Page 60 of The Falcon Laird
She wrenched her hand away and spun to face the window, drawing a shuddering breath. “Gavin, this chamber—what you have done here—is beautiful. I know you have worked as hard as anyone to make things right here. And I know you paid theworkmen from your own purse.” He waited silently, watching her. “Truly, I am grateful to see Kilglassie repaired. But—” She stopped.
He took her by the shoulders and spun her then. “But what?” he asked, more roughly than he intended. “But you do not want to see this castle turned over to the English?”
She stared up at him, wet cheeks gleaming, and shook her head.
“Mayhap you do not want an English knight in your bed.”
“What I see when I look around is that I destroyed this place, and all these repairs, all this expense and effort, were necessary because of that.” One tear glided down her cheek.
He blew out a breath. “You have too strong a spirit to give in to guilt, lady. Let that go, Christian.” His hands gentled on her shoulders. “You did what you thought was right. Now I have done what I believe is right in having it repaired.”
“You repair it because your king ordered you to do so.”
“I would not spend my own coin for something Edward wanted.”
“Why, then?”
“This is my home,” he said quietly. She glanced up at him. “Look around again,” he murmured. “See what is here now, rather than what is gone. Let this place bring you joy, not sadness.”
She glanced at the fresh walls, the bright hearth, the great bed. Then she looked back at Gavin. Shifting his hands, he pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her. She tipped her head against his chest, sniffling.
“This room has not brought me joy since the English came here,” she said, her voice muffled.
“Stubborn girl,” he whispered. “Will you not let in a little happiness and forget who is English here?” After a moment, she nodded. Gavin tipped her face up, spreading his fingertipsacross her damp cheek. He bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.
Her mouth gave beneath his, pliant and soft, dampened and slightly salty. Heart thudding now, he traced his fingertips down the side of her face. The fluid kiss deepened as he demanded more from her. She leaned her head back as he pulled her closer, and he felt her lips respond fully beneath his.
She sighed a little into his mouth and initiated another kiss, warm and salted and so eager that she nearly took his breath. She lifted her arm to curl around his neck. Gavin touched his tongue to her lips, groaning softly when she opened her mouth to him willingly. Pulling her closer, he pressed against the slender length of her, and tasted the inner realm of her mouth, the light sweetness of it, the faint salt of it. The depth of the kiss she returned to him took his breath away.
Fitting her slim hips to his swelling, hardening core, he swayed with her when she moved, a graceful and meaningful motion. She had lost her breath as well, and drew back suddenly to gasp softly, leaning her head into his chest. “Gavin—”
“We are husband and wife. Will you say me nay? This has its own power now, between us. Do you not feel it?” He waited, and she nodded. “You want this to happen. As do I.”
“I do,” she whispered. “And it scares me.”
“That fear is easily vanquished,” he murmured. Heat and desire still flowed through every part of his body, and he traced his hands languorously over her spine, down the smallest part of her back to her hips, sliding up again along her ribs until he felt her draw in her breath, until she undulated against him. His thumbs, to either side of her, slipped over her breasts, and she gasped softly. His heart pounded as his fingers explored the rounded, utter softness there, and discovered her nipples growing firm beneath her gown.
Christian tilted her head back. Gavin traced his lips along her brow and down her cheek. He felt her hips press against him, and his loins swelled and hardened further as her hands slipped up his back.
He drew in a breath, moved his head—and something outside the window caught his attention. His thundering heart slammed in his chest, and his hands turned to stone. He groaned. He wished he had not glanced up when he had. He wished he had looked out earlier than this.
“Christian,” he said slowly.
“What is it?” she asked, glancing up.
He set her gently away from him and looked out between the shutters. The chill wind caught his hair and blew it back.
Emerging from the thick mist that hovered near the loch, a group of riders glided over the bare brown moor. Shifting, silvery, as eerie as a host of phantoms, a group of men in chain mail approached the castle. The brilliant red surcoat of the leader was a slash of color through the fog. Beside him, another rider carried a staff that displayed a bright yellow and red banner; flapping and unfurling, its design was too evident.
“Hastings could not wait for me to ride to Loch Doon,” he said. “He has decided to give us a visit.”
“Gavin,” she breathed, standing beside him. “He carries the dragon banner.”
“I see it,” he answered grimly. “King Edward’s orders. No mercy will be shown to man, woman, or child.” He turned to cup her face in his hand, a swift caress of her cheek. “Christian, my dear. I must go down there and put a stop to whatever he has planned.” He turned and strode to the door.
Chapter Fifteen
“You need tofix that portcullis immediately,” Hastings said, dismounting from his horse to face Gavin, who waited inside the open gate. Twenty men followed Hastings into the courtyard, riding beneath the crooked portcullis. Icy needles of rain fell through the fog, turning the earth beneath the horses’ hooves to thick mud.
