“I take you as my husband, Tristan.”

  He leaned in and brushed his plump lips over hers in a subtle promise of more to come. Her knees were unsteady but he held her up and smiled, looking into her eyes.

  Was that it? “Are we…”

  He nodded. “We are.”

  “We will have a proper ceremony with a priest later.”

  They all agreed with her father.

  Mary cried and her husband pulled her closer under his arm.

  “For now, let us do as my daughter suggests. Tie him up.” He pointed to Neill. “We will question him in the morning.” Tristan volunteered to do it. The captain and Mr. Jones offered to help.

  Rose watched them move closer to the shadows. She heard the captain suggest tying their captive to a tree. Tristan shook his head. Rose didn’t hear his reply while Mr. Jones disappeared into the darkness.

  “You were correct,” her father told her, laying his head on his folded surcoat. “He does seem to love you, Daughter.”

  She nodded and bit her lip trying not to cry. So much for one night. So much. She was Tristan’s wife!

  “What do you think of him, Father?” she asked as her gaze was pulled back to Tristan.

  “We will see. As long as he protects you, I will have no quarrel with him.”

  Rose wondered what had transpired between him and Tristan, and between Tristan and the captain. They all seemed to accept him, even like him. She smiled. She would ask her husband later. Her husband! Dear God, she closed her eyes and prayed for strength of mind and courage to be with him as a wife.

  She smiled and kissed Mary’s cheek when she came near. Together, they watched Mr. Jones return with a coil of rope around his shoulder.

  Tristan bent over Neill and pushed him over on his belly, his face in the dust.

  Mr. Jones cut a length of the rope and handed it to him then he handed another cut piece to the captain, who knelt at Neill’s ankles. They tied his wrists and ankles together and left him lying where he was.

  “Your husband saved me from the flames,” Mary said softly.

  Saved me from the flames.

  He’d saved Rose, as well. She understood such gratitude. “What happened?” she asked the captain’s wife.

  Mary looked off into the distance, remembering, the smoke, the fire, the fear. “They bolted the door from the outside and set fire to the house. I was locked inside.”

  Rose glared at Neill, realizing that he did know Mary was in her home when her cottage was lit on fire. They’d bolted her door to keep her in. Oh, how could he have become so despicable?

  As Mary spoke, her eyes glistened with tears in the firelight. “I think the smoke would have killed me sooner than the flames. I could not breathe anymore. I know I was dying. But then I heard something loud like a crash. It was the door being kicked in. Light and fresh, clean air filled the house. I took a few blessed breaths. He picked me up and asked me about you before I passed out. Next thing I remember I was waking in their presence—alive.

  “We set out to find you and William and Tristan would not rest. He would not even sleep.”

  “I am thankful he saved you, Mary,” Rose told her, looping her arm through her friend’s.

  “As am I,” the captain said, reaching them. “He got to us all just in time.”

  Rose grinned at her friend. How long had he admired Tristan and now to meet him, to know he saved him and his wife?

  “I knew he would come, Captain,” she reminded him.

  The captain smiled and then put his arm around Tristan when her husband grew closer.

  Tristan’s smile was slight, his green eyes, vivid and eclipsed by a few black curls when he looked at the captain. “We will talk aboot yer curiosity over me tomorrow, on the way to Hamilton. All right then.” He swept the curls over his head with a quick rake of his fingers and looked around at all of them. He took Rose’s hand and pulled her away.

  “Good dreams,” Rose called out when what she really wanted to do was cry out for help.

  No. Hadn’t she nearly purred all over him just a few short hours ago? She didn’t know what to expect! No one had ever told her what it was like or how she should feel.

  “Tristan,” Jones called out softly before they disappeared into the darkness to the horses. “There is an inn about a half-mile west of here. There is no reason why your bride should spend her wedding night on the hard ground.”

  Rose blushed but thanked him. She didn’t like sleeping outdoors.

  When they were alone in the dark, Tristan put his arm around her and pulled her close as they reached his horse.

  “Ye are weary,” he noted, helping her into his saddle.

  She loved his voice. It was deep and soothing, mesmerizing in its lyrical timbre.

  Was he giving her a way out? If she was too tired, he would not force her.

  “’Twould not be right for me to withhold my affections from my husband.”

  He leaned forward. His deep laughter tickled her ear and sent heat down her spine. “I think the good Lord knows how difficult yer life has been these last days.”

  That was how long they had known each other, and they were already wed.

  But why wait? They could be dead tomorrow. At least Tristan had made her his wife and did not disgrace her. She loved him. She thought if he left that nothing in her life would ever make sense again.

  She wanted to tell him she loved him tonight.

  They found the inn a short while later and Tristan paid for a room. He carried his weapons and bags up the stairs, behind her.

  She felt his eyes on her buns in her well-fitting trousers and covered herself with her hands. “You must think me odd.”

  “I think ye magical…or somethin’ that explains why I want to be with ye all the time.”

  “I feel the same way,” she whispered as the innkeeper showed them to a door in the middle of the hall. He worked the key and then pushed open the door.

  Rose stepped inside first.

  There was one narrow bed by a window, a chair, and a small table. Rose didn’t care what the room looked like, or if the wood on the headboard was polished. When the innkeeper lit all the candles, the room was cozy and perfect.

  When the innkeeper left, Tristan bolted the door.

  She stood by the chair trying not to look nervous then realized she was twisting her shirt.

  He smiled warmly and she thought she might not be able to sleep with him looking so fine in the candlelight.

  He walked to the bed, kicking off his boots.

  Rose watched him, breath held, nervous and thrilled to see what he would take off next. “Tristan,” she spoke his name softly. “I do not know anything about what we are to do.”

  He looked at the bed, and then at her again. “Ye know nothin’?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. After all of this…” She laughed at herself, but the sound was more one of disgust than amusement.

  He pulled off his léine and tossed it over the chair. She stepped back. She’d seen his bare chest before. It was most pleasant to gaze upon, shaped more like a “T” with a carved belly. He fell into the bed and groaned with pleasure. She was tempted to follow him.

  He yawned and closed his eyes. It calmed her nerves a bit and emboldened her to remove her belt, her hose, and then her boots. Beneath them, she wore hose. She didn’t want him to see her scarred legs, but she remembered that he’d seen them already and he never mentioned them again.

  He opened his eyes and smiled at her. He pulled on the coverlet and invited her in.

  She didn’t hesitate but leaped into bed and sank down into it beside him.

  With one flick of his wrist, he went under the coverlet on his side and pulled her into his arms.

  “Ye have my thanks fer not killin’ de Caleone. Ye are beautifully pure and killin’ him, no matter how much he deserved it, would have darkened ye.”

  “It has not darkened you,” she told him.

  “Aye,” he nodded, holding her. “I can never undo what I have done, and I’m hardened enough not to care.”

  “You care, Tristan,” she whispered against his skin. “You are a good man.”

  “Until only recently,” he let her know. “And doin’ a few good things doesna make ye good.”

  “You saved Mary.”

  “I almost didna save her,” he confessed into her hair. “I didna want to use precious moments when I could have been lookin’ fer ye.”

  “But you did anyway. Only a good man would do that.”

  “Or a fool.” He offered her a sympathetic smile and ran his palm over her hair. “This will all come to an end and all will be well.”

  It might have been the tenderness of his voice or that he really did care about her happiness. Whatever it was, it made her eyes bubble over with tears. “I do not know if I should laugh or weep. Oh, Tristan, my uncle has been behind everything horrible in my life. I never knew! He loved my mother. Did she know? There are so many questions I have. Neill told me my uncle wanted her killed after he discovered she was supposed to be seeing another man besides my father. I do not believe it. My parents loved each other. I hate Neill for saying such things about her, for killing her and Mr. Cavanaugh and Steven and the rest.” She began to cry, softly at first, and then a little harder. She needed to purge herself of this sorrow and shock. She trusted Tristan to hold her through it. And he did, for soon she felt better and wiped her eyes. But a whole new worry overcame her, and she told him she was afraid of what was to take place between them.

  “We will wait.”

  She loved him for his patience, but she didn’t want to wait.

  “I will tell ye what ye can expect then, aye?” he said in his sorcerer’s voice.

  She nodded helplessly. She needed to know. Who better to tell her but the man who would be doing all the things he talked about to her?

  “I will kiss yer mouth and share yer breath,” he told her in a throaty tone. “I will kiss other parts of ye, as well, like yer chin and yer neck.” He ran his fingers over her chin and then down her throat, softly, slowly, turning her blood to fire. “Mayhap down the valley between yer breasts. Here.” He feathered the tips of his fingers over her shirt and down the valley of which he spoke. She closed her eyes.

  “I will cover these taut nipples with my mouth and score them with my teeth.” He traced her hard nipples through the fabric of her shirt. She gasped when he gently pinched one tight bud between his thumb and index finger until she moved her scantily clad legs, aching for something she had no idea about, but yearning for it, nevertheless.

  “There are many places I would like to kiss ye but thinkin’ of these things makes me want to slip off the rest of yer clothes and mine with them.”

  She felt her blood coursing through her veins, rushing to her heart. His touch awakened every nerve ending. She went tighter in some places she had wondered about. She was discovering what pleasures they provided when he touched her. She moaned and moved to his slightest touch, and then he leaned down and kissed her mouth.

  She gasped into his mouth and he smiled against her lips.

  He took his time kissing her, licking her lips, her tongue while he tunneled his fingers through her hair. His kisses grew deeper, more passionate until she went soft and willing in his arms.

  She wanted to weep again, for she could feel his heart in his kisses. He loved and desired her deeply.

  What more could she ask for?

  She thanked God for him and did not flinch when he broke free of their kiss, his breath, quick and shallow, and kissed her chin, then down her throat.

  She felt as if her pulse beat was in her veins, keeping her enraptured and not frightened when he held her against himself, letting her feel all his hard angles. They entwined their legs and kissed in the candlelight. He kissed her throat again and kissed a path to her tight nipples. He swooped down upon one, closing his lips around the peak. He delighted in one round breast and then the other.

  She almost didn’t recognize herself when she instinctively tugged at his trousers. What was she doing trying to release him when she was afraid? Wasn’t she?

  He pulled at her shirt and she helped him peel it over her head. The more she removed, the wilder he became. Her thin chemise that had been tucked into her hose fell to her knees. With her hose, her scars were well concealed.

  But not for long.

  He didn’t give her a chance to feel ashamed of her body when he slipped the hem of her chemise over her thighs and higher! He worshipped every inch of her that he exposed with his hungry gaze and curious fingers.

  “Tristan?”

  “Aye, love?”

  “What if you do not like what you see?”

  His gaze softened on her along with his smile. “I will love what ye reveal because ’tis ye. ’Tis my heart that is lost to ye, not my eyes.”

  She breathed easier, loving his words. “Since when did you grow such a silver tongue?”

  “Since I first set out to win ye, my bonnie wife.”

  She didn’t breathe as his lips, his tongue, and even the scrape of his teeth against her flesh made her want to do feral, primal things to him that would surely make her blush in the morning.

  He devoured the last of her inhibitions and made her move like an inviting caress. His deft fingers worked the last of his clothes.

  Rose thought she might die at the idea of him naked beside her. She hadn’t seen much of him but his beautiful face and carved upper body.

  She had never seen a naked man before. She was almost a little terrified to look.

  “I realized at the castle,” he said on a low, husky voice, drawing her attention away from her fear, “when I woke up to the fires, that nothin’ matters in my life but ye. The sight of ye, the sound of yer honeyed voice, the feel of ye next to me, makes me want to start my life over.” He looked down at her hand between them and ran his fingers over her palm. “Ye are weary.”

  “I am awake enough now.” Was that her tone, so wanton and willing?

  A month ago, things would have been very different in this room. But she was very different now. She’d faced her worst fears, including death. Death by fire. She’d seen more in a few days than some see in a lifetime. Outside was dangerous, indeed, dangerous and exciting. But if he wanted to go home and be a shepherd in his kin’s stronghold, she would go happily.

  A month ago, she would never have been so bold as to sit up, push him down on his back, and straddle him.

  Shocked at herself, she let out a nervous giggle and ignored the stray lock of hair that fell over her eye.

  “Tristan?”

  “Aye, love?” He smiled looking up at her.

  “What do I do now?”

  He said nothing but crooked his finger at her. She leaned down and closed her eyes to kiss him.

  “I will show ye.”

  When they were finished, he lay atop her, spent, then he rolled off and pulled her closer. “Just so ye know, love. I am not done.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tristan lie awake holding his wife in his arms, thinking about having her again. How sweet was her innocence? How wanton her desires?

  He told her he wasn’t done. He wanted her over and over, until morning, but he wouldn’t hurt her. If she was not ready again tonight, he would not force her.

  He didn’t care if he planted a child in her. He wanted to father her bairns. Many of them.

  “That was wonderful,” she purred next to him. “Better than anything else I can think of in my life.”

  “Aye, fer me as well. And add that to the fact that my wife is eager fer me makes me quite happy.”

  “Then let me make you joyful.” She slipped over him and sat on him again.

  He sprang back to life and let his gaze rove over her. He wanted to ravish her, sink deep and fill her to his hilt. But he was gentle with her untried body.

  He let her do what she wanted with him, enjoying the surrender immensely. He’d never surrendered to anyone or anything before. He never thought he would, but here he was relinquishing his honed body to something other than battle, with someone who wanted nothing but his heart.

  “Am I scandalous?”

  “Not to me,” he answered. “I love that ye are eager fer me. I aim to give ye what ye want.”

  He was hard enough to impale her but he held command over himself and let her move on him at her own pace. He could feel her resistance. She wanted him inside her but her body was unused to such an invasion.

  He moved slowly, helping her get more used to him.

  She wreaked havoc on his muscles and his mind by lifting her arms over her head and running her fingers through her lush locks.

  He pushed upward when she sank another inch. Her eyes opened on him as he pushed again. He was on fire. Every move she made on him caused him more pleasure and agony. He was determined not to prematurely release himself, but to enjoy her.

  He reached up and cupped her breasts in his hands. Her flesh was soft and tight. She was tight everywhere, resistant and yet so willing.

  “Have I told ye how precious ye are to me, Wife?”

  She leaned down close and whispered over his lips. “You show me, over and over, my dearest love.”

  She moved slowly, edging down on him. She cried out twice as she let him through. He had to stop to keep from drowning her in his rapture.

  “Aye, I love you,” she admitted breathlessly, as if she had been wrangling a beast. She had been. He was more than halfway through. His own breath came hard and fast.

  “Everyone knows the terrifying you. The one who hides in trees and always kills his target—and eleven of his friends.” She moved and shivered. He felt her body quiver and sucked in his bottom lip.

  “I know that fearsome man, but he has a good heart toward me.”

  She finally kissed his waiting lips and bore down on him. She sank on him once more and cried out, taking him to the hilt.

  It was difficult to think. But gazing at her, he knew what he wanted to say.

  “I didna think my heart was knit together fer the purpose of love, only fer life and death. But ye kicked death in the arse and came back to me and began chippin’ away pieces of my heart. I dinna know the exact moment my heart was lost to ye, but I know I love ye, Rose. Ye mean more to me than there is time to tell ye.”