Page 28 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

28

T he moment Laura led him through the wide entrance of MacNiall Castle, a thick silence settled over the Great Hall. Servants paused their work, their eyes widening in shock. The guards along the walls straightened, their hands twitching toward their weapons before realizing who Ciaran was and who he was with.

Her mother was waiting by the hearth, regal as ever, her fingers curled against the fabric of her gown. Ciaran caught Freya standing near the window, with Fraser in her arms, and Adam was already sitting at the dining table, his expression as impatient as ever.

The moment Fraser saw him, he reached out to him, “Like Ma” he said sweetly and impatiently, and Ciaran took him from Freya easily. Fraser smiled and rested his head on Ciaran’s shoulder.

“I missed ye, laddie” he whispered, squeezing the boy, who giggled.

Laura cleared her throat and pulled Ciaran’s free hand, leading him towards whom he assumed was Lady MacNiall.

“Maither,” Laura said, releasing Ciaran’s hand as she stepped forward. “This is Ciaran Barcley, Laird MacAitken. Me husband. Ciaran, this is me maither, Moira Kane, Lady MacNiall.”

“Aye,” Moira said, shooting Ciaran a sharp look. “Surely, he’s a husband first and then faither .”

Ciaran straightened and then bowed his head slightly, his grip still strong around the tiny boy curled up in his arms. “Lady MacNiall.”

Moira’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Ye dinnae seem the sort to bow to anyone.”

Ciaran smirked.

Ach, she’ll love this.

“I make exceptions for powerful women.”

Laura stiffened, undoubtedly resisting the urge to jab an elbow into his side. Freya and Adam were both smirking.

Moira, for her part, did not look impressed. But she gestured toward the long oak table. “Since me daughter insists that ye are worth me time, I suppose ye might as well join us and eat.”

Fraser was taken away by the nursemaid, and they all sat. Emily joined them quietly, taking her seat next to Adam. For a long while, only the clinking of silverware filled the room as everyone ate. Finally, Adam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“So,” he said, smirking at Ciaran. “We had quite a bloody affair at MacAitken Keep.”

“That’s nay way to describe a weddin’, Adam,” Moira said quickly, embarrassment making the tips of her ears flush.

“Nay, truly—or do ye nae remember the attack?” Adam’s accusatory gaze fell on his sisters.

Freya rolled her eyes.

Emily placed a hand on his knee to silence him, and Laura choked on her food as Moira’s fiery stare landed on her.

Ciaran spoke for them all. “Aye, me man-at-arms staged an uprising two nights ago—but it was taken care of.”

“What happened afterward?” Freya asked, sensing her opening.

Her mother’s glare found her then, and she flinched back at the horrid topic they were discussing.

“How many was it, Braither?”

It wasn’t lost on either man the shocked look that Moira gave them.

“More than I would have liked, but I’m grateful to ye, Neil and Doughall for joinin’ me. Some men lost their lives for nothin’ more than misplaced loyalty and confusion. I gave the survivors a choice—serve or be killed.”

Moira arched an eyebrow. “A merciful laird?”

Ciaran gave her a wry look. “Me wife keeps me civilized.”

Freya chuckled softly, while Laura rolled her eyes.

Moira studied him carefully. “And what of the villagers who rose against ye?”

“I punished those who orchestrated the rebellion, sure, but I didnae make widows and orphans pay for their husbands’ mistakes.”

Moira hummed, clearly taking on a new stance. “Interesting.”

Adam smirked. “There now, Maither—ye look as if yer milk’s gone sour.”

“Laird MacAitken’s reputation precedes him, in all facets. I’ll admit, I half expected him to say that he slaughtered them all.”

Ciaran’s features darkened then, his demons raking their fingers down his spine. “The old me might have.”

Another long silence fell between them as each of them took turns looking at Laura, and then back at Ciaran. He leaned forward, and they all tracked his movements.

Resting his forearms on the table and lacing his fingers together, he spoke, “Clan MacAitken is holding a festival in a fortnight.”

“And what has that got to do with us?”

“As our trade partners and allies, I invite ye all to attend.”

“What’s he on about?” Moira whispered to Adam, who leaned closer to her but spoke loud enough for the table to hear.

“He’s yer son-in-law, for one, Maither. Nae to mention, he’s me braither-in-law and Doughall’s as well, thanks to our dear Freya. Ye’ll remember Ersie, Doughall’s second—that’s Ciaran’s sister. For what it’s worth, we’re family.”

“Christ, ye truly have woven quite an intricate web,” Moira huffed, her voice dripping with accusation.

“It is Christ who is the weaver, Lady MacAitken, and it would mean somethin’ for our clans to come together. To show that this isnae just a political match.”

Moira scoffed. “I havenae left this keep since me husband passed, and I have nay intention of doin’ so now.”

Ciaran tilted his head. “Because ye cannae, or because ye willnae?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Mind yer tongue, Me Laird. ”

The room held its breath, but Ciaran simply shrugged. “I speak plain. Ye are still strong, still the formidable woman I’ve heard stories about. But ye’ve kept yerself locked away, and for what?”

Freya smiled. “He’s got ye there, Ma!”

Moira’s gaze never left his, though. “And if I did come?”

Ciaran smirked. “Then ye’d see how far yer love for the late Laird MacNiall has grown.”

Moira exhaled, then glanced over his shoulder at Laura, who had been holding her breath. “Ye wish for me to go?”

Laura hesitated, her eyes meeting his for a moment before she nodded. “Aye, very much so, Maither.”

Moira sighed, her spiky exterior softening if only slightly. “Fine. But if I dinnae enjoy meself, ye’ll hear about it for the rest of yer days.”

“Of that, Lady MacNiall, I have nay doubt.”

Laura hid a smile that Ciaran caught out of the corner of his eye. Everything about her body language begged him to turn around and steal a kiss, but the dining table was not the place to do it.

As if sensing his need, she leaned into his shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. “Come with me.”

The cool night air was crisp and sharp against Laura’s flushed skin as she ran, her laughter echoing through the glen. Ciaran was just behind her, his footsteps heavy against the damp earth, his ragged breathing mingling with hers in the night.

“Ye cannae outrun me, lass,” he called, his voice dark with delectable promise.

Laura glanced back over her shoulder, her heart pounding with exhilaration. “Aye? Then why have I left ye in the dust?”

Ciaran growled playfully, lunging just as she dodged to the side, barely escaping his grasp and squealing gleefully. Her skirts tangled around her legs, forcing her to lift the fabric as she darted toward the meadow beyond the trees.

A second later, she was in his arms, his warmth wrapping around her waist, yanking her back into his broad chest. They tumbled backward into the soft grass, laughing breathlessly, rolling until she was sprawled beneath him.

His weight pressed her into the ground, his breath hot against her ear.

“Got ye now,” he murmured, his voice like warm honey, slowly coating her veins.

Laura twisted beneath him, her body flushed and humming with anticipation. “Aye? And what will ye do with me, now that ye have?”

A wicked smile curved his lips as he brushed his nose against hers. “Depends. How badly do ye want me, wife?”

She arched into him, feeling every hard line of his body, his strong thighs bracketing hers, the possessive way he pinned her wrists to the grass.

“Would ye like to hear me beg?” she whispered, tilting her chin up.

Ciaran exhaled harshly, his jaw tightening. “Aye,” he admitted, his voice strained. “But I’d rather make ye forget how to speak at all.”

A shiver raked down her spine at the raw hunger in his tone.

With a quick twist of her hips, she managed to roll them over, straddling his waist before he could stop her. His breath hitched as she planted her hands on his chest, her scarlet hair spilling around them like wildfire.

Laura smiled down at him, triumphant, tracing her fingers over the taut muscles of his arms as his fingers flexed against her thighs. “Ye’re nae the only one who can have the upper hand, Me Laird.”

Ciaran’s hands seized her hips, dragging her against him in a way that made her gasp. “Then do it properly, lass,” he growled, his fingers pressing into her skin. “Take what ye want.”

She leaned down, her mouth grazing his, her breath fanning his lips. “I already have.”

With that, she slid off him, running again, laughing as he cursed and pushed himself up to chase her once more.

By the time they reached the meadow— her meadow—they were both breathless. Their hearts hammered wildly. The moonlight bathed the field in silver, illuminating the tall grass that swayed lazily around them.

Ciaran reached for her again, but this time he didn’t pull her down with him. He merely cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones.

“Laura.” He said her name like a prayer, his forehead resting against hers. “I love ye.”

Her breath caught, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic.

“I’ve loved ye since the day ye ordered me to follow ye to Mrs. Morrigan’s cottage,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, and both of them let out a chuckle at the memory. “Ye didnae see a monster with his beast. Ye saw a man. Ye saw me.”

Laura’s chest ached at the memory. “Ever since ye let Fraser touch yer scars. Ever since ye held him that first time. Ever since then, I saw the man who would protect us both. I’ve loved ye since that day, and I’ve ne’er stopped.”

Ciaran let out a shuddering breath before capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. It was desperate and slow, each movement deliberate, each touch reverent.

His hands slid down her back, gathering the fabric of her dress as he lowered her onto the grass.

His lips traced the curve of her jaw and the column of her throat, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Laura’s breath hitched as he dragged his fingers up her bare thigh, his calloused hands rough but gentle against her skin.

She gasped when his lips found her collarbone, his teeth nipping it before he soothed the mark with his tongue. “Ciaran?—”

He hushed her with another kiss, his hands working to unlace her bodice, freeing her from the layers that kept him from her.

When she was bare beneath him, he sat back on his heels, taking her in. His eyes were dark with hunger, his fingers trembling slightly as he trailed them down the length of her body.

“Ye’re so beautiful, lass,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Laura reached for him and pulled at his tunic, dragging it over his head, revealing the powerful yet marred planes of his chest. It was a sight she wasn’t entirely a stranger to, but somehow, the way he appeared in the moonlight, with that dark look in his eyes… his bare body was an entirely new sensation. His scars mingled with the light, and she traced the silver shadows gently, reverently.

Ciaran shuddered at her touch, his breath coming faster as she sat up and pressed her lips to each faded scar.

Then, he shifted his weight over her, pressing her back into the grass as he moved lower, his mouth tracing a deliberate path down her body.

She felt his hot breath between her thighs, the first brush of his lips against her sensitive skin sending a violent shiver through her. Her fingers sank into his hair, her back arching as he devoured her, his tongue teasing and torturing her in equal measure.

Ciaran groaned against her, gripping her hips to hold her down, drawing pleasure from her with slow, deliberate strokes. Laura was panting, writhing beneath him, her body a trembling mess as he drove her to the edge.

“Ciaran—oh God!”

He hummed against her, the vibration sending her spiraling, her cry cutting through the night as he pushed her over the edge. He climbed up her languid body as she came down from her high.

“Say it again,” he murmured against her lips.

“I love ye, Ciaran Barcley.”

Ciaran kissed her deeply, the taste of her arousal on her lips driving her mad with need. Their bodies met in a slow rhythm as he pressed into her, filling her completely. A deep groan left his lips as he buried himself inside her with slow precision.

Laura arched beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he moved inside her, his pace deliberate and unrelenting. Each thrust sent a wave of pleasure through her, winding her tighter and yet unraveling her piece by piece.

His forehead pressed against hers, his breath hot and uneven. “I’ll never stop wantin’ ye. Never,” he murmured, slamming into her with reckless need.

Laura gasped, her legs tightening around him, pulling him closer, deeper. “Then never stop,” she whispered, her teeth finding his bottom lip and tugging at it. “Never stop,” she repeated and watched his control snap.

He thrust into her harder, chasing their release, pushing her over the edge. Laura cried out his name, her entire body trembling with pleasure as she shattered beneath him.

Ciaran followed, his groan low and raw, his hand gripping her as if he’d never let her go.

They lay tangled together, breathless and spent, the meadow silent around them save for the sound of their wild breaths and racing hearts.

Ciaran pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips soft against her skin. “Ye’re mine,” he whispered as he pulled her into his arms.

Laura smiled against his chest. “Aye, Ciaran. And ye are mine.”

“Aye, lass. I’m yers.”

The stars above them burned bright, an endless sky watching over them as their hearts beat as one. At that moment, time was forgotten, and there was no past, no pain—only love, fierce and unbreakable.

Tomorrow would bring what it would. But that night, under the endless stretch of silver light, they had forever.