The Ghost, Greyson, Maeve [funny books to read TXT] 📗

Her lips barely parted. Eyes wide. A rosiness tinting her fair cheeks.

“What’s wrong, lass?” She had seen him bare-chested before but had never looked at him quite like she did now.

“Wrong?” she repeated, as though waking from a dream.

“Aye.” Magnus grinned, enjoying this effect he had on his new wife. He rolled his shoulder and flexed his arm. “Ye see? Not a bit hurt.”

With an upward tilt of her chin, she blinked faster, then cleared her throat. “Bruising can take a while. Especially if the damage is deep.” She leaned closer, smoothing her hands along his back and shoulder. The coolness of her fingers across his overly warm flesh increased the aching beneath his kilt. “By morning, ye’ll most surely be black and blue. Mark my words.”

Whisky and standing naked in the cool night air could wait ’til after. He couldn’t resist her any longer. With a gentle tug, he pulled her into his lap. “Surely, ye must be sweltering in all those clothes,” he coaxed while brushing kisses along her bare shoulder.

“It is verra warm in here.” She trailed a finger along his collarbone, torturing him with her touch. “It’ll be a far sight easier if I’m standing, and I may need a tad bit of help.”

“I am yer servant, m’love.” Without rising, he helped her to her feet, pleased that his words had made her cheeks glow even brighter. As he stood, his plaid fell to the floor, leaving him in nothing but his boots. He quickly dispatched those, working them loose with toe to heel, then kicking them away.

Brenna spun around, giving him her back. With her head bowed, she spoke so softly he couldn’t make out the words.

“Dear one?” Something had changed. He didn’t know what had gone awry, but he felt it.

Lifting her head, she straightened her shoulders but kept her back to him. “Forgive me. I know I am nay a virgin, but I have never done what we are about to do with someone I care for. I fear ye will find me lacking because I dinna ken how it should be betwixt a husband and wife.” Head bowed, she stared at the floor. “All I had to do before was lay still and keep quiet or suffer a beating.” She spared a glance back over her shoulder but still didn’t turn. “I dinna ken what ye require of me. Ye will have to tell me what ye wish.” Pain, fear, and so much more echoed in her whisper. “I am sorry,” she added.

What the hell was wrong with him? He had rushed her without a thought as to how her past had hurt her. Left her with scars he couldn’t see but scarred just the same. Ashamed of his callousness, he scooped up his lèine and yanked it back on, thankful that the length of it hit him mid-thigh.

“All I require of ye, m’love, is that ye be happy.” He went to the sideboard, poured himself a whisky, and filled a goblet with wine. He carried it to her along with a tender smile. “A marriage bed should be a sanctuary for both partners—not a place of fear or dread.” Careful to keep an arm’s length of space between them, he sipped his drink, then added, “I wish to love ye, pleasure ye, make ye want my touch as much as I want yers. But I will wait as long as it takes. I willna touch ye ’til ye’re ready. The pain of yer past is because of me.” Before she could reply, he turned and strolled to the window seat and pushed open one of the tall panes.

A cool night breeze blew into the room like a spirit bearing gifts of peace and calm. He settled on the bench, sipping his whisky and watching stars flicker into view as the sun slipped below the horizon. He had meant what he said. While he ached to bed his beloved wife, he would not touch her until she was sure and ready.

“Ye are a rare man, Magnus de Gray.” Her skirts rustled with a quiet shushing as she joined him on the bench. “Here.” She held out the whiskey decanter. “I thought ye might like more.”

“What about yerself?” He topped off his glass and placed the decanter on the windowsill beside them.

After a sip, she held up her half-full glass of wine. “I still have plenty, thank ye.”

Turning back to the view, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. He could tell she wanted to say more but hadn’t yet worked up the courage. Another breeze brushed across his face, reminding him of his promise of patience. Aye. He would wait as long as it took. She was more than worth it.

With a nervous clearing of her throat, she rose to her feet. “Would ye wait here for me, whilst I go to the bedchamber and don my nightdress?”

“Of course, m’love.” He remembered she had mentioned needing help but didn’t wish to make her think he might go back on his word. “Shall I fetch a maid?”

“A maid?”

“Aye, a maid. Ye said ye might need help with…” He made an up and down motion toward her gown. “Laces and things.” There was no telling what held that dress together or what might be layered underneath to hold its shape. He had never been with a woman dressed in such finery but remembered quite a few interesting stories from those who had.

She shook her head while sidling toward the bedchamber door. “I’ve thought more on that. Surely, it must be easier getting out of the thing than it was getting into it.” Upon reaching the sideboard, she downed the rest of her wine and poured herself another. With a polite smile, she lifted her glass and continued on her way. “I’ll sing out should I need help, aye?”

“Aye, lass. I’ll be right here.” He settled more comfortably into the pillows of the windowsill, hoping he had handled the situation properly. In