Claiming Her

He felt as if he’d climbed a mountain. His blood came hot, the heat he had not known for years.

She’d bent. Bent to his hand, to his mouth, bent for his touch, and in the end, she would be his. The truth was…she wanted him the same way he wanted her. It emanated from her like scent from a flower. All he had to do was touch her, and she would be his.

Christ, he felt that.

He would have her undressed within the hour.

For a long time, she allowed his perusal, allowed the silence, not quite comfortable with it, for there was the shallow, staccato breath, but neither was she agitated.

Then, still looking forward, she said, “Well, it seems you were right after all.”

“About what this time?”

This arrogance earned a faint smile and she turned to him. “My inclination for recklessness.”

“Och, I’m sure you have a plan,” he said companionably. “Do you want to tell me what it is?”

“No,” she said primly, then her cheeks flushed. “I mean to say, I have no plan.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Then you are foolish to treat with me. I’m sure your councilors advised you on just that matter.”

“They did. As did yours.”

“Oh, did you hear?” she murmured, as if he might not have heard her steward shouting at her. “He made some valid points, you know.”

“Such as me being a savage?”

“I believe he suggested the possibility.”

Aodh shrugged. “And yet, here you are, with me.”

Her dark eyes held his. “Perhaps I found your arguments more convincing upon reflection.”

He smiled. Within the half hour. Where the hell was his clerk, Tancred? Doing something efficient and clerical, no doubt. Curse him. “I am glad to hear it.”

One brow arched up, a little sweep of dark angles across her face. “Perhaps I expect it to be an extremely short-lived union,” she said tartly.

He smiled. “I shall make your jointure a fine large one, to compensate you for your loss.” He spread out a hand. “In the event.”

”Yes,” she echoed drily. “In the event.”

He sat back and called for a servant.

“Bring me the leather chest in the lord’s chambers,” he ordered, and the man hurried off. Fires burned in the empty hall. She glanced over, then looked away quickly, touching her fingertips to the smooth curve of her neck, a nervous gesture.

He smiled.

She was born to be enflamed, and he would see the deed done.

He slid a flask toward her. It rumbled as it crossed the oak tabletop.

She looked at it. “Is that Irish whisky?”

“‘Tis.”

“Hm.” She ran her fingertips across the edge of the table. “I see Ireland still holds some charms for you.”