Chapter Twenty
“Ifeel that we’ve been making real progress,” Sitric declared, taking Cara’s hand in his as they returned from the harbor. After Cara had asked Gormla and Astrid a thousand questions regarding the ships, the water, the materials that came and went, and anything else she could imagine relating to Dyflin’s legendary trade industry, the women had told Sitric that he needed to take her down to the docks for a proper tour of them.
It had been three days since Diarmid came to her room. Two days since she’d learned that the reason he avoided her was not that he had no interest in her—it was just the opposite. And now, every time they crossed paths and he turned away, every time he didn’t smile at her, she remembered how it felt to be pressed against him and his arms. She remembered those forbidden, seductive words he’d uttered, and she wished for the first time in her life that she’d not been born a princess.
That she could marry whomever she chose.
“Enough progress for a betrothal?” she ventured, though her heart wasn’t in the query.
“We have ten days left,” Sitric replied. Though his voice was pleasing, it didn’t heat her blood like Diarmid’s did, she noted.
Cara didn’t like that even after she let Sitric nearer, he still felt the need to wait the full fortnight to reach a decision.
They turned down a bend in the plank-covered road, the brightly colored sails and swooping gulls disappearing as they climbed toward Sitric’s holding.
“Is there aught I can do to persuade you further?” She thought this outing had gone better. He’d held her hand—though she was grateful he hadn’t attempted to kiss it again. She’d managed a conversation without causing him obvious irritation. He’d even smiled at her once or twice.
“There is,” he told her hesitantly.
She looked at him, raising a brow. He’d better not ask her to bed him. It hadn’t worked the last time, when Torna had insisted that’s what happened when you were betrothed, and she wasn’t about to fall for that nonsense again.
“If you can bring yourself to kiss me, that would convince me that this marriage stands a chance at being more than a sentence to misery for us both.”
Well, it was better than bedding him. “If you don’t mind my asking, why would that convince you?”
His mouth lifted into a half-smile. “You can tell a lot about a person, and how you feel about them, from a kiss.”
A knot formed in Cara’s middle, rising to her chest along with a growing sense of panic. If the kiss went terribly, that would be it. All her efforts would be for naught, all hope of the betrothal lost.
Their final turn approached, the one that led up the hill to the two great halls inside the circling palisade. Cara knew she’d not be able to finish this herself.
“I’m going to have a walk around the settlement, if you don’t mind.”
Sitric halted. “Do you wish company or solace?”
His kindness made her wish he was the one she wanted. “Solace, if that’s alright. Thank you for taking me to the harbor today,” she added, hoping he heard the real gratitude in her voice. “I truly enjoyed it.”
“We can return any time you wish,” he told her, faring her well before leaving her to continue on.
Cara knew she couldn’t muster up the courage to kiss Sitric without help.
And she knew help was just outside of town, washing in the river after a run through the bog.
*
Diarmid arrived atthe conclusion, after two days of avoiding Cara, in spite of her hunting him down yesterday afternoon, that he desperately needed to lose the wager, for his own sanity. No amount of sparring, no amount of running through the bogs, or taking cold baths in the river, or any number of other things he’d attempted had managed to keep his mind off the princess.
He’d gone to her room, believing that when he admitted his desire for her she would do what she did best—build a wall to keep him out. He’d been counting on it, in fact. Having Cara deny him outright would’ve gone a long way to assuaging his obsession with her.
But the damned woman hadn’t done anything of the kind—just the opposite, in fact. He’d touched her without warning, his final attempt to get her to push back. Instead, she’d leaned into him. She’d looked at him like she wanted him to do every single wicked thing he’d suggested and then some.
And he nearly had. The moment he realized she wanted him to kiss her was the moment he knew he had to leave before he ruined everything.
Including Cara.
He hadn’t told Cormac the details of that night, or that he’d halted their meetings. He made excuses each night, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell his brother he’d failed. He’d let him down the one time Cormac had come to him for help. Everyone depended on him, and Diarmid, lover of women, couldn’t stand to spend time with one.
They were just finishing a wash after another run through the bog—an exercise their fearless leader had become entirely too fond of, to Diarmid’s way of thinking—when Cara appeared along the riverbank. Diarmid had already put on his trews, thankfully, but hadn’t even picked up his shirt.
It wasn’t uncommon for men and women to wash together in the rivers and streams, but the nobility did it with far less frequency than the peasants. Families who could afford bathing tubs had little need for public washing, unless of course they’d gone running through a bog and were so covered in muck they would’ve felt badly for the tub.
For a moment, Diarmid wondered if she’d ever even seen a man undressed. Then he remembered Torna, and rage filled him faster than a lake filled a broken dam. As much as he desired Cara, and knew that meant he should stay as far away as he could get, he also wanted time with her to correct whatever horrid idea that bastard had given her about intimacy. The man had obviously used her for his own pleasure without a thought to hers. And, based on what little Diarmid had gleaned from their conversations and the fact that said bastard was notably absent, he left her shortly thereafter. No wonder she struggled to let anyone get close to her.
“I require Diarmid’s assistance with a matter of great import,” she told Illadan, not so much as glancing at Diarmid. “May I speak with him privately?”
“Of course.” Illadan didn’t even hesitate. “We were just on our way back to the holding.” He motioned for the men to follow as he began the walk back.
Cormac gave Diarmid an encouraging nod before following with the rest of the Fianna. At least one of them believed him capable of handling this.
The moment the men were out of sight, the princess’s eyes went straight to his chest. They lingered, taking in every inch of his exposed torso as she walked toward the water’s edge. “Help me with one final task, and I swear I will leave you in peace.”
Diarmid crossed his arms. “What’s the task?”
“I need you to kiss me.”
“Absolutely not,” he replied. “I have better survival instincts than that.”
She rolled her lips, pushing his frayed self-control to its limits. “Sitric said that if I kiss him well enough, he will agree to the betrothal.”
“Then kiss him,” Diarmid suggested, running a hand through his wet hair.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Cara protested, storming towards him. “Far too much rests on this for me to make my first attempt with him. If I botch it, that’s it. It’s over, and we’ve done all this for naught.”
“Are you telling me that bastard that broke your heart bedded you without kissing you?”
Her cheeks went almost as pink as they had when he’d pinned her against the wall.
Almost.
Diarmid threw his shirt to the ground, closing the distance between them.
She didn’t back away, didn’t even flinch. Not when his hands came up to cup her face and pull her lips to his.
Not when they moved to her hips, pulling her against him so closely that he could hardly breathe.
Not when his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, his tongue teasing her mouth open, until she melted into his arms—just as he’d imagined.
He might not have been her first lover, but damned if he wasn’t her first kiss.
Honestly, he was damned either way, so he might as well enjoy it. He squeezed her hips, running his hands over them on their way up her body. God, she felt good in his arms.
She reached for his chest, her fingers leaving a hot trail of pressure over his shoulders. His chest. His stomach. His—
“I wouldn’t do that, princess,” he warned, not taking his lips off of hers.
Her fingers brushed the tip of him through his trews, though she slowed her exploration at his warning.
A groan escaped his lips before he moved them to her neck, realizing that he needed to distract her before this got too far. A kiss was one thing.
Thatwas quite another.
Diarmid slid one hand onto her breast, rubbing his thumb over her peaked nipple. He captured her moan of pleasure, returning his lips to hers, kissing her so thoroughly that this would be the kiss she always remembered. He was rough. Demanding. Hungry.
He made certain she felt how desperately he wanted her.
He made certain he ruined her for all future kisses.
He didn’t stop until both of them were out of breath and their hands couldn’t keep from roaming to dangerous places. And when he did finally pull away, he grabbed his shirt off the ground and started walking.
Before he got himself into real trouble.