Page 23 of A Bride for the Wicked Highlander (Daring a Highland Laird #2)
O scar could have watched his wife for hours, seeing her lose herself in even the slightest of his touches. The power of it was intoxicating, witnessing the magic of how she responded to him, even when she was supposed to be angry with him.
“But that’s not true,” Maddie murmured, opening her eyes. “You didn’t want to... burn. You didn’t want to come back for more. I keep going over last night, trying to find the right theory of what I did wrong.”
“Ye did nothin’ wrong,” Oscar urged, sliding his fingertips into her hair.
She met his gaze, her eyes fierce with anger and... something else. “Is it because of my rule, until my education is taken care of? I thought that, but it didn’t feel like a satisfactory explanation. Because you did touch me, and I... did say please.”
“I was only too glad to break yer rule,” he said thickly, his other hand coming up to cradle her throat, putting himself in perilous territory.
“The trouble is, lass, I want to break ye too. I want to have ye screamin’ me name, beggin’ me for more, writhin’ in pure ecstasy that only I can give ye, until it’s all ye want. Until yer whole world consists of me.”
“Oh...” she murmured breathily, her eyes shining.
He could see it on her face, the effect of his words.
It was already beginning to take over her body, bending her very being to his will; it was there in her shallow breathing, the rise and fall of her bosom, the parting of her lips, and the way she had subconsciously turned toward him, bringing herself closer.
And this is the problem. Ye wouldnae be ye anymore, when I was done with ye.
“You are rather underestimating my self-discipline,” she said, her tone husky.
“I might be somewhat obsessive in my studies, but I never study just one thing. I am always indulging in at least two books at once. Indeed, what you suggest doesn’t even require the same.
.. parts. To have mind and body satisfied doesn’t sound like such a bad thing to me. ”
His own body ached for satisfaction, yearning to lose himself in her.
And she was inviting him to do just that, no doubt unaware of what it truly meant.
When it came to her, he knew he was over estimating his self-discipline, for just sitting here with her, caressing the nape of her neck and the column of her throat was torture.
“Och, lass, but it is,” he told her. “It’s more than bad. It’s dangerous.”
She frowned, biting her lip. “For whom?”
“For both of us,” he replied, as he leaned in and traced a grazing kiss against her throat.
A test of his own weakening resolve, for if he could pull back from this, then perhaps he could learn to temper his obsession. Perhaps, he could find a way to possess her without destroying her completely.
Maddie shivered as delicious tingles fluttered downward from the press of his kiss against her skin, making her lungs burn and her heart begin to race.
In her belly, butterflies flapped wildly, like a sea of Danaus plexippus : a species she had only read about, that swarmed in vast numbers. Apparently, all of them had migrated to her stomach, drawn to the sweet nectar of her husband’s tempting kisses and the caress of his fingertips.
He drew back, hunger gleaming in his eyes. “What’s that perfume of yers?”
“Perfume?” She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t wear any. I put lavender oil in my bath, if that’s the scent you mean?”
He leaned in, sniffing her. “It’s nae lavender. Smells like rosemary and thyme.”
“What? Oh!” She laughed awkwardly, gesturing across to the herb garden. “I was smelling the herbs and deciding which ones I want illustrated. I must have touched my throat.”
He sat back again, his fingertips gliding down the back of her neck and onto the cold railing, away from her. “Why would ye want pictures of herbs? Is that what ye do with all the plants ye come across?”
“I describe them and try to learn about their properties.” Maddie explained, her thoughts torn between wanting to wax lyrical about plants and wanting him to kiss her again.
“Lilian draws illustrations for me, as I’m atrocious at drawing.
Why, even Ellie can sketch a simple daisy better than I can. ”
He nodded, smiling. “So, that’s what delights ye the most? Plants?”
“Plants and creatures,” she replied, somewhat giddy to be asked such questions.
“I would study creatures more, but there’s not quite the same variety as plants.
Not here, anyway. If I were in a lush jungle somewhere, that would be a different matter entirely.
Goodness, I would be overwhelmed with variety.
But yes, I’ve been cataloguing every plant I find for as long as I can remember. ”
He really did seem to be listening intently, the arm that had previously curved behind her, and the hand that had caressed her neck, now propping up his cheek. “What do ye make of our Scottish plants?”
“You wouldn’t think there’d be much of a difference between English species and Scottish, but you’d be mistaken,” she replied eagerly. “There are so many species here that I couldn’t hope to find growing wild in England.”
“What’s yer favorite?”
She groaned, tilting her head up. “Oh, don’t ask me that!
That is an impossible question.” She thought for a moment, one plant coming to mind.
“I do like a thistle. Now, we have thistles in England, but I am far more partial to the Scottish thistle. They are so much more vibrant. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that something could be so purple. ”
“Aye, it sounds about right that ye’d favor a prickly thing like that,” he teased, smirking. “I dinnae think I have a favorite plant, though I like a tree.”
“What sort of tree?” She turned her body further toward him, so delighted by the conversation that she forgot all about what they’d been talking about a moment ago.
He shrugged. “Anythin’ ancient. There’s nothin’ like ridin’ through ancient woods on a foggy winter’s mornin’ or on a blazin’ summer afternoon. Trees that look like they’ve witnessed a few things, all gnarled roots and sprawlin’ boughs.”
“Yes!” she gasped. “Yes, I feel exactly the same! There is a forest between Horndean and Lockton that my friends and I used to walk through all the time, on our way into town. There are oak trees there that look as if they have been there since the dawn of time. And I relish a willow tree. I don’t know why, but there’s something so very shy and romantic about a willow. ”
“There’s a grand old one nae far from the castle,” he said. “I’d show ye it today, but I’ve got other business to attend to. Speaking of which, I’m probably late already.”
He gently pulled the length of his great kilt out from under her and got to his feet, bowing his head to her. “If ye’ll excuse me, lass. I’ll leave ye to yer plants, and I’ve nay doubt that ye’ll be eager to resume yer walk with Grace.” He smiled. “But I’ll show ye that willow sometime.”
“I’d like that,” Maddie replied, brimming with such happiness at his interest in her passions that she barely felt any disappointment that he was leaving so soon.
It wasn’t until he’d disappeared back into the castle that she realized he’d completely distracted her, getting her to babble so much about her love of plants that he’d never had to answer why any intimacy between them could be dangerous.
Her jaw dropped, propelling her up from the bench.
With no skirts to hitch up, just the freedom of her beloved trews, she ran as fast as she could into the castle.
Haring through the disorienting hallways, she passed by Hunter and Grace, who were sitting together in an alcove, having what appeared to be a breakfast picnic.
“Where is he?” Maddie panted, while Grace stared at her as if she were a stranger. Which made sense, considering it was something of a miracle to see Maddie run willingly.
Hunter frowned. “Oscar?”
She nodded, holding her ribs as she stooped to catch her breath.
“He was headin’ for the stables,” Hunter replied. “I think he has some business to conduct on the coast.”
Maddie took off, running until her lungs felt like they might pop, tasting blood in her mouth as her thighs burned viciously. This was precisely why she didn’t like running. In fact, she was fairly certain she had a physical aversion to it, like a sickness.
She had just careened around the corner, into the stable yard, when she spotted the sleek, black warhorse galloping in the distance. A rider with hair just as dark sat atop, his white shirt and clan-colored kilt billowing in the wind.
After all that, she’d just missed him.
Staring after him with her hands on her hips, gulping in great breaths of air, she couldn’t help but feel the metaphor stretching from where she stood to where his figure was getting smaller and smaller.
The closer she wanted to get, the faster he put distance between them. And she still couldn’t understand why.
Well, I won’t be chasing you anymore.