“Mayhap we will consummate the wedding tonight,” he said huskily, not realizing he had spoken aloud ’til he noticed the stiffness of her body and the defiant lift of her chin.
“Mayhap cows have wings,” she snorted, sweeping the. bees off her garment with jerky motions of her hands as she moved away from their hive. Then she glared at him angrily. “I am going back to Hawks’ Lair now. I will not stay the night at Ravenshire, you lusty lout. Hah! There must needs be a shortage of women for you to make such a ludicrous suggestion to me.”
The dog fell into step behind her like a well-trained foot soldier when she called out, “Come, Prince.”
“Prince? What manner of name is that for a lowly mongrel?” Then he drew his thoughts back to her annoyance over his suggestion. ” ‘Tis not so ludicrous. Many a marriage is consummated on the betrothal alone.”
Eirik had not really expected her to comply. In truth, he did not know why he had even broached the subject. He did not want to make love with a skinny wench like her. But still her displeasure rankled his pride, and he followed her stomping figure back to the keep, cursing under his breath at his stupidity—not just in voicing the words, but in even agreeing to the wedding.
“I was only jesting,” he lied. “Have you no sense of humor at all?”
“Humph! Stop following me.”
“Stop walking away from me. And stop that bloody dog from nipping at my heels.”
” ‘Tis your bloody dog, not mine. He is just being protective of me because you are raising your boorish voice.”
“Lady, you overstep yourself. We are not wed yet. Remember that.”
She had the good sense to slow down at his warning. After all, she had more to gain from this wedding than he. Or so she must think.
He grinned as he caught up with her and reached for her arm, the dog yipping wildly. She jerked away at his touch, and Eirik frowned. He misliked her touchy attitude. In truth, she was nervous as a pregnant cat any time he got within breathing distance of her.
Deliberately, he placed a hand on her arm, testing her reaction. Leaning back so he could see better, he watched as her eyes flew wide with alarm. Even through the filtering screen of her veil, Eirik could see that she breathed heavily through her open mouth. He watched with fascination as her deliciously full lips quivered nervously behind the white netting. “I have seen such fabrics in the harems of some eastern rulers, though put to much different use,” he murmured, then smiled in remembrance.
Eadyth just scowled.
The small mole at the side of her mouth drew his attention. He reached forward, unable to resist the temptation, and touched it lightly through the wisp of material. A jolt of desire rocked his senses and turned him instantly hard.
“Do not touch me,” she whimpered, trying to pull out of his firm grasp. “Please. I beg you. I will release you from your betrothal vow.”
Eirik dropped his hand and stared at her, puzzled. What frightened her so? After all, she was not a virgin maid, untouched by man. And knowing Steven of Gravely’s predilection for sexual excess, he assumed the knave had taught her more than a few tricks in the mating.
“My lady, I do not take my oaths lightly. As far as I am concerned, my betrothal vow is as binding as the wedding ones.”
She lowered her gaze and inhaled deeply to regain her composure. It was obvious his touch had distressed her mightily.
Or repulsed her, he thought, and went rigid at the insult. Women found him attractive. It had ever been so. What prickled Eadyth? Something was seriously amiss.
Finally, she raised her eyes, even more luminously violet in their misting of tears, and said in a shaky voice, “I take my vows seriously, as well. ‘Twas just that you took me by surprise. I had not expected you to make such a vile suggestion.”
“Vile?” His brow furrowed. “Are you daft? You ask a man to marry and do not expect him to bed you?”