Page 62 of So Close To Heaven
“Aye,” he agreed, the word rough.
His mouth found hers at once, the kiss slow at first, then deepening with a heat that stole her breath. His hand cradled her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. When she sighed into him, he answered with a low sound from deep in his chest, his restraint already fraying. His hands moved over her with deliberate care, undressing her, exploring, until she gasped his name again, her body arching beneath his touch. Every movement was purposeful, measured, as though he feared to take or even give too much, yet couldn’t deny himself entirely.
Alaric gave to her freely, his every kiss and caress meant for her alone. His own hunger he kept leashed, held back with ruthless restraint.
Ivy’s hands were no less searching. She slid them over the breadth of his shoulders, down the hard planes of his back, marveling at the strength coiled there. She compelled him to remove his tunic, and her fingers traced the ridges of old scars, lingered on the curve of muscle, tugged him closer still. She wanted to feel all of him, wanted to be touched everywhere by him.
With his hands and fingers, he teased her and tortured her, and when at last she shuddered in his arms, her vision blurry and heart hammering, he gathered her close, his lips brushing her temple. “Ye have so much passion, lass,” he murmured, his voice raw. “And ye are mine, Ivy, from this day forward—mayhap from the moment I laid eyes on ye.”
The words sank into her like warmth seeping through her very bones. He wasn’t only restraining himself for the babe, he was binding himself to her, claiming her in a way that made her heart soar. He feared for her, yes, but beneath that fear was something she had yearned for all her life: to be chosen, wholly and without condition. She’d not experienced that, not anything even close outside her grandparents’ love.
Her hand slid up his chest, resting over the steady beat of his heart. “I am yours,” she whispered, her voice trembling but sure.
***
The next morning found Ivy and Claire once more walking the cliff path beyond the keep. The wind swept up from the sea, tugging at Ivy and Claire’s skirts. Below, the gray waves slapped at the rocks in a steady rhythm, almost lulling despite the wildness of it.
“I don’t need any details,” Claire said, “but am I to imagine that silly grin you’ve been wearing means Alaric at least got to second base?”
Ivy squawked with laughter at the corny, vintage expression. “What are you—sixty?”
“Hah! Don’t deflect.” Claire dropped into a mock-stern, manly voice. “Just answer the question!”
Ivy blinked at her, half-sure it was a movie quote, though she couldn’t place which one.
“Well, if you must know—”
“And as you’re probably bursting to tell me,” Claire cut in, grinning.
“That, too,” Ivy admitted. Her smile softened. “We had the most wonderful time, Claire—really talked, and that was before—” She stopped abruptly, bending, one hand clutching her middle.
Claire was at her side in an instant. “Ivy?”
Ivy blew out a shaky breath. “I think—oh God—oh, boy.”
Claire’s eyes lit, not with alarm but delight. “You’re going to be a mother soon.” She slipped an arm through Ivy’s, steadying her as they turned back toward the keep.
Ivy gave a weak laugh, half-whine, half-disbelief. “I need to tell Alaric.” She pressed a hand harder against her belly,shuffling her weight. Her frantic gaze found Claire. “She’s early—almost a week early.”
“And still everything is going to be just fine,” Claire said with a confidence that soothed Ivy, then she spun abruptly toward the bailey and bellowed, “Alaric! Someone fetch Alaric!”
Ivy gasped, scandalized. “Claire!”
“What?” Claire shot back, not the least bit apologetic. “I wasn’t about to leave you here and go running after him. He could be anywhere.”
Ivy groaned, shaking her head as they continued on. “I just imagined we’d send someone once we actually reached the hall.”
“Oh, yeah. I suppose we could have done that.”
By the time they reached the gates, Ivy was lumbering and holding her back for the pain there.
And then suddenly, Alaric appeared, sprinting from the yard with his men—as if Claire’s wild call had actually reached him.
“Ivy.” His voice was hoarse, ragged, as he reached her side and took her hand. “Are ye—? Is it—?”
She nodded, swallowing at the same time, trying to smile to assuage the stricken look on his face.
“Aye.” His voice was a rasp, his face gone pale. In an instant he had her in his arms, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. “Clear the way!” he barked over his shoulder just as the great doors opened before them, his shout carrying across the bailey. “Send for the midwife!”
