Page 32 of The Winter Laird

She laughed nervously. “Your words are quite romantic, Nioclas. I hope that when you find your own love, you can say them with the same finesse.”

His eyes clouded. “You know me not, Brianagh. Tread carefully with your tone. You may be able to speak with yourFrenchman”—he uttered the word angrily, as though it were an insult upon his person—“like that, but you will not do so to me.”

“Why are you so angry about this?” she demanded. “This isn’t even a real marriage, and he’s not going to come looking for me!”

“How are you so certain?” Nioclas demanded back, closing the distance between them. “Are you not important enough to fight for? Is he too busy with his trade to be bothered by this?”

The truth of his questions slammed into her, and she sucked in a breath.

Nioclas’s expression immediately softened. “By the saints, Brianagh. ’Tis the truth, isn’t it?”

Brianagh could feel his warm breath caress her face. Stiffening her spine, she tried to ignore the hot, intense flash of lust, and remained silent.

“That isn’t love. When I kissed you, I felt your surprise.” Nioclas pressed closer.

Bri stepped back, but he followed. “Well, you did kiss me in front of all those people. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I’m talking about the kiss inside the castle walls, Brianagh. When it was just you and me. Tell me, did your de Burgh ever kiss you like I did?”

Her eyes widened.

“I wonder…” His voice was barely above a whisper and Bri leaned involuntarily toward him, drawn by a force she couldn’t control. “I wonder if he’s ever made you feel this?” Nioclas’s lips met hers in the barest of kisses.

Somewhere, someone whimpered.

That couldn’t have been her. She was angry with Nioclas, not burning for him. And she didn’t whimper.

And then his lips were on hers, hungry for her taste. Instinctively Bri wrapped her arms around his neck as her heart pounded in her ears. He tasted like fine wine, intoxicating her. His mouth was making love to hers in a sweet tangle of tongues and teeth. Her knees buckled, and he swept her up without breaking the kiss.

Carrying her to the bed, Nioclas carefully laid her down, feasting on her lips, coaxing her response to a fevered pitch. Bri knew she should stop it before things spiraled out of control, but she couldn’t find it in her to push him away. She’d dreamed of this for years; having it here, now, was surreal and wonderful and confusing. She was so hot she was going to combust, and she couldn’t—didn’t want to—do anything to stop it.

Nioclas’s hand reached for the ties to her dress and gave them a quick yank. The knots fell away, as if they, too, really thought this was a good idea.

She dimly realized his tunic was off, and she caught a glimpse of bicep. A tattoo wound its way around the large, corded muscle. Fascinated, she gently traced it with her finger, curious as to where it led.

“You’re worth something, Brianagh.” He trailed kisses down her neck. “You’re worth fighting for. Don’t allow anyone to say otherwise.”

Her mind was wrapped in a sensual fog, but she wasn’t so far gone that she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t sleep with Nioclas; she wasn’t the kind of woman who had flings. She had never flung before and she really didn’t want to start in the Middle Ages.

“Have you ever been kissed here?” Nioclas continued, trailing kisses down her neck. “Or here?” Over her collarbone. “Or…here?” The top of her breast.

Oh, God, it was just like in her dreams. His lips were so familiar to her; she was drowning in her desire, and she had a sinking suspicion that were she to give into him, their game would become a whole lot more dangerous than either of them realized.

She drew a deep breath. “This isn’t love, Nioclas. It’s lust. And I can’t give myself to a man who doesn’t love me. And you’re right. I am worth something; after all,youbought me. If I sleep with you, I’m no better than a common whore.”

Nioclas reared back, as if struck. The anger on his face sent a frisson of fear cascading over her.

Wordlessly, he glared at her, and then withdrew from the chamber completely, leaving her cold and aching.

It was nothing less than she deserved.

* * *

Much later,when Nioclas finally returned, he wrapped himself in a blanket and laid himself on the floor next to the bed where Brianagh slept.

Kiernan certainly had played him well. He found Nioclas at his weakest point when he was a desperate lad. Extracting a promise for something so far into the future was cunning, even Nioclas admitted that. But to encourage the marriage when the lass was already betrothed?

He had no idea what betrothals meant in France. In England, to which he’d traveled once and hoped never to return, betrothals were as binding as marriage, and the only way to break it was to have both sides agree, then involve the church. It was a long process, and by the time it was done, the lass was thought too old to be married.

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