The command could not be denied, nor could Marcán’s pride at Astrid’s unmovable stance. She was glorious to watch. Daimhin recognized that she had no choice and tossed him a sad glance. “Mayhap another time.”
“I do not believe so.” Marcán was quick to set her straight.
The spread of redness across Daimhin’s cheeks matched the speed with which she stomped away. He wanted to applaud his beloved but for the expression she now turned on him. His body tensed.
“Certainly ye know I had no interest in the lass.”
“Certainly.” Astrid’s expression never wavered.
“Then what are ye waiting for?” He opened his arms to her. She paused only a moment before accepting the invitation, filling him with relief such as he had never known. “My sweet love. Ye are a commanding woman when yer ire is pricked.” He resisted her attempt to move away. “I have no desire to release ye yet.”
With her face flat against his chest, it was a challenge to make out her words. “I did not like finding another’s arms about ye.”
“Nor did I like having another’s arms about me.” He kissed the top of her head. “’Tis ye alone that I want here. Ye alone belong in my arms.”
Rubbing his cheek against her hair, he rocked her in his arms until she finally relaxed and hugged him back. He sighed. “I was sore afeared ye would be foolish enough to believe the show she put on.”
Astrid pulled her head back to glare up at him. “I will tell ye again I did not like it. And that is for certain. I also know there is no man in this world that I trust more than ye.”
The words touched him deeply and it took a moment for him to speak past the lump in his throat. “And I will live the rest of my life deserving that trust,a ghráidh.”
Standing there, holding her against him, he knew a peace that had been a long time coming. His parents had shared a love like this, with absolute trust binding them together. He’d never imagined he could have the same, and yet here she was, within his arms. Nothing could jeopardize their connection—and that knowledge gave him the courage to voice his concerns.
“Has Pádraig been bothering ye?”
“How did ye—” She shifted in his arms. “Gréagóir?”
Astrid’s astuteness never ceased to surprise him. “He mentioned it to me.”
“I was foolish to allow him to get me alone.”
Marcán pulled back, fear tightening his chest. “Tell me.”
“There was naught. He… he made rough with me.”
Marcán’s chest expanded. He was incensed, and only the sight of the other man’s blood would calm him. “I shall kill the man!”
She pulled on his arms when he tried to release her. “Please, no bloodshed. Nothing worse happened. Gréagóir interrupted whatever the vile man had in mind.”
With his arms locked once again around her, he peered into her face. “Yet ye came here alone, giving him another chance to assault ye. Do not do so again.”
“I left the man with my mother. I believe she is enamored with him.”
“And she can have him!” Marcán said before blowing out a breath. “I will see ye back to where ye will be safe.”
Her eyes rounded. “I am not happy to be such a burden to ye.”
“A burden? Never. I wish it to be no other way.”
He lowered his lips to hers, bestowing gentle kisses not meant to enflame her desire but to indicate his deep regard for her. There was nothing he would not do for her. Hand in hand, he walked her back to the village, ducking for cover whenever someone passed by like it was a game. Each time stealing a kiss.
“I will sleep out here.” She indicated the small building where they’d made love.
It was not well protected, but few would expect to find the sister of therisleeping in such an uncomfortable place. “Are ye certain?”
“I consider it my place of refuge.” Her eyes glistened. “Even more so since our night of passion.”
Marcán kissed her again, deeper this time, wanting nothing more than to lay with her again. He forced himself to break the kiss. She looked up at him with a puzzled expression before replacing the look with a tight smile.
