Maggie Mine Page 11

  Maggie took a seat and watched the older woman’s expression pinch in disgust even more. “Her ladyship tipped up that long nose of hers, snorted, and walked off. We haven’t seen her since. Not that she’s been missed, I tell you.”

  At first Maggie didn’t know what to say. She and Nicholas were being forced to marry, even if he hadn’t sounded nearly as upset with the idea as she’d thought he would be. Still, it surprised her that he’d basically ordered a celebration and a fine feast. She’d always envisioned a grand celebration when she got married. But then she’d always thought her father would be there to give her away, and that her brothers would be there as well. Her heart pinched once again at all she’d lost.

  “Why are you crying, lass?” Abigail asked in distress. She leaned forward to dash a tear off Maggie’s face with a calloused thumb. “You’re not afeared of wedding our new lord, are you? He’s a good man. Even not knowing him long, we all can see it.”

  Maggie tried to smile at the cook and at the concerned-looking young maids who had glanced their way at Abigail’s too-loudly-spoken worry. “Nay, I’m no’ afraid of Lord Middleham. We might have our differences at times, but ye’re right. He’s a laird to be proud of.”

  A maid hurried over with a trencher holding a warm pasty and a mug of mead. Maggie nodded her appreciation while the maid beamed and then sped away. “’Tis no’ having my father here.” She swallowed down a painful lump in her throat. “Or my brothers.”

  Abigail patted Maggie’s hand. “An awful thing, that. But you’ve many here who care for you, who will be proud to have you for our new lady.” She chuckled. “Your dear Fia hardly slept a wink last night. She’s been fretting over what gown you’re to wear, making sure someone fetches flowers to weave into your hair, and worrying over the bedding. Blushing fiercely about that, too.” She chuckled again.

  The bedding. Dear Lord, the bedding! Maggie’s stomach fluttered with nerves. Would he even want to do it, consummate their marriage, when he didn’t really want her? Want her? She thought about the way he’d kissed her. And about the way she’d kissed him back. She remembered the feel of the hard ridge in his braies as he’d pressed against her. Nicholas wanted her all right. At least his body did. There would definitely be a bedding. Oddly, she was intrigued by the idea. Especially after the kiss and the heat she’d noted in his eyes. A heat that she’d felt low in her body as she’d thought about the kiss as she lie in bed.

  She smoothed her hand over her stomach and shook her head. “I canna eat, I’m sorry.”

  Abigail nodded understanding. “Most brides feel the same way prior to the wedding. Anxious. Worried.” She glanced toward the keep’s doors where Nicholas now stood talking with Gerald. “I’m thinking he’ll take good care of you tomorrow night. I would not worry over much about it.”

  She stood and reached for the trencher. “If you need to talk about anything, my lady, come find me. I may be just your cook and it may not be my place, but….”

  Maggie wrapped the kind words around her. “I appreciate yer offer. Ye’re no’ overstepping any bounds, in my opinion.”

  Remembering that they hadn’t actually discussed the wedding feast, Maggie got up and went after the cook. She caught up with her at the doorway leading down to the kitchens. “As fer the feast, Abigail, do as ye think is right. I’ve nay experience with this.”

  Abigail puffed up with pride. “We’ll make a meal that will please all. Now, why don’t you go about seeing to other matters concerning the wedding.”

  “I doona’ ken….” She stopped speaking when heavy footsteps came up behind her. She drew in Nicholas’ scent and more flutters filled her stomach.

  “Good morn, Lady Urquhart,” his deep voice rumbled beside her. He nodded in greeting at Abigail and the older woman smiled before hurrying off. “I believe she means seeing that your trunks are moved to my bedchamber. Making whatever changes to the room as you please as well.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened. “Moving my trunks? To…to yer bedchamber?”

  Amusement danced in his midnight blue eyes. “While in some marriages the wife maintains a separate bedchamber, it will not be so with us.”

  Her heart raced at the idea of sharing his room, even more at sharing his bed. “I didna’ think ye would want that since….” Since he was being forced by his king to marry her, but she didn’t say the words.

  A frown replaced the amusement in his expression. “Mayhap it’s you who doesn’t want that.” He shifted back, looking both displeased and vulnerable. “I’ll have a couple of the men move your trunks.” With that he walked away.

  She watched him and noted the stiffness in his body. She hadn’t meant to upset him. But it wasn’t just his life that would change tomorrow. She’d already experienced many changes since learning of the deaths of so many that she’d loved, since being taken from her home, and while waiting worriedly to be matched with a stranger. Now she truly faced a change she wasn’t sure how to deal with. She would be marrying the man who’d disrupted her life, the man who she’d begun to have longings for. The man who had abandoned her beloved brother Brodie, and she wasn’t sure she could ever forgive him for such a thing.

  Sighing under the heavy strain of her mixed emotions, she walked toward the stairs. Maybe she’d seek out the chapel and try to find solace there for some of what troubled her.

  * * *

  Nicholas walked quietly toward the chapel the next morning. He’d brooded all night about the day ahead, about marrying the Scottish lass who both annoyed him and fascinated him. Maggie was never hesitant to argue with him about something she felt strongly opposed to. Yet she had only put up a limited argument about the marriage. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She’d reluctantly accepted he’d been ordered to find her a husband by her father and by Edward. She’d even put up with the humiliating virginity test by Dunston’s mother because it was expected of her. This wedding was now expected of her. Taking him on was a husband was merely another duty she must accept, another burden she must bear. It wasn’t much different for him, but he didn’t like believing that she considered him a burden to endure. He didn’t feel that way about her. At first, yes. Now… well, he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about her.

  As he neared the chapel, he heard muffled voices. The priest, who had arrived last night, was already inside with Richard and Gerald, who would act as his escorts and witnesses for the wedding. Both men had expressed their concerns about the union yesterday. Normally a lord’s actions would never be discussed, but Gerald was his long-time friend and Richard a new one. He respected their opinions. And he knew they admired the spirited woman who would become his bride. They didn’t want to see her hurt, which he’d assured them that he wouldn’t do.

  He straightened, attempted to calm the jangling nerves inside him, and strode into the chapel. He quickly noted that even here the women of the castle had set their hands to cleaning. The kneeling bench before the altar had been dusted and covered with a linen cloth. The statue of Jesus behind the altar appeared dusted as well.

  With his entrance, conversations halted between the dozen or so highest of the castle’s servants seated on the wooden benches. Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted the walls lined with the highest ranking of his men. Ahead of him, next to the altar, Gerald and Richard stood, each man with a solemn expression. Nicholas joined them and nodded greeting to the priest.

  Immediately the priest said, “Kneel down, Lord Middleham, take thy rightful place in humility before God.”

  Drawing in a steadying breath, Nicholas did as instructed.

  “As you have bravely and solemnly come to this place today, know that by all present and your own actions, you have signified unto our community that you are worthy and ready to care for the woman of your choosing from this day forward. Do you understand and accept the solemnization you are about to engage, Sir?”

  He hadn’t exactly “chosen” Maggie, but he hadn’t decided to fight the union either. “Yes, you
r holiness.”

  The priest tapped his shoulder with a thin sword. “I hence make you worthy before our King, Bishop and O Mighty God. This community celebrates with you now as you prepare to receive your woman.”

  Behind him the guests cheered. Nicholas stood and turned at the quiet footsteps entering the chapel. He smiled as Fia and Abigail, both wearing their finest dresses, walked toward him, acting as Maggie’s chosen Maidens. Several small children he’d seen around the castle and observed Maggie talking to followed the ladies carrying flowers and bells.

  But when Maggie stepped into the doorway in a blue gown with long sleeves and a low cut bodice his heart stuttered a few beats. All his foolish brain could think of was how fast he could strip the gown off her. How quickly he could cup her lushly full breasts with his hands. His cock hardened in an instant.

  She glanced up and nibbled nervously at the corner of her lower lip. Uncertainty flashed in her eyes. He forced down his lusty thoughts and tried to give her a reassuring smile. She rewarded him with a timid smile. His Maggie was not a timid woman, which meant she was scared bone-deep. He didn’t like that idea and he would do his best to calm her as soon as he could.

  Those thoughts were tossed aside as he watched Maggie come toward him, her hand in the crook of her escort’s arm. He hadn’t even considered who would bring her to him, who would act as the man giving her away. At first he didn’t recognize the older man with a freshly cut beard and smoothed down mane of normally wild red hair. Then, once more, he smiled at her choice: Abigail’s husband, Nicholas’ blacksmith. Again, he approved of her choices. They wouldn’t be right in a more formal setting, but here they were fitting.

  In what seemed like only moments, she’d joined him at the altar and they’d exchanged their wedding vows. He’d promised to have her and to hold her from the day forward…to love and to cherish. Words which should have stuck in his throat but hadn’t. She’d promised to have him and to hold him…to be bonny and buxom at bed and at board, to love and to cherish. Somehow his thoughts got caught on the determined way she’d repeated the “bonny and buxom” part. He’d smiled at it and she’d given him a narrowed eye look of warning, silently reminding him the words were only a part of the expected vows. But he intended to see that she held up to those vows.

  Then he put his mother’s ring on her finger and she put a ring on his finger in return. And with those rings they were deemed wed by the priest. He moved stoically through the remaining elements of the ceremony: kneeling to hear the wedding prayer, listening to the guests repeat a prayer for them as well, and finally the priest’s declaration of “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”

  Maggie had repeated everything she’d been instructed to during the ceremony. She’d trembled inside the entire time, worried about what she’d done, anxious about being bedded for the first time. What if she froze up when he came near her? Not that she had when he’d kissed her. But what if he didn’t find her pleasing in bed? He would probably just take a mistress, like she’d heard so many English lords did. The idea of that rankled. Which puzzled her.

  The priest touched her arm and turned her along with Nicholas to face the smiling people who’d observed the ceremony. She blinked out of her daze just as the priest said, “They may kiss each other now.”

  In a hairsbreadth of a second, Nicholas drew her to him. He pushed the veil out of his way, cupped the back of her head, and lowered his mouth toward hers. The flame of heat in his eyes made her heart pound and her own heat ignite. And then he was kissing her with the same intensity as he’d done only two days before. She clung to him as well. Kissed him in return until they heard the raucous cheering and laughing around them. They broke apart awkwardly and she was glad he kept hold of her arm, as her knees had gone weak.

  Somehow she managed to walk with Nicholas downstairs and into the great hall. What appeared like every person in the castle and nearby small village was now inside and eagerly awaiting their entrance. The trestle tables were laden with enough platters of food to feed everyone for a month. The smells of roasted suckling pig, capons and pigeons drifted through the air. There were pastries and cakes, quinces, and tortes. The men were already lifting mugs of ale, whisky, and mead. A grand celebration was about to begin and yet Maggie didn’t feel like eating. She wasn’t sure about the celebrating part, either. The wedding had been forced, although she hadn’t actually opposed it. In truth, she was anxious to get away from all of this. But that would mean she and Nicholas would go to his bedchamber, for the expected bedding. Was she ready for that?

  Nicholas pulled her to the side and faced her, a gentle look in his eye. “We’ll make this work, Maggie.”

  She raised her chin. “I’m no’ the wife ye wanted. But I will try to do right by ye.”

  His lips met hers and she again forgot all of their many differences. When she felt his heat next to her, drew in his scent, and tasted him, nothing else seemed to matter.

  * * *

  Maggie looked at the man stretched out between her legs, only the top of his dark head visible. Her breaths were ragged; her body tingling in ways she’d never imagined. She could barely think straight. He was doing the most wicked thing to her. Deliciously wicked. She’d had no idea a man would kiss her “down there.” That he would lick her folds and push his tongue inside her.

  “Ohhh, God’s knees!... That…that….” She gripped the linen beneath her so tightly her fingers hurt. “What ye’re doing… ‘tis… ‘tis….”

  Nicholas raised his head, drew his tongue slowly along her most private places, and looked up at her. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief, with heat, too. He teased her with that wonderful tongue, playing with a special spot she hadn’t known about.

  As he continued to flick the nubbin with his tongue, she arched upward, gasping. “Nicholas,” she drew out his name. “Ohhh… Nicholas!” Then she seemed to explode and warm liquid flooded from “down there.” On and on it flowed and she squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed.

  He lapped it up and as she hazarded a wary glance at him, he licked his lips, grinning. He looked very proud of himself.

  She pulled in a calming breath and said, “I didna’ ken… What ye did… What I did….”

  He eased back to kneel between her legs, reaching down to lightly run his calloused hands up and down her thighs. They quivered at his touch. Her heart raced again, wondering what he was about next, for there was still mischief in his eyes. What held her attention, though, was the long, thick rod waving between them. She wanted to touch it, to explore its wonders. Find out if it was as hard as it looked.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about, wife. A lot I will show you, teach you.”

  She thought she should feel mortified, now that her mind had come back from the haze he’d sent her into. After all she was naked, from the handiwork of the women who’d brought her to his bedchamber and prepared her for his pleasure. Only her maids had ever seen her completely naked. Now this man—her husband—had her spread apart for his viewing. She was vulnerable to whatever he wished to do with her. “Why am I no’ embarrassed?” she asked on a whisper, still staring at his rod.

  Seeing where she was looking, he shifted back and put one large hand around his pole. He stroked it as she watched mesmerized. But his gaze drew hers, locked with hers. “Because I am your husband, you are my wife. There is nothing to be discomfited about when we are together. When you look at me. When I look at you.”

  She’d heard many of the castle’s young women talk about sharing their bodies with some of the men. Of course, she’d overheard talk of lusty times between a man and a woman back at Urquhart, too. Even from her brothers. She’d been curious, hoped to one day find out about such experiences herself. Yet as Nicholas had sought a husband for her, she had grown to dread the mating between a man and his woman. Especially when Dunston had come to see her…even more so after hearing the disgusting things he’d mentioned. Just the thought of them made her shiver.


  As if Nicholas knew where her thoughts had wandered, he grew serious and shook his head. “Do not think about him. I will never treat you in the vile ways he talked about. You must trust me on this.”

  “Trust ye?” She continued watching him as he again stroked his shaft. “I do.” And she did.

  Relief filled his face. He leaned closer, still holding his rod. His expression turned intent. “It is time for the taking, wife. Are you ready?”

  Her heart pounded so hard she feared it would burst right out of her chest. Time for the taking. He would stick that thick pole inside her body. How could it possibly fit? Yet she was desperate to find out. “Aye,” she answered on a determined breath.

  His brow was furrowed, his eyes solemn. “There will be a bit of pain at first. But it will quickly pass.”

  “I am no’ afeared, husband. Just do what ye must so we can get to the pleasuring.”

  Amusement flickered in his expression. “Is that an order?”

  She shrugged, focused on how he leaned toward her, watching the play of his muscles across his magnificent chest. His musky scent surrounded her, drew her. She was more than ready for the next step in their mating. “Aye, ‘tis an order. Put that thing inside me. Now.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Thing?” He put the head of his shaft to her opening. “’Tis my cock, my manhood.” He grinned as he eased it in a bare inch. “Your pleasure rod.”

  She squirmed and tried to move so that he would shove further into her. “Yer teasing me, husband. I doona’ like to be teased in this way. I wish to have this pleasure rod, now.”

  The stubborn man only slid slightly more inside her. “Patience.”

  A booming laugh carried up from downstairs where the people were drinking and eating and celebrating. She knew they were waiting for their lord to claim his bride. Her face heated at the knowledge. “They’re waiting fer ye to do yer duty. Waiting fer the displaying of the bloodied sheet, proof ye’ve made me yer wife.”