Chapter 5 #2
“We don’t have to.” She plucked off a small chunk and slid it into her mouth, the movement slow and carrying an unexpected sensuality.
“I’m sure ye’ve changed from the lass I knew.” He bit into his bread.
“How do ye think I have?” She lifted the goblet to her mouth and took a delicate sip of wine that left her lower lip glossy.
“I dinna recall ye sounding so English,” he offered.
She gave a little laugh at that, though it appeared without mirth. “The English think I sound Scottish.”
“Ye live near the border, aye? On the English or the Scottish side?”
She lifted a sardonic brow. “Scottish.”
“I take it ye no longer do as ye’re told,” he said.
He’d meant it as a jest, but her mouth lifted at the corner in a half-smile as she eyed him coyly. “Nay.”
She said it like a challenge she wanted him to try. His cock stirred with interest.
“Do ye prefer biddable women?” she asked in a throaty voice that put heat into his blood.
He swallowed. “I prefer a woman who knows her own mind,” he stammered, feeling foolish for the genuine response to the flirtatious question.
He tried again to put Lara from his mind, but it was nearly impossible to keep from comparing them when the two were so different. Lara would never have played with words in such a way with him, each of her replies open and honest.
“Why did ye agree to marry me, Sutherland?” Faye asked. “Ye hadn’t seen me in years.”
He smiled at her use of his surname, which was also now hers. “Call me Ewan.”
“Ewan.” Her lips moved around his name, making it far more alluring than it had ever been before.
“We’ve been at war with the Ross clan for well over a century,” Ewan said, forcing his thoughts from her mouth and what he’d like to do with it.
“From the story I’ve been told, a Sutherland chieftain and his brother stole the hearts of women promised to sons of a Ross chieftain.
The battle of wits soon became a battle of blades, and lives were lost.”
“’Tis a high cost for love.” Faye tilted her head back in thought and put the long column of her slender throat on display. Her skin was as flawless as cream and left him with a sudden desire to kiss the length of it all the way down to the generous swell of her breasts.
Ewan drank a sip of wine to wet his suddenly dry throat. “I imagine if the love was true, it was a worthy sacrifice.”
“Over a century of war?” Faye pressed her lips together, as though to still her words.
“I dinna like war, nor do I like how ye were treated.” His gaze lowered to her hands, where the sleeve of the large robe had fallen back to reveal the chaffed skin along her slender wrists. “I hope this marriage changes all that.”
She regarded her damaged flesh.
“I’ll never hurt ye,” he vowed. “I would no’ ever have allowed ye to be brought to me like this if given a choice. Yer grandda reminded me of the betrothal and considered it legitimate though yer mum had no’ signed it. He invited me to Balnagown to meet ye, to go over the original agreement.”
She tilted her head. “And ye came.”
“Before I knew ye’d been dragged here.” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice.
“Why did ye go?” The way she asked the question was with a gentle sweetness that set him at ease.
He allowed himself a moment to openly admire how the firelight played off her flawless complexion and gleaming blonde hair. “I was curious.”
“Curious?”
“When I was a lad, ye were the bonniest lass I’d ever seen.” His shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I wanted to see what ye looked like now.”
“And?” She raised a brow.
His face heated to say aloud what he actually thought. It was not something he often did. However, it was something he should have done, especially with Lara. He wouldn’t make a similar mistake again. “Yer beauty as a lass doesna compare to yer loveliness as a woman.”
He leaned forward over the small table and settled his hand over hers. Her skin was smooth and warm. As soft as he’d anticipated.
“Tell me about yer siblings,” he said. “Ye have an older brother. Drake, aye?”
She nodded.
“And at least one sister.”
“Aye, two,” she replied. “Have ye any siblings?”
“Only Moiré, who is more sister to me than cousin,” he replied. “I had an older brother who died before my da. ’Twas only several months before. The healer suspects the blow of Ragnall’s death is what killed my da.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” There was a quiet sadness to her tone when she spoke, as though she were mourning the men as Ewan did still, after almost a decade since he’d lost them.
“Do ye remember them?” he asked.
She shook her head, her face grave. It was then he realized it wasn’t that she knew them, but that she knew loss.
“I was sorry to hear of yer da’s passing as well.” Ewan wrapped his hand around hers in a gentle show of support.
Her fingers moved over the back of his hand, featherlight, a caress that traveled through him like a jolt of lightning.
Her touch continued to play over his skin, shifting the sleeve of his leine up as the delicate scrape of her nails whispered up his forearm.
It was hardly an intimate gesture, but it set his blood on fire.
She hesitated over the scar just past his wrist. “What was this from?”
“If I tell ye what every scar is from, ’twill be a long night.”
Her forefinger traced the outline of the scar, following the teeth marks from the wolf all those years ago.
“I anticipate a long night.” Her gaze met his and seared straight to his groin.
His prick swelled at her suggestion.
“What is this one from?” she asked again.
“Do ye remember it?”
She shook her head.
“We got lost trying to find a fae glen.” He shifted in his seat, an attempt to be more comfortable despite his hardening cock. “A pack of wolves came upon us, one bolder than the rest. He got my forearm, but I had my dirk on me, and the beast dinna live out the night.”
Her lips parted. “Was this my fault?”
Before he could try to set her mind to ease, she slid from her chair, so she was on her knees before him and bent over his forearm with her eyes locked on his. She lowered her plump, red mouth to the scar, bestowing upon it the most tender of kisses.
“Forgive me.” Her sweet breath fanned over his skin and made a shudder of desire tease down his back.
His cock was fully aroused now, teased into the full staff of lust by the innocent suggestion of her kiss. Her stare settled on his trews, and her lips fell open, her expression impossibly innocent.
He cleared his throat. “I…”
She didn’t move from where she kneeled by his legs. “Did ye like my kiss?”
He’d liked her kiss too much. It made him want more, but not chaste ones like what she had delivered to his scar. Nay, he longed to unfasten the ties of his trews and let his prick spring free. To feel the brush of her breath over his hot skin, the flick of her tongue—
He swallowed and helped her to her feet. “Ye’re a maiden.”
“I’m yer wife.” She tucked her full lower lip into her mouth and slowly let it pop free. “I’m yers to take.”
God help him. His heartbeat came faster at the thought of stripping the robe from her body, revealing those hard, pink nipples he’d been able to make out through the thin fabric of her nightrail.
She bent over him and slid her hands up the back of his neck. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
With a groan, he lifted his head to do as she’d asked.
Their lips touched and ignited like blades that clashed and sparked against one another in the heat of combat.
Her lips were pillowy soft and warm. He moved his mouth over hers, tasting the ambrosia of her kiss as his tongue brushed the seam of her mouth.
A little moan sounded in the back of her throat and she opened for him, tentatively caressing the tip of her tongue to his.
He gripped the thick wool robe she wore as if it might aid him in holding onto his control. She was so damn lovely, so supple in his hands, beneath his mouth.
His woman. His wife. His to bed. Soon. So very soon.