His brother was in the main hall, standing near the tables and speaking to Conall. Maddock twisted his upper body to see who yelled for him.
“Reade? What ails ye?”
Reade let his actions speak for him. He grabbed his brother by the neckline of his tunic and yanked him toward the rear kitchen door. Once in the courtyard, he threw his brother away from him. Maddock stumbled before catching himself and rising in front of Reade. He stood a finger length taller, and was full grown, well-muscled, and talented with a sword.
A sword he didn’t have.
“Go retrieve your weapon,” Reade barked in command.
Maddock shook his head. “Nay, Reade. What has ye up in arms?”
“I said, retrieve your weapon.”
Maddock narrowed his bright hazel-green eyes, so much like his own, and crossed his arms over his thick chest. Not as burly as Reade, but Maddock had grown into manhood with strong, skillful arms and hands.
And still no weapon. Reade shifted his feet and raised his sword.
“I’ll strike ye where ye stand.
Maddock still didn’t move. He stared down his nose at his brother, his eyes riveted on Reade, challenging him.
Reade took Maddock’s challenge, threw his sword to the ground at his feet, and launched himself at his brother.
The burly force of Reade’s body easily slammed Maddock backward as his fist glanced off Maddock’s cheek. Maddock brought his forearm up against Reade’s neck, and with a twist of his hips, he swiveled his legs out from under Reade and rolled away. He popped up to his feet, panting and covered in mud and grass.
Reade did the same, springing to his feet and turning onto Maddock again. Reade’s unconstrained fury boiled under his skin, like someone had lit his blood on fire. He shifted to attack his brother again, but Maddock stood upright, pulling his shoulders back, and held up a hand at Reade.
“Your unsatisfied cock is going to get ye in more trouble than ‘tis worth. Go find your wife and take her to bed before ye do something ye regret.”
“Ye dinna know what ye speak, Mad,” Reade snarled at his brother.
Maddock shook his head. “’Tis as plain as the nose on your face. Ye might claim to have accepted the lass, even conversing with her and the like, but your doubt clouds ye like black smoke. Camden would punch ye to the ground if he stood here. He’d tell ye himself, your loyalty to kin and clan is paramount. And if Father and Grandfather believe this wedding is for the best, so be it. Her dead husband was a spy? What does it matter? Has she shown anything? Mother, Father, and Adaira, all say nay. Save your sword for the Campbells. Go sink your cock into your wife and lighten your sour mood.”
Reade’s immediate reaction was to strike his brother again, this time in his too-talkative mouth. Then his words sunk in, and invoking Camden’s name was near to invoking the name of God. Reade unfurled his fists and let the tension flow from his hands.
Maddock’s words were the same as his father’s, his mother’s, his sister’s. The same as that which came down from his grandfather, Glengarry Laird Alasdair MacDonald himself.
And shewashis wife. By God, he should be able to trust her, be able to live with her, be able to swive her! Why had everything seemed to work against him to be fully in union with this woman?
That was it, his final thought. With his blood still boiling, Reade spun away from Maddock and ran for the keep. Taking the stairs two at a time, he struggled to control the sheer force of his desire that erupted inside him as he ascended the stairs. He reached his chamber door and, without pause, burst through in an impassioned rush.
Blair had moved from the chair and sat on the bed, but in no better state of dress. Or rather, undress, as she had loosened the chemise during her bath and the filmy neckline of her shift slipped down her shoulder, exposing that milky white perfection of skin to him, hinting at the luscious curve of her high breasts.
His cock tugged and throbbed, making cognition nearly impossible. He could only form one thought.
“Tell me ye want me,” he rasped as he stood stiffly at the entrance to his chambers, panting out the burning inside him. What would he do if she denied him again? Reade had no idea. All he knew was he had reached the tipping point where he needed a woman. Nay, heneededher. Blair MacDonald. He needed his wife.
She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. She rose on the bed, just enough for her upper body to face him. The outline of her high, firm breasts was visible under the thin material of her shift, like fall apples hiding in the leaves. His chest throbbed at the view she presented. His chin dropped slightly as her eyes lifted to him, a cerulean cord catching upon him, dragging him toward her.
Reade moved to the bed and paused next to her. Mindlessly, his hand moved to her neck, stroking her tender skin with his thumb before wrapping his thick fingers around the base of her neck. He didn’t squeeze, only rested his hand upon her skin as if the weight of his hand was more powerful, more commanding, than any danger a hand on her throat might pose. She did not stir under the threat of his light grip and the heat between them sizzled, as if the burning in his blood transferred to her.
“Please, Blair,” he finally begged. “I want ye so badly, ‘tis consuming me, my body, my every thought. I’m at my breaking point.”
He leaned forward until his face was a impassioned breath from hers. “Tell me.”
“Iwant ye,” Blair breathedout in a husky voice, and immediately she found herself on her back, his strong hand pressing her into the coverlet and his lips on hers, hot and eager, grinding her lips against her teeth.
The prospect of lying with another man had sickened her after Mungo’s death. He had been everything horrible in the world, and lying with him had been misery. Blair had presumed ‘twas the same with all men.
