Claiming Her

“Katy,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “There’ll be no stopping, ever again.”

He gripped her sweaty hips and breached her with no prelude and no gentleness, all push, no stopping, just as he’d said, a single, long, thrusting penetration, until he was buried in her to the hilt.

She screamed from the pleasure.

He pulled back and entered her again, slowly and unstoppably, a long stroke. Her arms began to shake. His pace grew more intent, more driven, as he kneeled up high, one hand light on her hip. She sprawled, bottom in the air, elbows out, gasping from the mad, unspeakable pleasure.

Her knees weakened, slid out, and she dropped to the bed.

“Good, lass?” The dark query came beside her ear, his body burning and slick with sweat above hers.

Pleasure flattened her. He dragged her back up to her knees, and she cried from the pleasure of that too. Then, hands on her hips, forcing her to stay up, he pulled her back to him as he surged forward, and she climaxed, a bright, hot, explosion that rocked her in shaking shudders, and rent her heart open.

His voice came by her ear, a fierce whisper. “Now, you are mine.”

Weak and dizzy, she nodded. “I am yours.”

He kissed her, and thrust inside her again and climaxed in a surge of male heat and seed and driven intention, and she was, truly, his.

Now the trouble would begin.

*

“MY,” THE QUEEN SAID, as she stood in the rain-soaked courtyard, hood pulled far forward over her face. “What a lot of letters from Ireland these days. How lively it has become.”

She turned to the man who towered beside her, Sir Charles Ludthorpe, captain of the force she was sending to acquaint Aodh Mac Con with her displeasure. “A bit too lively, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty.”

“This most recent message is from Bermingham, Baron Athelrye. He reports Aodh Mac Con is well ensconced in the castle, and the lady of Rardove has acquiesced to him.”

“So he says,” was the noncommittal reply.

“You will find out for certain.”

“I will.”

“No negotiations.”

He nodded.

“We shall call Aodh’s bluff, if bluff it be. If he wishes for a fight, then a fight he shall have. And when he is captured… If it is as we think…bring him back to me. If it is worse…” She averted her gaze. “See to it there.”

He nodded.

She was quiet a moment, then said briskly, “The message to Katarina has gone off, telling her of my displeasure. Aodh Mac Con will see it as well, they will all see it, but that is quite the point. She will do what she must, or I will destroy her. This is her last chance.”

“Perhaps she does not have a choice,” Ludthorpe suggested gently. “Her castle has been overtaken, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, and how?” the queen retorted. “After all these years, now it falls? One would almost think she opened the gates to the man.” She tapped her chin with the note, then gave a brisk nod. “Very well, Ludthorpe, see to this matter however you will. Give her a chance to prove her loyalty. If indeed she has turned on us, then turn on her. If she has not…” The queen waved her hand in a vague fluttering. “Perhaps you can use her as bait, for if Bermingham speaks true, a tendresse has developed between her and Aodh.” Her jaw tightened, then smoothed again. “But if there is the least question of her loyalty…”

And of course there had to be the least question, didn’t there? If only because there been no word from Katarina. No news of inhabitants fleeing, of disposse

ssed ladies seeking refuge at loyalist castles.

If only because Aodh, reckless, charismatic Aodh, was at the center of this thing.

Ludthorpe nodded his inscrutable nod. “Very good, my lady. I shall manage the matter of Mistress Katarina and Aodh Mac Con.”