lass,” the king’s voice called out. “Your bridegroom awaits.”
“He comes,” Moira whispered.
Jeanne’s hand closed tightly over the back of a chair. “Let him in.”
Moira opened the door and several pairs of arms pushed John inside. His shirt was torn, and he breathed as if he had run a great distance. He stared at the scantily clad figure of his wife, and his eyes widened.
With reflexes born of years on the border, he reached out instantly to slam and bolt the door against the brawny arms pushing against it. Ignoring Moira, he crossed the room to tower over Jeanne. She was tall for a woman, but he was half a head taller still. Lifting a lock of black hair, he twisted it around his finger.
“I’m flattered, lass,” he said silkily, “but were you really going to show yourself in such a garment to all the king’s men?”
“I’ll wager that I’m more decently clad than half the women in Henry’s court.”
“You would lose,” replied John promptly.
“Are you criticizing my gown, m’lord?” she asked icily.
He bent his head to her lips. They were so close they shared the same air. “Not at all,” he murmured. “I like it so long as I am the only man to see it. What I object to is your displaying your charms in such a public manner.”
Jeanne could not believe her ears. “You dare to criticize me?”
“I am your husband.”
She lifted her chin. “I see. Apparently your idea of marriage is different from my own.”
“Don’t be absurd.” This was not the way John had envisioned his wedding night. Why couldn’t she have waited for him in the customary manner, in bed? He was sorry he’d mentioned the cursed gown.
Moira cleared her throat and edged toward the door. “I’ll be leaving now,” she announced. There was no answer from either man or woman in the tension-thick room. Sliding the bolt, she escaped into the hall. It was empty. She breathed a sigh of relief and made her way back to the banquet hall.
Back in the laird’s bedchamber, the two faced one another like antagonists readying for battle. John relented first. Sighing, he turned away and walked to the small table near the bed and poured himself a goblet of wine. Swallowing a long draught, he replaced the goblet and turned back to his bride. Her face was wet with tears. In two strides he crossed the room and took her in his arms. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured, kissing her nose, cheeks, and chin. “Don’t cry. I can’t bear to see you cry.”
She wept against his shirt. “I wore it for you. I wanted the wait to be worthwhile.”
Silently, he cursed himself. “I know, darling. I know.”
“You shouted at me.” Jeanne, worn out by weeks of strain and anticipation, was sobbing in earnest.
John lifted his head in bewilderment “I did?”
She nodded “Yes.”
Wisely, he remained silent.
“Do you think I wanted to wear this ridiculous gown?” she railed at him. “I was terrified to face you.” Lifting her head, she stared at him with reddened eyes. “Have you any idea what the first time is like for a woman? Can you even imagine it?”
Fascinated at the thought of Jeanne imagining anything of the sort, he shook his head.
“Of course not,” she said scornfully. “I realize this isn’t an unfamiliar experience for you, but please remember it is for me.”
The injustice of her words stung him. “What in the name of heaven do you mean by that?”
“Do you deny that you’ve bedded other women?”
“That is hardly a subject for our wedding night,” he replied angrily.
“Why not?”
Mustering the last remnants of his self-control, John counted to ten. Lifting Jeanne’s chin in his hand, he forced her eyes to meet his. “I cannot change my past, Jeannie,” he said softly, “nor will I defend it. There is nothing of shame in what I’ve done. I am a man, not an unschooled boy. ’Tis an unimportant matter but one that I believe you will be grateful for in time. I will not lie and say there have been no women before you, but I can promise that from the day you agreed to be my wife there has been no one else, nor will there be.”
Her eyes, swimming in their sea of tears, fixed themselves hopefully on his face. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she clutched his shirt in a desperate grip. “Truly, John?” she asked.
He was helpless against the tiny catch in her voice. With a groan, he set his mouth