He studied the old woman and saw that her face was somber. “I have no intention of giving her up.” But neither did he want to wait for weeks, giving Caragh the chance to say no.
“I think you already know what to do, Lochlannach.” The old woman smiled. Leaning on her walking stick, she hobbled back to her husband.
An idea took root in his mind, one that suited his intent perfectly.
Over the next few days, Caragh hardly saw Styr at all. He’d negotiated a truce with her brothers, and she half-wondered if it was in return for keeping his distance.
But on the night Ronan and Terence took Brendan to visit a neighboring clan, she found Styr awaiting her inside her home. He was seated on a stool, both hands enclosed in manacles, while a longer chain looped around the post where she’d once held him captive. His hands were in front of him this time, with each bound separately, to give him more freedom to move.
And he wore nothing but his hose.
At the very sight of his muscled chest, words failed her. He was magnificent, his sun-darkened skin gleaming against the fire. His shoulders were corded, lean and strong, while his stomach was flat and ridged.
Caragh couldn’t imagine what had happened to him, but the heated look in his eyes drew her closer.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked, pushing back the storm of unexpected feelings. “Who’s done this to you?” Had Ronan or Terence ordered him chained? She wouldn’t put it past her brothers. But if that were the case, they wouldn’t have confined him here.
“Close the door,” Styr answered. “This was my decision, with the help of Onund.”
“Why?” she blurted out, not understanding what would possess him to do such a thing. It reminded her of the first nights they’d spent together, when she’d held him captive.
“Because I’m not good with words.”
Caragh bit her lip to keep her mouth from falling open. He had chained himself here? For what purpose?
She studied him, taking another step closer. He was bared to her, his body chained so he could not leave.
And she understood what he was trying to say.
“Promise me,” she whispered. “No matter what happens between us.” Her hand came up to cover his heart. “Our marriage will not rest upon the condition of having children.”
He leaned in, resting his cheek against hers. “I want to give you children.” His hands moved to rest upon her waist. “I want to watch you grow round with my child.”
His words held a power that entrapped her, as if she were the one wearing manacles. Against her body, she felt the rise of his arousal.
“Your brothers are gone this night,” he reminded her, nipping her cheek with a light kiss. “We’re alone.”
Her body responded to his sensual promise, aching for him. Against her gown, her breasts tightened.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered.
“Everything.” His voice was resonant, pushing past her defenses. “Did you think I was going to let you walk away?”
She had no idea what to say, but eyed the chains. “This wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”
“It’s more interesting.”
Her eyes widened, her skin warming at his suggestion. But she could not resist the urge to run her hands over his shoulders, feeling the strength of his bare skin.
It felt wicked, having a man chained for her pleasure. Deliciously so.
“This isn’t fair to you,” she whispered.
A slow smile curved over his mouth. “Søtnos, there isn’t a man alive who doesn’t dream of this.”
She realized, then, that this was his way of atonement. When he’d left her before, she’d nearly crumbled under the weight of her grief. He had chosen to stay with his wife out of honor and duty to their unborn child. She’d understood that, though it had devastated her.
“If you wed me, I don’t want you to leave,” she said. “I want a child, yes, but more than that, I want you.” To emphasize her words, she ran her palm over his cheek, down his throat, to rest upon his heart. “With or without a child. It’s you I need.”
