“Make a path for Vanora.”

The women tending her parted, and the old midwife crossed the floor toward her. Jemma tried to remain poised, but it felt impossible to remain still. She wanted to cover her breasts with her arms, but forced them to remain at her sides. She mustn’t act as though she had anything to hide. Gossip was a vicious thing, and brides suffered from it more than others. If she refused to have the midwife inspect the entire chamber to her satisfaction, there might be talk that Jemma had hidden chicken’s blood somewhere to stain the sheets.

The midwife stopped in front of her, and the chamber went silent. The women behind her lifted her hair to show there was nothing hidden. Jemma forced her hands to open wide, her fingers spreading for Vanora’s gaze. It took every bit of nerve she had to remain still, but every wife in the room had tolerated the same on their wedding night, so she stood steady. She would not cringe like the pampered Englishwoman many of them called her behind her back. She would show them courage.

Vanora took a linen square from a nearby table and ran it up the inside of her thigh, across her sex and down the opposite side before pulling it back to look at and confirm that she was not having her monthly flow. Several woman stood on their toes to see the surface of that fabric. One of them was Ula. Jemma felt her cheeks sting because her blush was so hot, but she waited for the midwife to send her to bed.

Vanora nodded. “I am well satisfied. There will be no talk or ye shall answer to me in front of a priest.” The midwife turned to point a finger toward some of the laundresses who were standing in the back of the chamber. They were not helping at all, but there to watch with suspicious eyes. “Mind me well, for I am not so convinced that mercy is the way to instruct ye on decent behavior. Now be gone if ye have no help to offer. The mistress has tolerated far too much from ye already, but she has done so with courage. Wag yer tongues about something true for a change.”

There was a hushed silence, but a good number of the women surrounding her turned to glare at the ones standing near the walls. The laundresses did not hold up well. They hurried out, pushing on one another to escape.

That did not leave her alone. The chamber was still full of nearly thirty women, but the mood changed. They smiled and led her toward the bed.

“Come now, before the men show up with the laird.”

Someone had strewn late autumn herbs across the sheets. There were no flowers, but the sweet scent of heather and peppermint filled the air. Ula pulled up the covers to protect her modesty, and not any too soon. They heard the men escorting her groom from several floors below. They were trying to sing a bawdy tune but kept losing the rhythm because they were laughing too hard.

No one truly knocked on the doors, they ran into them, making a racket while trying to sing out the next line of their lusty song. Two of the women pulled the chamber doors wide open to admit the pile of chanting, kilt-clad males. They snickered before thrusting their laird forward.

“Be gone!”

They didn’t mind him very well. The group rolled back into song, several of them swinging their mugs back and forth to help keep time. It worked rather well, and they belted out the final few lines of the song. The women didn’t care much for their tune. They began to beat the group back toward the door, and the men grabbed them to take along with them out of the chamber. Ula was the last to leave, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Bloody lot of trouble.”

Jemma got a good look at her groom and laughed. She couldn’t hold it, Gordon Dwyre was soaking wet from his bonnet to his boots. Water dripped from the pleats of his kilt making a ring around him. He frowned at her.

“Ye’re nae helping matters, woman. The water was cold, and I bathed this afternoon.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe their goal was to clean you, Gordon. More, I think, to slow you down.”

She pushed the bedding back and stood up. His mouth shut with a click of his teeth. His expression became tight as though he was in pain, but in his eyes she could see hunger flickering. Those flames reinforced her courage. She strode slowly toward him, actually enjoying the way his eyes followed her every motion. The sonnets that she had read in a book of love suddenly made sense. This was what they meant when they spoke of not being able to look away. Gordon was devoted to her, and it was more than lust. Something else in his eyes shimmered brightly.

Approval, yes, but there was also relief. A relief born from the experience of his first marriage that had seen him entering his chamber to discover a woman cringing beneath his bed sheets.

“Yer more beautiful than words can express, Jemma. Thank ye for wedding me.”

She reached up to open the first button on his wet doublet. The fabric was stiff and resisted.

“We are well suited.” The button opened, and she began to work on the next one.

He cupped her chin and raised her face so that their eyes met. “I wed ye for more than the facts that might have been written on a parchment, Jemma.”

The words were tender. So tender and unexpected. Her heart eagerly soaked them up, refusing to allow any doubt to wipe them aside. He leaned down and kissed her. The fingers that had been opening his doublet turned into a fist that pulled him closer. She was no longer concerned about her lack of clothing; it seemed perfectly suited for the moment. What bothered her was the stiff fabric held in her closed hand. But his kiss was too delightful to postpone. She mimicked his motions, opening her mouth and tilting her head so that their lips fit more snuggly against each other. She even teased his lower lip with the tip of her tongue as he’d done to her in the past, taking a gentle pass along his lower lip. She felt him jolt, and then he pulled away from their kiss, confusing her.

Gordon snorted. “It is not that ye displeased me, Jemma. Quite the opposite.” He stepped away from her completely, and the action allowed doubt to invade her thoughts. Her arms rose up to cover her breasts.

“I suppose I can nae expect ye to understand what I mean.” He was busy unbuttoning his doublet with hands that moved far faster than hers had been.

“Then try explaining it to me.” Her voice was whisper soft, and she didn’t care for how vulnerable it sounded.

He surged out of his doublet and tossed it onto a chair. When he looked at her she gasped, because what she had thought bright about his eyes before was nothing. His eyes glowed now like the harvest moon. Hunger was a living force in them.

“Yer boldness makes me want to meet it measure for measure, lass, and I swear I hate these clothes right now for they keep me from holding yer lovely body against mine.”

“But isn’t it a wife’s duty to tend her husband?” Jemma wasn’t sure where her boldness came from, only that it restored her balance, allowing her to uncross her arms. One of Gordon’s eyebrows arched in question.

“Are ye toying with me, lass?”

“Maybe. If I am, it is something I have learned from you, I believe.”

He pulled his belt open, and the soggy wool of his kilt slumped to the floor in a wet heap. “Good, I like to think that we shall be fine playmates.”

Jemma barely heard what he said. His shirt was the only thing shielding his body from her gaze. Since it was wet, it molded to him like a second skin. The fabric was translucent, allowing her to see the darker hair that grew on his chest. The man seemed to be composed mostly of muscle. It ran down from his broad shoulders to a lean waist and on to powerful legs.

But his cock held her attention. It pushed the fabric of his shirt out. Ridged and swollen, the shaft was thick and long.

“Have ye changed yer mind?”

The hint of tenderness in his tone struck her as pity. Jemma didn’t care for that because if she took even one morsel of it, she feared she would be reduced to shivering with dread. She had wanted him before, so much so that she had been angry when he left. That was the fact that she held fast to, and she forced her hesitating feet forward to lift one of his wrists up so that she might untie the cuff.

“Yer courage is astounding, Jemma.”

She lifted her eyes to see appreciation filling his. He reached out and combed one hand through her hair, beginning at her scalp and drawing his finger down to the ends of the recently brushed strands. For such a simple touch, it sent a spark of anticipation down her body.

“Close yer eyes.”

She hesitated, and he slid his hand back into her hair near her head. He closed his grip on the delicate strands gently, but it was enough to dispatch another ripple of enjoyment through her.

“Close yer eyes and feel for a moment, without yer sight to interfere.”

“Oh . . . I see.” But in truth she didn’t. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and he pulled on her hair just a tiny bit more. Without the distraction of what he looked like, the sensation felt as if it were doubled. It raced down her spine and into her belly where it awakened the passion that had been sleeping since the last time he lay with her. Everything happened much faster this time, her body recalling in detail the intense pleasure that he had produced with his finger and mouth. She was eager for more, her clitoris beginning to awaken.

“That’s the way, lass, trust me.”

Though she wasn’t cold, when his hand left her hair she felt the loss of its heat.

His heat.

All across her body, her skin was demanding to be touched. She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts and her belly, and even over the curves of her hips. The idea of it was intoxicating. Her senses became heightened, and she clearly heard the slump of the wet shirt as it dropped to the floor. Excitement rippled across her skin, and she opened her eyes, unable to remain still.