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But right before he settled me into the chair he’d placed beside the hut’s front door, I placed my hand on his forearm to stop him.

“Thank you, for what you told me last night. And…” I felt myself blushing but forced myself to hold his gaze. “My back felt much better—I slept better than I have in months.”

His tusks flashed in the sunlight as he bent his head toward mine, and for a moment I thought I saw a glint of green in the center of his coal-black eyes.

“My stubborn firebrand, accepting help is no’ a weakness.”

Before I could argue, his lips claimed mine, and I decided this was far more interesting. Maardok’s tongue was ridged—just like his cock—and when his tongue stroked mine, I whimpered as I swayed toward him, my hands going to where his plaid was spread across his wide chest.

It had been ages since I’d felt any sort of sexual need—although those first few weeks after he’d left had been difficult—but the last few days… I knew his senses were stronger than mine, and I wondered if he could somehow guess how aroused his kisses could make me. I felt huge and uncomfortable and sore, but somehow, kissing him, being tucked against his bulk, made me instead feel…beautiful.

Desirable.

His large hand came around to rest against the small of my back, simultaneously rubbing my muscles and pulling me against him, so our child was trapped between us. When the bairn kicked, I felt Maardok’s lips curl into a delighted smile before he slowly drew back.

I needed to tell him.

But Ewan had become impatient and was now skipping back toward us.

Tonight, then.

“Maardok, tonight, after Ewan is asleep, I need you⁠—”

“Och, lass, I need ye too,” he groaned, dropped his mouth to mine for another kiss. His hand fell to my arse, squeezing it proprietarily. “I’ve needed ye since the moment I saw ye again.”

Whether by accident or design, he shifted then, and I could feel the hard length of his arousal under his kilt, pressing against the side of my stomach. I sucked in a breath as a wave of wanting—of need—swept through me.

“Aye,” he rasped harshly, squeezing my arse again, and I knew he understood my arousal. “Just like that. Fook, Cataline, I want to make ye scream my name as ye come on my tongue.”

The picture was so wicked I felt a flood of desire coat the inside of my thighs at the exact moment my nipples tightened, leaking milk onto the pads he’d cut from his plaid for me.

And of course Maardok—and his sense of smell—knew. His gaze dropped to my breasts and his grin turned lascivious.

“Aye, and I’ll take care of that too.” He winked. “Tonight, dkaar.”

The male nudged me toward the chair, sat me down, turned and whistled his way across the yard as if he hadn’t just turned me into a puddle of desire.

Oh my.

The rest of the day would have been pleasant, had it not been for the way Maardok sent me one of his wicked looks, full of passionate promise every time he glanced at me. I felt as if I were in a constant state of heightened arousal all day, which was awkward as hell when I was the size of a house.

The weather continued clear and cold, and I found my gaze drifting westward, toward the town, more than once, as Maardok instructed my son in how to care for the horse, or the proper way to stack the firewood he chopped much faster than I ever could.

I was pondering John’s plan.

Why would he want to marry me and raise Ewan? And now that the snow had cleared and the winter didn’t seem quite so imminent, would he journey out here to fetch me?

Escaping to Battleborn Village seemed more and more appealing.

I wasn’t really sure why there were so many humans there, according to Maardok, but the thought was comforting. Although the babe was due any day now, and the pathway would be open in four nights, I was seriously considering risking the travel.

If John wanted Ewan, then I would take my son past the ends of the earth to save him from such a selfish, cruel man.

Of course, it didn’t help that Maardok was taking every opportunity to convince Ewan or myself that we should join him.

Mid-morning, he was packing mud into the cracks along the north wall, where the wind was fiercest.

“Our cottages are stone,” he said almost nonchalantly. “Two feet thick at the base, and the peat burns all night without tending. I’ve never once woken cold in my own bed.”