Chapter Seventeen #2
The grime on Cyrus’s skin seemed to itch now, reminding him of those months of surviving in filth in Carlisle Dungeon.
He wanted to get clean, and he had to talk to Laria.
He wouldn’t leave her here. Could he convince her to wed him to protect her from her cousin?
She wasn’t mad. He knew that. Could she be placing blame on Iain when ’twas Jasper Whitt behind all the foulness in Staffin?
“I’ll talk to Laria about my need to leave,” Cyrus said.
“And her required wedding vows,” Iain added.
A maid whisked into the hall and bobbed her head. “Chief,” she said, “the room for yer guest, Lord Kenan Macdonald, has been readied.”
“Thank ye, Penny.”
Penny? Wasn’t the other maid named Penny? The one who’d hurried off to see to Laria’s bath? One had blond hair and the other gray, and there were forty years between them.
The maid bobbed a curtsey and flitted from the Great Hall.
“Ye’re right next to Cyrus’s room,” Iain said.
Cyrus motioned Kenan to follow him. They remained quiet up the turning staircase and stopped outside Kenan’s room. “Grace looks happy,” Kenan said. Then he frowned. “At being married, not at the death of yer father.”
“She seems to be.” Cyrus rubbed his hands down his face. “I would feel secure in the notion of her happiness and safety if she’d married ye instead.”
“With me dragging her to a burned castle and a brother and sister-in-law who’d like to see me dead?” Once Gilbert was severely injured, Winnie Mar abandoned him to become Iain’s mistress.
Cyrus huffed softly through his nose. “Every family has problems.”
“Problems?” Kenan’s brows rose high. “Like arson, madness, and murder?”
“I’m sure I could find some history of that at Dun Haakon, too. The world is full of chaos.”
Kenan nodded toward Cyrus’s door. “Like yer newest conquest? I hear she tied ye to yer bed.” He left off the “and might be mad,” but it came across in his tone. “Wearing naught but a flush of humiliation.”
Cyrus frowned. “I seem to remember ye being drugged and shackled by a lass. One who may or may not have peeked up yer plaid.”
Kenan chuckled and rubbed his jaw. “Well, I suppose a little madness makes things interesting.” He dropped his hand. “Ye aren’t thinking of marrying her, though?”
His question blackened Cyrus’s mood. “Rory mentioned a list ye’ve drawn up of appropriate brides for me.”
Kenan was bright enough to detect the sharpness in his tone, and he turned his palms out in mild surrender.
“Ideas for alliances in case ye had no other prospects.” He eyed the door, lowering his voice.
“Ones with powerful armies linked to them. They’d come with dowries and not a hint of madness to worry over. ”
“Yer advice on who to marry is rather hypocritical.” Cyrus’s voice had taken on the chill of annoyance.
“Just think about it, Cy. A Mackinnon, Grace,” Kenan nodded toward the stairwell, “has already formed an alliance with the Macqueens, the last clan on Skye to sign the alliance agreement. Yer union with a lass on the mainland or another isle will be the start of us branching out into the rest of Scotland, as is our intent to strengthen the country against that tyrant, King Henry, and his forces.” He spoke in hushed tones, his words rapid.
“Yer father would be proud to know his son is marrying to strengthen Clan Mackinnon.”
Cyrus doubted his father could ever be proud of his spare son. He turned his whole body away from the door to stare at Kenan. “I know all that. I know my responsibilities toward our plan and my duty to my clan.” That last had been instilled in him since he was a wee lad.
He pressed one finger hard into Kenan’s chest. “And ye need to know, whatever is going on here and despite yer foking list, I’m not leaving Laria to Iain Macqueen’s care. He wants nothing from her except obedience, silence, and possibly her life.”
The sound of heavy footfalls interrupted Cyrus, and several strong lads came from the stairwell, hauling water to the two rooms.
Kenan exhaled. “Ye know the situation best, Cy.” His lips puckered, and he gave a small shake of his head in disappointment. Cyrus knew the look well. “I’ll back ye with whatever ye feel ye must do,” Kenan said, briefly clenching his hand to his heart.
He nodded to the door, where Laria waited beyond. “Enjoy getting clean.” Kenan turned and strode to the door across the hall as men brought up buckets and a sizable wooden tub.
Cyrus knocked. “Laria, ’tis Cyrus. The water is here for yer bath.”
An immediate click told him Laria had been close to the door, perhaps listening at it. She moved behind as she opened it wide, and three young warriors clomped in, one placing a pot over the hearth that Laria had lit while he’d been below.
They both waited for the other tub to be carried in and filled with cold water before the lads stomped back out, their smiles wide as if they imagined all sorts of carnal play about to happen. But things had turned sour.
Laria matched his frown. “Who was the man in the corridor?”
“Kenan Macdonald.”
“The chief Grace was supposed to wed?”
“They weren’t betrothed. ’Twas just an idea before I matched her with Iain.” Damn it all. Marrying Kenan would have guaranteed Grace’s safety.
“Why is he here?”
Cyrus walked over to the pot. It must have been warm, because steam was already starting to rise from the surface. “My father’s been poisoned at Dun Haakon.” He looked at her. “He’s either dead or dying.”
Sympathy weighed along her features. “I am sorry, Cyrus.” She walked closer to him. “It doesn’t sound like you two cared for one another, but murder is wrong on every level. I know the vengeful anger that comes with it.”
He couldn’t help but judge her words after Iain’s insistence, but they were completely sane, wise in fact.
“I must go to Dun Haakon,” he said.
“Right now?” Her eyes opened a bit wider, and he heard the tightness of worry in her voice. “Tonight?”
He shook his head. “On the morrow when the tide is right. I must return to take over the chiefdom and receive pledges of loyalty from the warriors.”
He pulled her closer, and she let him. He brushed her brown hair back from her face, noticing the dirt and dust muting her freckles. “I’m not leaving ye here, Laria. Ye’re coming with me. ’Tis the only way I’ll know ye’re alive and well.”
She searched his eyes. “If someone can be poisoned in their own stout castle, then none of us is safe.”
“I have precautions in place. Trust me to keep ye from harm.”
The space between her brows pinched. “I’ve been doing so for a long time now.”
“I mean—”
“And I don’t see Iain letting me board your ship.”
“He will if we’re wed.”
Her large green eyes were so bright in the firelight that he wanted nothing more than to stare into them for hours, seeking out all the emotions he saw pooled there. “We talked of this before.” She shook her head. “I must stay to—”
“I swore to yer grandmother that I will protect ye, Laria. I cannot do that if ye stay here.” He took her hands, which were still gloved. “We will return to help Erskine. The loyalty ceremony will only take a couple of days, and my ship will get us to Dun Haakon and back quickly.”
She tipped her head, studying him. “And you would marry me to make Iain release me?”
“There is no other way, unless I steal ye away and start a war with my newest ally.”
She glanced toward the door. “But you must wed a powerful woman to form an alliance for peace. Because you must prove you’re a responsible son and chief who will strengthen Clan Mackinnon with armies and a dowry behind whomever you choose to be your wife.”
Her voice was even, but there was a river of molten emotion under it. Cyrus could see it in the tightening of her lips. “Ye listened only to Kenan’s words through the door.”
“I didn’t hear many coming from you.”
He raised his palm to her cheek, resting it on the fragile bones under her skin. “Did ye hear the part about me not leaving ye to Iain’s care?”
Her breathing was shallow, quick. The tension between them held him tightly, and he realized his breath was also shallow, his body pushing against his restraints. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to shake sense into her. He wanted to protect her and carry her away.
“What do you want me to say?” she asked.
The question came before he could clamp it down. “Is it just me ye won’t consider wedding, or will ye not marry again at all?”
She stared, her lips parted. “I…I don’t know,” she whispered.
Frustration shot annoyance into his tone. “What do ye know?”
“That I won’t wed because a man is forced by his honor to do so.”
Hope sparked alive in Cyrus’s chest. “My father has said that I have no honor.” He caught her chin with his fingers.
She closed her eyes. “I…I have no plans to wed again. Not until Erskine has taken the chiefdom.”
“Why wait?”
“There are rules,” she said.
Rules? It sounded more like an excuse not to marry him.
“Ye would rather lead a clan, help yer brother, than wed a man who makes ye thrash with pleasure? A man who has sworn to protect ye?” His words came through a wall of clenched teeth.
Her features squeezed as if she felt pain. “Everything is happening too quickly.”
“Do ye want me to leave ye alone, then?” The question came with a physical pain in his middle. If she said yes, would he be able to walk away? Turn his back on her safety?
She opened her eyes, and he saw the shine to them. “No, I do not want you to leave me alone. I want you to—”
No. She said no. She wants me to stay. He reacted before she could finish. He pulled her to him, his mouth falling upon hers. She didn’t want him to leave her alone. The pain in his middle dropped lower, turning into a heated ache.
The kiss was wild and wet from the start. He tasted dirt but didn’t care. “I ordered honey,” she whispered against his mouth.
He groaned against her, not wanting to let go—or even look toward the table where it might be. “I’ll rub it over yer peaked nipples and suck it off.”
“That sounds…delicious,” she said, the words breathless.
He must send word to his ship about leaving.
He should pack his things and check in again with Kenan.
He should ask Iain’s men about his treatment of others.
He should question Jasper Whitt, making him tell of his crimes.
But right then he knew only one thing. He wanted to taste every inch of Laria.
With deft fingers, he plucked the ties of her tunic and trews, pulling her tunic off over her head.
But they didn’t stop kissing. He yanked off his own tunic, pulling her against him, feeling her plush breasts against his chest. Her boots and stockings were already off, so her trews dropped off her feet when he lifted her against him, molding her warm curves to him.
Her fingers wound around the back of his neck and her long, athletic legs around his hips as he walked them to the constructed tub.
The surface was steaming, so at least one of the buckets had held hot water.
Cyrus kicked off his boots while his hands worked down her back to her gloriously curved arse. “I’ll follow ye in,” he said, pulling back from her warm lips.
“Will it hold both of us?” She slipped her feet down his legs until she was standing in the tub.
His eyebrow rose, his lips curving. “If we get creative.”
She studied his bare chest, and the tip of her tongue touched her bottom lip.
The tiny movement made his granite-hard cock twitch in anticipation.
A tug of his belt was all it took to free him, and he stepped out of the heap of plaid, kicking it away from the tub so that the water that was sure to spill over wouldn’t soak it.
Laria sank slowly into the warm water like a mythical water nymph. A murmur of a sigh escaped her as the water embraced her body. “It feels so good.”
Cyrus ran his fingers over the top, his cock level with the edge. Her eyes flicked to it, and her hands came up to cup her breasts, which sat just under the surface. “Come in,” she said. “I can sit on your lap.”
Bloody hell, he was going to explode just looking at her. His hand went to his straining cock as if trying to keep it under control. All thoughts of potential madness and Iain’s call for a priest disappeared like the steam rising from the tub. “Make way.”
She moved to one side, and he stepped into the warm embrace of the water. It was deliciously hot, and the tub was huge compared to the usual hip baths a single person would use. Its wooden frame was lined with white linen, and he lowered himself into it.
“I fear we’ll spill,” Laria said, watching the water rise to the top.
He pulled her back to his chest, her legs spread over his.
“I plan to. Spill all inside ye, lass.” She let her head loll back against his shoulder as his hands caressed down her front, stopping to palm her breasts.
He kissed the salty side of her neck as he stroked down her smooth stomach to the juncture of her legs.
Laria moaned as his fingers found her clit. One hand worked her below while the other squeezed her breast and teased her nipple. She tried to twist in his arms. “I can’t reach you.”
“Relax, lass. There’s plenty of time for that.”
She pressed back into him and spread her long legs open as far as the tub allowed, giving him complete intimate access. She pushed upward against his hand, straining as he rubbed. “God yes,” she hissed when his fingers thrust inside.
Her body felt so perfect, as if she fit with him. He worked her, listening to her breathing increase, the small splashing of the water revealing the rhythm of his hand.
“Cyrus,” she breathed, and he felt her channel convulse around his fingers as she found her peak.
In a movement that sent half the water over the edge of the tub, he turned her to face him.
His hands anchored on her hips, he pushed her down onto his straining cock.
He groaned as her body pulsed around him, milking him.
Their bodies exploded into a frantic rhythm as she rode up and down on him, his strength lifting her and shoving her back down upon him.
Cyrus groaned against her lips as they thrust and strained. Laria was all he needed.
He lifted her off him, turning her to face outward as his arms came around her.
“Cy?” Her question ended on a moan as he pushed her down on his cock, pulling her flush against his chest. He wanted more contact, and his arms enveloped her, his mouth kissing the long line of her neck to her shoulder as their movements increased. His fingers easily found her clitoris again.
“Oh God,” she called, and he felt her tighten around his length. It was all he needed to climax, and he spilled inside her.
“Laria.” He groaned her name as waves of pleasure broke over and through him. She felt perfect in his arms. His body was being washed clean as his thoughts solidified. “Laria,” he said again. All he needed was Laria.