Page 44

Chapter

H e would get little sleep this eve.

Should Kieran have touched her? Said those things to her? Nay. But he had, and one thing he’d learned from this father—or the man who raised him—was that regrets were futile.

The bed sagged as Maisie got into it. Resisting a groan, he instead attempted to slow his breathing, slow the rapidly increasing beat of his heart as Kieran imagined himself with her.

Rolling over toward her. Maisie welcoming him.

Lifting up that chemise that hid too much, though less than her gowns. Just thinking of her as such . . .

She shifted, pulled the coverlet up to her chin. And then, remained still.

He should have slept on the floor, but with no bedroll to speak of, he relished the thought little.

Kieran had slept on worse. In times of battle, he’d slept on hard earth with nothing beneath him.

But the bed was large enough, surprisingly, for them both.

And so it would be a different sort of torture this eve than laying his head on the wooden floor.

Shifting his thoughts from Maisie to the midwife, he thought of the possibility that they might learn something of consequence on the morrow.

They.

He’d begun to think of he and Maisie as a couple, which, of course, they were not.

“Kieran?”

Her voice was so soft Kieran wondered for a moment if he’d conjured it in his mind.

“Aye, lass?”

“I did wish very much for you to kiss me.”

This would not go well. He spun onto his other side, facing her. Kieran propped his head on his hand.

“I would tell you a story,” she said softly, mimicking his position.

“Once, when I was a young girl, a kitten wandered into our home. Though my father, a superstitious man, said I could not keep her, I did so anyway. Fed her. Hid the poor thing in my bedchamber, not realizing how trapped the animal must have been. I loved her.”

“What did you name the kitten?”

“Pebbles,” she said. “For the tiny rocks I pulled from her paws.”

“Your parents discovered her presence, I assume?”

“My mother did, aye. Said I could keep her, but ‘twas not long before my father discovered Pebbles as well. He refused to have such an omen under his roof and forced me to set her free.”

“Some believe cats are very bad luck,” he said. “Though I am not one of them.”

“I am glad to hear it. Aye, my father was one who believed as much.” She sighed.

Maisie, in a chemise, in the same bed, close enough that if Kieran reached out he could touch her . . . it was nearly unbearable.

“Maisie—”

She stopped him. “I tell you this story for a reason.”

He assumed so, but could not guess what it might be.

“I cried for more than a sennight. About a kitten. And I’ve similar stories that I could tell you of .

. .” Her shoulders rose and fell as Maisie looked straight at him.

“Of times my heart was broken too easily.

My father called me fragile. Though I do not agree with such a sentiment.

‘Tis just that I . . . I . . .” She struggled to finished.

To find the word that described what Maisie clearly saw as a vulnerability.

He did not agree.

“Loving is not fragile. You are the very opposite, in fact. I’ve not met a more resilient woman in all my days, Maisie.”

Her smile was a sad one. But there was something else in her expression. Something he did not expect as she told him about Pebbles.

Desire.

She is afraid to get too close.

Of course.

“I ken,” he said. How had he thought they could stay in the same bed together? Kieran pushed the coverlet from him and began to get up from their bed. “I’d never wish to hurt you, Maisie. I will sleep on the floor.”

She reached over, her hand splaying on his shoulder. Stopping him.

“Do not.”

Kieran froze.

“I ken,” he repeated. “And perhaps it is best.” He almost added, for us both .

“Perhaps. But as I lay here, I cannae help but wonder about . . . the pleasures you mentioned. Despite myself, I want for you to kiss me again, Kieran.”

He grew hard instantly.

Maisie’s hand on his shoulder. The sight of her in this bed. Her words.

“I would gladly kiss you again, Maisie. But are you sure you wish for such a thing? After what you shared?”

Her hand never moved. “Aye. I told you that not to discourage you, but so that you might ken my reasoning.”

Maisie’s thumb began to move, gently caressing his shoulder. It was more than he could endure. Capturing her wrist, he moved to her so quickly she made a sound of surprise. Taking Maisie’s second wrist and pinning both above her head, Kieran was careful not to crush her as he held her beneath him.

And then kissed her very differently than before.

This time, she knew how to respond, and did. The moment his lips touched hers, Maisie opened for him. His tongue found hers, demanding she meet his intensity.

And she did.

Holding on to both wrists, he allowed everything to let go. Every inhibition and doubt. Kieran simply allowed himself to feel her under him. Taste her lips and the sweetness of her tongue gliding along his own with more familiarity now.

“Mmmm,” she murmured under him.

He wanted to show her more. Kieran let go of Maisie’s wrists so he could use his hands to pull down the fabric of her chemise along the deep collar.

As he trailed kisses from her neck downward, he lifted her breast above the fabric.

Letting out a groan at the sight of her, Kieran’s head descended.

He took her deeply into his mouth, suckling.

Teasing her nipple with his teeth. Her hands grasped at the back of his head, Maisie’s fingers in his hair.

The desire to lift her chemise above her head was strong, but he resisted. Kieran did not want to startle her or move too fast. Instead, he righted her chemise and kissed her neck again, moving back up toward her mouth until he paused to whisper into her ear.

“I’m going to put my hand between your legs,” he said. Aware she’d been with a man but discounting her husband as a lover, Kieran would not have her scared.

Her sharp intake of breath was not followed by Maisie telling him to stop, and so as his lips found hers once again, he did exactly as he said he would. Running his hand up her thigh, the feel of Maisie’s bare skin on his fingertips only a precursor to what was to come, Kieran continued upward.

Groaning as he reached his goal, Kieran wasted no time slipping first one finger and then a second inside. So wet. So responsive as she moved her hips into him after just a few gentle thrusts. He broke their kiss to look at her.

“Has this ever happened to you before?”

She shook her head.

He suspected that.

“I want so much to kiss you again,” he said, his thumb now rubbing the nub that would give her pleasure, “but I want to see your face when you find release.”

“Release?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

If she’d never experienced it, Kieran would be damned to explain it to her. He’d prefer to show Maisie what his words meant. And so, while his fingers worked her, Kieran used his voice also to coax her pleasure forth.

“Simply feel my fingers, my desire to bring you pleasure.” Her hips circled and pressed as his thumb increased its pressure. “You are a beautiful woman, Maisie. Even more so at this moment, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. About to find release?”

“What,” she said, the rate of her breathing increasing, “does that mean?”

Dear lord in heaven, this woman.

“Come for me, sweet Maisie,” he said, aware she didn’t ken.

But she would.

“Let it all go. Come for me.”

As if his words coaxed it to happen, she did. Maisie’s eyes squeezed shut as she pulsed around his fingers. She was so incredibly beautiful, her face pure pleasure. He held his fingers inside her, steady, until she stopped.

Removing them, he stood from the bed, rinsed and dried his fingers in the bowl beside their bed, and then pulled Maisie’s chemise down, covering her. Kissing her forehead, he moved to his side of the bed, lay back down, and pulled her onto his chest.

“I dinnae realize . . .”

He closed his eyes, glad Maisie’s husband was dead so he did not have to kill the man himself.

“I am sorry for it,” he said, unable to see into Maisie’s eyes with her head tucked into his chest. “But glad to be the one to show you how a woman should be pleasured.”

Her fingers played with the hem of his shirt. “I was scared, for a moment, that you would . . .”

Kieran waited but she never finished.

“That I would make love to you,” he said finally.

She nodded against his chest.

“I willnae,” he promised, “unless you ask it of me.”

“I do not wish for a babe.”

“Nor do I,” he admitted. “Though there are ways to prevent it.”

“Also . . .” She picked her head up and looked at him. “I do not wish to become more inclined to you than I am at this moment. After what you just did”—she smiled shyly—“I ken now why some enjoy it.”

“Do you?” he teased.

Maisie nodded.

“‘Tis a predicament we find ourselves in, is it not?”

“Aye.”

He smiled. “Close your eyes, sweet Maisie. We will talk more on the morrow.”

“That . . .” She blinked. “That felt very, very good.”

“As it should.” He kissed her forehead again as Maisie tucked her head back into him. He would have continued talking to her but, not a few moments later, he could hear her steady breathing.

She slept.

Sated. Happy, he hoped. And though he was glad for it, the same thought ran through his mind for some time, sleep evading him.

What have I done?