Page 63 of My Highland Bride

“At first I was afraid. She seemed angry that we’d wed.”

“Aye,” I agree. “She was angry, at me.”

Reyne nods. “I realized that, but only after I’d finished being terrified. She has the demeanor of someone twice her age.”

“A result of being the sole woman in a court of men.”

“I do not envy her, Erik. She told me she is eager to become friends because she lacks true ones here at court.”

Fully dried, I move toward a trunk to retrieve a fresh linen shirt.

“She told you that?”

“Aye.”

I pull one out, shake it, and am about to pull it over my head. But Reyne stops me with a look.

Almost as if . . .

Tossing the shirt back onto the trunk, I hold her gaze.

“You’ve won the queen over in one meeting,” I say honestly. “She’d not have said that otherwise.”

Reyne’s lips part.

I don’t waste another moment. Though I don’t wish to ruin her hair or dress, I cannot resist my wife. Sitting down next to her, I pull her head toward mine. I’m more than ready for her to become my wife in truth—indeed, the strain of not doing so is nearly killing me—but I’ve vowed to wait for Reyne to tell me she’s ready.

So instead of ravishing her, as I would like, I coax her lips open and touch my tongue to hers. The sweetness of her quickly overwhelms my good intentions. Very much aware we sit on the precipice of another lesson, as I anxiously await Reyne’s permission to show her how much more pleasure awaits us, I move from her lips downward.

Lower, and lower still, until I’m all but buried between her breasts. There, I grow bolder than I should, kissing both and plunging my fingers inside her décolletage. The dress is low-cut enough for me to reach her nipple, and I caress it as Reyne grips my bare shoulder.

Growing hard, but determined not to continue until she wills it, I lift my head and look into her eyes. Uncertainty. Desire. Caring.

I wonder what she sees in me?

“Reyne,” I begin, knowing this is the last night we will be together. “We can dine in the hall as planned, or we can eat here. I’ll have food brought to us, if you’d like.”

“You are not expected in the hall?”

“Nay,” I assure her. “I am not.”

“But as commander, I just thought . . . are there not plans to be made for the morrow?”

That she seems eager to stay encourages me, though I remind myself she is agreeing to dine here, nothing more.

As of yet.

“The plans have been made.” My errant hand finally drops to her lap, though it itches to feel more. Explore more. “We leave at dawn for Carwell Castle in Craighcebor. Scouts will move ahead of us to prepare the Lord of Carwell for our arrival. Once there, we will lie low until Whitley and Rawlins surface. We’ve sent word to King Galfrid as well.”

As expected, Reyne is surprised by that news.

“You truly believe this Shadow Warrior tells the truth?”

God, I wish I knew the answer to that question.

“If he does not, we should be able to root out an ambush. Either way, the king will know our interest in peace is sincere.”

“I heard some talk of King Galfrid’s nephew gaining support as his replacement heir. They say he is now officially backed by the church?”