Tucking his pointed chin to his chest, Ian stared at his feet. Whispering his reply, his tiny voice disappeared into the folds of his oversized tunic. “Thank ye, Lady MacKay. Thank ye for letting me and Ma come here to the keep. I promise to always work hard for my laird.”
Ian chewed his lips and ducked his head even lower, shuffling his feet as though trying to hide behind the pitchfork in his hands.
Maxwell settled his hand upon the boy’s bony shoulders and gave Ian an approving nod. “Ye’re a good lad, Ian. Laird MacKay and his wife have faith in ye and know ye’ll not disappoint them.”
As he edged his girth out of the stall, Maxwell motioned for the boy to continue his mucking of the soiled hay. With a nod at Ciara, Maxwell arched a brow and glanced toward the outer doors. “Lady MacKay, would ye mind if I walked with ye back to the hall?”
Ciara sensed the unspoken weight of Maxwell’s words and brushed off her hands as she moved away from the stall. “Of course.”
She paused just a moment to gift Ian with a reassuring smile and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “I’m proud of you, Ian. Keep doing well and make your mother proud.”
With an obedient bob of his scruffy head, Ian hurried to resume his tasks.
Ciara stood outside the double doors to the stables, her shawl pulled close against the chill of the day. Waiting until Maxwell had closed the door behind him, she reached out and grabbed his arms as soon as he turned around to face her. “Well? Do you have any news for me?”
Maxwell jerked, backed up a step and glanced about the yard to see if anyone watched them. “Lady Ciara! Mind your actions. Ye will surely have all the hens wagging their tongues that ye’re chasing the laird’s finest warrior.”
Ciara took a step back and did her best not to laugh. The round old fox certainly thought a lot of himself. Her face ached with the desire to smile as she lifted her hands in the air and acted as though Maxwell were hot to the touch. “Oh, really? You certainly seem blessed with a generous supply of self-esteem. Are you conceited or just convinced?”
Maxwell puffed his broad chest beneath his plaid as though he were a peacock about to strut about the courtyard. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he gave her a wicked wink. “There’s nothing wrong with knowing your strengths and embracing your talents fully.”
Ciara tightened her shawl closer and chuckled as she shook her head. “I wish you could teach my beloved husband that concept. Now I repeat, do you have any news?”
Maxwell fell into step beside her as he clasped his hands behind his back. “Let me just say the man appears more at peace, he seems more at ease in his own skin. I don’t believe he’s quite as angry at life.”
Scuffing his worn leather boots in the dirt, Maxwell lowered his voice as he continued, “I don’t know what ye said to him the day before we returned from the shores, but he seems less angry at the world, less frustrated with life in general. It has been many a year since I have seen him so relaxed. He only cursed me three times this morning.”
“Only three times?” Ciara repeated. Her lips trembled as she bit back her laughter. “I am impressed. That’s indeed an improvement for Faolan. But why hasn’t he returned to my bed, Maxwell? I miss my husband’s warmth at night.”
Maxwell raised his hands in the air and shook his head as he replied, “If I ask the man why he’s not bedding his wife, he’s liable to do more than just curse at me!”
Ciara pursed her lips as she searched the battlements where she could just make out Faolan’s silhouette against the evening sky. “I am getting tired of having to stalk the man and plot every seduction. It’s beginning to hurt my pride, Maxwell. Am I that displeasing to his eyes?”
For a brief moment, Maxwell’s gaze settled on Ciara’s inviting neckline, then flitted to the tight bodice of her woolen dress and roamed to the curve of her waist. He groaned as he pulled his stare away from the swell of her hips filling out her form-fitting gown. “Trust me, Lady Ciara. Whatever reason Faolan has for not warming your bed comes from his past. There’s nothing amiss with you.”
As she smoothed her hands along the deep green of the dress, Ciara’s attention remained on her husband’s shadow upon the walls of the keep. His stark profile darkened against the gray of the horizon, magnifying the loneliness of his soul. “I grow tired of this game, Maxwell. Tonight is going to be the last time I force him to see how enjoyable a wife can be.”
* * *
Faolan slept.Or at least pretended to sleep as Ciara slipped into their room. She dearly loved stalking her prey in the flickering glow of the hearth. She leaned back against the door, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest as he sprawled naked on the bed.
She allowed her eyes to drink in the rippling muscles of his chest and trace along the cut lines of his flat, taut stomach. The target of her nocturnal hunt twitched semi-aroused, a silent invitation for her to complete the awakening. Muscled legs flared in a welcoming vee, as though he waited for her to crawl up between them.
He wasn’t asleep. Without a sound, Faolan turned his head and returned Ciara’s stare. He took his growing erection in his hand as his eyes raked across her attire.
Ciara had draped a gauze veil of the whitest silk around her naked body. She had tinted her nipples; they tightened now against the folds clinging to her breasts. As she floated across the floor, his hand stroked. His arousal lengthened as his gaze settled between her legs. The satin material parted at the top of her thighs treating him to an unhindered view.
Ciara paused by the bed. She let the gauze slide to the floor and cupped her breasts in her hands. She lifted them, stretched and peaked her nipples, showing Faolan what was about to become his.
She climbed on the bed, crawled up between his legs, and teased along his inner thighs with the barest touch of her nails. She cupped him with one hand then replaced his stroking hand with hers, gifting him with slow, enticing pulls. She bent toward him, her gaze locked with his, and flicked her tongue along the length of him for a salty, tantalizing taste. As he caught his breath, she swirled him into her mouth and swallowed him as far as he’d go.
She licked and nibbled, now and then raising her head, then rose to hold her body over his. With deliberate strokes, she slid the tip of him against her mound as she leaned forward to suckle his bottom lip into her mouth. Rubbing his engorged tip against her pulsing entrance, she stroked his shaft and pressed her breasts hard against his chest. She finally thrust her body down upon him and buried deep as she climaxed with a groan.
Then she rode. First, a slow, circular grind of her hips then moved faster, as she pulled his hands to cup her breasts. She climaxed again, arching her back as she shuddered upon his body.
He rolled her over and plowed deeper; Faolan laced one hand in her hair as he buried himself inside her clenching body. Holding her face steady, he waited for her orgasm to subside and for her to open her golden eyes. “Now, Ciara. I will claim ye now and take ye as I should have on our very first night. When this evening is over, there will be no more shadows between us. This night we will become husband and wife.”
Before she could reply, he covered her mouth with his and ground himself deep inside her. Slow, delicious, torturous strokes had her writhing as she wrapped her legs around him. Then he withdrew. She cried out at the sudden void he left behind. A sharp intake of breath replaced her cry as he licked his way down her body. She moaned and knotted her fingers in his hair as he tantalized her with his tongue. He suckled and stroked until she cried out for mercy, begging him to get back inside her. As Ciara shuddered upon his hand, he raised his mouth from between her legs to capture her nipple and nuzzle at her breast.
