Chapter 9 #2
Eventually, the sound of approaching footsteps made him look up.
Kristen crossed the courtyard with the children. Her gown moved with the breeze, and her hair fluttered around her shoulders. She looked at him, and he looked back.
Her gaze flitted to the breadth of his shoulders and the cords of muscle along his arms, quick as a bird. He could see the color rise in her cheeks. She turned at once to point out a puddle for Anna to jump, as if it had been the puddle and not the man that caught her eye.
Anna got distracted and ran to a bush instead.
Heat flared low in his belly. Her words from the night before echoed in his mind.
“Ye nay longer have to worry.”
Anna toddled toward Kristen with a crushed flower in her fist, before changing her mind and heading toward Neil instead, drawn by something she did not have words for. She lifted the flower with both hands.
Neil set his axe aside and bent. “Careful there, lass.”
Anna stopped just short of his boots. Her eyes widened at his height, and her lower lip trembled. Neil scooped her up into his arms, mindful of her small legs and soft knees, and turned to face Kristen.
“This belongs to yer maither,” he crooned. “Give it to her.”
Anna laughed, brave again, and reached for Kristen with both arms. Kristen caught her and saw Neil’s hands retreat slowly.
“Ye’re a good man,” Finn said, very serious.
Neil almost laughed. “Perhaps. sometimes.”
A short breath escaped Kristen’s lips as she walked down the corridor an hour later. Neil was no longer chopping wood outside. He must have returned to his study.
She knew because she could no longer see him. She knew because she had been peering every minute through her window. She had watched his hands move, his arms flex, and his body tighten under the sun.
She had watched him chop wood for minutes, unable to take her eyes off him. Now, as she made her way to the healer’s chambers, unease coiled in her chest. The corridor looked wrong for some reason.
She drew to a halt. The tapestry that should have softened the stone beside the stairwell was gone. The wall stood bare as a rebuke.
“Where is the stag?” she asked a passing maid.
“The Laird moved it this morning,” the maid answered, her eyes skittering away.
“He did,” Kristen murmured. Her calm tone did not match the quick flare under her ribs.
Assured that the children were in Davina’s care, she made for the study, her steps quick, her breath sharp. She did not knock; she just pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“Did ye move the tapestry from the stairwell?” she asked.
Neil looked up from the map table, annoyance flashing across his face. “I did. It was blocking the light.”
“It has hung there since I set the storerooms in order,” she protested. “Ye have been home for one day, and ye are already disrupting me castle’s peace.”
He stood, shrinking the distance between them by half. “This is me castle.”
“Do ye intend to disorder it in the name of ownership or what?”
He frowned. “What?”
“Ye tell me!”
He coughed. “Kristen, are ye certain this is just about the tapestry?”
“That, me Laird, is the question I was just about to ask ye as well,” she scoffed.
His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to her. “What else would it be about?”
“Ye tell me,” she fired back. “Ye step through the door, and things that held together start moving, whether they must or nae.”
“Ye ken what I think?” He stopped right before her, the heat of his body enough to hold her spellbound. “I think this is about more than the tapestry. ’Tis about control.”
Kristen scoffed. “What?”
He leaned in. The room grew smaller, the air warmer, the pulse in her ears too loud.
“Aye. ’Tis about what ye might do if I push ye too far,” he murmured.
Kristen swallowed, hating the flush that spread across her face. “Ye daenae want to ken what I’m thinking right now.”
“Why nae? Ye fear it will betray the fact that ye want me?”
Kristen raised her hand, her emotions getting the better of her. “Ye feel awfully proud of yerself, do ye nae?”
“I daenae ken. Ye’re the one suddenly drawn to a stranger ye havenae seen in five years.”
“Ye think I am drawn to ye because ye’re a stranger?”
“Aye.”
She shook her head. “That is just nonsense.”
“Is it?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Why do ye think so?”
Her breath shuddered. “Because if ye had stayed, ye would ken I would have stood by ye. Even in hell.”
Something gave in his face, a line pulled too tight. His hand came up and cupped her jaw as if it knew exactly where it fit, and then his mouth was on hers.
Heat bloomed inside her, and she did not hesitate. She kissed him back. Her hands found his shoulders as he backed her against the table, and the edge of the map dug into her hip. The room spun as his hands curled around her waist.
He tasted of mint and the morning ale, and he kissed like a man who had been punished for wanting and had stopped asking for permission. His fingers slid up to the back of her neck. Hers tangled in his hair.
The kiss deepened until there was no room for breath. His low groans met her gasps and stoked the heat further.
His hands trailed down her dress, and he pulled up the hem.
He bunched it in one hand and felt the back of her thighs with the other.
Her hands slid down his chest, settling on his waistband, before daring to go further.
Her fingers brushed the bulge in his trousers, coaxing a soft groan from his lips.
A long minute passed before they broke apart for breath. Silence enveloped them like a shawl, but inside, Kristen was screaming.
This isnae happening. There is nay way this is happening.