An English Bride In Scotland by Lynsay Sands Read Free Book Online Page A

couldn’t believe he was even considering mounting the woman while she was unconscious. But all he’d been thinking since she’d come below that afternoon was that in a matter of hours he’d be able to sink his hard prick into her warm, soft body and . . .
    Sitting up abruptly, Ross nearly threw himself from the bed. Grabbing up his plaid as he went, he strode to the door, but then paused. He couldn’t go below. He was supposed to be up here doing exactly what he wanted to be doing.
    Grimacing, he turned reluctantly from the door and eyed the bed, and then his gaze caught on the pitcher of honeyed mead on the bedside table. He preferred ale or scotch to the sweet drink, but honeyed mead would do. And he could always go below and fetch some ale if he finished off the mead and was still thirsty. By then enough time should have passed that they would assume he’d bedded his bride and was just giving her a rest before going again, did he bring the ale back up with him.
    Nodding, he strode around the bed to collect the pitcher and second goblet. As he carried them to one of the chairs by the fire, Ross couldn’t help thinking that this was not how he’d expected to spend his wedding night.

 
    Chapter 3
    A loud hammering roused Ross from sleep. Rolling his head toward the door, he groaned at the pain the action sent shooting through his poor abused brain, and stared at the wooden panel through bleary eyes. A second knock was followed by a sleepy sigh and rustling on his other side, so he rolled his head that way to see how his poor wife fared that morning. He had no doubt her head would be as sore as his, if not worse, so was surprised when she popped up in bed and peered around with wide clear eyes.
    “Oh! They’ll be wanting the sheets!” she exclaimed and glanced to him with alarm.
    “They can have them,” he growled, forcing himself upright and tossing the top linen and furs away to reveal the bloodstain between them on the bottom linen.
    “Oh.” Annabel stared at the dried stain with wide eyes, peered down at her lap, then to his own and paused briefly, eyes widening even further if that were possible at the sight of his nakedness. “Oh,” she repeated weakly, then dragged her eyes away from his morning erection, gave her head a shake, and tossed the bit of linen and furs still covering her aside to leap from bed.
    “Well, that’s fine,” she said cheerfully, seeming suddenly wide awake and perky as hell as she hopped out of bed. She began to scramble into a chemise, chattering away the whole while. “Goodness, I did not even feel the breaching, or at least if I did, I do not recall it. And I do not appear to be suffering any soreness or ill effects.” Finished with the chemise, Annabel cast him a pleased smile and bent to grab up her gown from the day before, adding, “ ’Twas kind of you to spare me that way, my lord. I am a very fortunate woman to have a husband as considerate as you.”
    Ross watched her drag the gown over her head with a nonplussed expression. She thought they’d actually . . . that he’d . . . and she was bloody grateful for it! He could have . . . Damn, he thought, with dismay. He’d been the gentleman and drunk himself to a sore head to avoid touching her, and all for nothing. Bloody hell!
    Another knock sounded, making Ross grimace. Did they have to pound so bloody loud? he wondered with disgust and stood up as his bride rushed around the bed. Tying her stays as she went, Annabel called out a happy, “Coming!” as she went, and Ross winced as the cheery sound hit his ears and stabbed into his brain. She obviously wasn’t suffering any ill effects from the drink either, he decided with disgust. While his head was pounding something fierce, she was chipper as hell. Life was so unfair sometimes. Although, Ross supposed, to be fair, since he’d urged the drink on her, she shouldn’t have to suffer a sore head. Still—
    His thoughts died as his wife pulled the