gordan said, as Edina hugged her impulsively. “Could be she is fretful, eh?”
The older woman admonished her husband with a gentle tsk. “Now dinna ye be scarin’ the poor lamb.” She held Averyl’s shoulders and smiled. “Drake’ll be gentle as a dove. I hiv seen how he looks at ye.”
How he looked at her? If it were much different than a nuisance—and a homely one at that—Averyl would be surprised indeed. Instead, she smiled weakly, knowing not what to say.
Drake appeared again, and the small group assembled around the table. With a long stare, Drake poured her a cup of wine. She drank greedily, hoping the liquor would ease the edge of her disquiet. Then she extended her cup toward him for more.
This time, Edina filled it with a sideways smile at her husband. Gordan returned his wife’s grin and winked.
The Gibsons’ affection for one another was almost tangible. Averyl ached, wishing for that happiness. She swallowed another sip of the sweet wine, acknowledging that, despite the spaewife’s avowals, such a love would never blossom between her and Drake. ’Twas impossible. Though she could see goodness in him, he was still angry, too focused on revenge. And Averyl could ill afford to do aught else but concentrate on resisting her husband’s fine face and form and saving Abbotsford.
During the long, uncomfortable meal, Averyl barely tasted the juicy haggis. Mrs. Gibson seemed more than happy to make most of the conversation, with brief responses from her doting husband. Drake said little, ate less, and left the table the moment it was marginally polite to seek ale in the tap room.
As Drake paced before a roaring fire, Averyl felt his restless spirit through the open door. The unsettled energy radiated, seeking release. Edina and Gordan seemed not to notice, but Averyl watched his swift, long-legged strides.
She wondered at the cause of his mood as he held his cup and walked the floor. Did he think on this night? On the fury he would unleash upon her for her escape? Or did he dwell on his revenge and the bloody murder behind it?
Finally, Edina looked to Drake. His stride ceased at her attention, and he dropped his moody gaze to the brew in his cup.
With a sly grin, Edina said, “’Tis time and past for the bride and groom to be alone.”
“Aye,” Gordan chimed in with a knowing grin that twisted Averyl’s stomach. “I ken an impatient groom when I see one.”
Were they both addled and blind? How could they send her upstairs with Drake, behind a locked door, when disquiet churned the air about him more surely than a windstorm?
“Not yet,” Averyl protested. “I am enjoying myself…”
Jaw hard, Drake’s gaze pinned her to the wall with his stare and stilled her speech. Averyl tried to tear her gaze away, but his eyes held her, appearing to accuse her. Of what, she did not know. She swallowed, fighting anxiety.
Edina shook her head. “Come now, lassie. Ye maun no’ be nervous. Ye hiv a groom to please.”
Doubting she could ever please him, Averyl cast Drake an uneasy glance as he stood in the open doorway. The unreadable look upon his face as he moved closer did not comfort her.
“They are right, my love,” he whispered. He settled his hand beneath her elbow, his fingers tight with tension. “You should make ready to retire.”
His love, indeed. Such drivel, right down to his adoring tone. Still, she shivered at his touch, at what the coming hours might bring. Dear God, how she wished she could spend the night anywhere but behind a closed door with Drake—in a room possessing but one bed. Averyl closed her eyes.
Drake helped her rise from her chair, his hot fingers settling about her waist, conveying his warning with a squeeze.
“Do no’ be shy,” Edina said. “I will help ye prepare.”
Averyl wanted to scream that Drake had no claim on her. But he did, and the Gibsons would only think her daft. She wanted to shout that he might hurt her. Yet she knew her hosts would never believe Locke cruel.
Her mind racing, Averyl sent a last terrified glance toward her captor and followed Mrs. Gibson upstairs to the room in which she and Drake were to spend the night celebrating a marriage they neither wanted.
* * * * *
With a smile, Mrs. Gibson released Averyl’s hair from the confines of her thick braid, laying the ribbon Drake had given her on a nearby basin. She shivered when her dress came off next, leaving her clad only in a sheer white shift.
“Bonny as a bloom,” the plump Mrs. Gibson declared.
Averyl managed a weak smile, heart thumping.
The woman smiled back as brightly as the afternoon sun and withdrew a small bottle from her pocket. Averyl frowned when Edina opened it and doused her finger with its contents.
“Hold still, lass,” Mrs. Gibson instructed, dabbing some of the pungent liquid at the base of Averyl’s throat and wrists.
The scent, something spicy, wafted up to her nose in a pleasant drift, reminding her of hearth and home, yet signaling something darker. Aye, even passionate.
“’Tis a blend of my making,” her hostess said. “Cinnamon wi’ my favorite blossoms mixed. Tonight, ye shall smell so enchanting, Drake willna ever consider lettin’ ye loose.”
She wanted Drake to release her now. For if he truly induced her to his bed, Averyl feared he would demand her very soul. Certainly, she did not wish him to see her so near to naked, smelling like temptation. No good could come of it.
“’Tis for Drake I do this, ye ken? His past is so tragic, his road now so long and dangerous, I canna resist helping wi’ his happiness where I can.”
The woman knew something of Drake’s past. Everything? Averyl’s heart began to race for an entirely different reason. She wanted to know why Drake had chosen to destroy her life. She sought the reason for her husband’s and Lord Dunollie’s hatred. But most of all, she yearned to understand why Drake would tell her nothing himself.
“Indeed,” she murmured. “I’ve often thought the same.”
The older redhead nodded. “’Tis why Drake canna turn himself in. Murdoch MacDougall will no’ show Drake mercy. Ye maun ken the MacDougall haes none.”
Clearly, Drake had the Gibsons fooled. Reining in her frustration, Averyl encouraged Edina’s further confidences.
“You speak true,” she said with a sigh.
Her hostess touched a dab of the perfume in the valley between Averyl’s breasts, then corked the bottle. “Aye, lass. Only the most heartless of men would seduce his faither’s love for spite. ’Tis cruel, I tell ye, how the knave baited Drake after he found Murdoch the swine bedding his maither.”
Edina wedged the customary willow branch beneath their bed to encourage fertility. Averyl scarce noticed.
Dizziness and nausea assailed her as the woman’s words painted a vivid mental picture. Murdoch would not be so vicious, would he? Surely not.
But what reason did Edina have to lie?
None.
Averyl drew in a worried breath. So Drake’s mother was the source of his conflict with Murdoch. That and family pride. Had Drake intended all along to steal her honor in retaliation for the loss of his mother’s? The thought washed her with another wave of nausea as Edina fluffed their pillows.
Her almost-betrothed and Drake’s own mother. And Drake himself had discovered them. How terrible to find his mother cavorting with a man not her husband or protector.
Averyl could only guess from the bit she knew that the woman had been Lochlan MacDougall’s leman. And Edina had said Lochlan loved her. Murdoch had clearly been in the wrong to seduce his father’s woman. And Drake found them together, intimately. Had that shattered his motherly illusion?
“He was of tender years when that happened,” Averyl baited, hoping her hostess would provide more answers.
“Aye, just ten and four. ’Tis awful, I tell ye.”
Averyl’s heart stopped, then thudded painfully. So much now made sense, the enmity between the two men, Drake’s contempt for his mother. By the saints, how terrible. And Averyl was caught squarely in the middle, somehow a pawn to each man.
She frowned as Edina bustled around her. What reason would Drake have had to kill Lochlan MacDougall? Failing to protect his mother? ’Twas possible, but far more likely that if Murdoch hated his father enough to seduce his mistress, he may have hated his father enough to kill him.
Her thoughts racing, Averyl barely heard as Edina finally took her leave. Alone, she sank down on the soft mattress. Hugging herself to stop her trembling, she contemplated the enormity of her new information, praying she could somehow use it to arouse Drake’s pity and escape. If not, the intimacies of marriage would not be a question of if but of when.
* * * * *
Drake reached a hand to the door separating him from his new bride, but hesitated. Cursing softly, he lowered his hand.
He pictured Averyl waiting, wondering, fearing what this night would bring. Would she hate him come morn for what he must do now?
Appalled at his lack of resolve, he stared at the door wondering what his friends would do. Aric would watch Averyl, wait, find her vulnerability and use it. He had patience. Drake lacked that, as well as time. And Kieran would use glib words and sweet phrases to charm her from her gown. Drake sighed. He had never had a charming day in his life.
He had only determination, desperation…and desire.
Pushing aside frustration, Drake knocked. Averyl’s feelings mattered not. A consummation of this handfast union would put her beyond Murdoch’s reach. Naught else could matter—not her green eyes, her pink mouth, or his urge to protect her.
When she made no reply to his summons, Drake eased the door open. Averyl stood with her back to his gaze, facing the open windows. A night breeze swept through, disturbing the folds of her flowing shift, made sheer by the moon’s glow. The rumble of thunderclouds churned in the distance, mimicking his turmoil.
By the saints, how he wanted her. ’Twas not something he could deny, not when his heart raced and his palms turned damp at the very sight of Averyl. Her hair, golden and soft, curled down her narrow back—ending just above the arch of her buttocks.
With slow footsteps, he came to stand behind her. The air about them hung charged, unsettled with disquiet.
She feared; he knew that. Drake also believed he could coax her into his bed this night…eventually. But the ugly question of tomorrow and the days that followed reared its head.
Aye, she would hate him for taking her innocence with no intent to give her the love she sought. Earning her enmity was not a new notion, and probably no less than he deserved. Still, the day she turned eight and ten, she ceased to be important in his revenge. He had not taken a bride, as had his friend Aric, with the intent to keep her forever. Nay, only until Murdoch would be a poor man. Then Drake intended to use every means possible to kill the evil chief with the shameful knowledge of poverty seared in his mind. And Averyl would be free.
But why did she feel most important tonight? As if her wishes and feelings should be honored, despite the consequences?
And why did he want to touch her so badly?
Shrugging aside the foolish questions, he poured them each a new cup of wine. When Drake finished, he studied Averyl’s stiff spine and for once wished she would say something.
Handing the cup in her direction, he leaned against the wall beside her. A long moment passed before she spurned the drink and faced him with an accusing stare.
“When did you plan to tell me that the man I nearly wed seduced your mother?”
Shock tingled its way through him. Damnation! Edina must have spoken of his past. But how much? And why tonight, when the past haunted him already?
Hissing an earthy curse, he glanced away.
“So, ’tis true?”
Drake saw no point in denying it. He nodded.
Her ire soared. “Did you plan to say nothing and simply take my virtue in exchange for the loss of your mother’s honor?”
Drake swallowed, memories and guilt both eating at his gut. Though his mind told him that he owed her no explanation, somehow Drake knew that to be false.
Setting her wine aside, he forced his voice to even tones. “My intent to bed you has more to do with the fact you are now my wife than the recovery of honor my mother never possessed.”
“She went willingly to Murdoch MacDougall?”
“Like the veriest of whores, again and again.”
“Why?” Bewilderment choked her question.
“I can only guess about the whys of her faithless soul.”
Averyl winced but forged on. “Then pray tell why did you force this handfast upon me, if not to avenge her? Certainly not out of love, for you’ve refused to feel that.”
Drake formed fists at his sides. “Averyl, you do not—”
“Understand? Nor will I. You seek to use me in the basest sense, then tell me nothing of your purpose. Do not think I can ever forgive you for that.”
“I expect not.”
Taken aback, Averyl stared in surprise. “Then what do you seek to gain from having my backside warm your sheets?”
“A wife, perhaps.”
Averyl made a harsh scoffing that could not, even in kind moments, be considered an agreement. “A wife you would quickly leave once my usefulness was at its end.”
Drake downed his glass of wine in a swallow and tried to determine the fastest words away from revenge. He wished to avoid her hate, by damned, so turned his thoughts to seduction, to her sweet body beneath him, pliant and needy.
Suddenly he recalled the rogues who would have forced Averyl’s maidenhood from her on a brutal dark field that eve. Again, he felt the violent urge to protect. What did such mean?
Naught. It could mean naught. He must claim her tonight. Now. Before she escaped or Murdoch found them.
Before his desire overwhelmed reason.
Shoulders taut, he checked an urge to touch her. First, he must make her understand that she could not escape alone.
“Did you never imagine when you ran from me that you might be harmed? Or killed? Or worse?”
Averyl said nothing at first. He could see her thinking, her mind turning his question over. Before she spoke, Drake realized such possibilities had not occurred to her, not until ’twas nearly too late.
“’Tis over now,” she said stiffly. “I am unharmed and you are not without your captive.”
Stubborn wench. Would she not understand? “Aye, you are unharmed. And ’tis lucky we are, wife. Do you know the unspeakable things those men would have forced upon you?” he growled. “They were drunk and lusty, and cared not how much you protested. Their only interest was in sport and pleasure.”
“And your plans are so different? Do you not seek to violate me as well?”
“Violate?” Anger made his jaw tight. “I would not abuse you so. Have I once harmed you?”
“Except to take me from my people and my purpose?” she asked acidly. “And this night, whether you call it consummation, revenge, or rape, the end will be no different.”
He stepped closer, hovering above her. Aching to prove her wrong, he wrapped his fingers about her warm, scented nape and pulled her closer. Averyl seemed to stop breathing as her hazel eyes widened and met his.
Their mouths a breath apart, he rasped, “’Tis proof how little you know of desire. I could have raped you long ago, had I wished it. But I want you willing, nay, eager, lass.”
Averyl shook her head. “You cannot seduce me.”
He smiled at her unwitting challenge. “I will, and for one simple reason, Averyl: You are not unresponsive to me.”
She blanched white at his words, and Drake knew he had hit upon the truth. Though she shook her head again in denial, he sensed a new fear in her expression.
“I speak true,” he whispered, his gaze delving into the heady depths of her eyes. “Do you know how I know that?”
She arched a pale brow. “Because you are arrogant?”
He smiled and loomed closer, a mere breath separating their bodies. “Because I see desire shining in your eyes.” Averyl opened her mouth to rebut, but he stopped her with a fingertip against her lips. “’Tis the truth. And I feel it in your mouth when we kiss.” His whisper filled the charged air between them. “Surrender to that desire.”
She turned away. “My surrender matters not. You will take what you want, regardless of my feelings.”
He reached for her shoulders, surprised to feel her trembling, and whispered in her ear. “Nay, I will take you with every regard for your feelings. With every hope you admit you want to feel my mouth on yours, my body against yours.”
Beside her, Drake watched her cheeks flush red. “I will not listen to your pretty lies.”
His grip on her tightened. The charged energy leaping between them multiplied. “I do not waste my breath on lies.”
The more Drake held her, the more he ached to have her. Yet as she spoke, the more he feared his hasty possession tonight would pain her, not in body but in heart.
Before he could dwell on the unpleasant reality, his lips covered hers, softly demanding of her sweetness. She resisted, her warm fingers splayed against his chest as if to ward him off. Refusing defeat, Drake renewed his onslaught, reaping of the honeyed harvest of her mouth. He gave desire free rein, drinking of her lips, drawing her stiff form closer.
His pulse leapt. His skin came alive with sensations of warmth and velvet. The faint scent of spiced flowers, of Highland rain, registered as he groaned and wrapped his fingers in her silken tresses, flowing loose and enticing. She could tempt the most pious of monks.
With a pained cry, Averyl moved to push him away. Drake held fast, possessing her mouth again, tasting, teasing.
Tearing her mouth away, she breathed, “Why?”
Drake let her gaze delve into her—deep—willing her to understand what he could not deny. “I want this. I want you.”
Then he possessed her lips again, plundering.
Averyl’s hands crept from his chest to his shoulder, then about his neck. Her mouth softened to him slowly. He courted, waiting for her trust, her need. She gave it in inches, melting against him, admitting desire. Drake rejoiced in each small surrender, in the long, velvety union of their mouths.
The kiss seized his breath. As if she knew her power, Averyl shyly touched her tongue to the curve of his lower lip, inciting a shiver.
Tilting her face up to his, he deepened their kiss and inhaled the feminine allure of her skin. Desire rose within him like the heat of an August noon. His tongue mated with hers, encouraging and insisting. Averyl returned every nuance of his kiss and heightened the flame of his need.
Their lips met again, urgency spiraling. Drake clutched a handful of her chemise and used it to draw her close enough to feel every inch of his want. She melted into him, her fervor heating the air between them, stirring his lust-filled body.
He lowered his mouth to her neck, where he nibbled his way across her scented skin. Her soft taste sent a rain of sensation straight down to his aching shaft.
As he picked up hints of her essence with his tongue, she intoxicated him. Again, he devoured her mouth. Her fervent response held a heady mix of female innocence and a natural instinct to bewitch. And God knew, Drake was only too willing to fall beneath her spell.
Keeping her mouth captive to his, Drake lifted her against him, cradling her knees into the crook of his arms. The feel of her small, passionate form against him, seemingly so willing, sent his lust careening out of control.
Drake crossed the room with Averyl in his arms and set her upon the soft bed, where he planned to claim her this night until they both cried exhaustion. Laying her down, he followed her to the soft mattress, taking her mouth once more. She met his unrelenting demand as if she already understood the desperation of desire.
Averyl moaned in his arms, and Drake felt her cry deep within him. He could wait no longer to have her, all of her.
With a brush of his hand, her shift fell from her shoulder. He gazed upon her milky flesh, the slopes of her shoulders, the soft rise of her breasts. He worshipped the flesh he exposed with his mouth, lips breathing over soft skin.
Finally, he pushed her chemise to her waist, sending his tingling palm over the small mound of her breast. He moaned as she arched into his touch. Drake closed his eyes at the dizzying feel of her beneath his hands, feeling lust pound in his body more strongly than the beat of his racing heart.
He leaned toward her, watching her watch him. Desire pulsed in the air, potent, fast, consuming. Its rhythm doubled, pounded, when his mouth closed around the waiting tip of her breast and she cried out.
The green of her eyes flared with surprise and want. He stared at her, need roiling within him. Could one woman be so sweet? Could she truly make all those before seem like pale imitations? Aye, he thought as his hand grazed the curve of her waist, then drifted down to the arch of her hip, removing her silken shift in the process.
On fire, he reached for her hands and brought them to his shirt. “Undress me?”
At his ragged request, she lifted her eyes to him in uncertainty. She hesitated, biting her lip, swollen from his kiss. Cheeks red, breath fast, she stared, her gaze roving over his shoulders, his chest. Drake sat still, waiting, praying.
Suddenly, her fingers were in motion, working at his shirt. Inch by inch, she exposed his flesh. Her eyes widened before she consumed him in a heavy-lidded gaze of sultry wonder. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, heard her ragged breathing. Satisfaction seeped into him.
She pushed one side of the shirt off his shoulder. Drake trembled at the feathered texture of her touch, so light yet inescapable. Impatient, he jerked the garment over his head.
Slowly, she lifted shaking fingertips to the center of his chest, just below the gleam of his father’s cross. The heat of her touch scorched him.
Talons of fire licking at him, Drake seized her mouth again, this time with a fervency he did not try to restrain. He whispered wicked suggestions, needful moans, as he touched her. Across her abdomen and the curve of her buttocks, around the heat of her thighs—anywhere she would have him. She gasped, arched, sighed—set him aflame.
Again, he devoured her mouth, begging and demanding her response at once, until he felt certain she understood he intended to possess each warm inch of her.
Averyl did not shy away. Indeed, she returned his caress with a sweep of her glance, followed by the lingering touch of her hands up his arms, across his shoulders, until her fingers cascaded down his belly. Drake sucked in a deep breath of heat. With a gaze of eyes so green, she held his stare, as her fingertips made their way across the arch of his brow, the angles of his cheeks, over the sensitive curve of his lip. Drake had never imagined such a caress could make him ache with such hardness.
Knowing he could passively endure her touch no more, Drake rolled her beneath him, eager to feel her soft body. Her harsh breathing matched his own, as did the want in her eyes.
Yet for all Averyl’s beguiling ways, she was innocence personified. Like Eve before her fated walk though Eden, sensual but untouched. Pure and unspoiled.
Until this night. Until him.
The thought slammed into him. He swallowed hard to push it away.
If he took her now to satisfy his lust and revenge, aye, ’twould ease his aching manhood. But her virginity would be sacrificed on the altar of revenge. Even from afar, Murdoch would sully the one thing Drake wanted perfect between them. And she would come to hate him for the deed.
He lay motionless atop her, enduring her frown of curiosity. Still, he did not move.
Claiming her now would be tantamount to thieving the one gift he could not replace, a gift he had no right to since he did not intend to remain her husband. Knowing this, could he defile her in the name of vengeance, make her a bride of hatred?
His mind raced. Her surrender was so clear it seemed tangible. She desired him. Was that not enough? Could he not find good in the union of their bodies, without a thought to the past? Or the future?
Into her eyes he gazed, seeing need and trust shining from their deep hazel depths. Could he really use her so ill?
Drake fought the answer, but it lay like a serpent, coiling about his need.
“I cannot do this.” He cursed roundly, then rolled away from her warm nudity.
“Cannot what?” Shock wound through her voice.
Drake reached for his shirt and breeches. Calling himself every kind of a fool, he thrust the garments into place. “I cannot touch you, not like this. I will not.”
Before he could hear her reply, see the questions gathering in her wide eyes, Drake fled, slamming the door behind him.