Debbie Mazzuca Bundle, page 59
“Aye, we’ve been given rooms in the servants’ quarters.”
“Good, we’ll be leavin’ at first light on the morrow. Do ye ken of any men who would ride with us?”
“Aye, there are a good many God-fearin’ folks who didna condone the goin’s-on in the house. They’ll ride with ye as will Bess and I.”
“Be sure they ken what we ride into, Samuel. ’Twill be dangerous.”
“I ken that well enough. Doona fret, Laird MacLeod, we’ll get yer brother and the Lady Davina back. The others can roast in hell fer all I care, and I’d like to be the one to send them there.”
As would Aidan.
Bess walked beside Aidan along the corridor of the Stantons’ town house to his chambers. “Poor wee thing,” she said, quietly opening the heavy door. “She fell asleep by the fire and I didna have the heart to wake her.”
Curled on top of a blanket by the hearth lay his wife with her sword clutched to her chest. Aidan was overcome with emotion. He would do whatever it took to protect her.
Bathed in firelight, her beauty was ethereal. She looked like an angel, but his desire for her at the moment was far from pure. The voluminous white night rail did little to conceal the heavy weight of her breasts, the dusky shadow of her nipples, and the sweet curve of her behind. He wanted to bury himself inside her, rid himself of the stench of death, the pervasive sense of evil that weighed him down.
Bess gave him a knowing smile and patted his arm. “I’ll have some water sent up fer yer bath, my laird. I’ll see to it that whoever comes is quiet so as not to disturb yer wife.”
Although it did not speak well of him, Aidan planned on disturbin’ his wee wife as soon as the door closed behind Bess.
“Thank ye, but I doona wish to trouble the household.”
“As far as the Stantons are concerned, ye and the lads are heroes. Ye could ask fer whatever yer heart desired and they’d give it to ye.” She winked. “But I’m thinkin’ ye already have yer heart’s desire, my laird.”
His gaze strayed to Syrena. “Ye’re a wise woman, Bess,” he murmured.
“I’ll tell my Samuel ye said so,” she chuckled, the door clicking closed behind her.
Aidan crouched beside his sleeping beauty, her clean floral scent a fragrant balm to his senses. He reached out to touch her cheek. Noting his blackened fingers, he hastily pulled them away. He sat back on his heels and leisurely perused every glorious inch of her.
His gaze came to rest on her sword, glowing golden in the flame. Tentatively he touched the simmering jewels at its hilt. The blade heated and glowed red, a blazing hot, angry red. Bloody hell, ’twas like the thing was alive. And if it was, Aidan had the distinct impression it didna like him verra much.
Syrena shifted and, yawning, rubbed her eyes. “Aidan?”
“Aye, angel, were ye expectin’ someone else?”
She sat up, her troubled eyes skimming over him as though she searched for some sign of injury. “That’s not funny considering everything that’s happened. Are you all right? No one else was hurt?”
“Nay, we managed to contain the blaze. None were injured.”
A sigh of relief escaped her parted pink lips, and she leaned wearily against the embroidered chair at her back. The amber glow of the fire illuminated her body beneath the sheer night rail.
His fingers itched to cup the full globes in his hands, to press his lips to her nipples and suckle them through the delicate white fabric. To draw back and watch them push against the wet circle his mouth would leave. His gaze traveled to the hollow of her belly, and the soft shadow at the apex of her thighs.
“Aidan, what . . . oh,” she gasped when he raised his gaze to hers.
A quiet rap on the door forced him to break the hypnotic heat that flared between them. “Give me a moment,” he called, his cock as hot and hard as her sword. “And ye, get into bed.”
She frowned. “Why? I like it by the fire.”
“Aye, and if Bess sent lads up with my bathwater, I’m sure they’d like seein’ ye sittin’ there as well. But I’ll no’ have them lookin’ at my wife who might as well be naked fer all that gown covers,” he said, pulling her to her feet.
“Honestly, Aidan, you’re being foolish, you can’t . . .” She pulled her hand from his and looked down. “Well, I’ll just cover myself with—”
He grabbed the blanket before she could. “Nay, I’ll be needin’ that.”
“Look what you’ve done.” She brushed at the black handprint on her snowy white night rail, making it worse.
“If ye doona get into bed, Syrena, ye’re goin’ to have one on yer bonny arse.”
She muttered something under her breath, but did as he asked.
“Lord MacLeod, your water grows cold,” a feminine voice called from the other side of the door.
“Come in,” he said once he’d positioned himself in the chair. He tossed the blanket over his lap, bunching it in place to disguise his straining erection.
Syrena, with the covers drawn up to her neck, glowered at his lap pointedly. “I doubt they would even notice,” she said as three maids, weighed down with steaming pails of water, sashayed into the room.
He angled his head and looked at his wife, all the while smiling in response to the lasses’ beguiling greetings. “Shall I find out?”
“No,” she grumbled. Arms crossed, she stared down the maids, who made certain to bend extra low while depositing the water in the tub they’d dragged closer to the fire and him. Making sure he got an eyeful of their bountiful charms.
He could have sworn Syrena growled when the pretty redhaired maid offered to bathe him. He bit back a grin. “Nay, my wife will see to my bath, but thank ye fer the offer.”
As soon as the door closed behind the tittering maids, Aidan tossed the blanket aside and came to his feet. He watched Syrena as he tugged the tunic over his head. “Are ye no’ goin’ to help me? I’m afraid if I bend over to remove my boots, I’ll land on my head.” Not a complete untruth.
She scrambled from the bed. Her eyes full of remorse, she gently touched his arm and nudged him into the chair. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you seemed so . . . so . . . You didn’t appear to be in pain is what I mean to say.”
Kneeling by his feet, she tugged on his doeskin boot. He was in pain, but not from the injury to his head. He would have shown her where he hurt, drawn her hand to his throbbing erection, if not for the glimmer of moisture in her eyes. She dipped her head, and he could’ve kicked himself for teasing her.
“Nay, look at me. Tell me what’s wrong.” With his fingers beneath her chin, he raised her gaze to his, and cursed inwardly. Why had he not noticed the tinge of blue beneath her eyes and the strained lines about her sweet mouth? She looked drawn and fragile, and he’d made it worse. ’Twas how he dealt with his anger and his fears, shutting them out, locking them away until he could release them in battle, but he should have known Syrena would need to talk. Even though it was the last thing he wished to do, he would do it for her.
“What isn’t wrong? Lachlan is being held by a man who seeks to unleash the dark lords. And if that is not bad enough, a man who hates you and Lachlan above all else conspires with him. I . . . I thought you were dead, Aidan.”
“It would take more than a blow to the head to kill me, angel. Davina told me the ceremony is on the morrow, close to the midnight hour. They’ll keep Lachlan alive until then. We’ll reach him in time, Syrena.” A shadow had darkened her eyes at his mention of Davina. He could see she fought to keep her tears at bay. “What is it? Why are ye cryin’?”
She rubbed her cheek on the sleeve of her gown. “I’m not. Lachlan spoke to me tonight. His voice was little more than a whisper. He’s given up, Aidan. He doesn’t want us to come. He warned of the danger and said it was too late.”
She laid her head in his lap. He closed his eyes, trying not to think of what Lan suffered. The memory of what Davina said they did to him. He couldn’t tell Syrena, not now. It was bad enough she’d been alone when Lan contacted her. “Doona worry, angel, we’ll no’ be too late. Is that why ye knocked Connor out and tied him up, so ye could come lookin’ fer me?”
She nodded into his lap, and he flexed his hand, stroking her hair to calm his rising frustration at the danger she’d put herself in. “Christ, Syrena, when I think what could have happened to ye searchin’ on yer own. Ye should have—”
She raised her tear-swollen gaze to his. “I did. I came to the grand hall, but you were too busy with Davina to notice.”
She rose to her feet, brushing away his hand when he tried to stop her. “I didn’t think you’d wish to be disturbed when you followed her into her chambers.”
“She was scared, Syrena, fer her and her bairn. I listened is all, and ’twas then I learned what their plans were. I never—”
“You were holding her. You touched her belly, the baby, as though . . ”
“As though what?” He pushed to his feet, wanting to comfort her, but she waved him off, and reluctantly he sat back down.
“As though the baby was yours, as if you wanted it to be.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and her hand unconsciously slipped to her belly. Since the first time they’d made love and he’d spent his seed inside her, Aidan had been careful not to let it happen again. Knowing Syrena as well as he’d come to, he sensed it bothered her. She wanted bairns of her own, with him, but the fear he’d become like his father, a man who hated an innocent child because he was Fae, weighed heavily upon him.
“Syrena, it’s almost four years since I last saw Davina. The bairn is no’ mine. Come here,” he coaxed, needing to hold her.
She hesitated then came to him. Kneeling between his legs, she rested her head on his thigh. “The bairn may no’ even be John Henry’s. Jarius, Ursula’s brother, the man behind all this madness, forced himself upon her. She overheard Ursula speak of sacrificin’ an innocent at their ceremony, and she’s afraid they referred to her bairn. Ye must ken why I had to offer her my protection, my support.”
“I do. I’m sorry, I should have trusted you.” She raised her gaze to his, and he rubbed a smudge of soot from her cheek with his thumb. “But in truth, I have no right to expect you to be faithful, Aidan. You’ve made no commitment to me.”
Her words were like a blade twisted deep in his belly. “Fer the love of Christ, we’re married. What more of a commitment do ye want from me?” She held his gaze, the strained silence lengthening between them. He gritted his teeth and cupped her face between his hands. “I need ye. I want ye like I’ve never wanted another woman. Ye make me laugh. Ye make me smile. I can tell ye things I can tell no one else. Ye’re my wife, Syrena, in every sense of the word,” he ground out, furious at how vulnerable she’d made him feel. His feelings were laid bare to her, to him.
A soft smile played on her lips. She took his hand and pressed her lips tenderly to his palm, then shifted on her knees to face him and set about tugging off his other boot. Undoing his trews, her long, delicate fingers brushed over his cock. “Your bath is getting cold,” she said as if it explained the slow torture she was putting him through.
He choked back a groan. “Are ye playin’ at bein’ a good wife, Syrena, now that ye ken our marriage is fer real?”
“You’re hurt, Aidan, you can’t do this by yourself,” she said, urging him to his feet to tug his trews slowly over his thighs, to his knees. Sliding her hand down his leg, she lifted first one foot then the other, her pale pink lips tantalizingly close to his cock.
“I should have the maids bring you more hot water.” With every word she spoke, her heated breath encircled his straining erection, tightening the painful noose of desire. Yet she acted as though nothing were amiss, as though his cock weren’t brushing against her silky hair. Fer the love of God, she acted as though he was a bloody bairn needin’ a bath!
“Nay,” he rasped, wanting her mouth on him.
Instead, she rose to her feet and led him to the tub by the fire. He sank beneath the lukewarm water. It didn’t matter—he was certain the heat of his desire would soon bring it to a boil.
She knelt beside the wooden rim, lifting her arms to wind her long thick hair into a loose knot. Her breasts strained against the thin fabric. Blissfully unaware of what she did to him, she gave him an innocent smile.
He gritted his teeth, fisting his hand beneath the water as he fought the temptation to drag her into the tub, to rip her delicate night rail from her lush curves and thrust into her.
Closing his eyes, he reminded himself that she wanted nothing more than to help him bathe. The last thing she needed was him foisting his attentions upon her. She’d been through enough this night.
Soft hands glided over his shoulders and down his arms, and he stifled a groan. The silky strands of her hair tickled his nose, and he inhaled her sweet scent. The intoxicating fragrance of the lavender soap she lathered his body with. “Am I hurting you?” she asked, her voice low and husky.
“Nay,” he said between clenched teeth. He thought he heard her chuckle, and cracked one eye open, but she simply smiled and said, “Bend yer knees, Aidan, and slide a little lower so I can wash your hair.”
“Mind the back of my head, it still pains me,” he groused. He couldn’t help it. He was frustrated beyond distraction, the ache in his head competing with the one in his cock. Bloody hell, she was drivin’ him mad and didna even ken it.
“Poor baby,” she crooned as though he were a bairn. The heavy weight of her breasts rested on his cheek as she bent over to gently wash his hair.
Bloody hell!
“Syrena, are ye almost done?” His lips brushed against her pebbled nipple.
“I’m sorry. It won’t be much longer,” she choked out her response.
Sweet Christ, he’d made her cry. “Nay. I’m sorry, angel, doona mind me.”
Turning her back to him, she leaned over to wash his feet. Her hair came loose and the thick golden curtain shielded her face from him, but he saw the tremble of her slender shoulders.
Keep yer mouth shut, MacLeod, she’s suffered enough fer one night.
Her hands stroked the insides of his thighs. He squeezed his lids shut and swallowed a frustrated oath.
Her fingers encircled his cock, and she glided them slowly over his shaft. His eyes shot open, and he saw the amusement in her gaze as she watched him. “Witch, ye kent all along what ye were doin’.” Words failed him the moment she lowered her lips to his pulsating erection. He fisted his hand in her hair, guiding his cock into the heat of her mouth with the other.
With her mouth she brought him to the brink, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He hauled her into the tub with him, water sloshing over the side.
Dragging her night rail over her hips, she straddled him. Aidan fisted his hands in the drenched fabric and tore it in half. “I canna wait, angel.” His face was buried between her breasts, muffling his voice.
She slid up and down his shaft. “I don’t want you to.” Raising her hips, she positioned the head of his cock at her tight opening. Aidan jerked his hips and thrust deep inside her, losing himself in her welcoming heat and letting go of his fear for his brother, of what tomorrow would bring.
Chapter 24
Through the thick fog of sleep, Syrena heard the muffled sounds of angry male voices. It’s only a dream, she reassured herself, snuggling into the warmth of Aidan’s embrace. The heavy weight of the blankets shifted to cover her bare shoulder.
“Get the hell out of my room, John Henry, ye’re disturbin’ my wife.” Aidan’s deep voice rumbled against her cheek.
With a concerted effort, she pried her heavy lids open. Three blurred figures stood at the side of the bed. “Aidan, what—”
“Go back to sleep, angel.” He kissed the top of her head while he stroked her arm beneath the covers.
As she rubbed her eyes, the three men came into sharp relief. A tall thin man held a blade to Aidan’s throat. “Oh,” she gasped, her heart slamming into her chest.
Aidan held her firmly in place. “Doona move.”
A lock of sandy hair fell over the man’s forehead. A look of confusion creased his light blue eyes, and he lowered the blade. “I didna ken ye were wed.”
“Aye, and I doona think this would be the time to be introducin’ ye to my wife. Leave me to get dressed and then—”
“I want to ken where my wife is!”
Syrena slanted her gaze to Aidan’s. He nodded at the silent question in her eyes. After they’d made love, they had talked into the small hours of the morning. He’d told her about his cousin and Davina, and because she knew he was hiding something, in the end he told her how Lachlan was being bled for his Fae blood.
Davina’s husband averted his gaze from Syrena, but a pained expression drew his handsome features taut with worry. Davina was wrong, she thought. Her husband did love her.
“Yer stepmother and her brother have taken her to Glastonbury.”
John Henry lowered his lean frame onto the foot of the bed and waved the other men off. When the door clicked quietly behind them, he said, “So she’s left me.”
“Nay, ye bloody fool, they’ve taken her against her will, them and Lamont.”
Syrena recognized the moment Aidan’s words penetrated John Henry’s initial relief. “What the hell is goin’ on, Aidan? I come from Whitehall to find my home torched and my wife missin’. And who is this Lamont ye speak of?”
Aidan sighed wearily. “John Henry, as soon as Syrena and I have dressed, we leave fer Glastonbury. ’Tis where the bastard holds Lachlan, and now yer wife. Ye’ll learn all ye need to ken then.” Syrena didn’t envy Aidan the task of telling his cousin what awaited them in Glastonbury. She felt a pang of pity for John Henry.
If not for what they would soon face, Syrena would have enjoyed the ride through the picturesque countryside. But even the late afternoon sun shining down upon them and the sweet musky fragrance of fall could not diminish her dread.
She glanced over her shoulder and Aidan offered her a reassuring smile. His cousin rode beside him in shocked silence. She could only imagine how difficult it was for him to absorb how so much had gone on without his knowledge. His guilt was palpable, but Syrena didn’t think he could’ve stopped Jarius. If he’d tried, she felt certain he’d be dead.
“Good, we’ll be leavin’ at first light on the morrow. Do ye ken of any men who would ride with us?”
“Aye, there are a good many God-fearin’ folks who didna condone the goin’s-on in the house. They’ll ride with ye as will Bess and I.”
“Be sure they ken what we ride into, Samuel. ’Twill be dangerous.”
“I ken that well enough. Doona fret, Laird MacLeod, we’ll get yer brother and the Lady Davina back. The others can roast in hell fer all I care, and I’d like to be the one to send them there.”
As would Aidan.
Bess walked beside Aidan along the corridor of the Stantons’ town house to his chambers. “Poor wee thing,” she said, quietly opening the heavy door. “She fell asleep by the fire and I didna have the heart to wake her.”
Curled on top of a blanket by the hearth lay his wife with her sword clutched to her chest. Aidan was overcome with emotion. He would do whatever it took to protect her.
Bathed in firelight, her beauty was ethereal. She looked like an angel, but his desire for her at the moment was far from pure. The voluminous white night rail did little to conceal the heavy weight of her breasts, the dusky shadow of her nipples, and the sweet curve of her behind. He wanted to bury himself inside her, rid himself of the stench of death, the pervasive sense of evil that weighed him down.
Bess gave him a knowing smile and patted his arm. “I’ll have some water sent up fer yer bath, my laird. I’ll see to it that whoever comes is quiet so as not to disturb yer wife.”
Although it did not speak well of him, Aidan planned on disturbin’ his wee wife as soon as the door closed behind Bess.
“Thank ye, but I doona wish to trouble the household.”
“As far as the Stantons are concerned, ye and the lads are heroes. Ye could ask fer whatever yer heart desired and they’d give it to ye.” She winked. “But I’m thinkin’ ye already have yer heart’s desire, my laird.”
His gaze strayed to Syrena. “Ye’re a wise woman, Bess,” he murmured.
“I’ll tell my Samuel ye said so,” she chuckled, the door clicking closed behind her.
Aidan crouched beside his sleeping beauty, her clean floral scent a fragrant balm to his senses. He reached out to touch her cheek. Noting his blackened fingers, he hastily pulled them away. He sat back on his heels and leisurely perused every glorious inch of her.
His gaze came to rest on her sword, glowing golden in the flame. Tentatively he touched the simmering jewels at its hilt. The blade heated and glowed red, a blazing hot, angry red. Bloody hell, ’twas like the thing was alive. And if it was, Aidan had the distinct impression it didna like him verra much.
Syrena shifted and, yawning, rubbed her eyes. “Aidan?”
“Aye, angel, were ye expectin’ someone else?”
She sat up, her troubled eyes skimming over him as though she searched for some sign of injury. “That’s not funny considering everything that’s happened. Are you all right? No one else was hurt?”
“Nay, we managed to contain the blaze. None were injured.”
A sigh of relief escaped her parted pink lips, and she leaned wearily against the embroidered chair at her back. The amber glow of the fire illuminated her body beneath the sheer night rail.
His fingers itched to cup the full globes in his hands, to press his lips to her nipples and suckle them through the delicate white fabric. To draw back and watch them push against the wet circle his mouth would leave. His gaze traveled to the hollow of her belly, and the soft shadow at the apex of her thighs.
“Aidan, what . . . oh,” she gasped when he raised his gaze to hers.
A quiet rap on the door forced him to break the hypnotic heat that flared between them. “Give me a moment,” he called, his cock as hot and hard as her sword. “And ye, get into bed.”
She frowned. “Why? I like it by the fire.”
“Aye, and if Bess sent lads up with my bathwater, I’m sure they’d like seein’ ye sittin’ there as well. But I’ll no’ have them lookin’ at my wife who might as well be naked fer all that gown covers,” he said, pulling her to her feet.
“Honestly, Aidan, you’re being foolish, you can’t . . .” She pulled her hand from his and looked down. “Well, I’ll just cover myself with—”
He grabbed the blanket before she could. “Nay, I’ll be needin’ that.”
“Look what you’ve done.” She brushed at the black handprint on her snowy white night rail, making it worse.
“If ye doona get into bed, Syrena, ye’re goin’ to have one on yer bonny arse.”
She muttered something under her breath, but did as he asked.
“Lord MacLeod, your water grows cold,” a feminine voice called from the other side of the door.
“Come in,” he said once he’d positioned himself in the chair. He tossed the blanket over his lap, bunching it in place to disguise his straining erection.
Syrena, with the covers drawn up to her neck, glowered at his lap pointedly. “I doubt they would even notice,” she said as three maids, weighed down with steaming pails of water, sashayed into the room.
He angled his head and looked at his wife, all the while smiling in response to the lasses’ beguiling greetings. “Shall I find out?”
“No,” she grumbled. Arms crossed, she stared down the maids, who made certain to bend extra low while depositing the water in the tub they’d dragged closer to the fire and him. Making sure he got an eyeful of their bountiful charms.
He could have sworn Syrena growled when the pretty redhaired maid offered to bathe him. He bit back a grin. “Nay, my wife will see to my bath, but thank ye fer the offer.”
As soon as the door closed behind the tittering maids, Aidan tossed the blanket aside and came to his feet. He watched Syrena as he tugged the tunic over his head. “Are ye no’ goin’ to help me? I’m afraid if I bend over to remove my boots, I’ll land on my head.” Not a complete untruth.
She scrambled from the bed. Her eyes full of remorse, she gently touched his arm and nudged him into the chair. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you seemed so . . . so . . . You didn’t appear to be in pain is what I mean to say.”
Kneeling by his feet, she tugged on his doeskin boot. He was in pain, but not from the injury to his head. He would have shown her where he hurt, drawn her hand to his throbbing erection, if not for the glimmer of moisture in her eyes. She dipped her head, and he could’ve kicked himself for teasing her.
“Nay, look at me. Tell me what’s wrong.” With his fingers beneath her chin, he raised her gaze to his, and cursed inwardly. Why had he not noticed the tinge of blue beneath her eyes and the strained lines about her sweet mouth? She looked drawn and fragile, and he’d made it worse. ’Twas how he dealt with his anger and his fears, shutting them out, locking them away until he could release them in battle, but he should have known Syrena would need to talk. Even though it was the last thing he wished to do, he would do it for her.
“What isn’t wrong? Lachlan is being held by a man who seeks to unleash the dark lords. And if that is not bad enough, a man who hates you and Lachlan above all else conspires with him. I . . . I thought you were dead, Aidan.”
“It would take more than a blow to the head to kill me, angel. Davina told me the ceremony is on the morrow, close to the midnight hour. They’ll keep Lachlan alive until then. We’ll reach him in time, Syrena.” A shadow had darkened her eyes at his mention of Davina. He could see she fought to keep her tears at bay. “What is it? Why are ye cryin’?”
She rubbed her cheek on the sleeve of her gown. “I’m not. Lachlan spoke to me tonight. His voice was little more than a whisper. He’s given up, Aidan. He doesn’t want us to come. He warned of the danger and said it was too late.”
She laid her head in his lap. He closed his eyes, trying not to think of what Lan suffered. The memory of what Davina said they did to him. He couldn’t tell Syrena, not now. It was bad enough she’d been alone when Lan contacted her. “Doona worry, angel, we’ll no’ be too late. Is that why ye knocked Connor out and tied him up, so ye could come lookin’ fer me?”
She nodded into his lap, and he flexed his hand, stroking her hair to calm his rising frustration at the danger she’d put herself in. “Christ, Syrena, when I think what could have happened to ye searchin’ on yer own. Ye should have—”
She raised her tear-swollen gaze to his. “I did. I came to the grand hall, but you were too busy with Davina to notice.”
She rose to her feet, brushing away his hand when he tried to stop her. “I didn’t think you’d wish to be disturbed when you followed her into her chambers.”
“She was scared, Syrena, fer her and her bairn. I listened is all, and ’twas then I learned what their plans were. I never—”
“You were holding her. You touched her belly, the baby, as though . . ”
“As though what?” He pushed to his feet, wanting to comfort her, but she waved him off, and reluctantly he sat back down.
“As though the baby was yours, as if you wanted it to be.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and her hand unconsciously slipped to her belly. Since the first time they’d made love and he’d spent his seed inside her, Aidan had been careful not to let it happen again. Knowing Syrena as well as he’d come to, he sensed it bothered her. She wanted bairns of her own, with him, but the fear he’d become like his father, a man who hated an innocent child because he was Fae, weighed heavily upon him.
“Syrena, it’s almost four years since I last saw Davina. The bairn is no’ mine. Come here,” he coaxed, needing to hold her.
She hesitated then came to him. Kneeling between his legs, she rested her head on his thigh. “The bairn may no’ even be John Henry’s. Jarius, Ursula’s brother, the man behind all this madness, forced himself upon her. She overheard Ursula speak of sacrificin’ an innocent at their ceremony, and she’s afraid they referred to her bairn. Ye must ken why I had to offer her my protection, my support.”
“I do. I’m sorry, I should have trusted you.” She raised her gaze to his, and he rubbed a smudge of soot from her cheek with his thumb. “But in truth, I have no right to expect you to be faithful, Aidan. You’ve made no commitment to me.”
Her words were like a blade twisted deep in his belly. “Fer the love of Christ, we’re married. What more of a commitment do ye want from me?” She held his gaze, the strained silence lengthening between them. He gritted his teeth and cupped her face between his hands. “I need ye. I want ye like I’ve never wanted another woman. Ye make me laugh. Ye make me smile. I can tell ye things I can tell no one else. Ye’re my wife, Syrena, in every sense of the word,” he ground out, furious at how vulnerable she’d made him feel. His feelings were laid bare to her, to him.
A soft smile played on her lips. She took his hand and pressed her lips tenderly to his palm, then shifted on her knees to face him and set about tugging off his other boot. Undoing his trews, her long, delicate fingers brushed over his cock. “Your bath is getting cold,” she said as if it explained the slow torture she was putting him through.
He choked back a groan. “Are ye playin’ at bein’ a good wife, Syrena, now that ye ken our marriage is fer real?”
“You’re hurt, Aidan, you can’t do this by yourself,” she said, urging him to his feet to tug his trews slowly over his thighs, to his knees. Sliding her hand down his leg, she lifted first one foot then the other, her pale pink lips tantalizingly close to his cock.
“I should have the maids bring you more hot water.” With every word she spoke, her heated breath encircled his straining erection, tightening the painful noose of desire. Yet she acted as though nothing were amiss, as though his cock weren’t brushing against her silky hair. Fer the love of God, she acted as though he was a bloody bairn needin’ a bath!
“Nay,” he rasped, wanting her mouth on him.
Instead, she rose to her feet and led him to the tub by the fire. He sank beneath the lukewarm water. It didn’t matter—he was certain the heat of his desire would soon bring it to a boil.
She knelt beside the wooden rim, lifting her arms to wind her long thick hair into a loose knot. Her breasts strained against the thin fabric. Blissfully unaware of what she did to him, she gave him an innocent smile.
He gritted his teeth, fisting his hand beneath the water as he fought the temptation to drag her into the tub, to rip her delicate night rail from her lush curves and thrust into her.
Closing his eyes, he reminded himself that she wanted nothing more than to help him bathe. The last thing she needed was him foisting his attentions upon her. She’d been through enough this night.
Soft hands glided over his shoulders and down his arms, and he stifled a groan. The silky strands of her hair tickled his nose, and he inhaled her sweet scent. The intoxicating fragrance of the lavender soap she lathered his body with. “Am I hurting you?” she asked, her voice low and husky.
“Nay,” he said between clenched teeth. He thought he heard her chuckle, and cracked one eye open, but she simply smiled and said, “Bend yer knees, Aidan, and slide a little lower so I can wash your hair.”
“Mind the back of my head, it still pains me,” he groused. He couldn’t help it. He was frustrated beyond distraction, the ache in his head competing with the one in his cock. Bloody hell, she was drivin’ him mad and didna even ken it.
“Poor baby,” she crooned as though he were a bairn. The heavy weight of her breasts rested on his cheek as she bent over to gently wash his hair.
Bloody hell!
“Syrena, are ye almost done?” His lips brushed against her pebbled nipple.
“I’m sorry. It won’t be much longer,” she choked out her response.
Sweet Christ, he’d made her cry. “Nay. I’m sorry, angel, doona mind me.”
Turning her back to him, she leaned over to wash his feet. Her hair came loose and the thick golden curtain shielded her face from him, but he saw the tremble of her slender shoulders.
Keep yer mouth shut, MacLeod, she’s suffered enough fer one night.
Her hands stroked the insides of his thighs. He squeezed his lids shut and swallowed a frustrated oath.
Her fingers encircled his cock, and she glided them slowly over his shaft. His eyes shot open, and he saw the amusement in her gaze as she watched him. “Witch, ye kent all along what ye were doin’.” Words failed him the moment she lowered her lips to his pulsating erection. He fisted his hand in her hair, guiding his cock into the heat of her mouth with the other.
With her mouth she brought him to the brink, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He hauled her into the tub with him, water sloshing over the side.
Dragging her night rail over her hips, she straddled him. Aidan fisted his hands in the drenched fabric and tore it in half. “I canna wait, angel.” His face was buried between her breasts, muffling his voice.
She slid up and down his shaft. “I don’t want you to.” Raising her hips, she positioned the head of his cock at her tight opening. Aidan jerked his hips and thrust deep inside her, losing himself in her welcoming heat and letting go of his fear for his brother, of what tomorrow would bring.
Chapter 24
Through the thick fog of sleep, Syrena heard the muffled sounds of angry male voices. It’s only a dream, she reassured herself, snuggling into the warmth of Aidan’s embrace. The heavy weight of the blankets shifted to cover her bare shoulder.
“Get the hell out of my room, John Henry, ye’re disturbin’ my wife.” Aidan’s deep voice rumbled against her cheek.
With a concerted effort, she pried her heavy lids open. Three blurred figures stood at the side of the bed. “Aidan, what—”
“Go back to sleep, angel.” He kissed the top of her head while he stroked her arm beneath the covers.
As she rubbed her eyes, the three men came into sharp relief. A tall thin man held a blade to Aidan’s throat. “Oh,” she gasped, her heart slamming into her chest.
Aidan held her firmly in place. “Doona move.”
A lock of sandy hair fell over the man’s forehead. A look of confusion creased his light blue eyes, and he lowered the blade. “I didna ken ye were wed.”
“Aye, and I doona think this would be the time to be introducin’ ye to my wife. Leave me to get dressed and then—”
“I want to ken where my wife is!”
Syrena slanted her gaze to Aidan’s. He nodded at the silent question in her eyes. After they’d made love, they had talked into the small hours of the morning. He’d told her about his cousin and Davina, and because she knew he was hiding something, in the end he told her how Lachlan was being bled for his Fae blood.
Davina’s husband averted his gaze from Syrena, but a pained expression drew his handsome features taut with worry. Davina was wrong, she thought. Her husband did love her.
“Yer stepmother and her brother have taken her to Glastonbury.”
John Henry lowered his lean frame onto the foot of the bed and waved the other men off. When the door clicked quietly behind them, he said, “So she’s left me.”
“Nay, ye bloody fool, they’ve taken her against her will, them and Lamont.”
Syrena recognized the moment Aidan’s words penetrated John Henry’s initial relief. “What the hell is goin’ on, Aidan? I come from Whitehall to find my home torched and my wife missin’. And who is this Lamont ye speak of?”
Aidan sighed wearily. “John Henry, as soon as Syrena and I have dressed, we leave fer Glastonbury. ’Tis where the bastard holds Lachlan, and now yer wife. Ye’ll learn all ye need to ken then.” Syrena didn’t envy Aidan the task of telling his cousin what awaited them in Glastonbury. She felt a pang of pity for John Henry.
If not for what they would soon face, Syrena would have enjoyed the ride through the picturesque countryside. But even the late afternoon sun shining down upon them and the sweet musky fragrance of fall could not diminish her dread.
She glanced over her shoulder and Aidan offered her a reassuring smile. His cousin rode beside him in shocked silence. She could only imagine how difficult it was for him to absorb how so much had gone on without his knowledge. His guilt was palpable, but Syrena didn’t think he could’ve stopped Jarius. If he’d tried, she felt certain he’d be dead.
