A Passionate Magic Read Online Free Page A

from the freshly made bed
with Emma’s bright green quilt from Wroxley spread atop the snowy
sheets to the candle burning beside the bed, to the wide, round
brazier onto which Emma was sprinkling aromatic herbs. He took a
breath, preparing to speak, then stopped with a frown and a slight
cough.
    “What are you doing?” Dain asked, wrinkling
his nose at the fragrance.
    “Juniper and rosemary will freshen the air,”
Emma answered. She stayed where she was, with the brazier standing
like a sentinel between her and her husband. She told herself the
trembling that suddenly threatened to overcome her was foolish.
There was nothing for her to fear. Dain was a man like any other
man, and she had the king’s will and her father’s stalwart strength
to protect her. Women had for centuries gone to the beds of men
they did not know, brought there by the contracts made by parents
or guardians or rulers. It was the way marriages were arranged
between nobles.
    At least she was not part of the spoils of
some dreadful battle. She discounted Dain’s remarks about having
friends who would attack Wroxley on his order. So long as she
carried out her part of the agreement, she believed no harm would
be visited upon Wroxley, and all of her beloved family would be
safe.
    She reminded herself that she came willingly
to this marriage, to a husband who was handsome, apparently
healthy, and reasonably clean. She would grant him her innocence in
order to seal the peace between him and Gavin, and she would do
everything she could to give him pleasure. Mirielle had made
certain that Emma was well informed about what would happen in the
marriage bed, and for her stepmother’s wise advice Emma was
grateful.
    Still, her actual experience with men was
limited to a few hasty, stolen kisses during Christmas or May Day
celebrations. She did not know how it would feel to be completely
possessed by a man. Emma sensed that Dain, known as a formidable
opponent in battle, was most likely a passionate lover once he was
aroused. Possibly he was a violent lover. Suddenly, she recalled
Hawise’s whispered gossip in the previous year about the harm done
to a serving maid by one of the men-at-arms at Wroxley, and how
Gavin, upon learning the story, had imprisoned the man and later
sent him away to a distant island monastery where there were no
women for him to attack. Surely Dain would not treat his wife so
brutally. Would he?
    Emma took a long breath to calm her thoughts
and her trembling limbs. She scattered the last of the herbs over
the hot coals, then let her hands fall to her sides and stood
there, in the circle of heat from the brazier, and waited.
    Dain approached her, skirting the brazier,
and Emma turned a little to face him. Her hair was loose and still
a bit damp from washing it. Dain’s long fingers stroked the smooth
tresses from brow to ear to shoulder, a sensitive, almost gentle
touch that gave rise to tender hope on Emma’s part. Perhaps he
would not be rough with her. Perhaps, when they were together in
his bed, Dain would lay aside the hatred he bore toward her father
and treat her with kindness.
    His hand came to rest on her shoulder, and
the brilliant eyes that had been searching every aspect of her face
fell to her throat. Suddenly, Emma was painfully aware of being
clad only in a loose linen shift, covered by the woolen shawl she
had snatched up and wrapped about her shoulders for modesty’s sake
while the servants carried out the buckets of bathwater and the
tub. The shift was ankle-length and the long, straight sleeves
reached to her wrists, yet Emma felt as if she was wearing nothing
at all. The garment had a wide neckline, and one of Dain’s fingers
slipped beneath the edge of the fabric. His fingertip caressed her
collarbone. He tugged at the linen, pulling it across her shoulder,
and then he bent his head and put his mouth on her bare skin.
    Emma went perfectly still, transfixed by the
sensation of warm, soft lips on her shoulder