“Liadan,” he gasped, his breath whispering over the tender skin of her breast. “May I love ye as I desire?”
“Anything, Ardahl. Aught that I am is yours. Aught that ye ask, I give. My body is yours this night.”
And, in truth, for all time.
Leaving her breasts, he kissed his way downward. He was already hard for her again—she could feel the weight of him slide against her skin as he moved. When he reached her thighs, he hooked them with his fingers and eased them apart.
He drank of her even as she had of him. She gave to him fully and completely, without shame, her body convulsing at the persuasion of his lips and tongue. With his man, she would never know shyness or hesitation. Only a sense of rightness so powerful it permitted her to withhold nothing, body nor heart.
When she lay utterly and completely open to him, he rose and slid inside her—into that place so ready for him, deep and deeper. Still, he did not give her his seed, but spilled it on her belly even as she wrapped her arms around him fiercely and held on for dear life.
If this were to be the last time—
He lay quiet except for the seething of his breath, his face in her neck.
She wept.
“Liadan? Ye are never greeting. Why?”
“For the beauty o’ it, just.”
“Here, now.” He lifted his head and kissed the tears away, catching them with his lips.
“If,” she said aloud this time, “it is to be our last…”
A slow, bright smile invaded his eyes. “Aye, but surely not the last this night.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
In the morning,even before Maeve returned to the hut, Ardahl rose, dressed and went out with his weapons. Many were the fervent kisses exchanged between them first, the desperate, whispered promises and assurances.
But the fact remained. As Liadan watched him step out into the watery sunlight, she acknowledged it.
She might never see him again.
He went off to take the place he’d been assigned, to guard the chief. Attack could come at any time.
For an instant, standing there watching his auburn head disappear between the huts of the settlement, she felt sure she could not bear it. Too much loss, too much pain and uncertainty. A woman could not live with such uncertainty. There must come a time when her life, her heart, could settle.
Yet she’d given her heart to this man, whatever that might entail. And better, she admitted fiercely, a life of uncertainty with him than a dull and secure existence with anyone else.
“Whatever the gods may bring me,” she murmured aloud, “I accept for his sake.”
When Maeve came home, they worked together sorting out the belongings they would need to take with them if they had to flee, and loading them into packs. These they set beside the door.
Later, when Liadan went out to fetch water, she saw nothing but other women like herself all wearing distracted expressions. Unhappy mothers hurried about tasks and spoke to theirchildren in tense, harsh voices, hoping to keep them close. The very air had a sharp, stifling feel. She looked for Flanna, but could not spot her, so when she had filled her ewer, she stopped by Mistress MacDragh’s hut, where her sister had been staying all the while.
She found both girls—Flanna and Lasair—outside the door, sharing duties at the quern stone. When Liadan paused there, Flanna looked up at her with doubt and little sign of welcome.
“Flanna, sister, I’ve come to ask if ye will come home.”
Flanna took a moment before she answered. “Is he still there?”
“He?” Liadan questioned, even though she knew to whom Flanna referred.
“Ardahl MacCormac.”
“Aye. Ye know full well he is assigned to stay wi’ us. To fight and hunt and otherwise care for us in Conall’s place. It is his—”
