The Knight's Bride by Stone Lyn

Author:Stone, Lyn [Stone, Lyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2011-07-14T21:00:00+00:00

Honor wriggled out from beneath Alan and then cuddled next to him, pulling the tail of his plaid over them both. If she’d had any reservations about consummating this marriage, they were well laid to rest now. She had never imagined an experience such as the one she’d just had.

Lovemaking with Tavish had been pleasant enough that she had missed it when he left, but doing so with Alan proved extraordinary. Magic, he had said, and so it was. She should have known he would never lie, but that had to be the truest word he had ever spoken.

Her lips stretched into a wide smile and she sighed against his shoulder. Thoughts of nights such as this one stretching into a limitless future made her shiver with anticipation. Yes, love or not, this feeling between them would definitely be enough.

“Honor?” the gruff whisper interrupted her musings. She moved her head so she could see his face. He looked worried. “You slept,” she said, resorting to an inane observation to avoid voicing the intimate things she would really like to say. Would you kiss me again? Would you hold me, take me,. make my body weep with pleasure?

No, it was probably too soon for him, and he would think her wanton beyond redemption. Mayhaps she was.

He shifted to support himself on one elbow, his head resting on one hand as he looked down at her. “Are you well?”

“Well married, that is a certainty!” she said, laughing softly. She knew she blushed; she could feel the heat in her cheeks.

He sighed and brushed her tangled hair off her face with his free hand. “I fear I might have been overly rough with you.”

“No bruises. I told you no harm could come to me.” She flipped up the corner of his plaid. “Invincible. Magic.”

His smile warmed her heart. She sensed he wanted to say something serious, but held himself back. For a long time, he said nothing, just stared at the fabric, thinking.

Then, when he finally spoke, it had naught to do with what had happened between them. She knew that was no oversight, but deliberate avoidance to cover either regret or embarrassment. Honor suspected he seldom let lust take him unawares such as it had this night.

“See this small thread that runs through, the lighter one?” He traced a line of gray that crisscrossed the brown and green. “This makes my breacan different from all the others old Moriag wove for the clan.”

“Because you are part English?” she asked.

“Nay. Aye. I dinna ken why.” He rolled to his back and laced his hands beneath his head, staring at the overhead drape on the bed. “When my mother left the Highlands, I stood watching her ride away, too frightened to weep. My uncle shoved me at Moriag, the main weaver, and ordered her to outfit me with a breacan and beat the English out of me. She took me in hand then and we went to her cottage. ’Twas little more than a bothy, but larger than the rest in order to hold her looms.

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