Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
T he worn wooden counter in the entryway of the inn bore the marks of countless transactions, a silent witness to the passage of time. Eamon exchanged a few words with the innkeeper, their conversation laced with familiarity and Catherine wondered if he’d been here often. She watched from the periphery, her curiosity piqued by the dynamics at play.
As Eamon secured their rooms for the night, Catherine's gaze wandered across the inn's interior. The architecture spoke of centuries past, its aged beams and stone walls giving it an air of enduring history. Eamon had explained that this inn had stood since 1520. She could see it was a living testament to the lives that had passed through its doors, and she wondered if the place still stood in her time. She hoped that it did.
With their rooms arranged, Eamon led her further into the inn. “What about the others? Aren’t they getting rooms as well?” Catherine asked, wondering why he’d only booked two rooms.
“They’ll camp on the outskirts of town and keep an eye out for Malcolm and his men, or any other trouble that wants to come here. I merely thought, that with us so close, you might prefer to sleep in an actual bed this evening.” Eamon smiled.
“You would be correct, but I hate that your men can’t enjoy the same.”
“They’ll be fine, probably prefer it to the busyness here.” Eamon shrugged.
As they crossed the threshold into the tavern, the din of conversation and clinking glasses enveloped them. The atmosphere was rambunctious, filled with travelers and villagers alike, each with their own tales to tell. The air was thick with the scent of ale and the warmth of camaraderie.
Eamon guided her through the maze of tables, his presence commanding respect from those they passed. Catherine observed the patrons, recognizing the fine line between merriment and mischief. There were faces etched with weariness, others flushed with laughter, and a few with the shadows of too much drink.
They joined his men at a table in the corner near the hearth. Eamon pulled out a chair for her, a small gesture that spoke volumes about his consideration. As they settled into their seats, she couldn't help but be swept up in the energy of the place, the shared stories and shared moments that bound strangers together. The hearth's warm glow danced across the faces gathered around the sturdy wooden table – Eamon, Catherine, and his loyal men. The tavern's rustic charm enveloped them, and Catherine couldn’t help but be enchanted by the place.
The tavern wench bustled about, serving tankards of ale and platters of food, her steps a graceful dance in harmony with the lively ambiance as she made her way over to them to take their orders. Catherine felt the tingle of excitement on her skin from being here and seeing all of this firsthand. This entire place was living history, and she was a part of it.
Eamon's gaze swept across the room with a soldier's vigilance. He leaned in to the man on his opposite side from her, his voice low and measured, but loud enough that Catherine could hear him as he cautioned the man to watch the shadows that seemed to lurk among the regulars. Catherine couldn’t help but think that perhaps the bandits were here in this inn as well.
Among the patrons, a large man with a shock of red hair and shoulders that could have bore the weight of the world stumbled clumsily among the tables. Shouts of exasperation sounded around the room as the name William was spoken with derision. The man’s drunken antics brought unease, a discordant note in the otherwise jovial symphony of the tavern.
Catherine's fingers toyed with the edge of her tankard, her gaze flitting between the men around the table and the raucous scene unfolding before them. There was a rawness to the interactions, a reminder of the unpredictability that often accompanied such gatherings. Her heart quickened, a blend of excitement and apprehension mingling within her.
As the night wore on, the tavern's ambiance shifted in conversations melded into songs, laughter softened into whispered confidences. Eamon's presence beside her was a steady anchor, his eyes a constant vigil even as he engaged in the camaraderie of his men.
In the midst of the merriment, Catherine's thoughts drifted to the task at hand – the search for Malcolm and the bandits who held the key to his whereabouts. The tension in the air was a reminder of the stakes, the delicate balance between danger and camaraderie. And as she looked around the tavern, she found herself caught in a web of intrigue and anticipation, a participant in a chapter of history that was unfolding before her eyes.
The tavern wench moved gracefully through the haze of merriment, setting down yet another round of food upon the table. There were bowls of hearty stews filled with tender meat and vegetables, flaky pasties oozing with savory fillings, and thick slices of bread that soaked up the flavors of the feast.
The men dug in with gusto, their hunger sated only by the delicious fare before them. The air was filled with the satisfying sounds of utensils clinking against plates and the murmur of conversations punctuated by laughter.
Even Catherine found herself surprised by the voracious appetite that had awakened within her. The tantalizing aromas and flavors were irresistible, and she too joined in the feast with enthusiasm. Her cheeks flushed as she took large bites, the taste of the hearty food filling her senses and satisfying a hunger that she hadn't realized was there.
Amid the joviality, a few of the tavern's regulars, fueled by the ale that flowed freely, began to approach Catherine with aggressive advances. Their words slurred, their gestures clumsy, they seemed to forget all propriety in their pursuit of her attention.
But Catherine was no damsel in distress. With a firm hand and a voice that brooked no nonsense, she pushed them away and firmly asserted her boundaries. The feisty glint in her eyes spoke volumes – she was no easy prey, no matter the circumstances.
Eamon, ever watchful, caught wind of the unfolding situation. In a fluid movement, he stood from his chair, his gaze piercing as he confronted the drunken interlopers. His tone was low and commanding, a warning that held no room for negotiation. The men, perhaps realizing the folly of their actions, raised their hands in a gesture of surrender and retreated, their bluster extinguished in the face of Eamon's authority.
Around the table, the mood shifted from tension to relief, the camaraderie once again reigning supreme. The men resumed their hearty feasting, their laughter and conversation mingling with the sounds of the tavern. Catherine's heart swelled with gratitude for Eamon's protective instincts and the unspoken understanding that existed between them.
The hearty meal had done its job in sating their appetites, and Eamon and Catherine made their way upstairs to the rooms they had rented for the night. The low eaves of the slanted roof gave the space she was given a cozy feel, while the timbers overhead added to the rustic charm of the setting. A warm hearth crackled in the corner, casting dancing shadows across the room.
At the center of the chamber stood a large, heavy bed, its wooden frame sturdy and inviting. A table and chairs were nestled against one wall, a practical addition to the room's amenities. A wash basin and a pitcher of water awaited them, a reminder of the simple comforts of life on the road.
Catherine couldn’t help but wish that she were sharing the room with Eamon. She turned to him, wondering if he’d think her forward if she invited him in, but she held her tongue. She didn’t want to push him into something that he wasn’t prepared for.
Their gazes met and he huskily said, “Good night, lass. I’m right next door should you have need of me.”
Catherine nodded and walked into the room, closing the door behind her. She moved toward the bed and pulled the blankets down. It seemed cozy enough, but it was double the size of the one she’d been sleeping in at the castle. She could picture herself and Eamon in it and sighed knowing that wasn’t going to happen.
She undressed and put on her nightgown, then after washing her face, climbed into the bed and blew out the candle. She was just about asleep when she heard scratching at her door. She sat up, the moonlight casting a bluish tint on the room as she heard the doorknob twist.
Someone was attempting to get into her room. Was it Eamon? she wondered. Surely not. He wouldn’t try to barge in, so who was it?
Her heart pounded hard in her chest as the door creaked open. Catherine scrambled quickly from the bed and shouted, “Eamon!”
The person who’d entered her room and was currently stumbling toward the bed, cursed, and then a moment later, Eamon stormed through the door and tackled the man. They tussled about until Catherine relit the lantern, which startled them both.
“Get off me!” the man slurred.
“What are you doing in my wife’s room?” Eamon demanded.
His words startled Catherine, but she didn’t contradict him.
“She’s fair game, saw her first,” the man slurred even more.
“Get out.” Eamon lifted the man who was half his size, and then frog marched him from the room, and then slammed the door. He turned back to Catherine. “Are you well? Did he accost you?”
“I’m fine. He didn’t even touch me. You got here before he could even get close.” Catherine smiled as he pulled her into his arms and held her for a moment.
“I should let you get some sleep.” He started to let go and back away.
Catherine held tighter. “You could stay,” she said boldly.
Eamon stared down into her face for a moment. “You want me to stay?”
Catherine licked her lips and then took a leap of faith. “You did call me your wife just now…”
Something shifted in Eamon’s gaze, and he gathered her close, then pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. “You’re sure, lass?”
Catherine had yearned for this intimacy, this unspoken connection, and now that it was within her grasp, she couldn't deny herself any longer. With a surge of determination, she leaned in, her lips brushing against his in another kiss that ignited a blaze of passion between them. “I’m positive.”
Catherine pressed her hands against Eamon's strong back, and pulled his tunic up his body and over his head, tossing it aside. Her fingers moved over his bare skin, touching every battle scar. Roaming over every angle of his muscular form. Eamon sighed in response to her delicate touch.
Eamon leaned in and kissed her passionately, the longest kiss that Catherine had ever experienced. He placed his hands on Catherine's arms guiding her toward him. His massive form easily maneuvered her delicate body. He laid her down on the bed. His kisses were hungry as he caressed her body through her nightgown. “Are you sure you want this, love, I can return to my room.”
“Yes, Eamon, I want this. I want you,” Catherine exclaimed, hungrily pressing kisses to his lips. “All of you.”
He didn’t say another word as he swept her nightdress up and over her head, but sucked in a breath at the sight of her naked beneath him. With desperation he pressed kisses to her fevered skin. Down her neck to her breasts, licking and sucking until they peaked. His hands skimmed down her sides and over her thighs, finding her center. He nudged her legs apart with his knee and dipped his finger into her core.
She moaned in response, "Oh, Eamon. That feels so good. Please don't stop."
"Never," he groaned as he moved down her body, planting kisses along the way until his mouth replaced his fingers at her center. His tongue skillfully applied the right pressure, then retreated for a moment, teasing her ecstasy, before plunging in again. Over and over he moved in this pattern until Catherine loudly moaned in release.
"I want you, Eamon. Please, I need you inside me now. I can't wait anymore," she said.
"I've wanted you since I first saw you, love. The feeling has only grown inside me, devoured me," he whispered.
His words were everything she needed and wanted to hear.
Eamon moved back up her body and cupped her breast, sucking and kissing her erect nipple. Catherine pushed her fingers into his hair, cradling his head. He placed kisses along her body until his mouth was pressed onto hers. She could feel his erection pressing into her thigh, so close and yet so far. She wanted him desperately.
"Are you sure, you want me, love?" he asked.
Catherine nodded, barely able to form words. “Yes, yes,” she moaned.
Eamon moved from where he’d been hovering over her to stand next to the bed and Catherine cried out at the loss of him, but then realized he was just removing the kilt he wore. She stared at his naked form with hungry lust in her eyes. He was tall and muscular, as she knew he would be. This was what she had yearned for. Her gaze traced over him with lust and love, she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone in her life.
Catherine reached one hand up toward him, beckoning him to her. Eamon laid his body on top of hers, positioning himself between her thighs. The tip of his erection pressed against her wet opening. As he moved forward, he entered her, slowly, then deeper and deeper.
He kissed her, locking his mouth onto hers and she could taste his desire for her on his tongue. Together they moved in synchronized motion, their movements becoming more frenzied as passion over took them.
" Oh, Eamon. Oh…" Catherine moaned, but before her words could finish she felt herself reach the pinnacle and then crash over the edge. The shuttering pulses moving through her.
Eamon captured her lips in the moment her orgasm hit, keeping her screams of pleasure between them only. He moved faster and faster, building her orgasm again. Catherine held onto his strong back as he moved, her nails digging into his flesh at each stroke.
"Catherine, oh my love, oh," he moaned as they both reached the peak this time and he released inside of her as she shattered into a million pieces in pleasure.
A moment lapsed as he pressed his body onto hers and they lay in blissful silence on top of the bed. Catherine couldn’t help but think this was what making love was supposed to feel like. This was how being in love was supposed to feel. And she knew, without a single doubt, that she was in love with Eamon MacDonald.