Sue-Ellen Welfonder - [MacLean 03] by Wedding for a Knight Page B

knowledge to maneuver the lass forward so that she had no choice but to pass through the chill wind pouring through the opened window.
    A decidedly clever coup, for with her low-cut gown of finest linen already clinging to her supple curves, a few scant steps through the rain-misted air was all it took to plaster the thin cloth of her bodice to her breasts—and tighten what appeared to be exceedingly large nipples.
    A delicacy Magnus relished . . . as he’d once revealed to Colin when both men had been so deep in their cups they’d had no better topic to pass the evening than an earnest discourse on the various delights of female anatomy.
    His blood running hot, Magnus strove to tear his gaze from the bounteous swell of his wife’s bosom. And in especial from the twin dark-tipped rounds thrusting so provocatively against the near-transparent linen.
    Seldom had he seen such generous areolae.
    And ne’er had he been seized with such an irresistible urge to throttle a friend!
    “A good morrow, my lady,” he managed to his wife. Colin, he purposely ignored. “I trust you slept well?”
    She inclined her head with a smile, giving him the polite response he’d expected . . . until a determined gleam entered her dark eyes.
    A seductively wicked gleam.
    “As you will soon see, my lord, our chamber is well-appointed,” she said, her voice as smoky-rich as her other attractions. “The bed in particular lends itself to all good comforts of the night.”
    Magnus drew a quick breath. Truth be told, he near swallowed his tongue.
    Colin hooted a laugh and gave him a bold wink.
    His father cackled with glee. “Ho, but she calls to mind your mother in her time!” he called out, his face lighting.
    Fixing a sharp gaze on Magnus, he slapped the table with the flat of his hand, his vexation of moments before forgotten. “Be glad the wedding feast is but in a few days’ time, my son. Such fire ought not be allowed to cool.”
    “And if Magnus canna keep it ablaze, I’m volunteering my
hardest
endeavors!” a deep voice rose from one of the long tables near the back of the hall.
    Assorted agreement and guffaws followed, coming from all corners as men everywhere joined in the merriment. Dugan and Hugh indulged with gusto, laughing long and loud, and even Dagda’s tired eyes sparkled with mirth.
    Only Janet’s face darkened, her lips tightly pursed as she bustled about replenishing wine cups and making ever-louder clattering noises.
    Turning his back on the lot of them—his bonnie-nippled, serene-smiling bride in particular—Magnus strode back to the window, where a single ray of watery sunlight sought to pierce the day’s gloom.
    Frowning at it, lest he be minded of how easily Lady Amicia could have dispelled the darkness from his heart if only he could have taken her to wife under more favorable circumstances, he waited for the jollity behind him to lessen, then spun around, his gaze seeking Colin.
    “The weather is clearing, my friend,” he said, amazed by the calmness of his tone. “If you would try the wonders of the Beldam’s Chair, we’d best be off before the rain worsens again.”
    “The Beldam’s Chair?”
Donald MacKinnon’s bushy brows shot upward.
“Tscha!”
he cried, slapping the table again. “You spurn my belief in old Reginald’s curse, call me a fool for claiming I’ve seen a ghost galley plying our waters of late, yet you would see your friend hie hisself across the bogs and moor to seek a cure in a magical chair?”
    Throbbing heat inched its way up the back of Magnus’s neck, and he took several deep breaths before answering. His gaze strayed to Colin’s injured leg. “I ne’er said I
believe
in the chair’s curative powers, though I will not deny I am wishing to see a wonder worked for my friend—that hope is why I brought him here.”
    “And
her
?” Janet appeared at his elbow. “Are you now keeping her?”
    Never one to lie, Magnus nodded. “It would seem so.”
    His cousin’s