“Now, Astrid.”
“Do not talk to me as if ye have a right to order me around.”
“I’ll not ask again.”
Astrid whirled around, her mouth squeezed tight with anger, her face awash in tears. Marcán struggled against the sight of her frailty and innocence and his duty as the one protecting her.
“Ye have no idea what ye’ve done,” Marcán said.
“WhatI’vedone? How dare ye…”
Marcán closed his eyes and stopped listening. Diarmuid was a thousand times a fool. His sister was going to get herself with child, and nothing Marcán could say would make a difference. She wanted to be taken! She begged to be taken! Not out of the carnal need for sex, but for the thrill of being desired.
He opened his eyes, and she slammed her mouth shut.
“Let us sit.” He was suddenly done in, and it was a relief to settle onto the ground. Astrid obeyed but kept her distance. “These men would have taken yer maidenhead and given ye no further thought.”
Her eyes widened at his bawdy words.
“Not Pádraig!” She all but spat the words at him, her faith in the sly fox that strong.
Marcán scoffed. “Pádraig would have been first betwixt yer legs.”
Her quiet gasp surprised him, and he swallowed hard before continuing.
“Ye’re a lovely lass, but yer need is for a man to love ye.” He didn’t dare touch her, despite the heat pouring off her. She kept her eyes on him as he spoke. “I wish only to protect ye from those who would take what is meant for yer husband alone.”
Her eyes were unusually bright, as if he held her full attention. “Yer husband is the man who should take ye to his bed and show ye what it is to be loved inallways until ye are moaning his name in yer release.”
Marcán’s words were shattering him inside. Little though she knew it, he was revealing his deepest desires, sharing what he wanted with her but would never have.
“I was not taking something away from ye. Never that. I want something moreforye. Ye’d not have known passion with these men. Men don’t need passion for release, just a willing lass, and ye send out a sign that ye are willing with every flip of yer hair.”
Her expression flashed with anger, but he had to finish, to tell her what she needed to hear. Then he would never say these words to her again, because it was ripping his heart out to imagine her with another.
“Ye need to save yer maidenhead for the man who’ll protect ye, even from yerself. The man who will unselfishly put yer needs above his own and come to ye alone for his release. The man who will stay by yer side no matter what. That is the way of our clan, Astrid. Mayhap not all clans care so strongly for their women, butwedo.”
She continued to watch him a bit longer, the anger slipping from her expression. When she glanced back toward the sound of the music, Marcán’s eyes closed ever so slightly, and he finally released the breath he’d been holding.
“I do not see how I can go back in there.” She turned a sideways glance at him. “I’ve been out here alone withye.”
She said the last with such displeasure, he squared his shoulders and stiffened his expression.
“What will they think?” she asked.
“I’ll be happy to redden yer bottom as ye deserve.” His flat tone left little room for argument. In truth, he’d not be able to punish her, not now. Not when the reality that he must give her up to whoever would become her husband felt like a cold blade piercing the depths of his heart. But she didn’t need to know that. Let her wonder if he would carry out the punishment. When her expression turned dubious, he added, “Or I can bring ye to where yer mother is sleeping. Ye could curl up beside her and rest for the night. We’re headed back at daybreak.”
She smiled up at him, and his breath caught at her loveliness. “With the sheep, I hope?”
He offered a wide grin. “Indeed!”
“Then I will accept yer suggestion. Ye may bring me to my mother.”
Chapter 2
Astrid remained motionless in the small thatched building she and her mother had been given the use of for the night. An old pallet had been thrown together for them on the floor with barely enough straw to protect them from the cold, dirt floor. Her mother snored an arm’s length from her, and the opening to the outside revealed the dark-haired warrior as he walked away in the moonlight. Marcán. He was being ridiculously overprotective of her.
Marcán stopped at the road, roughed up his hair, then looked skyward with open arms. Astrid frowned. She heard something that sounded like yelling, but he was too far away for her to hear the words. She moved nearer the doorway. Was he screaming up at the heavens?
