It was late afternoon when Tor returned to the castle. As much as he would have liked to stay by his wife’s sickbed, once he’d been assured of her well-being, he had matters to attend to that could not be delayed any longer.
It was the first time he could recall ever resenting the call of duty. But in addition to trying to ferret out a possible spy, he’d also received a disturbing message from MacDonald requiring action. It would likely upset the hard-won balance of the team, but it could not be avoided.
Besides, if he’d stayed in that room one more minute he was liable to forget how ill she’d been and show her exactly how much she’d frightened him.
The moment when she’d collapsed to the ground was not one he wished to remember—ever. For one agonizing moment, he’d thought she was dead. He’d been able to breathe only when he’d felt the flutter of her pulse beneath his fingers and her faint but steady breath on his cheek. The panic subsided a bit more when the healer examined her and informed him that she had only a fever.
Only. There was no “only” when it came to his wife. When the old woman had made that mistake, he’d scared her out of half the years she had left—and she didn’t have many to spare.
He’d never felt like this before. Christina roused a fierce protectiveness in him of which he didn’t know he was capable. It was his duty as her husband to keep her safe, but what he felt went beyond duty.
He’d always been able to cut himself off from emotion, closing his mind like a steel trap. But with her it wasn’t so easy. Something about her called to him. Penetrated. She was gentle, kind, and giving, with a quick mind and an infectious excitement and joy for life, but with more depth and spirit than he’d initially given her credit for. She stood up to him, challenged him … cared for him.
She was softness to a man who’d known only strife. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep her out.
He trudged up the stairs and instinctively scanned the area. The guardsmen were posted in their positions along the stone parapets and in the bretache overhanging the gate—a small wooden box built into the castle wall. A few women were gathering water from the well. Servants were carrying platters and dishes back from the Hall, and Christina was—
The bottom fell out of his stomach as his gaze shot back to the figure walking along the battlements. His temper—something he was becoming too familiar with lately—exploded. What the hell was she doing outside? She should be resting, not traipsing around outside in the cool air with—heaven help him—damp hair. Didn’t she know she could catch a chill?
She turned and waved, her hand slowly dropping when he drew near.
She’d seen his expression. Biting her lip, she took a few steps back. But the placating look on her face didn’t do one damned thing. “You’re back,” she said with exaggerated brightness. “I didn’t see you approach.”
He didn’t say a word, didn’t break his stride, as he stormed right up to her and swept her up in his arms.
She gasped her surprise, but he kept his eyes straight ahead, not trusting himself to look at her. As it was, his control was hanging by a very thin thread. His chest burned.
“You’re overreacting,” she said gently, as if soothing an angry beast. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t,” he growled through clenched teeth, emotion boiling too close to the surface. “Don’t.”
With a heavy sigh of resignation, she wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her cheek on his chest. A huge swell of warmth cut through the anger. He felt an unbelievable sense of … tenderness. What the hell was happening to him?
Not knowing, not caring, he bundled her a little closer.
The Great Hall fell silent as he carried her through the entry and across to the corridor. He was aware of the curious stares but didn’t give a damn. If it seemed to the onlookers as though their chief had gone mad, they were probably right.
A few minutes later, he reached her room. He slammed the door behind them with his foot and stood there for a minute, strangely reluctant to set her down. Eventually, he did and took a seat beside her.
Slowly, he felt his body relax. She cupped his face in her tiny hand, forcing his gaze to hers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Your hair is wet,” he said, as if this were some kind of explanation.
“I took a bath.”
“You could catch a cold.”
She had the audacity to appear to be fighting a smile. “That’s only a bit of nursemaid nonsense. I’ve been outside many times with damp hair and never become ill. It was only a slight fever; truly, I am fine. Morag said I was fit to move around.”
His jaw clenched. “What does Morag know about a wee lass like you? She’s as sturdy and stubborn as an old Highland mule.”
This time she did smile. “I might not be as tall as the rest of you, but I have a hearty constitution.” A shadow crossed her face. “Though sometimes I’ve wished it otherwise.”
It was a strange thing to say. Then he remembered. “You mentioned that your sister was ill when you were young.”
She nodded. “Beatrix was always a sickly child. I was hardly ever ill. It seemed so unfair. I used to wish I could be sick for her.”
“That’s not the way it works,” he said gently. “We shouldn’t feel guilty for how we are born.”
He’d spoken without thinking.
She tilted her head, studying his face. “You felt guilty for being the elder twin.”
Instinctively, he closed off, drawing his expression into a blank. But the gentle reproach in her gaze made him remember their earlier agreement. He drew a deep breath, wondering what the hell he’d been thinking. “Perhaps a bit when we were young. It seemed unfair that because of a difference of a few minutes I was chief. But I learned to accept that life is far from fair and we must play the role we are given.”
She beamed up at him, a huge smile on her face. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He grumbled that it felt like hot spikes were being driven down behind his fingernails, but she only laughed. “Soon you will be chattering away like wee Iain.”
He rolled his eyes. “God forbid, that bairn never shuts up.”
Their eyes met in shared amusement that quickly changed into something else. Something hot and raw, and shimmering with awareness.
He was acutely aware of their position. On the bed. Their legs touching. The soft floral scent of her soap on freshly washed skin. The lush pout of her harlot’s mouth.
He felt a rush of heat to his groin. Desire grabbed him in a viselike grip. Tightening. Drawing him closer. Making it difficult for him to remember that she needed to rest.
The strange flurry of emotions of the past few days were still too raw. All he could think about was burying himself inside her and making them go away.
He leaned toward her. Only inches separated their mouths. He heard her breath quicken. Her lips opened. Beckoning.
He could almost taste her …
Damn. Get control. He pulled back, forcing himself to remember that she was still too weak. “Get some rest. I’ll be back to check on you later.”
Her face fell. Dark eyes searched his face. “Don’t you want …?” Then her eyes dropped, and the knowing smile that curved her mouth made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. “I see you do,” she said huskily, placing her hand on his thigh. The muscle tightened reflexively. Her tiny palm felt like a brand through the linen of his leine, resting a precious few inches away from where he wanted it most. “Please stay,” she whispered.
Her hand slid around his thigh, dipping closer. His blood pounded. He could almost feel her stroking him. The long, hard pull of her tiny, soft hand. He locked his jaw, steeling himself to resist her touch.
He was about to refuse when she added, “I need you.”
In that simple plea he heard the echo of his own fears over the past few days. Their eyes met. He could see the pink flush on her cheeks—a healthy flush.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said gruffly.
Her eyes softened with an emotion that made his chest squeeze. “You won’t.”
She brushed his length with the back of her knuckle and he groaned, closing his eyes as a hot wave of pleasure crashed over him.
He grabbed her wrist, preventing her hand from closing around him, though right now he wanted nothing more in his life. “Promise me you’ll tell me if you start to feel weak.”
The naughty smile returned to her face. “I’m afraid I have every intention of feeling weak, very weak indeed.” She leaned closer to him, pressing her mouth on his jaw, on his neck. Right by his ear. “And very well sated.”
He’d reached the limits of his good intentions. Releasing her wrist, he turned his head to capture her lips with his and groaned into her mouth when her hand finally circled around him. Relief rushed through him.
God, he loved kissing his woman. Her lips were so soft, the taste of her like warm honey. His tongue swept inside her mouth in long, languid strokes, taking time to savor and explore. He couldn’t get enough of her, gorging on the simple pleasure of kissing her that he’d denied himself for too long.
Her breathy gasps urged him on. As did the teasing stroke of her hand. The linen was killing him. Nothing should be between them.
He pulled away, breaking the kiss. The resulting mewl of displeasure made him smile. She looked like a kitten that had just had her bowl of cream taken away. He stood. She opened her mouth to object, thinking he meant to leave, but stopped when he started to unfasten the pin at his neck securing his brat.
She didn’t bother to hide her appreciation as he removed his clothing, devouring him with her eyes, her gaze traveling over his chest, down his stomach, along the long, thick length of his cock. The unabashed desire in her eyes made it hard for him to concentrate. An unconscious lick of her lips made his knees almost buckle.
He turned slightly, and her gaze lingered on his flanks. Her eyebrows pinched together. “What’s that mark?”
Because he didn’t usually have anyone studying his backside, he’d forgotten about it. “A tattoo from blue woad. I was given it at birth.”
She nodded. “I’ve heard of them before, but never seen one. Is it a tradition among your clan?”
An intriguing idea he thought. “Nay, it was to identify me as the eldest. It cannot be removed.” He grinned. “I guess they figured I wasn’t as likely to have my arse cut off as I might an arm or a leg.”
She made a face. “Can I see it?”
He moved closer, his muscles jumping when he felt the soft pad of her finger tracing the design. “Mor,” she said, then translated, “great or big.” A naughty smile played upon her lips. “It certainly fits.”
“Wicked lass,” he chided. She knew full well “Mor” was an epithet commonly used to signify the elder—as “Og” was used for the younger.
“I like the design.”
“It’s Irish,” he said tightly. His cock felt as if it was going to explode from her innocent exploration.
“Did it hurt?”
“Not that I can remember.” Hot needles pushed under the skin wasn’t half as painful as what she was causing right now.
Trying to keep a rein on his desire, he sat on the edge of the bed and moved her around to stand before him. His time to explore. He helped her with the pins and ties, enough to where she could do the rest herself. “Undress for me, Tina,” he ordered. “Slowly.”
Heat rose in her cheeks, but she did as he asked. Piece by piece, she removed her clothing, holding his gaze the entire time.
He got hotter and hotter as each item hit the floor—cloak, cotte, slippers, hose. By the time she reached her chemise, she’d definitely gotten the hang of it. Inch by inch she lifted it up over her legs. Her thighs. Stopping right before revealing the sweet center of her womanhood.
His muscles strained against his too-tight skin, his breath coming hard as his eyes burned into her. She teased and taunted until he made a sound that was half impatience, half growl. Right before he was about to rip the damned thing off her, she lifted the hem to her stomach. He sucked in his breath, barely able to stop himself from reaching out and touching her, knowing she’d be warm and slick with passion.
She lifted the chemise higher and higher until he could just see the soft under-curve of her breasts.
She paused and he stopped breathing, resuming only when she revealed the beautiful, lush mounds of flesh, tipped with very hard, very ripe, nipples.
Pulling the chemise over her head, she tossed it on the floor and stood before him, perfectly—beautifully—naked. The last few rays of sunlight filtered through the single window, casting a warm, sultry glow over her.
She was incredible. A small, compact, tightly formed bundle of femininity. Long waves of silky dark hair flowed around her shoulders. Shapely legs, curvy hips, a narrow waist, breasts to make a man want to bury his face in them and weep with pleasure, wrapped up in the most flawless, creamy-soft skin he’d ever seen—or touched.
“Come here,” he ordered, not recognizing his own voice. It was rough with an intensity he’d never heard before.
She did as he bid, moving to stand right before him. He could see she was embarrassed, but he was ruthless. He gave her a hard look. “I need to assure myself that you are well first.”
She gazed at him uncertainly. “You do?”
He nodded. “You are going to need to lie down so I can examine …” unable to resist touching her for a moment longer, he slid his hand over the velvety curve of her hip … “every inch of you.”
Her eyes widened, then heated with anticipation.
She lay down on the bed, a sensual feast for the eyes.
He moved over her, straddling her with his knees so he could roam freely up and down. He started at her mouth, brushing his lips over hers as he trailed a path down across her jaw to her ear, flicking his tongue along the way. He kissed her neck, burying his face in the silky-softness of her still damp hair, the thick, dark tresses rich with lavender.
She squirmed under him and he ached to press his hot skin on hers, to feel the exquisite shock of contact. Not yet. Like a penitent, he tortured himself. He was going to take this slowly and savor every minute of it.
He continued his study, examining every inch of baby-soft skin with his mouth and tongue—her throat, her arms, the pulse at her wrist … her incredible breasts.
He lingered there for a while. Licking and sucking her deep into his mouth, rolling the taut tip between this teeth and tongue until she arched her back and cried out in desperation.
He left her wanting, sliding his mouth down the soft plane of her stomach, to her hips, and down the insides of her legs. Her scent drove him mad, rousing every primal instinct in him.
She was shaking with something she didn’t even know she wanted. But he would show her.
His cock grew even bigger.
He eased her legs apart with his kisses, wrapping them around his shoulders. His face was only inches away.
He heard the sharp hitch of her breath when she realized what he intended. Instinctively, she tried to close her legs, but she succeeded only in bringing him closer.
He drew circles with his tongue on her inner thigh until her body relaxed again. Then he nuzzled, teased, and blew his breath over her dampness until she trembled.
Enough self-flagellation. He couldn’t wait any longer. “Look at me, Tina,” he ordered, forcing her gaze to his. “I want you to watch me as I taste you.”
She made an anxious sound, well past the point of protest. Her body was trembling for him. Holding her gaze, he swept her with his tongue—the lightest, most feathery touch. She bucked at the contact, but he cupped her bottom and held her firm. “You taste so good, my sweet.” He licked her again. Harder this time, letting her feel the full stroke of his tongue. “Like the most delectable cream. And I’m going to lap you all up.”
Christina felt as though she’d died and gone to wanton heaven. He’d driven her half crazed with his kisses on her body, but when she’d looked down to see his golden head between her legs and realized what he intended …
Her pulse had leapt with erotic anticipation—with wonder that he would want to kiss her in the most intimate of places. Every muscle froze. Waiting. Sensing that she was about to experience something new and wonderful.
She had no idea.
The jolt of pleasure at the first sweep of his tongue made her jump. The second made her shudder.
Oh God.
She cried out his name over and over, unable to contain the force of the powerful sensations wrought by his wicked kiss.
He licked her again, stroking her with his tongue. Circling, delving inside with long, loving strokes until she thought she would die from pleasure.
It was incredible. All she could think about was his mouth and tongue, and the sensuous thing he was doing to her.
The pulse between her legs quickened. She moved her hips against his mouth, wanting more pressure, more friction.
And he gave it to her. He lifted her to him and pressed his wickedly talented mouth more fully against her. She could feel the abrasive scratch of his jaw as he feasted on her with his ravenous kiss and tongue. It was too much.
The spasms took hold, and she started to break apart in white-hot shards of blistering ecstasy. But he didn’t let her go, holding her to him, taking her pleasure deep into his mouth.
Her body was still rippling when he released her. He held her half-lidded gaze to his as he moved over her, cradled her against him, and slowly pushed into her, her still sensitive flesh achingly aware of every thick inch.
When he was fully inside her, he didn’t move, but just held her to him—more tenderly then he’d ever done before—tucking her into the broad shield of his chest as if just the contact was enough.
It was.
She melted against him, savoring the sensation of all those hard muscles surrounding her and of his fullness inside her.
And of his heart beating against hers.
Emotion tightened her chest. It was the most poignant moment of her life. She hadn’t known she could ever feel this close to anyone.
They stayed like that for a long time, staring into each other’s eyes, silent except for the heavy pounding of their hearts beating together.
Then he began to move. Slowly. Not letting go of her gaze, holding her with an intensity that made her heart tug hard against her ribs.
He thrust with long, languid strokes. As if they had all the time in the world. As if they were the world. He sank in and out, holding himself at the deepest point and startling a gasp from her lips when he pushed even deeper.
Slowly, he began to quicken the pace. Thrusting a little harder. Sinking a little deeper. Skin to skin, their bodies slid together in perfect rhythm.
She felt the sensations building again. Different this time. Not so frantic, but more intense and powerful, claiming not just the place between her legs, but her entire being.
She could see his face tighten. His jaw clench. The muscles in his shoulders bunch. His skin was hot; a band of sweat had gathered on his brow.
Their bodies rocked. He circled his hips, pumping faster. Grinding against her until her breath quickened. Until her heart raced. Until the pulse between her legs grew frantic and tight.
Still he held her gaze, his crystal-clear blue eyes fierce with an emotion she’d never seen before. Not lust, but something deeper—more meaningful. She dared not hope.
“Come with me, Tina,” he said savagely.
God, she was. Her breath hitched, her back arched, and she started to break apart. Not in a violent explosion, but in a slow shattering that started from deep inside and radiated out in a shimmering wave of sensation.
And he came along with her, riding the wave of her climax with his own.
At that moment her dreams seemed so close, she could almost reach out and grab them.
Long after the last ebb of their climax had faded, Tor lay in bed, Christina sleeping soundly against him. He was having trouble putting what had just happened in the proper perspective.
Intense. That didn’t even begin to describe it. Cataclysmic. Earth-shattering. Those came closer.
He didn’t realize mating could be like that.
His chest burned with tenderness for the tiny lass curled up against him like a bairn. After the deaths of his parents and the long intervening years of constant war and death, he thought himself impervious to these kinds of feelings. His control and lack of emotion were what made him excel as a chief and a warrior. But he felt the layers of ice melting under the warmth of her … love.
His brother was right: She loved him. He could see it in her eyes. Feel it in her touch. Taste it in her kiss.
And he could not deny that he felt a special tenderness for the lass, which troubled him. Could he care about her and still put his clan first? He’d never thought so before. Feelings only complicated—weakened—and that was something no chief or warrior could risk. He’d had a taste of it when MacDougall had confronted them, and when he’d seen her in the village. No matter what happened, he knew he could not allow his weakness for his wife to interfere with his duty.
She made a soft, contented sound in her sleep. He sighed, pressing his cheek against her warm, silky hair and inhaling her sweet, feminine scent. Contentment washed over his exhausted limbs. She was so small and soft. Delicate and easily hurt. Not hurting her was going to be a challenge, but he vowed to do his best to make her happy.