Claiming Her

“Should I stop, Katarina?”

She leaned her shoulders against the wall, pushed her hips out to receive him, drowning in want.

“Do I stop?” He kicked her legs apart and stood between them, ready to take what she so clearly wanted to give. “Do I stop?” he said again, in his rough, perfect voice. He rocked his hips into her.

She forgot how to reply.

“All you need to do is say stop.”

She did not say stop.

He bent to her ear. “Do you not see? We are fated. What more proof do you need? You cannot say no, and I cannot stop coming for you.”

His vision of their union scorched her heart, because she did care, and she could not say no, and still, she could not give him what he wanted.

Coldly, he stepped back, his gaze at once burning and distant. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving her standing, bereft against the wall, the sword at her feet.

But it mattered not at all, for she’d already been disarmed.

Chapter Twenty-Four

AODH BARRELED down the stairs into the hall. Soldiers lounged on benches and played games of dice and cards, while servants drifted in and out. The pretty maid Cormac seemed smitten with was sitting with him and Ré and a few others at a table by the fire, talking quietly. All heads lifted as he entered.

No doubt his expression was darker than whatever Bran had seen the other day when he stormed out of the bedchamber, for most of the men got to their feet instinctively, then swiftly retook their seats and averted their eyes. All but Ré, who, once again, just shook his head.

Aodh passed Walter, who stood in conference with Tancred, pointing to something in a book. As he went by, Walter’s gaze drifted to the stairwell, then the clerk shook his head.

“She always was defiant, my lord,” he murmured in sympathy.

Aodh’s hand flashed out and closed around the man’s throat, pushed him back to the wall, arm flexed straight.

Walter’s eyes flew wide as he began to choke.

Aodh leaned in close. “Do not speak to me of Katarina again, viper.”

Ré was there by then, and Cormac. They pulled him off the steward, who stumbled away, hand to his throat.

Aodh stalked to his chambers, leaving the hall in shocked silence.

A moment later, Ré and Cormac appeared at the door. He waved them in and reached for a whisky jug. Splashing drink into three glasses, he dropped them unceremoniously on the table before his friends and dropped down into the lord’s chair. He lift

ed his cup.

“Sláinte,” he said dourly, and stared into the fire.

Cormac and Ré exchanged uneasy glances. Looking at Ré, Cormac lifted his bushy eyebrows as high as they would go, then his shoulders, then put his hand in a fist and wiggled it back and forth, tipping his head ever so slightly in Aodh’s direction.

Ré blew out a noisy breath and turned to Aodh. “Did we hear swords upstairs?”

The flames danced bright red and blue. “Aye.”

Cormac sat forward, grinning. Ré made a sound of disgust. “What the hell are you doing, Aodh, using swordplay as…prologue?”

“Epilogue,” Aodh muttered, then sat forward and lowered his forehead to the table. “Betwixt.” He lifted his head an inch and banged it back down on the table, once, twice.

Ré leaned forward on his elbow, staring at Aodh. “Betwixt? Betwixt? You took her after the swords?” He smashed his hand over his face. “Whatever the hell you’re doing up there, Aodh, you need to do it faster. And much, much better. We haven’t much time now,” Ré said grimly. “The queen is coming, and we need allies.”

Aodh threw himself back in his chair. “Sent out more riders.”