Charming the Chieftain (18 page)

A soft sob escaped her and she threw a hand over her mouth.

Aeden clasped her upper shoulders. “What is it?” His ice-blue eyes narrowed to slits. “Has Addis upset you again?”

In his state of barely leashed rage, Elisande kept silent, afraid he would commit violence on her word alone. In the morning, Addis ceased to be a threat to her so, she saw no reason to inflame Aeden’s fury.

“Answer me,” he commanded.

White brackets creased the sides of Aeden’s mouth, his tension tangible. He was ready to pounce.

“No,” she fought to mask her inner turmoil in a deceptive calm. “Your brother has not troubled me.”

Crinkles in his forehead emerged as his frown deepened. Her eyes implored him to believe her even though she perceived he found her answer unsatisfactory. Nevertheless, he freed her shoulders and nodded. The knot of tension in her stomach uncoiled and she hurried to change the subject.

“How long will you be gone?”

Still frowning, he toyed with a loose curl fallen over her shoulder. At the sound of her voice, his eyes shifted to stare into hers.

“No more than a fortnight.”

“Well, I suppose ’tis not so very long.”

He leaned in and his breath fanned the tendrils around her ear. His nearness set off tingles of awareness down her spine. She had to place a hand on his forearm in an effort to keep her balance. He grinned, and she had an idea he knew how he affected her.

His eyes bathed her in appreciation. “The hour is late, wife. Let us seek our bed.”

Anticipation gleamed in his eyes as he observed the blush riding high on her cheeks. Flustered, she preceded him through the crowded room and up the stairs to their bedchamber.

Aeden crossed to the window. His brows knit together in question. “What is this, lass?”

His hand caught the small sack of oats swinging in the breeze.

Suddenly shy, she cast her eyes downward and peeked at him through lowered lashes. Funny that the preparations she made earlier seemed so long ago.

“’Tis naught save a bit of scent to freshen the chamber.”

He set the bag loose and put it in motion again.

She obeyed the crook of his finger and stopped when they stood slipper to boot. An invisible snare of attraction wove its web around them. His arm encircled her waist as she slid her hands to the back of his neck and threaded her fingers through his sun-streaked, auburn hair.

“You’ve made my house a home, lass, and for that I thank you.”

He sealed his compliment with a long, drugging kiss and bore her to their bed.

“’Tis the truth your hair is longer than decency allows.”

She traced her initials over his heart as his low and throaty laugh filled the air.

“Then I shall have it sheared to please you, wife.”

“’Twould make me Delilah to your Samson and truth told I prefer your hair the way it is,” she confessed.

He cupped her backside with his big hands and squeezed. “Ah, you do please me, lass.”

In no hurry to end their dreamy interlude, she sketched a lazy outline of his light-blue eyes, slightly crooked nose, and sharp cheekbones ending with a light kiss on his parted lips. He tried to deepen the embrace, but she would not be deterred from her intimate inspection. Her roving hand alighted upon the jagged white scars vivid against his golden-brown skin. Her fingertips sketched the puckered mass, quite aware of to his sudden tension.

“Who inflicted this injury?” she softly inquired.

“Addis.”

Curiously, his tone was void of inflection. She marveled that a brother could be so vicious to a member of his own family.

“How old were you?” she pressed.

“Five and ten.”

He shifted and set her away from him. She wondered if he knew how telling his actions were.

“Why would your own brother do this to you?”

She knew from conversation with Onora the attack stemmed from Addis’s jealousy. Her aunt also told her he never spoke of the fight since the day it occurred. She wanted to know more, not because her intent was to re-open old wounds, but to work something out in her mind that had been bothering her since she stitched Ronan’s arm. Fiona’s malice reminded her of their encounter during her ritual, specifically the disgraceful things she said in regards to Aeden. She decided it time to put an end to his doubts.

“He was jealous that a girl preferred me to him,” he finally answered.

Disturbed, Elisande finished his explanation. “So, Addis thought if he disfigured you he’d have no more competition.”

Aeden nodded. “Those who witnessed the fight on that day swore he meant to slit my throat. Fortunate for me, he never was one for accuracy, but he was close enough to wield his knife-work and do quite a bit of damage.”

The phrase ‘knife-work’ sparked a fleeting memory. She tried to grab hold of the thought, but it slid to the shaded corners of her mind. She shifted her attention back to the topic and Aeden, who seemed to erect an emotional barrier. Compassion for him threatened to morph into tears and she reached out to caress his wounds again. Gentle, yet firm, he restrained her fingers within his grasp and withdrew her hand from his cheek.

His expression turned grim as he stated, “Lovely fingers should no’ be despoiled so.”

She thought he was in jest and almost laughed at the foolish words. Then she caught a hint of his pained countenance before his expression cleared. She rose on an elbow to loom over him and waited patiently for him to meet her eyes. His resigned air formed the realization that he supposed her to be repulsed by his injury.

After quiet contemplation, she agreed with his declaration.

“You are right, husband. My fingers should never touch your disfigurement.”

He flinched and tried to roll his head to the other side of the bolster.

“Please don’t turn away from me. I am not through speaking.”

Reluctant, he gave his attention a combination of wounded forbearance shown on his face and in his eyes. “Speak your part then, lass.”

She startled him when she cupped his face in her palms. Unblinking, she stared into wary eyes. “You were correct in thinking my hands should never touch your scars. A mark of resilience in the face of evil deserves more tender ministrations.”

His expression of wonderment pierced her heart. Overcome with emotion, she settled atop his chest and bestowed feather light kisses the entire length of his creased and bleached skin. He pulled her roughly almost violently to him. His hands locked against her spine in an embrace she never wanted to free herself from. His mouth covered hers and his kiss sent spirals of joy through her. She succumbed to the forceful domination of his lips reveling in his raw desire.

Breathless, she broke off the kiss. He buried his face in her mane of tousled hair pulled her thigh over his hip and entered her in one sudden thrust. She gasped, uncertain what it was he wanted her to do.

“Here, love.”

Eventually she understood he had given her control of their passion. In an awkward motion, she straddled him. The angle of penetration took her by surprise. She adjusted her legs and he glided in deep. He threw his head back and groaned.

“Move your hips,” he rasped.

She surged forward and back. Aeden groaned again. Empowered by his reaction, she squeezed him tight and circled her hips in an erotic rhythm. He bucked upward and the motion drew him deeper still.

A coil somewhere in the vicinity of her womb tightened and a ribbon of pleasure erupted, sending shockwaves to every part of her body.

Aeden gripped the soft flesh of her hips, pushed down, and then thrust upward. She cried out as another climax burst upon her the very moment his violent release flooded her passage.

After a time, Aeden left their cozy bed, retrieved a wet cloth, and helped her to freshen up. It was an intimacy she never thought to share with a man.

“Aeden,” she protested.

He overrode her objections with a gentle admonishment. “There’s no place for shyness between a husband and wife.”

Once back in bed, Aeden snuggled her to his side and enfolded her in his arms. She burrowed into his warmth, smiling when he let loose a huge yawn.

“You’ve worn me out, lass,” he professed and drew the blanket over them.

In a bit, the even cadence of his breathing lulled her into a kind of half sleep. Heavy-eyed, her mind drifted between both realms as she skated her fingers over his rib cage and categorizing what she loved most about him. She loved his strength and compassion, his fair treatment of his people and his single-minded ability to attain a goal. She stretched, loving how her body tucked into his. She loved the absentminded manner in which he stroked her back on down to the decadent way he squeezed her bottom, and she loved the touch of his strong fingers when he combed out the wet tangles in her freshly washed hair. She loved his teasing demeanor and his arrogance even though he infuriated at times.

It suddenly dawned on her that she loved him. At such a profound realization a senseless notion that perhaps panic might set in flitted through her mind, but loving Aeden just felt … right.

I need to say it.

She lifted her head and listened for his even breathing. Satisfied he slept, she laid back on his chest and whispered, “I love you, Aeden,” then drifted into a dreamless sleep.

• • •

Stunned, he lay there staring at the ceiling in utter disbelief. He recognized early on that she cared for him but, love him? Her declaration plunged his emotions into unexpected chaos. Never before had he been in such a peculiar frame of mind. He struggled with a truth he once thought of as indisputable.

From the moment his brother flayed his skin, he knew the unsightly, raised mass would keep women at a distance. It had made for a lonely existence. Even the woman whom he once kept as his leman showed an unwillingness to come into the briefest contact with his scars. For that reason the encounters were nothing more than an interlude to sate his carnal needs.

On the other side of it, when he yearned for a woman to see past the mutilation to the man underneath, an image of his father dispelled the idea. Even though his father found contentment with Onora, he never loved her with the same intensity of emotion he had shown Aeden’s mother. His mother’s death plunged his father into a state of melancholia that lasted throughout Aeden’s boyhood. Once he witnessed the utter devastation to a seemingly indestructible man, Aeden vowed never to surrender his heart to any woman.

So, why had it become impossible for him to remain detached whenever Elisande entered a room? He shook his head in denial. To encourage closeness outside of the marriage bed was too risky for his peace of mind. More than likely she fooled herself into thinking she loved him if only to make her adjustment here more palatable.

She murmured in her sleep and burrowed into his side, a soft smile on her kiss-swollen lips. He liked that about her, as if she couldn’t get close enough. He caressed her bare shoulder and listened to her sleepy sighs and decided it was good she loved him. Her attachment would ease her adjustment at Caeverlark, which he admitted had not been so effortless.

As if pulled by an invisible string he traced his finger along the sensitive skin of her arm. He had been drawn to her uniqueness from the very first, no matter her unusual beliefs. He would be foolish to dismiss the impact she affected in his life, and despite the mental barriers he tried to sustain, he admitted she occupied a large portion of his mind. He would grant her that but no more.

Aeden arose before dawn, careful not to disturb his slumbering wife. Although, he surmised, a team of draught horses thundering through their bedchamber would not awaken her. Leaning over their bed, he smoothed a strand of hair away from her face and watched her a moment. The bedclothes were up to her chin and she curled into a tight ball the moment he vacated the bed.

Unable to resist, he pressed a kiss to her slightly parted lips. Her eyes fluttered at the contact and she unearthed an arm reached up and touched his ruined cheek.

“Aeden,” she whispered and dropped back off to sleep.

He tucked the plaid securely around her shoulders. After a moment of undisturbed contemplation, he quit their chamber.

Elisande’s declaration from the previous evening played in his mind repeatedly while he and his men rode out to the designated meeting place. Irritated by his wayward thoughts, he focused his attentions back to his surroundings. He glanced to the rear of the riding party and noted Addis stared at him, his hatred barely concealed.

Aeden disregarded his brother and signaled Ronan to draw near.

“Fergal tells me some of the men exchanged heated words with Addis. What bile is my brother spreading now?”

“It seems his violent rages have increased since your marriage. They no longer trust him,” Ronan grunted.

Aeden adjusted his broad sword across his back.

“My brother’s integrity has always come up wanting. The changes in his attitude have not been so subtle throughout the past year.”

“Since you gained the title,” Ronan finished.

“Aye, that is true, but even afore then Addis showed signs of unpredictable behavior.”

“I remember there were instances when your father treated him like a stranger.”

“Da was well aware of Addis’s dishonorable actions. He knew it was no’ something my brother would overcome.”

“Having been privy to your father’s confidences a time or two, I know he never intended to leave this burden with you,” Ronan replied.

“Yet it has fallen to me and I have no problem seeing his plans through. Addis and I have never shared a bond. He hates me and God help me, I despise him. It is past time to mete out his punishment. Does he question why he rides with us today?”

Ronan shook his head.

“Although he has been talking against this new alliance with the Kerr clan,” Ronan shook his head in disgust.

“I would expect naught else from him since it was a scheme of mine,” Aeden sneered.

“Your brother thinks with his purse strings and never for the good of the clan.”