Page 17 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

17

T he village leaders brought nothing but bad news, and Ciaran had to ride out to each of the villages to take care of those matters. What he thought would take hours took days. He and his men hadn’t been back at the keep for a week.

The days had passed in a haze of restraint and reckless thoughts. During each meeting he sat on, each conversation he had, all he could think about was Laura.

He had unintentionally avoided her touch and her voice. But the memory of her thighs spread wide before him as he ate her like dinner on the dining table haunted his thoughts. The memory of her lips parting just for him with breathless need and her eyes beckoning him to approach her again had set his hair on edge every minute he was away from her.

Nae to condemn her to live with a monster.

That’s precisely what Henry was going to say. Ciaran knew it because Henry never held back his true thoughts from him.

He couldn’t help but think about pushing his length inside her, feeling her soft, wet core pulse around him as he thrust with relentless need. The sounds of her moans and guttural sighs, the sound of his name on her lips…

Those perfect feckin’ lips .

His blood rushed through his veins as he recalled how she tasted, and it made his length twitch. Awaken with arousal.

Aware of his desire each night, he needed to find release. Nothing quite satiated him as he knew she would. The way her curves fit against his body, in his hands… She would be tight around him at first, but she’d get used to his size.

His thoughts were despicable, he knew it. But still, he dwelled on them. Anything to help him relieve the undeniable pressure in his taut muscles and heated bones.

Ciaran’s grip on the reins tightened as he spurred Dùbhshìth ahead of his men. He needed to get back to the keep.

He was in his study moments later, standing at the window and watching them. Fraser was toddling before her, while she kneeled in the grass, her arms outstretched. A knock sounded at the door.

Probably Henry .

Laura was beautiful when he caught her in those carefree moments with Fraser. Her soft laughter joined her son’s. It drifted in the air as she spun him around and around.

“Enter, man,” he called. When he was met with the wide-eyed reflection of the guard, he turned. “What is it?”

“Me Laird.” The guard bowed his head. “A party approaches.”

Ciaran furrowed his brow, looking out the window at the fast-approaching party. “Who is it?”

“I cannae remember the name, Me Laird. But?—”

“Is this about military or clan matters?”

The guard hesitated.

“Where’s Henry gone off to?”

“I dinnae ken, Me Laird. I spotted the party and came straight here.”

“An attack?”

“I didnae see any weapons aside from the usual.”

“How many are they?”

“Only two of them, but?—”

“Bring them here when they arrive. Understood?”

The guard fumbled with his words and ended up bowing and bolting out of the study.

Ciaran’s gaze fell back on Laura and Fraser, who were too far from the courtyard to hear any approaching party of any size less than a hundred-person army.

She is safe.

Frustration building in his veins, Ciaran started pacing the study until finally he strode out of the room and down to the entrance. The guard from earlier stared at him, his mouth agape as if he had something else to say.

“Christ, lad. Just go—I’m here now.”

“Are ye?—”

“Just go, dammit!”

The doors to the hall swung open just as a tall, broad-shouldered figure entered. His golden-brown hair had been pulled back, his hazel eyes scanning the space.

“Welcome—”

MacGordon?

“Doughall?” Ciaran said, exasperation evident in his tone. “Ye never said—How are ye, man?”

Doughall clasped Ciaran’s forearm in greeting, and then a guard in a soldier’s riding kit stepped out from behind the large man.

There are two of them. Only two of them. Nay…

The woman pulled her hair free from its tie, the dark strands tumbling around her chiseled face. His mother’s face—his face.

His throat bobbed, his lungs failing him as he was barely able to see past the shock of his sister standing before him. Alive.

“Ersie?”

The woman grinned, her dark eyes filling with a teasing light as she propped her hands on her hips. “Good morning, Braither.”

His knees threatened to give out. “How?—”

“This is touching,” MacGordon said, stepping forward, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Truly, I’d love to watch this reunion play out in full. Christ kens it’s time.”

Ciaran’s gaze snapped to his.

“But I’m afraid I’ve come for more than just that, MacAitken.”

The weight of the man’s presence shifted instantly.

“What is it, then?”

“I’m here to retrieve me sister-in-law.”

Laura burst into the study, expecting the usual silence. She was going to demand to know where he had gone. Demand that he let her tend to his wounds. Demand that…

She froze midstep, her heart slamming against her ribcage as she set Fraser down.

Ciaran wasn’t alone.

The large man stood, his arms crossed over his chest, his face unreadable until his gaze landed on her scar.

His jaw clenched. His eyes flicked down, settling on her son, who was now hiding behind her, using her as a shield.

“Laura?”

She swallowed, suddenly unable to speak. Her eyes darted between the man and Ciaran.

“Do ye ken who this is, lass?” Ciaran asked her, sitting unmoving in the chair she usually sat in to tend to his wounds.

“Doughall?”

The man’s eyes lit up, relief spreading across his entire body as a laugh escaped his lips. “I’ve come to take ye home, lass.”

Words that she had once craved to hear made her stiffen defensively, and she was shaking her head before even knew what she was doing.

“I cannae,” she murmured. “I cannae bring shame to them like that.”

Her brother’s best friend shifted then, but it hadn’t escaped her notice that Ciaran stood as well, closing the distance between them.

“Shame?” Doughall said incredulously. “Laura, ye are our family. Ye always have been. We would never?—”

Our?

“I said nay.” The words were final. Confusion boiled in her mind, and her chest ached. “Sure, I miss them—I miss them all. But I like it here . I have a good life here.”

Doughall exhaled sharply, rubbing his hand over his face. “Ye’re still a lady,” he tried again. “If ye dinnae come willingly, I can simply take ye. Ye ken?”

A flicker of something dark and dangerous stirred in the air behind her, and she turned. Ciaran stepped between them, his massive form blocking her from Doughall’s reach, pinning her between the door and his back. His menacing voice sliced through the room.

“I dinnae allow threats in this keep. Men have lost their limbs and lives for less.”

Doughall’s face darkened, his hand drifting to a concealed blade, but before he could snap back, a woman stepped forward, rolling her eyes.

“Enough of this,” she said, easily maneuvering around the large men. “Ye come with me. Let them talk.” She offered her hand to Laura.

Ciaran didn’t move.

“Ye two can go, Ersie,” he said. “With yer heads,” he added, the threat solely aimed at Doughall.

Doughall’s nostrils flared, and the woman rolled her eyes again. Instead of responding, she simply clutched Doughall’s tunic and yanked him past Ciaran and Laura. “Let’s go, then. Ye have yer answer.”

Before turning to go, Doughall leaned close to Laura, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If ye ever need me, just call out me name. I’m nae leavin’ without ye.” His eyes fell on Fraser, who was still hiding behind her skirts, before meeting her gaze again. “Both of ye.”

Laura rolled her eyes, a laugh slipping past her lips. “Ye sound like me braither.”

The man grunted as the woman tugged on his tunic again. “Freya sent me here because she was afraid of what Adam might do. I willnae fail her. Dinnae forget—I am yer braither too now, lass.”

Afraid of what Adam might do? What would Adam do?

The pair disappeared down the corridor, bickering, and Ciaran reached over her head to press the door shut. Laura’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Ye dinnae wish to leave?” he asked, before bending down and scooping Fraser up in his arms. The boy gripped his neck tightly.

Laura straightened, folding her arms across her chest. “Nay.”

Ciaran exhaled sharply, then took a step closer. “If ye stay, Lady Laura Kane, then we must marry.”

She blinked. “What?”

“As I said, Lady Laura Kane—and as Doughall pointed out—the only way to keep ye here and safe under this roof is if we wed.”

She laughed bitterly. “I’m a scarred healer with a bairn,” she shot back. “Society’s ridiculous rules dinnae apply to me anymore.”

His eye burned into hers, his knee dangerously close to the apex of her thighs. “Ye’re more than that,” he purred. “Ye are mine.”

Her breath hitched as he shifted Fraser to the side and stepped further into her space. His presence consumed her, the heat of him so close that she could barely think.

“Ye were mine from the moment ye ordered me to follow ye. I was yers, really.”

I need air. I cannae be someone’s property…

But this didn’t feel like a demand or an order. She didn’t feel like she would be his property, as the words he said weren’t a statement, but a choice. A choice for her to make.

His lips were mere inches from hers, waiting, teasing. She could feel the challenge in his silence. It pressed against her body when his body refused to. It caressed the soft skin on her neck when his mouth hovered close by.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth before connecting with his dark eyes once more. A devilishly slow smile spread across her lips as she whispered, “I guess we could, but?—”

A knock sounded at the door, and Ciaran rolled his eyes before opening it slightly.

“Doughall asked me to remind ye that she is a lady,” the dark-haired woman’s voice said.

His grip tightened on the edge of the door, and Laura twisted around it. It wasn’t just Ersie standing there, but Doughall was standing right behind her.

“We’re to be married, Doughall. Relax,” Laura said.

Her eyes darted around wildly between the four of them until finally, Doughall spoke, breaking the tension.

“Fine. If ye’re sure. But just wait to announce it until Freya gets here, or else she’ll ne’er forgive me.”

“We’ll nae wait to announce it here, but go ahead and send word. We’ll send out invitations to the other clans, as well,” Ciaran said firmly.

Silence fell heavy between them. Until Ersie scoffed, a smile on her lips as she stepped away. “Right then, Doughall. Ye have yer answer, yet again .”

The two of them retreated down the corridor, and Laura found herself facing Ciaran once again. His presence consumed the light around them. They were in their own space, between his arms, and she relished it.

“But what?” he asked.

It took her a second to remember what exactly he had been asking about. It was before they were interrupted by the person in question, as a matter of fact, and she tilted her chin up playfully.

“But first, who is Ersie?”

Ciaran let out a laugh. “Ersie is me sister, but that wasnae what ye were going to say, was it?”

“How do ye ken?”

“Ye wouldnae ask about another woman when I’m pressed against yer tight body. Yer back flush against the door. Breath hitching and blush creeping up yer throat. Would ye?”

“Nay,” she said quickly, her heart thundering in her chest. He could feel it.

A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth before she rose on her tiptoes and gripped the lapels of his riding jacket.

His arms wrapped around her waist instinctively as she whispered in the impossibly small space between their mouths, “Kiss me.”

And he obliged.