“The sword is steel; it willnae rust. That’s bluid.”
Ewww…. And that was even worse! Bannon gawked at him. “Why wouldn’t you clean it?”
“It was my father’s. It’s been passed down to each laird fer over half a century. Dìonach Na Sìthe.” The words were foreign but spoken with such pride, such longing, that it sounded like a caress.
“What does that mean?”
Ciaran unfolded his hands and laid them on his thighs. “Defender of Peace. That’s what the sword is called. My father had it with him when he was killed.” His voice trailed off as he continued to stare up at the sword.
Bannon watched him, taking in his strong profile, knowing there was more to this story. “You said it’s the laird’s sword. Why don’t you use it?”
“I dinna deserve it. Nae till I avenge my father’s death. And nae until I find my men,” Ciaran said so softly, it was almost a whisper, but somehow it seemed to echo in the empty hall.
The words sent a chill right through Bannon. The goose bumps that had mostly faded in Ciaran’s company broke out on his arms again. He sat there stunned, that this strong brave man could possibly think he wasn’t worthy to wield his father’s sword. Somehow with all this planning and spying, he’d completely forgotten about the wrong the IN had committed against Skye.
Reaching over, Bannon slipped his hand underneath Ciaran’s and entwined their fingers. “We’ll find the men.” He hoped. Honestly, he feared they were already dead, but as long as there were no bodies, he was holding out hope.
Ciaran stared at their hands for several seconds. After a moment he squeezed his thumb, then asked, “How’d it go with Patrick and Marcus?”
Bannon sighed and leaned his head against Ciaran’s shoulder, longing for more contact. “It went.”
“That doesnae sound good.” Letting go of him, Ciaran brought his palm up and rested it against Bannon’s cheek. Slowly he caressed back and forth with his thumb along Bannon’s jawline.
It was sublime. Like a giant body-wracking sigh. Bannon melted and closed his eyes. “I’m never having kids.”
“That sounds like Timothy talking.”
“Probably, but I’m inclined to agree with him.”
“What about marriage?” Ciaran asked in a hoarse whisper.
Bannon’s breath caught in his throat, and he snapped his eyes open. Ciaran couldn’t be asking him…. No. But what if he did? Bannon’s heart raced. Would he accept? No, no! It was way too soon, and he had to go home and….
Ciaran turned to him, but he didn’t drop his hand. He cupped Bannon’s cheek. His thumb continued rubbing back and forth over the cheekbone.
It was as if everything stopped. Only the wind outside, the crackle of the fire, and the two of them existed. The strangest feeling of contentment swept over Bannon, followed quickly by excitement.
“Nae now….” Ciaran shook his head. “I dinna ken, I just… I dinna want ye tae leave.”
Could he stay? Could he come back? What if…?
Ciaran caressed his lower lip with his thumb as he looked into Bannon’s eyes with such intensity and passion that Bannon’s cock threatened to rise. Galaxy, Ciaran was beautiful. So rugged, yet there was such a refinement to his features. His lips…. Oh dust, his lips….
“Just think about it, okay?” Ciaran whispered and leaned forward, his eyes closed, and their foreheads touched.
Closing his own eyes, Bannon nodded and leaned, turning his head just slightly. It was as if their lips drove them forward, reaching for each other, slowly, slowly until the touch and sensation exploded inside him. Bannon moaned as he opened his mouth to Ciaran’s slow back-and-forth motion against his lips until their mouths came together, settling. Without breaking contact, Ciaran slid off the table and maneuvered himself in front of Bannon. Gripping the sides of Bannon’s face, Ciaran slanted his mouth over Bannon’s. His tongue teased and pressed, till Bannon opened on a sigh.
Just like last time, heat sizzled through him, making his whole body tingle and feel alive. Lust coiled in his stomach, and his cock started getting hard. Dust, but this was the best thing ever. He wanted to relax into a puddle and pull Ciaran down on top of him, but he held on to the edge of the table to keep himself upright. Following Ciaran’s lead, Bannon explored on his own, tracing the insides of Ciaran’s mouth, his teeth.
Ciaran grinned and nipped his bottom lip before standing and releasing Bannon’s face. Resting their foreheads together again, Ciaran gripped Bannon’s hips and urged him forward. “Come down here. I want tae give ye a reason tae stay.”
Bannon wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but he let Ciaran guide him off the table to stand in front of the bench he’d been resting his feet on.
Ciaran’s hands went to the falls of his trousers and began working on the buttons. In the back of Bannon’s mind, the little bit of propriety he had left tried to speak up, but Timothy shouted rather loudly at it to Shut the devil up!
Bannon watched as in a trance as Ciaran tugged down his trousers and smallclothes and his cock bounced free. He should probably be embarrassed, but he wasn’t. His libido decided to assert itself, and he found himself leaning closer, wanting those strong hands to touch him. Someone whimpered, and he was pretty sure it was him.
Ciaran grinned, sliding down to his knees. His face was level with the tip of Bannon’s prick, and Bannon knew with utter certainty the whimper was his this time. He bit the knuckle of his ring finger on his left hand to keep from begging like a complete wanton. He wanted Ciaran to touch him so badly. When Ciaran finally did, Bannon’s whole body tensed in pleasure. Why did it feel so much better for someone else to touch him?
With Bannon’s prick wrapped in his fist, Ciaran glanced up at him and smiled. “This all right?”
Bannon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was afraid if he opened his mouth, he would beg Ciaran to stroke him.
But Ciaran did something even better.
He leaned forward and took the head of Bannon’s cock into his mouth.
Bannon’s legs buckled, and if not for Ciaran grabbing his waist, he’d have fallen. Instead, Ciaran guided him down to sit on the bench. Once there, Ciaran shoved his trousers around his ankles and sat down in front of him. Taking Bannon’s cock in hand again, he lifted it up and tilted his head. When Ciaran’s tongue snaked out and dragged across Bannon’s testicles, Bannon’s legs started shaking. His bollocks drew tighter as if trying to get away from the sensation. And maybe they were. He felt so incredible. His hands seemed to find Ciaran’s head on their own accord, sifting through the silky black strands, and he found himself pushing closer to that lovely tongue. But all too soon, or perhaps not soon enough, that tongue was gone, and Ciaran had engulfed his prick again.
Bannon moaned and gripped the edge of the bench much as he had the table. He felt as if he’d float away if he didn’t grab on to something, and somehow pulling Ciaran’s hair didn’t seem right under the circumstances. Because he certainly didn’t want this to stop. Ever. He dropped his head back in ecstasy but quickly jerked it back up, because he couldn’t bear not to watch. The sight of his saliva-slicked cock gliding in and out of Ciaran’s mouth was one of the most amazing things he’d ever seen. His arse clenched, tightening on the bench. “Oh my galaxy,” he whispered.
The warm heat left his prick, and Ciaran stood. He undid his belt and tossed it onto the table with a loud clunk, then gripped his plaid and pulled it off.
Mesmerized, Bannon stared as Ciaran’s body was revealed. He wore nothing beneath the kilt. Bannon caught a glimpse of his long, hard cock, then the white shirt fell over it, covering it. Bannon actually groaned and reached to lift the shirt out of the way.
Dust, but Ciaran was first-rate. His cock long and thick, and he was so hard. Bannon reached out and touched him. The heat nearly seared him, but before he could do more than squeeze, Ciaran’s hand covered his. He then ripped the shirt over his head until he stood there naked, all six foot five of him. The firel
ight at his back cast him in shadow, making his muscled chest seem like granite. If not for the scar on his arm and across the left side of his abdomen, he’d have been flawless, like a statue in the Regelence museum. But somehow the scars made him more beautiful. They made him real.
Bannon’s cock flexed in response. Bannon had the sudden urge to lean forward and lick the diagonal scar on his midsection, and he wasn’t going to stop there. He reached again, but Ciaran stepped away.
Ciaran spread his plaid on the floor between the table and the fireplace, then held out his hand. “Come here.”
Nodding, Bannon obeyed. The only problem was he’d forgotten about his pants around his ankles. But Ciaran didn’t.
Ciaran grabbed his forearms and helped him waddle over.
It was the most undignified thing Bannon had ever done, but Ciaran didn’t so much as crack a smile. Instead he urged Bannon to the ground until he lay on his back on the plaid.
Bannon stared up at all the naked flesh in front of him and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “I want to touch you.”
“Then ye shall.” Ciaran went to his hands and knees until his face was once again even with Bannon’s cock. He lifted it and engulfed it right down to the base.
Tensing, Bannon arched off the ground, and intense pleasure arced through him, but instead of working him with his mouth like Ciaran had before, he coated him with spit. He even lifted Bannon’s cock upright and dribbled saliva down the length. It should have been disgusting, but was instead very erotic. Afterward, Ciaran crawled forward, slung his leg over Bannon, and straddled him. Then slowly he lowered himself until the head of Bannon’s cock touched flesh.
The moment was surreal as Ciaran kept pressing down. At first it was as if he were mashing his cock against something hard, not painful, but not especially pleasurable either. Then the flesh gave and started to wrap around Bannon. He gasped at the tight squeeze. The grip spread all around him, almost strangling his prick. All the while Ciaran stared at him with those heavy-lidded dark eyes.
Once the entire head of his cock was engulfed in heat, Bannon looked between them, watching his cock disappear as Ciaran sank all the way down. It was the most intense thing he’d ever felt in his life, and if the sigh Ciaran gave him was anything to go by, Ciaran felt the same way. Ciaran’s cock was a dark red, standing straight up toward his belly, beckoning Bannon to touch it. When he did, Ciaran hissed out a breath.
“That’s it, Red, stroke me.”
Bannon nodded because he was certain he couldn’t draw enough air to speak with such desire enveloping him. Ciaran’s hard heat slid through his hand like velvet over steel. And Ciaran threw his head back and moaned. It was a deep guttural sound that reverberated through Bannon and sounded better than any music he’d ever heard.
After that, everything else got a little hazy as Ciaran started to move and they both got carried away racing toward completion. Ciaran rode him up and down, sliding Bannon’s cock through his arse, and Bannon stroked Ciaran over and over. They both sought their pleasure, watching each other the whole time. It should have been odd, but it wasn’t. Bannon had never felt closer to anyone in his life. It was as if they shared a soul, a mind. They both wanted the same thing. Together they moved faster and faster. Their panting drowned out the crackling of the fire.
When the end came, Bannon thought he’d died and gone to heaven. He found himself thrusting up as Ciaran pushed down. Sweat trickled down his temples, and his vision blurred. His lungs seized tight and his testicles drew up into his body. It was as if every muscle contracted to the point of pain and then released into the deepest state of relaxation imaginable. At that moment he was no longer aware of any of his surroundings, just the need to climax. He gasped as his peak hit him in waves. It only lasted a moment, but the pleasure exploded, then trickled through him.
Heat landed on his stomach and ran down his hands as Ciaran stiffened above him. His arse clenched tight around Bannon’s cock, making Bannon gasp again. Slowly Ciaran’s muscles loosened, and he seemed to melt.
Taking a deep breath, then another, Bannon came back to himself. The crackle of the fire sounded again, the light played over Ciaran’s magnificent body, and even with the plaid, the stone floor was cool beneath him.
Best thing ever! Let’s do it again! Timothy shouted in his head.
Bannon couldn’t move if he wanted to. Staring up at the high timber ceiling, he felt as if he’d turned to jelly. He must look a fright with his trousers around his knees and his shirt halfway up his chest.
Ciaran still sat on top of him. His neck arched back, black hair falling over his right shoulder. He took a deep breath, then another, and Ciaran looked down at him. Those ebony eyes were heavy-lidded, but a slow sexy smile eased onto Ciaran’s generous lips.
At that moment everything just sort of clicked into place. Bannon wanted to stay. He wanted to stay with Ciaran. The realization terrified him. Butterflies sparked to life in his stomach.
Ciaran ran his fingers down Bannon’s chest. He bent forward and bussed Bannon on the lips.
Just like that, his stomach settled, and everything seemed right. The glowing feeling returned. He wanted to tell Ciaran that he wanted to stay, but there would be time for that later. For some reason he couldn’t seem to make himself put voice to the feeling. It was still so new, so big.
The surprise must have shown on his face, because Ciaran cocked his head slightly and asked, “Are ye going tae make it, lad?”
Bannon nodded, thinking he might just be ready for more. His cock tried to stir, but Timothy, damn him, decided to have his say.
You do realize we are in an extremely compromising position in the middle of the great hall, don’t you?
Technically they were behind the laird’s table and fairly concealed, but Timothy did have a point. “We should probably get up in case someone comes in.”
“Mmmm…. Ye are probably right.” Cocking his head as if thinking about something, Ciaran asked, “Sleep in my room?”
Louie will have our head.
Hang Louie. “Yes.”
Ciaran shifted his weight, rising, and groaned when Bannon’s cock slipped from him completely.
Bannon’s groan was interrupted by a loud scraping noise.
Panic seized Bannon, and Timothy yelled, bogle!
Bannon jumped up so fast, he knocked Ciaran on his arse, but he didn’t stop. He clutched his trousers and hobbled to the staircase, trying to pull them up.
Ciaran’s laughter rang out behind him. And apparently Ciaran knew him too well, because he said, “’Twas my foot hitting the bench, Red. Nae a bogle.”
Sighing, Bannon stopped right before the stairs. His heart did not return to normal, however. “Fie on you and your dumb bogle!” With that, he hitched his trousers, raised his chin, and strode up the stairs, leaving Ciaran laughing behind him.
“I hope the bogle gets you!” Bannon called over his shoulder.
Ciaran laughed harder, damn him.
§ § § §
May 30, 4831: Lochwood Castle
“Oh my galaxy! What have you done?”
Bannon jolted awake at the screeching, then quickly slammed his eyelids back shut at the sight of Louie standing beside the bed, glaring at him with her hands on her hips. It wasn’t unusual for her to wake him by yelling. Galaxy knew, he’d done enough stuff to her over the years to deserve most of those dressing-downs—like the time he’d cut all her dresses to knee-length while she slept, or when he’d put shaving cream in all her shoes—but he could not think of anything he’d done to her lately. She was ruining his glow. Oh blast! That’s what she was up in arms about. He was still in Ciaran’s room.
Heat climbed up his face as he sucked in a quiet breath. He debated pulling the covers over his head but settled on playing possum, hoping she’d think him still asleep and go away.
You know this is Louie we are talking about, right?
Right. Who was he kidding? With a sigh, he blinked his eyes ope
n, expecting the pain of morning sun to greet him, but the only light was the soft glow of the fireplace. Ciaran must have lit it before leaving. Bannon vaguely remembered him climbing out of bed earlier, because all the warmth had left. “What time is it?”
Louie completely ignored his question, crossed her arms over her chest, pouted her bottom lip out, and dropped down on the edge of the bed with a huff of indignity. “I cannot believe you! Are you trying to ruin my reputation?”
It was too early for this kind of drama without a cup of tea. Maybe after a gallon he’d be ready, except Skye did not have any tea. At least none but herbal tea, and who wanted weeds steeped in water? Bannon sat up and looked around. The bed curtains on the left were still closed. He opened them enough to peek out. Light pooled on the floor beneath the curtain on the window, so it must be morning. Closing the curtains back, he glanced over at Louie. “How am I ruining your reputation?”
“As a chaperone!” she snapped.
“You are a terrible chaperone and always have been. Besides, who will know?”
Louie looked away and dropped her arms. “I know,” she said without any heat. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this….” She waved her hand around the room, indicating everything and nothing, still staring at her hands in her lap. She rolled the fabric of her dress between her thumb and finger. “I went to your room to find you, and you weren’t there.”
The lining of Bannon’s throat felt as though it were three feet thick, and no amount of swallowing helped rid him of the situation. This wasn’t about her prestige—which she didn’t have—as a chaperone. This was about her not knowing. Bannon scooted forward until he was right next to her, being sure to take the covers with him. “Louie.”
“What?” she said without looking up.
“Louie, look at me.”
When she still didn’t look at him, he lifted her chin with his finger.
She tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her. A single tear dripped down her face, and damn it all, his stomach tied itself into knots. He’d hurt the one person who’d always been there for him, always believed in him, and…. The breath escaped from his lungs, and it felt as though someone cinched a corset around him so tight, he couldn’t get air back in. He had not even thought to talk to her about staying…. He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts, so caught up in Ciaran, he hadn’t thought to talk to Louie. That had never happened in his entire twenty-one years and ten months. He’d been discussing things with her since he could talk, and he’d learned to talk an entire two weeks before she had. It hadn’t mattered, though. He’d still jabbered at her as they’d played together in their playpen, and she’d seemed to understand him. She always did understand him better than anyone.
My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book 5 Page 22