Page 14 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

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H is voice was familiar and curious but also laced with something else.

She spun around, her skirts catching in the bench seat and knocking it over.

“Ach! Ye gave me a start!” she said, flattening her hand against the table and letting her shoulders relax.

Henry ducked into the room. “Are ye well? Is this room suitable?”

She looked around, confused. “Aye? It is more than suitable, thank ye.”

He nodded once, his eyes connecting with hers with firm determination, before exploring the room again. “Nae too dark?”

“I’ll just have to light the candles there,” she said, raising her free hand and grazing her fingertips along the cool steel chandelier.

He nodded again as if checking an item off a list he had in his mind.

“Is there anything else ye’ll be needin’ for the shelves?” he asked, pointing toward the empty cabinets.

“Aye, I was goin’ to write to Mrs. Morrigan?—”

“Nay, just give me yer list. I’ll make sure ye have everything ye need.”

Laura nodded.

She walked over to gather the pile of parchment she had scribbled her notes on and handed it over to him. “This is just a start. I’ll have a better idea after I unpack the items in me bag.”

Henry leaned over and pointed to a dark corner. “That bag?”

She cast a look over her shoulder and spotted the bag, her bag, on the floor.

How had I nae seen it before?

She cleared her throat. “Aye, the very same. Thank ye. I’ll go through it and let ye ken if I’ll be needin’ anythin’ else.”

“Good… good.” Henry nodded, most definitely crossing another item off an exceptionally long mental checklist.

For someone who was clearly disinterested in the conversation, Laura wondered how long he would take to get through the rest of his inquiry.

“How often will ye need to see the Laird for his treatments?”

“Twice a day for three months.”

“D’ye have experience treatin’ warriors or just sickly villagers?” His tone was annoyingly dry but not rude in the slightest.

“Both,” she said cheerfully, leaning her hip against the table.

“After ye get these items, will ye be takin’ on other patients?”

“I’ll take them before if I can. I’d like to see to them whether I can help or nae, until I get me things in order. I can make a better assessment after seein’ them.”

I wonder if he’s the one askin’ or if Ciaran is askin’ through him…

“Can ye take a few today?”

“Aye.”

“Do ye ken the other healers in the clan?”

“Aye.”

“Will ye be needin’ a second set of hands? The Laird isnae the only one in need of tendin’.”

“Nay, I can work alone. Who needs tendin’?”

“Several of me men.”

“Send them in. I have enough here to treat a handful—dependin’ on how severe their injuries are.”

“How are ye with lads who are hangin’ free?”

“Ha—” The words caught in her throat.

Hangin’ free, as in naked?

“Hangin’ free,” the man repeated dryly before he followed it up with, “Showin’ the full kilt. Unwrapped. Swingin’ like a barn door in the w?—”

“Aye! Christ alive, Henry. Aye, I’m fine with all of that. If ye’re hurt, I’ll treat ye,” Laura said, flinching away from the man’s crass rhetoric.

“I’m nae hurt.”

She shot him a baleful glare, her shoulders dropping slightly at just how dry-humored the man was. “Aye, ye arenae. I can see that.”

“I’ll send a few lads down who will be requirin’ yer… touch or whatever else ye might need to give them?—”

Henry left abruptly, and Laura scoffed as she turned to retrieve her bag from the far corner of the surgery.

Up two flights of stairs, up through the Great Hall, up the main staircase, then… Christ!

She eyed the rope.

I really need a map .

The bag had been full of her clothes as well as Fraser’s clothes, and any extra space was filled with herbs and other dried plants for her to mix and make her tonics. The bag had been filled to the brim, nearly spilling over, and she couldn’t help but think about the fact that Ciaran had almost definitely brought this specific bag down to the surgery for her.

A light knock on the door drew her attention, and she looked up to find two guards standing bashfully on the other side of the threshold. Her grin widening, she gestured for the first to enter and for the second to sit down in the chair just inside the door.

It was several hours later, her arm tired from grinding herbs in the mortar, when the call for dinner sounded through the castle.

Startled, and dropping the pestle loudly on the table at the sudden shrill sound, Laura took a moment to collect herself. Hand pressing to her chest, her eyes swept across the room.

Satisfied with the state of the surgery, Laura wiped her brow with her apron and made her way up to the Great Hall. With each step she took, her muscles and her joints ached, but they were all welcome sensations. She finally felt like she had a purpose, especially after treating two of Henry’s men.

Laura entered the Great Hall, and all eyes landed on her, not even giving the tapestry time to fall back into place. Realizing that everyone was eating there, she suddenly felt bashful.

I cannae believe I didnae dress up for this occasion… whatever this occasion might be.

She walked up and sat at the nearest table, recognizing a few of the servants sitting next to her. Almost everybody got back to their conversations, and Laura started helping herself to the food. Her stomach growled angrily as she lifted the first bite of beef to her mouth.

All of a sudden, Henry tapped her shoulder. “Come with me, Miss.”

Laura blanched, feeling the heat of everyone’s questioning gazes land on her again. “Why?”

The man merely waited for her to stand up, which she did, but only after she shoved the bite of beef in her mouth.

Henry led her around the large tapestry and into the dining hall, where a single table had been set for only two people. He dropped the tapestry behind her, allowing her to enter the space alone.

Ciaran sat at the head of the table. The empty chair next to him had clearly been set for her.

Laura walked in, taking in the room she hadn’t seen before as she made her way toward the empty chair. Clan banners hung from the rafters, and large animal busts she had both recognized and never seen before lined the walls. The table was a long piece of dark oak, and high-back chairs lined the wall.

The place was magnificent.

“How are ye settlin’ in, lass?” he said, his intense voice barely above a whisper as he leaned into her space and poured her a glass of wine.

“Aye, very well,” she replied, a blush creeping up her neck at how close he was.

He smelled of fresh pine, and all at once she felt an intense pull toward him. The large room was suddenly as intimate as a broom closet.

“I thought this room was off limits?”

“Aye, to everyone but me, of course.”

Their eyes met once more as he leaned back in his chair. His eyebrow rose as if he sensed the change in the atmosphere between them.

The words came out of her mouth before she could think twice. “Why is everyone so scared of ye?”

But they arenae exactly scared of him. They respect him, but they are wary. Is ‘wary’ the better word?

His expression darkened, which did absolutely nothing to the pressure between her hips. “Ye must already ken. How long did ye say ye’d been in Kilbray?”

“Sixteen months. Why?”

“Surely, ye’ve heard the stories then.”

“Aye, I’ve heard stories, but I try nae to believe gossip and pass judgment.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye.”

He looked away from her, bringing his glass to his lips and taking a big gulp of wine before answering. “The people are afraid of me because I slit me faither’s throat in the Kilbray marketplace when I was but twenty years old. Nae many people forget about that easily, especially since they were the ones who started the uprising, triggerin’ that whole chain of events. Ye ken?”

Laura nodded her head slowly. “Aye, I did hear that…”

“I’m sure ye did, lass. Ye lived in Kilbray for some time, it would be almost impossible for ye nae to hear such things.”

She sat quietly for a moment, watching him watch her. “Sure.”

“And they surely gave their own opinions on the matter.”

“Sure. Although I was ne’er convinced of them. I figured ye had yer reasons.”

Ciaran scoffed, but it was lighter than she had expected. The noise itself made her instinctively press her thighs together.

“Had me reasons?”

“Nae many sons would kill their faithers without at least one.”

He looked back at her, the appreciation in his eyes clear as he gave her a brief nod. “Aye.”

Laura studied the scars on his face and then met his eyes again. “Is that when ye got those scars?”

A muscle in Ciaran’s jaw ticked before he exhaled and said, “In a way, aye. The uprising happened, and it was a time when the villagers truly hated me faither. They hated him so much, in fact, that they tried to burn this place down. Unfortunately—for me, anyway—they were successful, as the fire they started trapped me maither and sister inside, where I couldnae get them nay matter how many times I went back into the flames. Me sister survived due to pure luck. She jumped off a window. Me mother didnae.”

Sensing the next part, Laura asked, “And yer faither?”

“The coward ran. Saved his hide. Left us to die.”

Laura’s hand flew up to her chest. “How many times did ye go back in?”

“Enough to do permanent damage, lass.” He rolled his eyes and turned his head away from her, shoveling a few bites in his mouth and chasing them down with the rest of his wine. As he refilled his glass, his eyes landed on her plate. “Are ye nae goin’ to eat?”

Laura grimaced, her stomach growling loudly in response. He simply lifted his glass in her direction, a sign for her to eat.

The silence between them was surprisingly comfortable, for once. She felt his eyes on her each time she lifted food to her mouth, and she couldn’t help but think about what he could’ve possibly been thinking about.

Unable to help herself, Laura straightened. “What is it?” she asked as she met his eyes.

“Ye are the first lass who has dared to look me in the eye,” he said, his eyes flashing down to her lips before meeting her gaze once more.

He lifted his napkin from his lap and reached out, gently touching the corner of her mouth and wiping away a drop of wine, along with any shred of decorum she’d thought she had.

It had been hours. Hours.

That was all he could bear. The trial was over, and he had failed.

The sudden, jarring sound of dishes crashing violently against the stone floor punctuated the stillness as he swiped his arm furiously across the surface of the table and reached for her. The next second, Laura was on the table, her thighs parted, his body wedged between them.

Her breath was hot, fast, and desperate against his mouth. Her fingers twisted into his dark hair, dragging him closer. A sound— that sound —escaped her lips, making him snap.

He groaned into her mouth, tilting her head back, his tongue sliding over hers in a kiss that was raw, deep, and punishing.

She tasted like spiced wine and felt like direct fire on his lips. Her touch seared his skin with reckless possessiveness. He’d been craving this since the moment she’d slid down from the saddle that morning.

If he was being honest with himself, he had been hungry for it, desperate to lose himself between her legs, since the moment she’d stepped in front of his horse and ordered him to go with her.

He leaned back to take in the sight of her lying there, splayed and his for the taking. Ciaran licked his lips, a starving man led straight to her. He spread his fingers, his hand pressing on her torso and pinning her to the table. His eyes never leaving hers, he slid his calloused hand lower, fisting her skirts and dragging them up until finally, he felt the smooth, bare skin of her inner thighs.

She gasped, her eyes wide, and pressed her knees to his sides. Her breath was coming in short, shuddering, greedy gasps, and his breathing quickened, matching hers.

The promise he made was pushed away, duty compelling him to ask the question burning on his tongue.

“Tell me to walk away, lass,” he growled, his breathing ragged. “Tell me now, Laura. I will.”

Laura watched him with eyes hazy with need, and he knew she wasn’t going to stop him. And she didn’t.

Instead, her nails raked over his shoulders, her legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in.

He knew the answer before she even spoke it. But when it came out of that perfect mouth of hers, her voice laced with need and lust, breathless and wrecked, it nearly ruined him.

“Dinnae stop, Ciaran.”

And me feckin’ name? Christ!

Just like that, he was on his knees.

His hands pulled her forward, her hips balanced on the edge of the table. Her skirts caught in something, but he was eternally grateful for it because it slid up over her waist, and the underside of her breasts was exposed.

Delicious perfection.

Ciaran spread her thighs wide beneath him, and then his mouth was on her.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips, her head falling back and her hands braced against the table, gripping the wood as if his mouth and her hold were the only two things tethering her to the earth.

He groaned against her heated skin, his hands sliding up and gripping her hips, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

Laura was spread before him, her thighs trembling where they rested over his broad shoulders, her body alight with need as his mouth worked against her.

She had never felt anything like this.

Ciaran took from her without mercy, his moans reverberating through her very bones as his tongue dragged over her sensitive flesh. Her breath hitched, her fingers tangling into his thick, unruly hair, gripping him like a lifeline as pleasure shot through her.

“Ciaran,” she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

It was as if his lips and tongue were starved for only the taste of her, dragging her closer, devouring her with sinful intent. She nearly sobbed at the sensation, her head lolling back, her body writhing on the hard surface of the table.

“Ye taste like sin,” he murmured against her, his voice rough, nearly guttural. “Sweet and forbidden.”

A strangled sound escaped her throat, her thighs squeezing his head as her body climbed higher, desperate for release.

This was madness. Pure, reckless madness.

Anyone could walk in. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, though whether it was from fear or wicked excitement, she couldn’t tell.

Ciaran’s hand slid up her torso, pressing down as he continued his merciless assault. His mouth, his tongue—every moment was deliberate, skilled, and meant to unravel her.

And it was working.

“I can feel ye tremblin’,” he said, his voice deep and sending vibrations through her core. He pressed his mouth just above where she needed him most, his lips hot against her skin. “Let go, lass.”

Her nails bit into his scalp, her breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. She was so close, hovering on the edge of something devastatingly powerful, when his thumbs dug into sensitive spots on her hips and his mouth sucked her in.

The coil within her snapped.

Her cry was swallowed by the cavernous hall, her body bowing, trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

She could barely breathe, barely think, her world narrowing down to nothing but sensation.

Ciaran didn’t move right away. He stayed there, kneeling between her legs, his lips pressing lazy, possessive kisses to the inside of her thigh. She lifted her head, her gaze landing on his, and he smirked, licking his lips as if savoring every last drop of her essence.

But it was all wrong. In place of Ciaran’s chiseled face, it was the man from her nightmares.

James.

Laura inhaled sharply, blinking him away, but it was too late. Regret flooded her.

Nearly smacking him with her violent movements, she shoved her skirts down and jumped off the table. Ciaran’s eyes bulged, his head whipping around with concern. He was ready to confront the intruder or whatever might have caused her reaction, but he found none. His confused gaze landed on her again.

“Lass?”

What have I done?

“What is it?” Laura heard him ask, but she couldn’t look at him.

It was all wrong.

“What happened? What have I done?”

“I have to go,” she said quickly, her voice as sharp as a blade.

“What is it?” he asked, backing away from her, his palms outstretched to try and calm her down. “Have I hurt ye?”

Her heart clenched, but she didn’t answer. She only shook her head.

“It isnae ye. It’s just—” Her voice caught in her throat in her feeble attempt to explain herself, but she couldn’t say anything more.

“What’s happened?”

“I have to go,” she repeated.

Her body still carried the flush of pleasure as she spun around quickly, avoiding his gaze, and walked out of the hall without another word.