Again.
And simply from stealing a peek at his dark virility through a shadowed gap in his cloak.
Lifting her gaze at once, her heart near stilled, for his casual expression had fled, and he now watched her with a look of infinite adoration.
A look of love.
Shining, pure, and true.
The same look she’d seen him wear the day she’d imagined him sprawled in Niall’s chair so many weeks ago - holding the same jeweled chalice in his hand.
Only that time, she hadn’t known who he’d been looking at.
Now she did.
And the meaning of that look sent her heart climbing clear to her throat, set her pulse to racing.
“You are pleased, my lady?” his deep voice flowed around her, tightening his hold on her as soundly as if he’d reached out, grasped her arms beneath her bed-robe and pulled her into a hard embrace.
“Pleased?” She blinked, her gaze dropping to where a fold of his mantle slipped a bit to reveal even more of his proud manhood. She could now see not only the entirety of his impressive length, but also his sizable ballocks.
Dear heavens.
She resisted the urge to fan herself as languid warmth pooled deep in her most womanly place. “You pleased me well, my lord, as I thought you-”
“Are you distracted, fair one?” He smiled, then held up Linnet’s gift, toasting her – just as he’d done the day she’d imagined him in Niall’s solar. “I meant are you pleased with the goblets?” he supplied, his smoldering gaze assuring her he knew full wellhe’dpleased her.
“Linnet has a complete set waiting for you at Balkenzie,” he added, his words dousing the sensual heat curling in her belly. His firm conviction that she, too, would soon be at Balkenzie, pinched her heart.
She didn’t want to go to Balkenzie - nor did she want to lose her champion.
Or the fragile stirrings of her convictions: that she’d finally discovered not just desire, but love, too.
Pulling her bed-robe more securely about her shoulders, she raised the finely wrought chalice to her lips and took a sip of hippocras.
A sip of determination.
Steely determination.
So bolstered, she moved closer to his chair, and rested a hand on his broad shoulder. Its muscled strength, his warmth, reached her even through the thickness of his cloak. “I would rather Linnet and her husband visit us here,” she said, forcing a light tone. “They can bring the other goblets with them.”
“Your sister will not be venturing anywhere for some while,” he said, his words carefully measured, his demeanor guarded enough to make her forget her own cares.
She looked sharply at him. “Is she ill?”
Marmaduke hesitated, weighing the concern on his wife’s face against the depth of his honor, the value of a promise given.
If Caterine knew her sister would soon birth her first child, she’d be certain to accompany him to Balkenzie, even if she planned to stay only long enough to see the child born. And once he had her at Balkenzie, he knew he could persuade her to stay.
But he wanted her by his side because shewantedto be there.
Because she loved him.
“Linnet is well,” he said at last, giving her the most neutral gaze he could muster, and silently praying he spoke the truth. “Eilean Creag is a large and busy holding, her duties as laird’s wife do not allow her to travel far.”
Not a lie, but not the entire truth.
And half-truth or nay, enough to make his wife press her sweet lips into a firm line.
