Page 5 of The Rise of the Highland King (The Last Celtic King #1)

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The guest chamber Maeve had been granted was beautiful, there was no way of denying it, but as she sat in the middle of her huge bed and looked around, all she could feel was unease. The comfortable bed might be perfect to make guests feel at home and feel pampered, but for Maeve, its massive size only highlighted the fact that there was nobody to share it with.

She and Deirdre, as the only women, had been given individual rooms in a completely different wing of the castle from where the men were being hosted. Maeve had seen that Cailean was unhappy with the arrangement, and in truth, so was she, but of course, it was the right thing to do. She had been alone before, much more alone than she was now, and she could bear it for a few nights. After all, she and Cailean were not officially married yet, and it was important for them to maintain some form of propriety while they were touring and trying to gain allies—they would not want to offend Murtagh McKenzie by carrying on inappropriately and risk him withdrawing the support he was offering.

No, it was better that they kept their official relationship as purely close camaraderie for now, at least until they could properly have their wedding. There were lots of reasons why that made sense, and Maeve knew them all. Except…

Except she still felt intense loneliness as she sat there now, comfortable but cold and alone. She wondered if she'd be able to sleep without hearing Cailean's breathing next to her; she was so used to him now that she feared she might have to spend the next few nights awake, whittling away the hours while she stared at the canopy and just waited for the dawn to arrive.

Sighing heavy, Maeve flopped back onto her pillows. How strange it was that she found herself missing home! Her whole life, she'd never really had one. Her childhood was spent in the O'Sullivan Castle with a family who did not care for her nor make her feel like she was where she belonged. Only Breana had ever been home to her, but she'd never felt any attachment to the castle. Then, when she'd been wed the first time to Malcolm Darach, that hadn't been a home either. She'd felt more like a prisoner than a bride.

But Bruce Castle, her home with the rebels—it would not be where she lived forever, she knew that, but it was a place where she felt like she was safe. A place where she knew that she could return when things went wrong. A place where she knew, no matter what happened, there would always be people who cared for her. Was this what it felt like to have a family? She'd never imagined she'd be capable or welcomed into this kind of love. But now there was more than just herself and Breana. In fact, there were more names than she could list, all of them on her side, all of them making her feel strong.

And Cailean. Her beloved Cailean. She felt already that they were wed in her heart, even if they were still to officially have the ceremony that would declare them man and wife in the eyes of the law and the heavens. No matter what happened next, she would be by his side and he would be with her. They would fight together to bring their country back to its full glory, but more than that, they'd fight whatever stood against them to stay together against whatever obstacles they might face.

Groaning, Maeve turned on her side. She needed to try to sleep. Tomorrow would be one of the biggest days of their lives, one of the most momentous for the rebellion, and it would not do to be bleary-eyed while she stood at Cailean's side as they made history.

She wasn't sure how long she lay there with her eyes closed, no closer to actual sleep approaching, when she heard the noise. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up, staring blindly toward the vague shape of the door. Someone's footsteps had just sounded outside her room, and stopped just outside the entrance.

Slipping out of bed, Maeve reached for the small dagger she always kept at her bedside. It wasn't as effective as Tailfeather, but she could certainly cause enough damage to defend herself if need be. She hesitated, then lit the candle on her bedside, causing light to spill over the room. There would be no advantage to the darkness; she would not be able to defend herself if she could not see.

The door opened with a slow creak, and Maeve flitted over to it, hiding out of sight, dagger in hand. The invader stepped in and Maeve pounced, ready to attack. She threw herself on the intruder, raising her dagger to his throat, and said, "One wrong move and—och, ye bampot! Ye scared me!"

Cailean held his hands up in defense and laughed at her exclamation. "Sorry! Me apologies, love. Could ye maybe take the dagger from me throat?"

Maeve lowered the dagger, placing it on a little table to the side, but she did not move from her aggressive stance otherwise. One of her hands reached up and gripped Cailean's wrist. "Ye're an intruder in a woman's room, sir," she told him.

Kicking the door closed behind him, Cailean stared at her hand on his wrist for a moment, then his lips unfurled into a wicked grin. "I am a villain, ‘tis true," he replied. "What are ye gonnae do about it?"

Maeve gave him a frank look. "I could take ye in a fight. Barehanded if need be. Dinnae test me."

"Is that so?" Cailean asked. He yanked his wrist out of her grasp and lurched forward, grabbing at her.

Maeve shrieked, glad now of her room's isolation that she wouldn't be overheard, and dodged out of the way. He missed and stumbled, and both of them laughed.

"Ye're a fast one," he commented. "I always forget how swift ye are."

"Swift as a fox," Maeve replied, dancing out of the way as he moved to grab her again.

They continued to playfully fight, Cailean attacking and Maeve swiftly avoiding, or Maeve on the attack and Cailean blocking. Their fight pulled them through the bedroom, until suddenly Maeve found herself tripping backward and, with a yelp of surprise, landing on the bed.

Cailean leaned over her, a playfully smug smirk on his face. "Victory! Do ye yield?"

Maeve reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling his face down to kiss her. When they were done, she whispered against his lips, "Never. Look at ye. Ye're breakin' propriety and puttin' us all tae shame."

Chuckling, Cailean moved to whisper in her ear, the warmth of his breath tickling her skin. "Would ye like me tae behave meself?"

"Of course," she replied, running her hand through his flaxen hair, enjoying the softness of it beneath her fingers. "What else?"

"Ye're right," Cailean murmured. He lightly nipped at her earlobe with his teeth, then started a trail of kisses and nibbles down the side of her neck. Maeve gasped at the sensation, squirming with his weight on top of her and the exciting jolts his work was giving her. "We should show some decorum immediately."

"Immediately," Maeve agreed in a breathy voice.

Cailean's hands moved to the ties at the front of her night dress and slowly untied them, allowing the shift to fall open. She made a little surprised noise as her breasts were exposed to the cold night air, her nipples hardening both from the temperature and from the feeling as Cailean's hands slipped over her chest and set to work. His mouth soon followed, his tongue flicking and his lips working, tempting a little whimper from deep within Maeve's throat.

She closed her eyes as her whole body pulsed under his touch, and when his hands pulled her nightdress the rest of the way down off her body, leaving her fully exposed, she whispered, "Now this is definitely improper."

Cailean laughed throatily. He sank to his knees at the foot of the bed, his kisses continuing a trail down her stomach. "I told ye. I'm a villain."

Maeve opened her eyes to look down at him, watching him move leisurely down her body, his hands returning to her breasts briefly before sliding down to her hips. "Then show me the extent of yer villainy," she challenged.

He stopped briefly, looking up at her with a gaze that sent a pulse through her and made her whole body tense. He lifted her legs and placed them over his shoulders, watching her the whole time, before he dipped his head between her legs.

The first contact of his tongue against her core made her cry out, and one of her hands moved behind her head to grip the pillow. As Cailean held her hips and worked his mouth and tongue against her, she closed her eyes and lost herself in the sensations, her other hand moved to touch her own stomach, her breasts, holding herself to try to keep some control against the indescribable ecstasy that Cailean was making her feel.

He changed his movements, working harder, squeezing at her hips, and the next time Maeve opened her eyes she saw him looking up at her, love and lust and a deep craving in that gaze. That look was almost enough to make her lose control, and she moved her hands down to grip his hair again, so tightly that it must have hurt, holding him against her. He sped up, faster, harder, and Maeve's whole body grew warm, her muscles tightening, her heart racing, hips bucking against him.

The release came all at once, a crashing wave that flooded her whole body, tightening and loosening her muscles and drowning her in some of the most intense pleasure she had ever experienced. She cried out, helpless against the tide of ecstasy, and allowed it to take her.

When she came back down, Cailean was on his feet again, undoing his own drawstrings, and he soon stood before her, naked and breathtaking.

"Now," Maeve told him hoarsely. "Now."

He didn't need any more encouragement than that. Cailean climbed onto the bed with her, pressing himself into her, and as they danced together, their bodies as familiar as a well-known song and somehow still as new and exciting as the thrum of a thunderstorm. They touched and kissed and moved together, skin to skin, soul to soul, and when the build-up started again, Maeve was ready to give into it once more.

The heat that flooded her this time was almost more than she could bear, her fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders, and she called out his name, almost like a prayer. Soon after, he grunted and finished as well, a new kind of heat flooding through them both as his body sent Cailean, too, into a world of pleasure that they could only find in each other's arms.

Breathing heavily, Cailean rolled off and Maeve let out a long satisfied sigh. She wanted to speak, wanted to tell him how wonderful he was and how much she loved him, but exhaustion flooded her. "Cailean…" she murmured.

Cailean smiled and reached out, taking her in his arms. "Perhaps I'm nae such a villain after all," he teased lightly, his fingers playing idly with her hair.

"Och, nae. Ye're a villain, all right. But perhaps I'm a bit wicked as well," Maeve replied sleepily.

He kissed her forehead. "Sleep well, me darlin'," he told her. "I'm here. I'll always be here."

She rested her head against his bare chest and closed her eyes. The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was the sound of his steady heartbeat. The sound she loved most in the world—the sound of home.

Cailean held Maeve long after the candle flickered out and darkness fell across the room again. He knew that he should probably return to his own chambers, but he knew more than that; that both he and Maeve would feel better if he stayed here. As she slept soundly and peacefully in his arms, Cailean resolved that he wouldn't leave her that night. He'd get up early, just before sunrise, and return to his chambers before anyone could see him. Or maybe he'd sleep in and just allow whatever happened to happen. It was hard to be afraid of consequences when he was here with Maeve.

But still, happy as he was and warm and satisfied as his body felt, sleep would not come to Cailean. Creeping at the edge of his mind's eye was that familiar nightmare and the most recent twist that had been horribly added to it—the burning of his childhood home, the destruction of Darach Castle, the death and destruction of everything and everyone he'd ever known and loved. He could still hear the screams echoing in his ears, and he knew that if he slept again, the horror would just return to him once again.

He stroked Maeve's dark hair while she snuggled tighter against him, enjoying having her close by. She always made him feel calmer with her very presence, helping him to focus better than he could when he was by himself. She stopped his thoughts from spiralling too wildly and made sure that he remained himself even in the worst moments.

The part of the dream that horrified him the most floated into his mind—the helplessness he had felt being restrained while Maeve was dragged away from him. The way he had struggled to get to her and there had been nothing to do.

Maeve would understand his horror from the dream, but he did not want to wake her, nor did he want to talk to her right now about what was haunting him. Who else could he talk to? He had Darren, his closest friend—but he didn't think Darren would understand this part, not in the same way Maeve did. Darren had known a lot of loss, too, but he did not dream in the same way that Cailean did.

What would Darren say if Cailean did confide in him? How would he respond to the terror that Cailean felt at even the idea of closing his eyes?

"It was only a dream, ye numpty," Cailean whispered quietly to himself in an echo of Darren's voice. He smiled slightly at the thought, but when he looked down at Maeve, his smile faded.

A sense of terrible foreboding washed over him. It seemed impossible now that she lay here in his arms that anything could ever tear them apart, but he could not get his thoughts away from the way she'd been dragged away from him in that dream. He wanted to ignore his feeling, but he knew better than that. The council, his foster fathers, had taught him to trust his instincts, and since Maeve had arrived, he'd finally started doing so. But what did this mean?

Cailean rubbed at his forehead with the heel of his hand, before returning to hold Maeve close once more. Her instincts were telling her things, too—he knew that she did not trust Murtagh McKenzie. However, Murtagh was their best chance at finally turning the tide of what felt like an endless war for the soul of his country. Cailean hated the uncertainty that he felt. He hated being unsure of Murtagh's intentions and being unable to decide whether he could fully trust the chieftain or not.

Sleep would not come for the lost prince—the rightful king—of Scotland that night, and he was resigned to that fact. All he could do now was whatever it took to keep the most important things in his life and heart safe. And so he would stay here in this room tonight, holding Maeve in his arms, taking comfort from having her near. He would protect her with everything that he had, and guard her from anything that might hurt her in any way, whether they were physical threats or the horrors that came from dreams.

He would guard her through the night—and she, in turn, would guard his heart.