“I did not know him. He did not seem so bad until we were alone together.”
Marcán wanted to remind her that she had been warned but held his tongue. She had not believed his warning. She’d thought he was being overprotective for Diarmuid’s sake.
Astrid took a deep breath. “I am of an age to marry, but my father is dead and made no such agreements for me. I have a brother who still sees me as a child…”
He shook his head. Clearly she was no child.
“…and refused to make any moves toward that end.”
His spirited lass had thought to see to her own betrothal! So she’d sought out Pádraig Meic Murchadha’s attention? Not the choice he would have gone with. She deserved so much better. Of course, a better-behaved lass would not have wandered off in the middle of the night. She would have stayed with her mother. But a better-behaved lass was not what Marcán wanted. He wantedthislass.
He should have voiced his own desire to take her to wife long ago. Then this never would have happened.
“My mother said the Meic Murchadha—”
“Yer mother?” Marcán was instantly alert. “’Twas yer mother who put the idea of marrying Pádraig in yer head?”
And her mother knew of Marcán’s feelings toward her. Everything seemed to fall into place.
“Well, she mentioned him a few times…”
And he knew his lovely lady. That would be all her active imagination needed before she started taking matters into her own hands.
“…and the advantages of an alliance with her clan.”
“Herclan?”
“My mother is from the Meic Murchadha clan.”
“Did she mention any of these ‘advantages’?” He did not want to frighten her with his intent gaze, so he swiped an imaginary hair from her shoulder. And lovely shoulders they were. They could easily be her best asset now that he had seen her naked, but no, those lovely breasts called to him.
Glancing at her face, he licked his lips.
“Did ye hear me?” she asked.
“She mentioned nothing specific,” he echoed her words.
Lowering his head, he sucked in one rosy peak and it tightened on his tongue. Met with her gentle sigh, he accepted her invitation. She pulled him closer to her, arching toward him.
“Ye have the loveliest breasts.” Thoroughly aroused now, his voice was low. Seductive. He cupped both breasts, their bounty overflowing his hands, and nuzzled into her neck. “I would like to take ye again, but ye’ve yet to tell me what I asked ye.”
“No. I… I believe I did.”
“Did the man lay his hands on ye?” He licked her ear with a quick flick of his tongue over her lobe. “Tell me now, Astrid.”
“He groped me… everywhere… and would have done more, but Faolán heard my call to stop.”
Anger ripped through him at the thought of the man touching her. His gut tightened with the need to learn more. To get specifics. Her reluctance to discuss it told him it would not be an easy task.
No offense against a woman went unpunished.
It was her father’s own code, one that Diarmuid also followed. The need for revenge cut deep, but he was determined not to show it. Not now.
Slowly pulling away, he offered her his sweetest smile. “Now that was not so difficult, was it?” He kept his tone steady, wanting to soothe her, but his need to avenge her had cooled his ardor. Slightly. Her eyes rounded suddenly, and he was overcome by the intensity of her gaze.
“Being with ye now. Here. I had no thought that this is what it could be like.” She palmed his face, her hand warm against his cheek. “To be with someone so caring. I did not know…”
“Shh,” Marcán said, pulling her face to his bare shoulder, only to feel her tears sliding down his naked chest. “Now is all that matters.”
