“Then why did she wed you?”
“For the same reason you did. She had a father whose debt placed her in my arms, only his debt was not one of honor.” He glanced at the fire, remembering. “The man had lost two shiploads of cargo at sea and when a storm claimed his third and last ship, he found himself facing ruination.”
Gelis’s brows lowered. “Unless he sold his daughter for a high bride-price.”
Ronan nodded. “I . . . needed a son. It’d been years since Matilda’s death and Dare deserved hope.” He leaned back against the window arch, his hands gripping the cold ledge. “Some traveling Highlander had made his way to Aberdeen and somehow crossed paths with Lady Cecilia’s father. The man was told of a well-pursed Highland clan unable to find a bride for its heir.”
“You.” She slid a hot glance at him.
“Aye, me.” Ronan watched her pace, some detached and surely debauched part of him not missing how his plaid gaped a bit each time she finished her stalk across the room and whirled around again.
He balled a hand to a fist, then unclenched it as quickly.
The whipping of her hips and the flashes of her smooth, shapely thighs were making it increasingly difficult to concentrate.
He cleared his throat, trying anyway. “Lady Cecilia’s father sent word to Valdar, claiming his daughter was eager for the match. We were told the fumes of the sea and the city made her ill and she looked forward to coming here. Unfortunately, that was not so.”
“Then why didn’t she return to Aberdeen?” Gelis wheeled about again, this time giving him a quick glimpse of the bright, red-gold curls topping her thighs.
“Och, saints!” The curse slipped out before he could stop it.
She shot him an odd look, but he rushed on before she could question him.
“She couldn’t return because she had nowhere in Aberdeen to go,” he explained, half of him wishing she’d stop her pacing while the other half willed her to step even more quickly so he’d be treated to such an eyeful again and again.
He bit back a groan, the pull at his loins almost unbearable.
“What do you mean ‘she had nowhere to go’?” She spun around and the plaid dipped, revealing a tightly ruched nipple. “Was her father not there?”
Ronan ran a hand down over his chin, caught between bad memories and the worst rutting-lust he’d ever known.
His heart began to pound as hotly as the heat flooding his groin. “Her father took the coin from her bride-price and rather than repaying his debtors, he caught the next ship to France.”
The words seemed to hang in the air, someone else’s explanation, while his own voice silently shouted his need, his thoughts centering onher.
The comely, sparkling creature eyeing him so heatedly, all bouncing bosom and riotous dishevelment.
She jammed her hands on her hips. “Lady Cecilia blamed you.”
“Aye, she did. For that and many other things.” He could scarce speak. Blood was beginning to roar in his ears. “Her last words were that ‘now she’d be free of me and I’d be rid of her.’ ”
“And you silently agreed.”
“I did.” The memory rushed him, guilt damping his lust and cutting off his air. “And it was after we buried her that I vowed to ne’er wed again.”
“But you did and I am . . . other!” She flung herself at him again, this time locking her arms tight around him and pressing close.
Her warmth and all her soft, pliant womanliness chased all else from his mind and his need returned, the force of it tilting his world. He whipped his arms around her, pulling her even harder against him, almost drowning in the wonder of her.
The way she made him feel.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, needing her scent, the essence of her, to cleanse him. A great weight began sliding off his shoulders, but when he looked at her again, it was the brightness in her eyes that undid him.
“Sakes, lass, ’tis naught to cry o’er,” he blurted, his voice gruff.
“I am not crying.” She pulled back, blinking furiously. “But I might if you don’t stop telling me such sad tales and — and admit that you need me!”
“I do need you. More than I would have believed.” The admission fell with surprising ease from his lips.
