blur. Miriel couldn't remember afterward anything that
was said. Mayhap 'twas because Rand hovered so close to her during the
ceremony, distracting her with his masculine warmth and the subtle spicy scent
of his skin.
Or
perchance 'twas the fact that as they stood together in the crush of witnesses
while Helena and Colin recited their vows, Rand made clandestine love to her
hand, twining his fingers through hers, stroking the back with his thumb,
tracing delicate patterns on her palm, until she thought she might swoon with
desire.
There
wasn't a blessed thing she could do to stop him, not without attracting the
undue attention of her protective sisters.
She
couldn't snap at him. She couldn't slap his hand away. And she definitely
couldn't give him an upward chop to the chin, followed by a foot sweep that
would lay him flat on the floor of the chapel.
Somehow
Miriel made it through the ceremony without fainting and without resorting to
violence. But the wedding feast proved an even greater challenge. From the
moment Rand and she sat together at the high table, he began playing to the
hilt his role as her devoted suitor.
"Allow
me, my lady," he cooed, feeding her a sweetmeat from his fingers.
She
smiled sweetly and accepted the bite, but not without a warning nip of her
teeth.
He
sucked in a startled breath, drawing a sharp frown from Deirdre.
"Sweetheart,"
he chided affectionately, "take care you do not bite the hand that feeds
you."
Now
Helena was staring at them as well. Miriel forced a smile to her lips. "
'Twas but a love nip, I assure you."
"Mm."
Helena
rolled her eyes as Rand clasped Miriel's hand in his, pressing a fond kiss to
her knuckles. Miriel had no choice but to allow him the trespass as his thumb
brushed slowly to and fro over the tops of her fingers, simultaneously
arousing and distressing her.
With
his free hand, he picked a bottle up from the table. "More wine,
darling?"
She
longed to guzzle the entire bottle. Mayhap that would settle her rapidly
fraying nerves. But Deirdre was keeping a watchful eye. So instead, she gave
him a playful swat. "Are you trying to get me drunk, my love?"
He
nuzzled her hair. "Only on my affections, sweetheart."
Now
Deirdre rolled her eyes, and Miriel had to bite her tongue to keep from gagging
on the cloying syrup of his words.
He
released her hand and set the bottle down. For one moment, Miriel had a
reprieve from his assault. Then he casually wound the end of one of her tiny
braids betwixt his thumb and fingers. Slowly but surely he began to reel her
closer.
Miriel
clenched her teeth. She might need to keep up appearances, but she wasn't about
to be hauled in like a salmon. With a twinkle in her eyes that was more mischievous
than fond, she coiled her own finger in a curl at the nape of his neck,
gradually tightening it until he winced in pain.
When
he sent her a bewildered glance, she withdrew her hand, pretending innocence.
He
let go of her braid as well, and for a moment, she imagined she'd made her
point, that he'd gotten her message. Until he began casually to stroke the top
of her shoulder where the red fabric met her bare flesh, back and forth, back
and forth.
Miriel's
hand tightened upon her eating dagger. She raised it slowly from the table.
Rand's
fingers suddenly froze on her shoulder as he eyed the blade. "My
love," he said conversationally, despite a tense smile, "allow
me."
He
placed his hand over hers on the dagger. For a moment they fought for control
of the weapon.
"Miri?"
Helena's brow furrowed with concern, and the entire table fell silent. Bloody
hell. If Helena suspected Miriel was in the slightest distress, she'd jump up
from the bench, draw her sword, and fight Rand atop the tables.
So
with a silent sigh of defeat, Miriel relaxed her grip on the dagger and let
Rand take it from her.
"One
slice or two?" he asked innocently, the dagger poised over the meat in
their shared trencher.
"One,"
she replied, adding between clenched teeth,
was said. Mayhap 'twas because Rand hovered so close to her during the
ceremony, distracting her with his masculine warmth and the subtle spicy scent
of his skin.
Or
perchance 'twas the fact that as they stood together in the crush of witnesses
while Helena and Colin recited their vows, Rand made clandestine love to her
hand, twining his fingers through hers, stroking the back with his thumb,
tracing delicate patterns on her palm, until she thought she might swoon with
desire.
There
wasn't a blessed thing she could do to stop him, not without attracting the
undue attention of her protective sisters.
She
couldn't snap at him. She couldn't slap his hand away. And she definitely
couldn't give him an upward chop to the chin, followed by a foot sweep that
would lay him flat on the floor of the chapel.
Somehow
Miriel made it through the ceremony without fainting and without resorting to
violence. But the wedding feast proved an even greater challenge. From the
moment Rand and she sat together at the high table, he began playing to the
hilt his role as her devoted suitor.
"Allow
me, my lady," he cooed, feeding her a sweetmeat from his fingers.
She
smiled sweetly and accepted the bite, but not without a warning nip of her
teeth.
He
sucked in a startled breath, drawing a sharp frown from Deirdre.
"Sweetheart,"
he chided affectionately, "take care you do not bite the hand that feeds
you."
Now
Helena was staring at them as well. Miriel forced a smile to her lips. "
'Twas but a love nip, I assure you."
"Mm."
Helena
rolled her eyes as Rand clasped Miriel's hand in his, pressing a fond kiss to
her knuckles. Miriel had no choice but to allow him the trespass as his thumb
brushed slowly to and fro over the tops of her fingers, simultaneously
arousing and distressing her.
With
his free hand, he picked a bottle up from the table. "More wine,
darling?"
She
longed to guzzle the entire bottle. Mayhap that would settle her rapidly
fraying nerves. But Deirdre was keeping a watchful eye. So instead, she gave
him a playful swat. "Are you trying to get me drunk, my love?"
He
nuzzled her hair. "Only on my affections, sweetheart."
Now
Deirdre rolled her eyes, and Miriel had to bite her tongue to keep from gagging
on the cloying syrup of his words.
He
released her hand and set the bottle down. For one moment, Miriel had a
reprieve from his assault. Then he casually wound the end of one of her tiny
braids betwixt his thumb and fingers. Slowly but surely he began to reel her
closer.
Miriel
clenched her teeth. She might need to keep up appearances, but she wasn't about
to be hauled in like a salmon. With a twinkle in her eyes that was more mischievous
than fond, she coiled her own finger in a curl at the nape of his neck,
gradually tightening it until he winced in pain.
When
he sent her a bewildered glance, she withdrew her hand, pretending innocence.
He
let go of her braid as well, and for a moment, she imagined she'd made her
point, that he'd gotten her message. Until he began casually to stroke the top
of her shoulder where the red fabric met her bare flesh, back and forth, back
and forth.
Miriel's
hand tightened upon her eating dagger. She raised it slowly from the table.
Rand's
fingers suddenly froze on her shoulder as he eyed the blade. "My
love," he said conversationally, despite a tense smile, "allow
me."
He
placed his hand over hers on the dagger. For a moment they fought for control
of the weapon.
"Miri?"
Helena's brow furrowed with concern, and the entire table fell silent. Bloody
hell. If Helena suspected Miriel was in the slightest distress, she'd jump up
from the bench, draw her sword, and fight Rand atop the tables.
So
with a silent sigh of defeat, Miriel relaxed her grip on the dagger and let
Rand take it from her.
"One
slice or two?" he asked innocently, the dagger poised over the meat in
their shared trencher.
"One,"
she replied, adding between clenched teeth,
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