Chapter 8
Liam threw the wood into the pile before picking up the ax once more, his breathing laborious. The cold was causing his chest to hurt, but as much as he would enjoy sitting by the warm fire with a whiskey in his hand, he needed to clear his mind.
Mostly because he did not wish to run into his wife.
Liam swung the ax hard, letting it split the wood in half in one swift motion.
His arms ached from the continuous motion, and he knew that he would need a good long soak to soothe his muscles later.
It had been two days since he had seen his wife, avoiding her in the keep and rising long before she did so that he would not have to sup with her.
Or converse with her.
Or remember how he had felt with her sitting by his side, listening to his people.
The feeling had been far too real, tugging on his cold, dead heart in more ways than he cared to admit to himself. Not only that, but his body had responded thusly, and his dreams had been filled with having her again in his bed, buried in her warmth.
The cold air had been good for his heated body.
“Ye got enough wood there tae heat the village, lad.”
Liam replaced the wood and picked up the ax. “Someone has tae cut it, and I dinnae see yer ax, Uncle.”
Uncle Sheamus chuckled. “I dinnae think that the laird should be doing it, though.”
Liam shrugged before slicing the wood in half. “’Tis good for me. Helps me remember that there isnae a Scot too good tae do it.”
A hand touched his shoulder. “What’s really bothering ye?”
Liam sighed as he placed his ax on the woodblock. “Nothing.”
His uncle chuckled. “I’ve watched ye grow from a wee bairn tae a laird that is feared. I think I know when ye are lying tae me, laddie.”
Liam turned to face him, keeping his emotions schooled from the one person who likely could see into his very soul.
His uncle had been there when his da had died in battle, wiping his tears, and teaching him how to wield his father’s sword.
His uncle was the reason that he was the warrior he was today, yet he could not tell him about what he was going through right now.
He would think that Liam was moving on to a future that he wished for.
The only future he had ever wished for was the one that was now buried in the frozen ground, a future that had never come to pass.
“Is this about yer wife?” he pressed. “She did right good at yer side.”
“Aye,” Liam replied. She had done good with the clan, her gentle smile and soft voice soothing angered clansmen. By the time they were done, even he had fallen under her spell, which had only caused him to leave, unable to handle what he was feeling.
Or the plain fact that he was feeling at all. Sorcha had done something to him, something that Liam could not explain, but it made him fear her all the same.
“Ye know that ye can be happy and still hold Nelia’s memory,” his uncle said after a moment. “She would want ye tae be happy, Liam.”
Liam stepped back, his throat closing at the sound of his former wife’s name. “I dinnae want tae discuss her with ye.”
“Ye need tae tell Sorcha. Let her help ye heal.”
“Nay!” Liam shot back, striding away before he could hear any more. Nelia was his memory, his pain—no one else’s.
Liam didn’t stop until he was at the stable, saddling his horse. The stableboy had taken one look at his expression and ran from his post, frightened by the look. Liam didn’t blame the young lad. He would have run away from him too.
After the horse was saddled, Liam swung up on its back and guided it out of the stables, the cold biting into his tunic. There was a heaviness of possible snow in the air, the clouds grey and low, which meant the winter would be starting soon.
Liam didn’t like winter. It brought the village into the keep, but that wasn’t his main concern. It was more so that the snow kept him from being where he enjoyed most. Even his warriors did not like to practice in the bitter cold, retreating to their families or to the keep whenever possible.
Lazy would be a good word to describe his warriors.
He couldn’t blame them, he supposed. They had warm homes, willing women in their beds, and ale to consume.
He pointed his horse toward the moors that extended past the keep’s barren fields, wanting to exercise both the horse and himself.
The ground would be frozen, so there would be no concerns about stepping into deep holes that were caused by rain, nor did he have to be concerned about any intruders wishing to take aim at him.
Just like his warriors, his enemies did not like to fight in the wintertime.
Liam rode for a while until he saw another horse in the distance, racing along the moors at a speed that astounded him. Liam urged his horse onward, and soon, his chest seized as he recognized the long stream of hair that was flowing from the occupant.
No, it couldn’t be.
Liam pushed his horse faster, his heart hammering in his chest. She was riding at a speed that would likely cause her death if she fell. What was she thinking?
Was she running away from him?
Liam felt the wind tear at his clothing as he started to gain ground, his mouth dry. He could not let her be hurt because she wanted to get away from him. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to her, but his thoughts, whenever she was around, made Liam wish for more than he could give her.
More than she wanted.
He watched as Sorcha slowed the horse, and he urged his forward until he had caught up with her. “What are ye doing, lass?” he called out, looking her over to ensure she was not injured.
She wasn’t. She was grinning from ear to ear. “I’m exercising mah horse,” she called out, pushing her hair out of her face. Her cheeks were red from the cold, but he was relieved to see that she had dressed for the occasion.
Unlike him. “That is not exercising her!” he bit out. “That is wishing for death.”
Sorcha laughed. “Only tae those that cannae handle it.”
His heart could not handle it. “Are ye running away?”
She eyed him, surprise flickering across her lovely face. “Ye think I give up that easily?”
No, he didn’t, but he needed to hear it from her mouth anyway. “Nay.”
She lifted her chin. “Good, because I dinnae.”
“Good,” he replied, not sure what was good about it. Maybe because he had not run her off with his behavior just yet.
She looked away, her eyes on the moors before them. “Care tae race, Husband?”
“Are ye going tae if I dinnae agree?”
“Of course.”
Liam fought the urge to smile suddenly. “Then I will race.”
Sorcha stretched her arm, pointing to an old stores shed. “There. First one there wins.”
“Then ye better catch up,” he yelled, digging his heels into his horse’s flanks. The horse shot off just as he heard Sorcha’s spurt of outrage, and he grinned. He was one who liked to win, and he was going to do so against his wife.
His horse easily navigated the way to the stores shed, and by the time Liam reined the horse in, Sorcha was right behind him. “Ye cheated, Scot!”
Liam swung his leg over and dismounted, patting the horse’s flanks. “I didnae.”
She slid off her horse, coming around to poke him in the chest. “Ye did! I want a rematch.”
He grabbed her finger lightly. “Ye are a sore loser, Sorcha McCallum.”
Her eyes widened. “Ye are a cheater, Liam McCallum.”
He chuckled, wrapping his arm around her waist. “What are ye going tae do about it?”
Her chest heaved, and Liam stilled, remembering what she felt like under his body. How many times had he dreamed of such, picturing in his mind her breathy moans and gasps?
Why was he denying himself what he genuinely wanted?
What he needed?
He needed her. Though his heart and mind raged against it, Liam knew he needed Sorcha. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
When Sorcha rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, Liam was helpless to resist. She smelled like the cold wind they had just ridden in, her lips cold and her hands colder as they burned through his tunic.
He wanted more.
Liam stepped back before grabbing one of her hands and pulling her toward the stores shed, pushing hard on the door until he could force it open. “Liam?” she asked as they moved inside. “Whatever are ye doing?”
A quick look around the old shed told him that there were no animals they were going to surprise, and he turned to his wife. “I need ye, Sorcha.”
Her eyes rounded. “Need me?”
He nodded, reaching for her, desperate to feel her body against his. He wanted to claim her repeatedly until he couldn’t think straight. “I need ye. Can I have ye?”
Her hands tugged on his tunic, and that was all Liam needed to know.
She pulled it over his head and his lips found hers, kissing her with such ferocity that it even surprised him.
Frantic, he removed her cloak and worked the laces of her gown open, tugging on the sleeves so that he could pull her breasts out.
The cold air caused her skin to pucker, but he covered them with his hands, tearing his mouth from hers to kiss her neck.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he told her, figuring there was no harm to tell her the truth.
“Liam,” she breathed as he traced her collarbone with his tongue, her hands in his hair. “Oh!”
He smiled against her skin, his fingers rolling her taut nipple as it puckered in the cold. He wanted to find all the places on her body that would have her sigh in pleasure. He wanted to have her in his chamber, splayed out before him instead of stealing touches in an old shed.
Liam wanted a great deal of things, all related to the woman in his arms, gasping his name, and though it was far too dangerous for him to want anything from her, he couldn’t stay away.
He forced her dress down over her hips and lifted her shift, falling to one knee. “What are ye doing?” she asked as he pressed a kiss to her thigh, her arousal heavy in the air.
“Shh,” he told her, his mouth moving upward. “I’m going tae taste ye, Wife.”
Her exclamation died on her tongue as he covered her mound with his mouth, tasting her for the first time.
Her hands fisted in his hair, but she didn’t move him away.
Liam feasted on her, feeling her tremble not from the cold but from the range of emotions he was causing, the things he was doing to her body.
It made him want to do more.
When she cried out, he held her close, the waves of pleasure racking her body. His own need was pressing painfully against his breeks, and Liam knew that if he didn’t take her soon, he would be spent in his own clothing instead of in her warm body. “Och lass, ye are the death of me.”
She made a strangled noise as he rose to his feet, forcing his breeks down before grasping her hips. “I’m going tae pick ye up, Sorcha.”
Sorcha pressed against him, and he groaned, his fingers biting into her skin. “Och lass, dinnae make me embarrass mahself.”
“Liam, please,” she begged. “I need ye.”
Words that he always wanted to hear. Liam picked her up. “Wrap yer legs around me, Sorcha.”
She did as he asked, and he slid into her, walking them over to the wall so that his knees wouldn’t give out and cause her to fall to the floor. She cried out as he buried himself in her warmth, groaning against her neck as she tightened around him. “Och, Sorcha.”
This was both what he needed and what he should stay away from, and it was tearing him in two.
He couldn’t stay away.