Page 31 of Kilted Seduction
“Mark ye?”
“Aye. I’ve seen me braither and his lady once or twice, comin’ from their bedchambers. She had marks…” Thora gestured toher throat. “Like bruises. Love bites, she called them, marks that her lover had claimed her.”
He knew quite well what she was talking about. He was reluctant to leave such a mark on her pale skin. And he truly didn’t want Lachlan Ross to think he’d driven him to possessively stake his claim. That might make the laird even more suspicious, for why would a man in a loving marriage feel the need to warn other men away?
On the other hand, a love bite would make a statement that even the most foolish or drunken man couldn’t ignore. Aedan considered the matter for a moment, then tugged on the shoulder of Thora’s dress. “Ye make a good suggestion, but…”
He loosened the laces of her bodice and tugged it down to expose part of her chest, though he left it high enough to preserve her modesty. Thora squeaked lightly in protest. “What are ye…?”
“I’m doin’ as ye asked, but in a way that they willnae be able tae tell whether the mark was made last night, this morn, or just now. A mark here…” He touched the soft, creamy skin above her breast. “...wouldnae be immediately visible.”
Thora was quick to guess where his thoughts were headed. “We’ll return, and I’ll be a wee bit tousled… if the laces are loose and the bodice slips so that they happen tae see… it can be an accident, and they willnae ken…”
Aedan nodded, then bent his head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the silken skin, suckling and biting softly. Thoragasped, her hands gripping his shoulders as if she couldn’t decide whether to push him away or pull him closer.
Her skin smelled of snowmelt and lavender, and he wished he could explore more of it. Aedan forced himself to pull away before he aroused himself to a state that would make it impossible for him to return to the Hall.
There on Thora’s chest, just above the swell of her right breast, was a reddish mark with the slightest imprint of teeth. Aedan grinned. “As ye desired, lass.” He bent closer, unable to resist teasing her just a little, since she was certainly teasing him far too much for any man to bear. “Now ye’ve been marked as mine, little trickster…”
“Aye, and it’s a claim that neither one o’ us can put aside, me laird.” Thora’s breath ghosted across his ear and made him shudder with desire before she stepped away and made a half-hearted attempt to set herself to rights.
Looking at her, Aedan doubted any man would think anything other than that they’d enjoyed a quick, passionate tryst. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy color, and small tendrils of hair were escaping her careful braiding to frame her face and throat. Her clothing wasn’t overly mussed, but it was in slight disarray, the skirts creased a little more than they had been, and the bodice not as tightly laced.
The image was perfect for what they wanted others to think, but Aedan couldn’t help feeling a stab of disappointment. With a sinking heart, he realized that, for all he’d sworn notto let himself become entranced and entangled with Thora MacTavish, his heart and his desires had no intention of obeying him. Appearances were all well and good, but it was more than just his aching manhood that wished appearances and reality were the same.
He pushed the thought away with an effort and offered Thora his arm to lead her back to the hall. He was beginning to think he’d need a stroll in the garden to have any chance of sleeping this night, but for now, he had more important things to think of.
Silence fell as they entered, carefully avoiding the Kissing Bough. More than one pair of eyes roved over them as Aedan led Thora back to the table and pulled her chair free for her to sit. He saw more than one blush appear on the faces of the ladies, and more than one gleam of desire and appreciation in the eyes of the men.
“Me laird, will ye tak’ some tea, or would ye rather the mulled wine or the cider?” Thora offered him a winsome smile as she indicated his empty cup.
“Cider.” It had less alcohol than the mulled wine, and he needed to keep his head clear. Besides, the men would likely be drinking after supper, and he had no intention of becoming as drunk and loose lipped as Conall was.
Thora nodded and leaned across to get the cider flagon. The bodice of her dress slipped, as if she hadn’t planned it, revealing an expanse of her chest, and a good portion of the love bite he’d given her.
It was only for a moment, before Thora noticed her apparently disheveled state, gasped, and wrapped an arm over her chest. “Och, me dear husband… I apologize… I didnae mean… yer pardon…” She ducked away to tighten the laces, her ears and the back of her neck a crimson to rival the color of the wine.
It was enough. Enough for the men to exchange glances and low chuckles of appreciation. Enough for the women to blush and titter behind their hands, good-natured rebukes hiding in their expressions.
But most importantly, it was enough for Aedan to catch Lachlan Ross, staring at his wife with a greedy, covetous gaze that no man should ever be directing at another’s spouse.
It confirmed something else as well. Whether Lachlan suspected their ruse or not, it no longer mattered. The Laird Ross no longer had any desire to expose a deception in his castle.
His desire, instead, was to claim Thora for himself. Aedan hid a scowl behind his cup.
Lachlan Ross might covet Thora, but - wife or not - Aedan had no intention of letting her go, whatever scheme the elder laird might concoct.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cold… cold and darkness… water encasing her limbs in icy blackness. She couldn’t breathe, her fingers were too numb to catch herself. Flowing water and rocks battered her young frame, swept her along without mercy.
She opened her mouth to cry out, and frigid water filled her throat, her lungs. She choked and flailed, but she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find the surface, couldn’t find anything to grab.
So cold… so cold, the water and her clothing weighed her down. She couldn’t breathe, and she was so weak… one final try…
Water poured into her throat and lungs again, and she sank beneath the river surface, her last despairing cry trapped in her throat. ‘Faither… help me…!’
Thora shot upright, chest heaving, sweat beading across her face as she gasped for air. The dream had felt so real…no, not dream. A vision.
