The feeling shocked him, but even more astonishing was the way it echoed in his wolfs heart. Neither of them wanted her hurt. He gently laid her on the smaller of the two beds in the cottage. The other stank of the baron and his wife. The narrow bed Abigail had slept on smelled only of her and fresh air.
Her eyes fluttered open, her body going immediately taut with wariness.
Their gazes met. Her eyes flared and then filled with sadness. This is it, then.
You are so bothered by the prospect of sharing my bed?
Frightened. I know nothing of the ways of men.
That is to be expected.
You do not understand. My mother, my maid, no one has told me anything . And clearly, the unknown scared her out of her wits.
Do you want me to tell you what is going to happen?
Her dark eyes widened with surprise, but they glowed with hope. Would you? Again her words came out silently, but he had no trouble reading her meaning.
Aye.
Though her skin was the color of a dark rose in bloom, she nodded and swallowed. Please.
I will. Please you, I mean. It was a matter of pride for both him and the wolf that lived in him. I will begin by kissing you. Have you ever been kissed, Abigail?
He doubted it and might have to kill someone if she had, but he needed to ask.
She shook her head.
That is good. I do not want to have to go hunting in England.
Her eyes widened farther and stayed that way as he described in minute detail how he would touch her before, during and after her deflowering. He left nothing out of how it would feel for her or how he expected to feel.
He laced their fingers while he spoke and was in no way surprised when her hold on him grew so tight he would almost think she had the strength of the Chrechte in her. But she never balked at his description or turned away from the words he spoke, her gaze fixed on him with desperate intensity.
When he finished, she stared at him for several seconds.
Truly? she finally asked in a whisper. You will do all that? Her cheeks were so crimson, the bruise from her mothers slap was almost hidden.
I will.
You will be careful.
I told you
I would. It may hurt, but I will prevent as much pain as possible. It is my duty as your husband.
Are English husbands so considerate?
He shrugged. They are English.
I am English.
You are mine.
I suppose I am. She looked surprised by her own acknowledgment.
Do you still fear?
A little.
He nodded. That is to be expected in your innocence, but I will take care of you. Starting now.
She flinched but said nothing. And then nodded resolutely.
Stand up.
She gave him a questioning look but obeyed.
He pulled the knife from his boot. It was sharper than the one he kept on his belt.
She took a step back, but confusion rather than fear showed in her eyes.
He put his hand out over the right spot on the sheet and then cut a thin, short line down his palm. Her mouth was open, but no sound escaped as she stared in uncomprehending fascination as drops of his blood decorated the sheet.
Your mother wants the blood proof. I will give it to her, but I will not claim you on the land of another.
Abigail nodded as understanding, and then relief, settled over her lovely features. She gave him an intense look and stuck her hand out. Cut me, too.
Very little had the power to shock him, but her offer slammed into him like a blow from Niall. It is not necessary.
It is.
He shook his head.
She stubbornly put her hand right over his, palm up. We share in this as we will share in the other. Later.
His entire body reacted to her touch and the unexpected words coming from between her innocent lips. A growl of approval came from the wolf, and Talorc acquiesced with a jerk of his head.
He laid his knife against her small, white palm. You are sure?
She nodded.
So be it. He cut her, just a prick, but enough to let her drops of blood mingle with his on the sheet.
When there was sufficient blood to indicate a bedding, he ran a hand across the drops to make streaks as if there truly had been a sex act. Then he raised her palm to his mouth, and allowing his wolfs saliva to mix with his own, he licked her cut. The bleeding stopped immediately, but he did not release her hand. The flavor of her skin and the few drops of blood on his tongue was unlike anything he had ever known. And yet like something he would never have expectedthe satisfaction his wolf felt after a successful hunt.
The beast inside him howled in exaltation Talorc did not understand. It was that sense of victory he felt that gave him the impetus to let go of her hand. She was human and English. She stood between him and ever having a true mate. His wolf should be whimpering, not howling.
Her expression one of guileless certainty, she took his palm and returned the favor. Even though she did not have the wolf, his wound had been close to closing anyway and the blood stopped. But the feel of her lips was addictive, and he had to bite back an instinctive denial as she pulled her lips away.
They stood there in silence for several seconds, neither looking away, neither appearing ready to speak. Heat suffused his body. It was like a fever, but he was not ill. Her eyes reflected confusion and wonder. He did not know what had just happened, but it was profound.