Page 19 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

19

H is blood was heated. How he had managed to keep his distance from her was beyond him. She was just irresistible, and he was crazy for her.

The cold lake water did nothing to cool him off. His injuries felt amazing as the water lapped at them softly, but he was frustrated.

Tomorrow cannae come soon enough .

His mind teetered between the boundaries of sanity and insanity as he kicked through the water furiously. He heard frantic footsteps behind him, and he stopped, turning to where he thought the sound came from.

An attack?

Nay, there’s nay one …

His eyes locked onto the darkest shadows in the forest just beyond the lake. His sword was by his clothes, too far away. If it was an attack, he would be fighting them bare-assed and with just his hands.

Let’s hope this assassin didnae bring a pistol.

Rustling.

Soft footfalls.

Ciaran waded in the water, his hands resting flat on the waterline, waiting for the assailant to make their move.

He saw the blue of her skirts first, and then her pale arms and neck, followed by her face, which was veiled by the shadow of her cloak. He recognized her at once. He could pick her out of a crowd of look-alikes.

That was his woman.

“Laura,” he whispered, bounding through the water to close the distance between them.

Assassin, indeed.

The thought of her being an assassin turned him on like never before. He took in the sight of her standing tall over him, and blood rushed to his most sensitive body part.

Christ . Can I just nae, for once?

He groaned in frustration and played it off as the water being cold.

“Lass?”

She stood there, moonlight catching her errant copper strands.

“Plannin’ to run before the weddin’?” He smirked and waded closer.

Laura crossed her arms, tilting her chin up. “I need answers.”

“Answers? What answers?”

“Where did ye go? Why did ye nae stay? Why have ye been avoidin’ me since ye asked me to marry ye? Do ye regret it?”

Ciaran sighed, swiping wet hair from his forehead. “I met with the village leaders, and they told me there was unrest out on the borderlands, so I had to ride out to meet them. Quell rumors and the like.”

“Rumors?”

“It’s all been handled, lass. Dinnae fash?—”

“What rumors?”

He hesitated, and then admitted, “I didnae want to worry ye. There’s been some talk about our arrangement. Some of the older villagers dinnae like that ye are here because ye’re nae from Clan MacAitken.”

She stiffened. “So, I’m not welcome? Is that why ye asked me to marry ye? So yer healer could stay without another uprising happenin’?”

He stepped closer to her then, the lower half of his body concealed by the inky black water—thankfully, as he could easily wield his arousal like a damned weapon.

“Nay. Ye are welcome here. I’m marryin’ ye because, as I said, ye haunt me thoughts. Ye consume me. I would burn down this entire keep and abandon these wretched people for ye. Or do ye nae understand that?”

His words gripped her, and he steadied himself on the water’s edge. His arms were outstretched, his hands splayed in the grass. She crouched down, and he didn’t move.

“Dinnae do that,” she said as she swallowed hard, her gaze flickering over his bare chest and torso, and lower still. “But what if they revolt again?”

“They’ll be dealt with,” he murmured in the small space between them, his voice low, rough.

Ciaran moved then, gripping her hips and pulling her down toward him. Her knees fell where his hands had been. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers skimmed over his damp, cool skin, trailing over his scars and muscles.

A growl rumbled in his chest, and he captured her lips in a kiss that quite literally obliterated any sense or doubts she had.

She melted, and he leaned in closer to her as he waded out of the water. He grabbed her in one swift motion, then he laid her down near the water’s edge, on his clothes, and rested his hips next to hers.

His hand was on her wet core in an instant, and his brain nearly went blank. All he could think about was being inside her. All he could do was put his mouth on her. He wanted to taste her again, but he also wanted to show her what she did to him.

He grabbed her hand and wrapped it around the rigid proof of his desire for her, and her eyes went wide.

“I’ll nae take ye here, lass,” he said, his breathing ragged against her soft ear. “But since ye insist on tormentin’ me, let me show ye what that does to me.”

Laura’s eyes darkened, her hand gliding up and down his length, and he groaned with need.

“Watch what ye do to me,” he instructed, replacing her hand with his own, stroking rhythmically.

His breathing grew heavier and uneven, his body tight with restraint as he worked her open with slow, deliberate strokes. His fingers moved through her slick heat, spreading her wider, circling—taking his time with her.

Laura gasped, her back arching. She was absolutely soaked, trembling beneath his touch. Knowing that he made her feel this way had him hanging onto his control by a thread.

The feel of her, the soft whimpers escaping her lips, and the way her body met his touch made him strain under the building pressure. He groaned at the warmth of her body as he slid a finger inside her. Those plump, trembling lips parting slightly made him want to watch her taste herself.

Christ …

Her hips started to jerk slightly as he stroked and thrust his fingers inside her, feeling her stretch around him. The thought drove him wild with need, but his jaw clenched.

“Watch, lass,” he said.

Her eyes traveled down the length of him, to watch as ordered.

“I’ll nae take ye here,” he grunted once more, despite his hard length standing proud with relentless, wretched eagerness.

A soft, hungry sound tore from her throat as he stroked himself and her at the same time. His thick, hard arousal glistened at the tip, and he swiped at it, making his strokes mime her slick core. Her thighs clenched around his wrist, a shudder wracking through her, and he could feel it—the way she was teetering precariously on the edge, breathless, ready to fall.

“Feel that pressure, Laura?” he rasped. “That is what ye do to me.”

She moaned, her hips bucking, her body coiling as she chased her release. He worked her harder, faster, his finger curling inside her, his thumb circling that sensitive bud at the apex of her sex, coaxing.

Laura’s head fell back, her cry lost to the night air as her body locked around his hand and shattered.

“Beautiful,” he gritted out, his control slipping dangerously, his body nearly vibrating with the need for release.

Her lashes fluttered, but her gaze landed on him once more—on his hand moving over himself. She watched the way his hips jerked slightly, his thighs flexing as he chased the friction.

It was the look in her eyes that undid him completely. The wild, ruined, dazed look in her eyes that made a deep, primal sound tear from his chest. He tightened his grip on his length, reflecting precisely what she felt like clamped around his fingers, pumping until every last wave of pleasure coursed through him.

The tension in his body snapped, his muscles locking under her gaze. He let out a ragged breath, his body shaking from the force of it.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the water lapping at the shore. Laura twisted her body, straddling his hips, and his eyes went wide.

“Dinnae fash, I’ll nae take ye here,” she teased, her voice full of wicked amusement.

A rough chuckle tore from his throat, his hands finding her hips, his fingers flexing against her damp skin as he adjusted himself so that they would not do something they might regret.

His head fell back slightly, and he let out a sharp breath as her fingers traced his jaw, her nails raking lightly through the coarse thickness of his beard.

“Feisty wee thing,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “Am I supposed to thank ye for yer mercy after ye’ve gone and ruined a man?”

Her smile was slow, satisfied. “Aye, and properly.”

“And what would a proper thank ye entail?” he asked lightly, holding her steady.

Laura tilted her head, pretending to think, before tapping a finger on his chest. “Oh, I’m feelin’ generous, so I’d settle for some grovelin’ or even a declaration or two.”

She’s feelin’ something, that’s for certain.

He moved his hips under her, making her breath catch.

Ciaran hummed with satisfaction, dragging his thumb across her swollen lips, lingering just on the line between them. “Then let’s hope ye’ll settle for wedding vows instead, lass.”

Laura let her bottom lip open slightly as he pressed against it, and his mind went blank. The only thing he could focus on was those perfect lips and the hot heat of her mouth enveloping his thumb.

Soft. So damn soft.

“Ye keep temptin’ me, lass, and I might forget every bit of honor I have left.”

He dragged her bottom lip down until it curled under, exposing her teeth, and her body arched toward him in response, her breath catching in her throat.

Like iron in the forge.

He clenched his jaw, suppressing his arousal. He cleared his throat and reached for her discarded cloak, wrapping the soft fabric around her shoulders.

The two of them stood, and Ciaran dressed quickly before lifting her trembling body into his arms.

She didn’t protest.

She never did.

He carried her back to the keep, her cheek pressed against his chest. “Ye drive me mad, woman.”

“I can tell,” she said, smiling.

He strode through the keep, up the staircase, and stopped outside her chambers. “And have I answered all of yer questions?”

“Ye have,” she said sleepily, her eyes hooded and her lips swollen.

“Good. I’ll see ye at the wedding, lass,” he said, setting her down and planting a kiss on her temple. “Dinnae forget—it’s tomorrow.”

A smile spread across her face, and the corners of his eyes tightened slightly at the sight.

“G’night, Laura.”

“G’night, Ciaran.”