‘So you have begun preparations for your revolt?’
‘Yes, they have been going on for a while now,’ Brice said.
‘You are so different from the rest of your family,’ Marion remarked, looking up at him in admiration.
Brice stroked her hand. ‘I love Scotland. The rest of my family seems enamored of a life and places that are alien to me. The only thing I could ever love about England is that it sent you to me.’
‘Oh Brice,’ Marion said. He cupped her face in both his hands and stroked her cheeks with thumbs that felt rough from outdoor work. Marion took one of his hands off her face and stroked the weather worn skin. ‘Your hands…’ she began to say.
‘Not quite the hands of one who lives at Bothwell Castle?’ Brice laughed.
Marion blushed. ‘I wasn’t going to put it quite that way,’ she said.
‘It’s alright that you notice. I visit our tenants and sometimes help the peasants who cannot afford labor for their harvests.’
Marion’s eyes softened. ‘A brave man – strong and kind. There could not be a better person to be laird.’
‘Oh, I have my faults,’ Brice said, laughing again.
‘What are they?’
‘Running away with other men’s wives. Well, one at least,’ Brice said, leaning in to kiss Marion. He pulled her closer into the circle of his arms and held her against his warm body.
‘Brice,’ Marion whispered, feeling emboldened and liberated by their situation. ‘You do not have to spend the night in the third room that you spoke of.’
Brice’s arms tightened about her; holding her firm against his chest. With a sharp breath that was almost a groan, he brought his lips down hard against the side of Marion’s neck. And now it was her turn to gasp. His teeth made tiny indentations in her ivory skin as he continued to kiss the side of her neck, gently first and then with passion. His hands slid down her back and came up around the base of her spine and then to the plump firmness below. His breath came faster now, and he turned his attention to her lips again, his tongue gently breaking through the barrier of her teeth and softly caressing hers. Their tongues seemed caught in a dance – a reel of sorts – cocooned within the exquisitely warm softness of Marion’s lips, and then shifting languidly to the heat of Brice’s mouth.
Marion was breathless now and so was Brice. The kiss was pushing their senses to a limit beyond which they would have no control, but Brice pulled away in time.
‘No, my dearest,’ Brice gasped, ‘Not like this. Not now.’
Marion looked pleadingly up at him.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Marion. I want to wait…until we are married.’
‘Would that even be possible?’
‘Yes,’ Brice said, looking intently into her face. ‘Yes, it will.’
‘When?’ Marion asked.
‘When Robert has had your marriage annulled,’ Brice replied, kissing her forehead and moving resolutely away from her. ‘And now you must go to sleep while I stay on guard.’
‘Can I stay with you?’ Marion begged, but Brice was adamant.
‘No!’ he said firmly, ‘It would only lead me into temptation. And I do not want that.’
That night after Marion was asleep, Brice opened the door of her room and held a candle over her, watching her sleep – dark eyelashes framing her pale skin, and her hair like fine spun gold flowing about her. He wanted to kiss her; to lie beside her and take her into his arms and up to the stars, but Marion was not yet wholly his and he would wait until she was.
CHAPTER V
The next morning the only traces of rain were the puddles across the moors. The air was bracing, clean and clear, but the wind was still bitingly cold. Marion awoke and lay in her bed, her mind playing over the events of the past days, and marveling at how her life had changed between one sunrise and another. She was glad that she was no longer with Robert but apprehensive of the dangers ahead for Brice. Reluctantly leaving the warmth of her bed, she used the ewer on the dresser for her morning ablutions and slipped into the kirtle and over gown that she had worn the previous evening. She brushed her hair and tied it back with a ribbon, and then left her room to find Brice.