8
Laird MacColl was home.
Killian rode into his castle grounds, with Lily still sitting in front of him, the strained silence between them stretching out even more now that they had arrived.
Each time he glanced at her, there was no stopping his heart from thundering in his chest. The effect left him breathless. He had to remind himself to breathe.
During the rest of their journey, she had not tried to escape him. She had been quiet and compliant to the point where Killian had worried she had gotten hurt. He had said nothing to her, though. He couldn’t trust himself to speak without probably saying the wrong thing.
Kissing her was not part of the deal.
But he had done it, anyway. And now, he couldn’t get the feel of her lips out of his mind. Or her taste when he had slipped his tongue into her mouth and caressed hers and suckled.
Why did she kiss me back?
He had enjoyed every second of it. Having her arms around his neck, feeling her warm, lush body press against his.
Lily was tiny, but that made her fit just right. Killian could not think of any reason why he should take her out of his mind. He loved thinking about her. He especially loved it when she was silent.
She tasted better than any wine or whiskey he had ever drunk. Warmer than a hot summer night. These sensations combined sent a chill up his spine, rendering him useless. All she had to do was murmur his name in that trembling voice, and he knew he would kiss her again.
Frustrated with his line of thought, Killian pulled the horse to a halt in front of his castle, dismounted with one jump, and turned to Lily.
She jumped off before he could offer her his hand. The stubborn jut of her chin stayed the same, and her blue eyes were cold again.
“Welcome to MacColl Castle,” he said to her while smoothing a hand over the horse’s mane and smiled.
Seeing the corners of his eyes light up drew a smile from her too. She liked what she saw.
“I am still your prisoner. Do you welcome all your prisoners to their place of captivity?”
Her words were sharp, and even though his heart fluttered a little, he kept his expression stern.
“Nay,” Killian answered simply. “But I give ye much more credit than my regular prisoners, so I shallnae treat ye that way. Ye have tried to kill me more than once, but ye have also saved my life. There is nay reason we cannae call a truce.”
“Truce?” Lily scoffed. She barked out a short laugh and shook her head. “You and I cannot have a truce. You kidnapped me!”
“And I saved yer life,” he answered almost immediately.
Her expression softened a little at his words, but it did not change the stiff glare in her eyes. “I do not think I shall ever like it here.”
Her eyes swept over the magnificent building behind them, and Killian followed her line of sight to see his sister and man-at-arms approach from the draw bridge.
A smile instantly lit up his face when his sister, Niamh, ran the rest of the distance and threw herself into his arms.
“Killian,” she greeted in her usual cheery tone.
Killian groaned as she pressed herself against him a little too hard, causing his wound to ache a little.
“I am so sorry,” she said, laughing when she pulled back. “Are ye hurt? I havenae seen ye in days. Where have ye been? Are ye all right?”
Niamh’s bright green eyes clung to his as she questioned him, and Killian was certain she had not seen Lily yet.
“I am all right, sister,” Killian said to console her. “I should have sent word before leavin’. I didnae mean to make ye worry.”
Niamh was the only family Killian had left after his brother’s death. He was responsible for her now, and also for the clan, even though he hadn’t wanted the latter responsibility at first.
His brother, Peter, had made a fine laird for their people. Even though their clan had suffered at the hands of the neighboring clans at first, Peter had tried his best to be a firm and just ruler to the people, protecting them while Killian helped to provide for them with his business.
