Samantha Holt (Highland Fae Chronicles) (19 page)

The fair haired woman looked her up and down, a furrow between her brows. “Katelyn, is all well?”

“Aye, well enough.” She’d barely spoken to Lorna since she’d revealed Finn’s past to her. The lady had grown quiet of late. Something plagued her. Catriona longed to ask more but what advice could she offer? “Lorna, would ye be able to send a messenger to Bute? Or the villages on the coast? He might be seeking sanctuary there if Bute was overrun.”

“Aye, that should be possible. I am surprised we’ve not had word from there yet but I assumed yer father has likely had his hands full with the invasion.”

“I would be pleased to hear how things are and to let him know that I may be wed by the time I see him next.”

“Indeed, ye may well be.” Lorna smiled tightly. “Write a missive and I shall send my fastest rider.”

“I thank ye, Lorna. Ye have been so very kind to me, as have yer men.”

She waved a hand. “I am just doing my duty, Katelyn.”

“Aye, but ye have done it with kindness.”

“Would that I could do more…” she murmured.

Catriona scowled but before she could ask what she meant, Logan approached and bowed.

“Forgive the interruption, my ladies. I must speak with ye Lady Lorna.”

Lorna skipped her gaze from Catriona to Logan, and nodded slowly. Logan’s sudden formality made Catriona deepen her scowl.

“As ye will. Pray excuse me. Have that missive to me by midday and I shall send my fastest rider,” Lorna told her.

“Aye, thank ye.”

Logan and Lorna left the hall and as Catriona turned, a chest blocked her way. She lifted her gaze to those stone cold eyes and grim lips.

“My lady,” Gillean said softly.

“Aye?”

“Ye look very fine in that gown. The red compliments yer skin to perfection. I look forward to the day I can dress ye in only the best gowns…”

“My laird?”

“But yer lacing is a little bit loose. I shouldnae like my wife to be so… on display.”

Gulping, her pulse beat heavily as he bore down on her. His hands came to her shoulders and he rotated her so her back was to him. She flinched when fingers brushed aside her hair but her limbs would not move nor would words of protest reach her lips. Laird Gillean dissolved her courage. Tears of frustration burned.

His fingers were cold and bony. Not like Finn’s. She stiffened, hiding the shudder that racked her. This man might be her husband soon. If she couldn’t stand his touch now, how would she survive the marriage bed?

Catriona closed her eyes as servants bustled around them, folding away the tables and sweeping the floor—oblivious to her distress. Gillean tugged the laces, pulling the breath from her and taking an eternity to finish. She opened her eyes when she felt him tying the final bow and her gaze landed on Finn, silhouetted in the doorway. He seemed to occupy all of it. Pain radiated from him. Brow creased, he stared at her for too long—made her breaths grow short. Then, with a marginal shake of his head, he swivelled away and stormed into the bailey. She imagined his heavy footsteps kicking up dirt as he stomped away.

She hardly noticed when Gillean turned her around, a smug smile stretching the confines of his beard. “There. Perfect.” His gaze crawled over her.

A tremble threatened to break free but she held herself stiff and thanked him distractedly. Why did Finn look so tortured? Did his heart ache like hers? Sometimes she thought she had him figured out and other days… was it more than lust? The full, painful sensation in her heart told her it was. At least for her.

***

Once again, wine beckoned him but he managed to stave off the hunger. He smirked as he stomped across the curtain wall, the night air ruffling his shirt, filling his lungs. Katelyn’s scolding lingered in his mind.
Ye’ve been drinking
. He recalled her pretty nose, wrinkled in distaste. Instead he worked off energy stalking along the walls and around the bailey looking—nay, hoping—for some trouble. Anything to distract him from the memory of Gillean’s hands upon Katelyn. The possessive look, the way he whispered in her ear. The longing in Katelyn’s gaze. For him? He could only hope.

Could he? Her scent remained with him, even after he’d washed, marking him. Like a brand. Even the knowledge of her impending marriage did nothing to cool his need for her. He shouldn’t be yearning for her. Shouldn’t be hoping she wanted more. If he were a better man, he’d wish her well and pray for her happiness, but he was not. Selfishly, he wanted her. More than mead or wine, he wanted to take her and brand her as she had him. Stamp himself on her soul. 

Like many a night, he found himself gazing up at her window. Warmth radiated from it. She would be in a chemise, the thin material moulding to her breasts. Unbound hair likely spiralled over her shoulders. Mayhap she had washed and her skin remained dewy and ebony curls clung to her face. A shudder swept through him and his blood boiled. He gripped the pommel of his sword.
Lord, give me strength.

A movement sent his heart into his throat. His jaw dropped as Katelyn leaned out of the window. Sure enough, white cotton hugged her arms and her hair hung loose. Candlelight surrounded her in a fuzzy halo like an angel. She gazed out into the night, entrancing him. How he longed to know what she was thinking.

Did she think of him?

Her gaze snapped down, locking onto him. He peered around, realising the torchlight on the walls revealed him. Breath imprisoned in his throat, he met her challenge. Stance strong, chin lifted, he stared her out, waiting for her to crumble and retreat. The air around him became cloying and thick while his pulse pounded sickeningly. His arousal grew painful.

Abruptly, she turned away, broke the connection and left him panting and weak. He dropped his shoulders. Damnation. A moment to relieve himself was called for. Should he return to his chambers or just suffer it, like some kind of penance for a desire he should not have?

Swivelling, he stomped down the steps into the courtyard. He paused and gritted his teeth. Time alone would not cure him of her. And wine held no appeal any longer. He was lost.

The hall doors opened and a figure came barrelling out. He nearly cursed aloud when he realised it was Katelyn. Her chemise flowed around her legs, barely covered by a thin robe. He noted her bare feet and cursed properly this time. What was the lass doing outside in such a state?

Before he managed to ask her as much, she flung her arms around him and flattened a desperate kiss to his lips. He caught on quickly. With a growl, he bundled her to him, shaking hands splayed over her back and in her hair.

“Hell fire, Katie,” he murmured as he took another kiss from her. Breaking away, he glanced around and shook his head. “What are ye doing? Anyone could see. Gillean could see.”

“I care not,” she whispered.

When she leaned up for a kiss, he released her, snatched an arm and dragged her over to the stables. One more frantic glance around and he shoved her into the doorway and pressed her against the wall. No candlelight greeted them here, only the glow from the torches outside permeated the building, slipping through the gaps between the wood. It was enough. He saw all he needed. Once more he speared his fingers under her hair, unable to resist those glossy lips, slick from his kisses. Katelyn whimpered when he captured her mouth and curled her fingernails into his back. 

“Ye play a dangerous game, lass,” he muttered against her mouth.

She tugged against the hold he had on her hair and eyed him. “I am no’ afeared of Gillean.”

“Ye are, ye cannae lie to me. But I mean with me. Ye play with fire here.”

“I need ye, Finn. I am no’ afeared of ye either. I’m willing to risk getting burned.”

“Ach, we shall both be burned. No good shall come of this.” His chest heaved at the enormity of it all, at what she said. He’d always known he was secretly weak. His bold endeavours and brash behaviour covered his fears. When others saw a warrior, Katelyn saw him for who he was. Weak for her.

And it didn’t matter. Not here, not now. Not as long as he had her in his arms.

She flattened a kiss to the exposed skin at the opening of his shirt. He tilted his head back and pulled in a breath through his teeth.

“I cannae continue on not knowing,” she told him, bringing up a finger to trace circles over the skin she’d just kissed as she rested her cheek against his chest. “I need to know, Finn. I have lived my whole life for others. This night I want to live for myself.”

Thumbs pressed into her cheeks, he lifted her face up and searched her gaze. Had there been doubt or fear, he might have been able to turn her away but only bright need shone from her emerald eyes.

“Aye,” he agreed and unbuckled the belt that held his sword, casting the leather and steel aside. “Tonight is for ye.”

Then he pinned her with his chest against the wall and took her mouth. She was all scrabbling hands and rocking hips. Breathy sighs and feminine moans. He savoured and lapped at her, driven only by the need to bring her pleasure. Thoughts of anything apart from her shapely body and smooth skin drifted away like smoke in the wind. She tasted so damn divine. It forced a note from his throat that sounded vaguely animalistic.

He thrust against her to ease his need but it worsened. A hand to her rear, he clenched and moulded the soft flesh as she nipped his bottom lip and kissed down the side of his neck. Tingles traversed him, made his muscles tense.

Releasing her hair, he used his other hand to hitch up her chemise and robe. Underneath, warm, delicate skin awaited and he gripped her thigh, then moved up until he clasped her bottom. In one movement, he lifted her and she immediately latched her legs around his hips. Her juncture against his arousal was enough to send his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“By God,” he forced through a parched throat.

He found the arch of her neck with his lips and her fingernails dug into his scalp as he frantically kissed every sweetly fragranced part from her shoulder to her ear. He paused to nip at her lobe, whispering, “For ye, wee lass. All for ye.”

“Aye, oh aye,” she said breathily.

Finn thrust against her—too hard probably—but he had little control over his movements. Her sounds and reactions drove him forward—
drove him mad.
This little vixen might have been a maiden, but she knew well how her body worked, and how to bring him to the edge.

She slipped a little and he lifted her again, slotting her perfectly against him. He stumbled away from the wall when she tilted herself to kiss him deeply, hands wound tightly in his hair. Arms wrapped about her, Finn manoeuvred them into an empty stall and pushed her up against the wall. Katelyn gasped when her back met the wall. Had he been too rough? But her desperate kisses across his face in search of his mouth soothed away his concern.

He lifted her higher until her breasts lined up with his face and he took a stiff peak straight into his mouth, sucking it through the cotton. She cried out and moved both hands to grip his shoulders. He nipped lightly with his teeth, relished the evidence of her desire, before nuzzling his way across to the other breast and paying it the same attention. The loose neckline of her chemise allowed him access to the rise of one breast and he kissed and sucked the supple flesh but it wasn’t enough.

Hands supporting her, he carried her over to a hay bale. He smirked. Fate was mocking him, bringing him back here. But this time he’d have true satisfaction. He placed her on the bale and settled between her legs. His hands were shaky as he yanked at the neckline of her shift. Finally one rounded breast was revealed and he groaned. When he took it in his mouth with no barrier between them, Katelyn cried out his name.

He shushed her and blew across the taut peak, making her renew her rocking motion. She tried to reach down to cup him but he brushed her hand away. “For ye,” he reminded her, licking his way between her breasts up to her collarbone. “And I’ll no’ last if ye touch me, Katie. Yer too much for a man to take.”

“I want to touch ye,” she complained while he kissed up the side of her neck.

“Soon,” he assured her. His gut fisted when he realised that wasn’t true. He had her for one night, nothing more. The tightening eased when he brought a hand up between them and cupped a breast. He might regret not being able to do more, but he would not let fear ruin this.

He drew away to look at her. Delicate pale skin, trembling breasts, thighs parted. God almighty, not even a saint could resist. He lunged forward and she nearly toppled off the bale, so desperate was his kiss. He managed to slip her robe from her shoulders and find the hem of her chemise while she tangled her tongue furiously with his.

Breaking away for the merest moment, he removed the shift and flung it aside. Katelyn’s hand worked feverishly at the pin of his plaid. Still they kissed as he helped her with the rest of his garments. As soon as he was undressed, he kneeled between her thighs and flattened her against him.

“Are ye cold?” he asked between kisses.

“Nay.”

Finn smoothed his hands up and down her back, taking pleasure in the softness. He found the dip of her bottom and traced it with his fingers, then sketched a path up her spine. She trembled in his arms and arched her hips. Damp heat made his head swim and he cursed roughly. He wished to God he could be more careful, treat her like a queen, but his need was too great. His touches were rough and fraught but Katelyn met him, touch for touch. Her soft fingers were as eager. She tugged his braid, dug her nails into him, even nipped his shoulder with her teeth. He’d truly met his match in Katelyn.