Charming the Chieftain (26 page)

“Aeden?”

“Aye?”

She curled closer into the curve of his body. “I need to tell you about the first time he attacked me.”

His hand stilled, and then resumed its hypnotic caress.

“It was the night prior to my attendance at the council talks.”

When he spoke, he framed it as a statement of fact rather than a question. Oddly enough, she was hardly shocked by his canniness, and the tension in her shoulders loosened.

He frowned. “I knew naught was right when you came down for supper.”

The self-disgust in his voice was evident and before he worked himself into another round of misguided guilt, she laid two fingers across his lips.

“I had an idea you were suspicious, and I planned to speak with you about it. Yet, when I learned of your intentions to take him with you, I decided to hold my tongue.”

Aeden kissed her fingers and then removed them from his mouth.

“Why would you not tell me?”

“At the time I did not think he would try it again, and I certainly didn’t want to be the cause of a family breach.”

The scowl on his face could have split a pine tree.

“Regardless of anyone’s blood relationship to me, you are my wife first.”

He sat up against the headboard and ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I should have pressed you further. But, I confess I did no’ want to ruin things.”

“Ruin what things?”

He didn’t immediately answer. He wrapped a strand of hair around his finger and toyed with an
ess
shaped curl. The silence lengthened until she thought he would leave it at that, and then his light-colored eyes speared the void between them.

“I did no’ press you because I did no’ wish for anything to mar what would have been our last evening together for some time.”

Trailing his fingers down her arm, he appeared fascinated by the tiny chill bumps dotting her skin in the wake of his touch. She glided the tips of her nails across his chest and realized it was the same for him. Desire illuminated his eyes and he eased her down to the bed. Her emotions whirled and skidded as his hand slipped upwards to untie the linen chemisette. He stopped and gave her a questioning look. She covered his fingers with her hand, silently urging him on.

He hesitated. “I do no’ want to hurt you, lass.”

She smiled her invitation clear. “’Tis all right, I won’t break.”

She straddled him and his lips teased a dusky nipple as he fondled her other breast. He shuddered at the emotions she wrought in him and although he had brought women into his bed over the years, not one ever made him burn to have her. She melted his iron-clad control like no other woman before her. Fully aroused, he laid her back on the bed and he nibbled a path down to her rounded stomach to the swell of her hips and through the springy curls to the stiff little bud of her very femaleness. He flicked it with his tongue and then sucked, leaving her in no doubt of his hunger to claim all of her.

Her moans were throaty, the pleasure explosive. He kissed his way back up and covered her with his heaviness. His mouth slanted over hers again and again, until she was desperate to take him into her body. Seeking fingers skimmed over her dense curls to cup her moist heat circling around the entrance. His touch was light and painfully teasing. She nudged her hips upward, pressing against the palm of his hand until she was shaking with need. She gripped his shoulders, kissing him frantically, wanting to please him in the way he pleased her.

Already wet for him, she spread her legs wide in encouragement.

“You’re still too fragile, lass, let me pleasure you with my tongue.”

She stared into his luminescent eyes and shook her head in a decisive no while her hand glided over his taut stomach to the swell of his erection. His stomach muscles contracted and he sucked in a quick breath when she squeezed him. His forehead dropped to hers.

“Elisande,” he moaned.

“Shh, do not fight me. This is what I want, what I need. Do not deny me, please.”

A quick bark of laughter escaped his throat.

“I could no’ deny you anything.”

He lifted his head all signs of jesting gone. “If you feel any discomfort or pain, I will know, so do no’ think to conceal anything from me.”

“Yes, husband,” she teased as she placed his hand on her.

He gritted his teeth against the overwhelming urge to thrust his fingers inside the already moist passage. Counting to ten didn’t work either, and there was no way in hell he could resist the temptation she freely offered. He eased into her tight channel, watching for any signs of discomfort. She moaned with sheer pleasure and surged her hips forward eagerly, clenching her inner muscles around his fingers and in moments, he was drenched in her release. He never had any woman react so passionately to his touch. He withdrew his hand and guided his thick, swollen erection into her inch by inch.

“More, I want all of you now,” she demanded and bit his earlobe.

He was lost. Thrusting deep, he penetrated her fully and silenced her loud cry of triumph with another ravenous kiss. Her hands roamed over his shoulders, back and massaged his buttocks.

His insistent groan of pure male arousal became louder as she wrapped her long legs around his lean waist. She angled her hips and he went deeper than he thought he could. He stayed completely still, unwilling to thrust for fear of hurting her. That she needed to be the aggressor was clear, and in one fluid motion, she dug her heels firmly into his taut backside and embedded every luscious inch of his rock-solid erection. Every nerve-ending was fraught with the anticipation of release. And just when she thought she would fall to pieces, an orgasm ripped through her.

Elisande’s excitement snapped whatever tether of reserve he had. No longer in command of his actions, his thrusts became harder, he drove deep and his rhythm quickened. To his utter astonishment, she met him stroke for stroke, her bliss pure and explosive. Waves of ecstasy rolled through and she screamed Aeden’s name. Only then, when he knew she had reached her satisfaction did he give in to his own. With one violent shudder, he thrust hard and poured himself into her. He didn’t move for long minutes. The sounds of harsh panting filled the room. There seemed no end of the intermittent aftershocks rocking his body.

She stroked his back and the thought that he filled her with an incredible sense of completeness drifted through her mind. The heat of his body coursed down the length of her and she turned her head to look at him. She knew her soul was laid bare for him to see, and she willed him to understand the depth of her love, wanting him to see that she trusted him to take care of her heart.

He cuddled her close and whispered, “
Mo chroi
, my heart,” over and over.

Afterward, they lay quietly, limbs entwined, stroking one another, the silence occasionally broken by a contented sigh. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her.

“You seem worried, why?”

He sighed. “’Tis too little too late, I know, but I want to be sure I didn’t add to your bruises.”

She gave him a coy smile and walked her fingers over his chest and caressed a manly nipple.

“I would gladly take a ‘bruising’ from you, sir.”

He laughed, rolled to his side and ensured she went too. Tucking her close, he smiled faintly as she stretched and then listened to her breaths even out as she dropped off into a healing sleep. Though sated, sleep eluded him. Propping himself on one elbow, he watched her sleep. He lovingly stroked the curve of her cheek. Despite her scrapes and cuts, the texture of her skin was still smooth, soft. He couldn’t stay his hand from caressing her. Just the touch of her skin beneath his fingertips was enough to make him hard. Christ above, he had to find some discipline unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life in a constant state of arousal.

Smiling at the lusty thought, he bent his head and traced his lips where his fingers had led. Using his lips as a guide, he wove a pattern along the length of her body. He stopped at the slight swell of her belly, dipped his tongue into her navel, giving a throaty chuckle when she moaned sleepily. Finally, after much teasing and tasting, his tongue found what it most sought and he took great satisfaction nuzzling the slight mound and to breathe deeply of the scent uniquely hers.

God’s teeth, he wanted her again. Guiding his tongue in and around her curves, he made a sensual tour of her womanhood, laving and suckling until she pressed her hips upward to stall his retreat. Entwining her fingers in his hair, she smiled languorously.

He caught her gaze and whispered, “You taste of clover honey.”

“Aeden, please,” she begged, until he slipped in two fingers.

Sitting back on his heels, he took hold of her legs, arranging one over each shoulder. Her eye widened at the position, but any questions she had fled when he drove deep in one commanding surge. Buried to the hilt, he withdrew until just the tip of his manhood teased her and then glided back into the slick passage savoring the snug fit.

Matching him thrust for thrust, she ensured the frenzied pace by hooking her ankles behind his neck. Sliding his hands from around her calves, he rocked his hips forward and filled his palms with her plump breasts. Rolling and tugging them into a tight pucker. Satisfied, he lowered his head to wet each with his tongue, blowing warm air on each.

“Aeden,” she moaned, frantic. The sensation of his breath on her skin sent shivers throughout her body. She sank her fingers into his hair, tugging his head to her mouth for a kiss unlike anything they previously shared. And when she started sucking on his tongue, it proved the catalyst to drive them both over the edge into an explosive orgasm. Robbed of all strength, he collapsed heavily between her thighs.

With great care, she brought her legs down along either side of his body, convinced she would never walk properly again. When he would have moved away from her, she stayed his actions by wrapping her arms tightly around his back.

“Not yet.”

Settling back against her, he placed a tender kiss upon her left breast then rubbed his cheek across the nipple. Expelling a long breath, the contentment that had always eluded him saturated his being. What a fool he had been wasting such a precious and rare gift. No more. Tenderly placing a kiss on his wife’s cheek, his arms tightened around her waist and he finally slept.

The aroma of roasted pigeon jolted Addis from sleep. Disoriented, it took him a few moments to adjust to his surroundings. His arms were bound tight around the base of a solid oak tree. His stomach rumbled loudly.

“Well, well seems sleepin’ beaut-ee is finally awake,” mocked a soldier coming toward him from under the cover of a large willow.

The others joined their comrade, and created a semi-circle, their hunger momentarily, forgotten as their focus shifted to Addis.

“’ere Clive, what say we slit the Scot from gullet to belly and wager on how long he’ll live?”

“’Ell Roy, tha’s no wager. Stake him out in the field and watch the wolves’ rip ’em to shreds.”

“No, please, I’ll do anything, just don’t kill me,” Addis begged.

The men laughed.

“Quiet.”

“Sir Stuart, what should we do wif ’im?”

“Bring him to his feet. I think it’s time we obtain a few answers from our guest.”

“What do you want?”

A gloved hand struck him across the mouth. “Shut up.”

Blood dripped in a steady stream down Addis’s chin, forming a dark puddle in the dry, yellowish grass.

“Which clan do you claim?”

“Maxwell.”

His answer cast an eerie silence over the soldiers.

“So, you are one of the riding families known as a Border Reiver?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Nearest is Duncladdagh,” he confirmed.

“Bloody perfect.”

“Set up camp here. Sergeant, select a man to relay a message to my lord.”

“And what if one of the Ferguson’s men should get to it first?”

“Then you shall suffer his lordship’s displeasure. You would do well to remember the baron never trusts his friends. No matter that he is privy to the barbarous chief’s hospitality.”

He contemplated Addis while he instructed his men. “Do make our guest more comfortable.”

A pockmarked soldier cut Addis’s ropes and led him into the woods. This time he was gagged and bound and once again secured to a tree. He raged against Aeden, knowing it was his brother’s fault he suffered abuse at the hands of the English. Silently, he vowed to kill Elisande first. He wanted to watch Aeden suffer.

• • •

The forced inactivity exacted a toll on her nerves and in spite of her obvious improvement, Aeden refused to let her join in the goings-on below stairs. Fortunately for her, however, there remained one activity he was unable to abstain from and thank the Lord for that, she thought. On the one hand, he suffered no reservation in refusing her repeated requests to leave their chamber, yet, he seemed entirely powerless to her demand he do his husbandly duty by her.

Well, she credited him with trying to go without, but, it only took a sultry smile, and a well-placed hand to completely shatter his restraint. Oh, she knew she played unfairly and suffered no shame employing every feminine trick she possessed in order to shred her husband’s tightly wound self-control. She needed his touch like a flower needed sunlight and refused to deny herself.

Glancing around at the simple comforts of the bedchamber, her gaze settled on the mantle. The surface once held a few personal items, now every vacant space teemed with objects ranging from pigeon feathers to potatoes stabbed with sprigs of thyme. She identified the import of each article, though remained puzzled to why they were there. Taking stock of the items brought a blush of humiliation to her face for believing in Father Fenton so faithfully.

Regrettably, the superstitious articles were a source of familiarity. She wandered over to the mantle and ran her fingertips over the ritualistic bits and pieces. At one time, being in close proximity would have brought her a sensation of immense comfort. Of course, after her doctrinal discussions with Father Pollock, it now seemed silly to believe a clove of garlic placed inside a front entry retained the power to keep evil spirits at bay, or that a spray of white heather might bring the bearer good fortune. Her fingers skimmed over an Irish stone once thought to be effective in healing cuts and scrapes. Having studied the truth of Christianity, she was unable to imagine a diminutive T-shaped bone — from the head of a sheep no less — was an instrument of prosperity to the person who faithfully carried it on their person.