She stopped when her mouth was inches from the throbbing tip and looked up. There was just enough light peeking through the shadows for him to make out her naughty, catlike smile.
He knewexactlywhat she was doing—and so did she.
He was holding himself so tightly he didn’t realize his hands were gripping the sheets until she laughed. “I think you might need that pillow after all.”
He couldn’t talk. Her mouth was too close and he was so damned taut with anticipation he didn’t know how much more teasing he could take before he started to beg. Before he gripped the back of her head and moved her mouth over him.
Suck me...
Just the thought of her warm mouth closing over him made his cock jerk in her hand and a bead of pleasure seep from the tip.
She licked it. With one slow flick of the tongue she licked and swirled the plump, sensitive hood as if he were a juicy plum.
Pleasure shot through him like an arrow. He nearly came off the damned bed. But it was nothing compared to the incredible sensation when her mouth finally wrapped around him, those sensuous crimson lips stretching to take him in. Lower. Deeper.
Oh God. How many times had he imagined this? But he’d never come close to the reality. He wanted to thrust. He needed to thrust. His body shook as sensation coiled at the base of his spine.
When he couldn’t take the torture anymore of her innocent kisses, he told her what to do. He told her how to milk him with her tongue and hand, and how to suck him deep and hard.
She didn’t need much instruction. It didn’t take her long to bring him to the edge. He would have pulled out, but she wouldn’t let him. She took him deep in her throat, coaxing the thick vein with her tongue, and he couldn’t hold back. He started to come in hot, fierce, pulsing waves that tore from him in a roar of pleasure so intense, he probably could have used two pillows.
How had she known...?
Eoin didn’t let himself finish the question that he had no right to ask. He’d let her think he was dead. He had no right to expect fidelity from her. She’d been betrothed to another man, for Christ’s sake.
No good would come from knowing or wondering. It would be better for them both if they erased those six years from memory and never spoke of it.
But it wasn’t going to be easy. The jealousy and irrationality that had always been his weakness where his wife was concerned did not listen to reason.
Margaret should have no complaints. The first few days at Gylen were much better than she could have expected. Eachann’s natural cautiousness had eased a bit, and he seemed to be coming around to the idea of new grandparents—especially a grandmother who had made no secret that she intended to indulge him beyond all good measure.
Seeing Lady Rignach with Eachann showed Margaret a different side of Eoin’s formidable mother. It gave Margaret an idea of what she must have been like with her own children. She must have loved them fiercely, protecting them like a lioness did her cubs. Margaret coming out of nowhere, throwing her son’s life in a tumult, would have been perceived as a threat. It did not excuse all of her coldness, perhaps, but it explained some of it.
With Eoin, Eachann was still reserved—if not so wary—but that lessened considerably after Eoin showed him his personal library and promised to arrange for a tutor to instruct him until he was ready for schooling. The lad’s excitement knew no bounds. He’d even relaxed enough to join some of the other young boys in the yard for training one day.
The wall of animosity and suspicion that had faced Margaret at Gylen the first time did not seem so thick, although vestiges of it remained. Some of the clansmen still whispered and stared, and there were subtle reminders of her status as the daughter of one of Bruce’s greatest enemies. A plaid that she’d left behind woven of wool from Galloway somehow found its way to the top of her trunk; one of the laird’s “luchd-taighe” guardsmen looked at her whenever the word “traitor” was spoken; and another stared at her whenever John of Lorn and his rebellious cohorts were mentioned. Apparently the exiled MacDougall chief had been put in charge of the English fleet and was making it difficult for Bruce to get supplies from Ireland and France.
Her short trip to Oban with Lady Rignach and Eachann had gone about as well as could be expected. After Margaret’s departure, Eoin’s mother had learned the truth of what she’d been doing there and had made a substantial gift to the convent that—fittingly—had been used to set up a school for the children in the village. As apologies went, it was a satisfying one.
The most difficult moment thus far had been when Margaret had been forced to confront Fin at the feast. As he was Marjory’s husband, he could hardly be avoided. But after an awkward greeting, both Eoin’s sister and her husband had kept their distance. Margaret knew she had Eoin to thank for that.
Eoin’s knee had improved enough for him to walk around without the brace Magnus had made for him, and he’d promised to take her riding around the isle soon.
Though he’d been locked up with his father and his men for most of the days, the nights had belonged to her. As always, their passion was explosive. They made love fiercely and tenderly, with an intimacy of which she’d never dreamed.
It was almost perfect. But she couldn’t escape the feeling that something was bothering him. On the fourth morning after their arrival at Gylen she had to know. As always, Eoin rose early, before the light of dawn was strong enough to fully light the chamber. He’d already drawn on his tunic and had just finished tying the breeches at his waist when she spoke.
“Have I done something wrong?”
He turned to her in surprise. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”
She drew the sheet up around her chest and scooted up to lean back against the carved wooden headboard. “It seems as if something is bothering you.” She paused. “It’s been that way since the first night we arrived.” She thought for a moment, the sudden realization of what it might be dawning. “Since I...” Her voice dropped off in embarrassment. “Did what I did not please you?”
He sat on the edge of the bed, putting the sporran he’d picked up to tie to his belt on the bed next to her. His hand found her cheek. “Are you crazed? Of course you pleased me. Could you not tell from all that shouting?”
She almost let the boyish smile stop her. He looked so handsome and relaxed, so different from the grim, angry man who’d showed up at the church four weeks ago. But she knew she was not imagining it. “Don’t, Eoin. Please, don’t do this again. If there is something wrong, tell me. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us this time. Don’t you see? It cannot work otherwise.”
He drew back, his expression hardening. “Some secrets are best hidden. The truth is not always a great panacea. Sometimes the truth can hurt. Sometimes we are better off not knowing.”
