Page 93

“And I would do so again.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “You already have, and I shall treasure the gift of your love, today and always.”

Epilogue

“Lewis, your wife is in the courtyard asking for you.”

Which was partly true. The alewife was indeed directing the unloading of her precious cargo. However, she had been on her way to the bakehouse when Aidan had stopped her. He’d offered to send Lewis her way, suggesting her husband could use a break.

“Go,” he said, “I can help Clarissa in here.”

Lewis looked at him skeptically.

“Your wife,” he reminded Lewis, who winked at Clarissa. If they shared a private secret, certainly they’d not let him in on it. Her bond with the baker was one of many she’d developed with the people of Clan Scott, though Aidan was not surprised.

“And what do you know of baking bread?” Clarissa asked when he joined her. He waited a moment longer, until Lewis had indeed left, then pulled his wife’s hands from the dough she’d been shaping.

“Less than I know about pleasing my wife,” he said, leaning toward her. The smell of freshly baked bread mixed with the scent of Clarissa’s hair was a heady combination that made him wish Lewis would not be returning.

When his lips touched hers, the already hot room grew even warmer. Or perhaps he just imagined it to be so. Either way, it did not take long for the quick kiss to turn into something much, much deeper.

Grabbing her none too gently, Aidan pressed Clarissa to him.

“Aidan, we cannot—”

She gasped as he showed her how quickly he’d become aroused. Celebrating his victory, Aidan tilted his head to deepen the previously chaste kiss. This one was anything but.

Hot, demanding . . . it promised to put a mutually pleasurable end to what he’d started. Her breasts both soft and firm against him, Aidan tried hard not to imagine what they’d looked like that morn, unbound and beautiful, but he failed miserably. Groaning, he began to move toward the door.

“What are you . . . how is this helping Lewis?”

Aidan had forgotten all about the baker and his bread.

“I do not believe it will. But”—he moved toward the door—“it will help me very much.”

With a roll of her eyes, Clarissa said, “I do not doubt it, but there are many loaves yet to—”

He silenced her with another kiss.

Perhaps Aidan should feel poorly for not allowing her to finish. But he did not. The men’s training had concluded for the day, as had his meeting with Graeme and the elders. Nothing prevented him from scooping her up and carrying her to their bedchamber . . . nay, they would go to her former room in the tower. It was much closer.

Nothing, that is, save for his wife.

“If you wish to stay,” he cupped her bottom in both hands, “then you shall, of course, stay.”

Circling his hips, he watched her expressive eyes, waiting for . . . that.

And then, he struck. “But if you will allow me instead to take you just over there—” he nodded toward the tower, “—I can assure you it will be worth it.”

He didn’t break eye contact.

He didn’t move his hands except to give her bottom a slight caress.

She sighed, and Aidan knew he’d won.

But just as he was about to rejoice in his victory, the door opened and he let go of Clarissa instinctively.

Lewis looked back and forth between the two of them.