A Promise Given by Samantha James

Author:Samantha James
Language: ron
Format: mobi
Published: 2010-12-24T00:09:59.125000+00:00

Chapter 14

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Not so with the man at her side.

His mood was still dark when he’d risen from his lumpy bed of hay this morn. He'd risen before dawn that alt would not know of the discord with his wife. Yet when he'd come upon her this morn, he’d been sorely tempted to laugh, for his soldiers were utterly confounded by her orders.

Nay, he decided anew. He'd not spend the night in the stable again. He'd find a far softer comfort in his bed—and her slender, shapely arms.

Lifting the sheet, he gazed at her. He allowed his regard to wander where fit would, savoring the beauty of face and form, with no worry of reproach from his shy, prideful wife.

A powerful swell of possessiveness carne over him. It was just as he'd said. She was in his home. His castle. His bed. Now fit was real, real as fit had not been before.

She was his. His and no other's.

He was pleased with the way she'd embraced her role as mistress of the castle. A twinge of bitterness crept through him. If only she embraced her husband so readily!

Theirs would not be a chaste marriage. This he knew well and true. He would not even try to keep his distance, for he knew he'd fail. She had only to be near and he was stirred beyond reason.

If she needed time to accept their marriage—to accept him as husband—so be it. But he would not deny himself the enjoyment of the marriage bed. It felt so right with Sabrina, right as it would never have been with Margaret.

'Twas fate that had robbed Margaret of her life, he decided. 'Twas fate that led him to Sabrina. Their destinies were entwined as one. He could not fight it. His mood grew suddenly fierce.

Nor could she.

Sabrina woke amidst a flood of sensations. She seemed impossibly warm, though the covers were twisted down around her feet. The reason for that fire-like heat suddenly struck her— Ian’s hard body lay flush against her own. Her head was pillowed on the sinewy pad of his shoulder. Her hand lay small and white atop the wiry forest on his chest. Her legs were twisted with his, one hairy thigh snug against her own. It was the memory of what lay cradled between those thighs that made her go hot all over, as if she were ill with some dreaded ague.

Her gaze trickled slowly upward, over the strong column of his neck, the squareness of his jaw, shadowed with a day's growth of beard. He was, she thought with an odd little shiver, a most handsome man, both in face and form.

But she froze when she saw that her perusal had not gone unnoticed. Ian's eyes were open.

He moved. With a blunt fingertip, he traced the shape of her mouth. "So tell me, bratling. Do you still despise me?"

Despise him? Indeed, at that moment, she knew not what she felt! Her heart was in a frenzy. His touch, light though it was, made her quiver anew.

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