The mere thought of the scent of her hair, the feel of her hands, her bosom innocently pressing against him was enough to banish his exhaustion. He was painfully hard with need for her. Standing, he turned away from the opening door. He needed to get out of this, or she would finally learn just how besotted he was with her. And she would not be happy.
Chapter 9
Watching as Marcán’s eyes traveled the length of the new slave, assessing her, had made Astrid feel like she was being doused with cold water. The man was considering taking the slave to his bed! He wanted her. She was a pretty thing, obviously intrigued by Marcán—what woman wouldn’t be?—and as far as Astrid could tell, she’d given every indication she was more than willing.
A sick feeling had unfurled inside Astrid. Certainly Marcán had taken plenty of women to his bed, or mayhap he went to theirs as Diarmuid had. Astrid was not ignorant, but she had never actually thought of Marcán in that way—until now. She struggled to contain the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.
If only she’d trusted Marcán instead of Pádraig, the disaster in the woods could have been averted. Pádraig would have forced her. Forced her to do anything he wanted, and she would not have been able to stop him. Marcán had warned her, he’d tried to protect her, but she’d fought him every step of the way. She had been determined to speak to Pádraig. Alone and in the dark had been fine with her.
Shame washed over her at her own ignorance, her stubbornness, her inability to see what was right in front of her.
Ye need to save yer maidenhead for the man who’ll protect ye, even from yerself.
A never-ending job!
When she stepped back out in the darkening night, eager to show Marcán how much she respected and valued him, he was nowhere in sight. Panic fluttered in her chest. She went back inside and grabbed her mantle, her eyes scanning the room. Merewyn sat with the other women, eating quietly by herself. Another look around assured her Marcán had not come inside while she was making arrangements with Joan.
The woman looked at her now, a question in her eyes. Astrid smiled and Joan went back to seeing to the bath water she’d ordered. It would be brought to the little building in the back since space in the roundhouse was at such a premium. Wives were happier to welcome back their men from battle after all the blood and sweat had been washed away.
Back outside, Astrid pulled the covering tight around her and headed toward the trees.
“Marcán?”
An owl answered her. Trying for a lightheartedness she did not truly feel, she said, “I know my Marcán and ye are not him.”
“YerMarcán?”
The low voice vibrated through her and nervous excitement danced along her skin. She turned toward the shadows where the voice had come from just as he stepped toward her. He stopped.
“I am beyond exhausted. Forgiveness, please.” He roughed up his hair. “My ears are playing tricks on me.”
Although his face was in shadow, she knew exactly the expression he wore. A quiet smile. His eyes bright and clear. And intent on her. Astrid took a step closer.
“I am readying a bath for ye.” She swallowed right before she reached a hand out to him. “Come.”
She couldn’t be sure, but she sensed there was some inner struggle.
Don’t give up on me now!
When she moved closer, he finally closed the distance to her and accepted her hand. Heat shot up her arm, warming her innards. His palm was rough and she realized she’d never actually touched his hand before. It was quite large, making her hand seem as small as a child’s.
“I need to get ye something to eat as well.”
She started to move away, but he stood fast. “What are ye about, Astrid?”
Closing her eyes, she basked in the sound of her name on his lips. How could she have been so blind? When she opened her eyes, he had moved into the light. That same light revealed her expression to him, and he searched her face as if looking for answers.
“Are ye trying to talk me out of telling Diarmuid about Pádraig? Ye needn’t bother. I have done so.”
His tone was even. Steady. And his words meant far less to her than the sound of his voice. That was like a caress and she struggled to keep her eyes open and focused on him. He frowned.
“Ye can go back in, Astrid. I can see to my own needs.”
Merewyn’s willing expression flashed through her mind, but something in his eyes told her the regard he had once borne for her had not faded. He was protective of her, attentive, and not at all like her brother. He tilted his head now, his eyes squinting as if trying to read an unclear sign. And there was a good chance hecould. He knew her very well. Better than she knew herself.
“This has nothing to do with my punishment.”
“’Tis not up to me to say what that punishment may be. I hold no sway over yerri túaithe.”
