The Draig's Wife

by Lisa Dawn Wadler

  Emma’s silence made him fear he had asked for too much. But I want more nights like this with conversation and laughter. How fine would a night with Emma be if no blood has been shed and we simply speak for pleasure’s sake?

  “Does that mean you actually like me?” She again teased, and he wished he could make her understand how much he wanted to share life’s simple pleasures with her.

  He leaned over the table and pushed his hair back over his shoulders, given the candle burning in front of him. Emma’s gaze followed his hands, and he knew she watched his hair just as he had watched hers. Does she feel the pull, too? “If you need to hear it said, aye, Emma, I enjoy your company.”

  Her face crinkled as if she had tasted something sour before a giggle left her full lips. “Don’t tell the laird, but I do get a kick out of arguing with him.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “And I would probably sit here again with you. The man is good company.”

  Declan laughed at her slurred speech and leaned forward a bit more to tuck her hair behind an ear. His finger grazed the soft skin of her cheek, and he didn’t miss her intake of breath. He loved that she acknowledged all of him and that his touch impacted her as much as it tormented him. What would it be like to spend days upon end with a woman who knew me and could handle all of me? What would it be to touch that woman and have honest passion in her eyes burn for me?

  Despite the thoughts of touching Emma, Declan sat back down in his chair and gazed at the cup on the table, vowing to leave it alone. Too much drink didn’t mix well with the mandate to leave Emma alone and the certainty he would never crave his future wife with the same intensity he felt with a single touch before his fire. “Tell me of the comforts of your home. Distract me from thoughts of the day and a marriage that will bring naught to the man.”

  Emma sighed but offered no teasing or mocking, for which he was grateful. Her voice spoke of little things like soft bed linens, a waterfall within a bathing chamber, and foods he couldn’t even begin to imagine. Yet he noticed that each tale contained her grandparents, what they had enjoyed or shared with her. Such powerful love burned in her heart, and he envied that Cortland and Mary were recipients of that love, not him.

  His eyes closed, and he attempted to picture something that washed dishes, though could not even comprehend of what she spoke. No disdain for her life on his lands left her lips. Emma seemed to make the most of every moment, and he wondered what life would be like with such a woman by his side.

  “You’re falling asleep. I should go,” Emma said. “I wanted to check on Mary. She was too quiet at bedtime.” She rose from the seat and caught her weight on the arms of the chair. Laughter spewed as she struggled for balance. “Yep. Too much to drink, and I think I may have found fuzzy.”

  “Did it end your pain?” Declan couldn’t help but laugh at her struggles even as he wanted to ask her to stay and spend more time with him.

  With a limp, she moved around the back of the chair. “I can’t feel a damn thing, and that may be the problem.” Taking her pole in hand, Declan watched her make her way to the door and laughed again when she stumbled back at the door that refused to open.

  “Open the lock, Emma.” He rose only to sway on his feet before he strode to help her. His balance seemed to have left him, and he knew it would have been for the best if she had left before he reached her.

  First, she fumbled, and then she swore. He laughed at her tirade. “Stop laughing at me. How do I open this stupid thing? Where is the lock?”

  He stopped several steps away and laughed like a madman as she muttered about “stupid locked doors and paranoid fools.” She is far too entertaining. Stumbling on drunken legs, Declan composed himself enough to walk to the door. “You need to move if you wish me to open the door.”

  Her head turned, though she still rested it against the door. Angry eyes locked on him. “If a wish was enough, I’d be long gone. Do something.”

  Placing his hands on her shoulders, he rolled her so her back rested against the stone wall. His eyes stayed locked on hers as he attempted to open the lock, though his hand had no wish to allow her to leave as it fumbled with the familiar bolt.

  “Don’t laugh at me. You can’t do it either,” Emma taunted.

  Glaring at her, he growled, “Dinna mock me, lass.”

  “Don’t yell at me, Laird,” she snapped back at him.

  His hands once again rested on her shoulders as he leaned in. “You heard that, did you?” Knowing that he should not be touching her, his hands lifted to brace on the cool stone on either side of her head. Leaning close, he whispered in her ear, “Dinna fret. The laird does nay come in this chamber. ‘Tis the one place the man claims as his alone.”

  Matching his hushed tones, Emma giggled, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  Declan wondered when his hand had moved to cup her cheek that felt like heaven, but he could not remember issuing such a command. It was supposed to be unlocking the door, but he knew it didn’t want her to leave.

  Leaning in to close the small space between them, his thumb traced the outline of her lower lip while his skin remembered how soft and heated her lips had been on his cheek only the day before in the game to entertain his daughter. Her sweet scent filled him, but not quite enough to assuage his need to savor her. His other hand lifted the ends of her hair to allow him a deep unimpeded inhale, which he rationalized should be safe as he touched only hair. He knew the scent to be of Aalish’s soap, yet the fragrance was unique on Emma. As his hand dropped her hair, it moved of its own accord down her side to rest on her hip.

  Emma stiffened though he only held fabric in his hand, but he wanted to bring back the relaxed Emma who had shared the fire with him. “The robe was made ages ago for a large man. I will have one made for you.” His offer was simple, something fine to brighten her day. She deserved luxuries she would never seek.

  “I like the robe. It’s soft,” she said with her eyes lingering on his mouth.

  Declan released the robe and lifted his hand to the bare skin of her neck. Running his fingertips over the silken skin, he knew he had never felt anything or anyone so soft. His hand agreed, and the enticing sensations that let him know Emma was near shot through his arm like lightning. Still, he only tempted her with a simple gift. “One will be made for you. I have fabrics as soft as you are, Emma.” He noted her quick inhale at the touch and worked hard to stifle the groan building in his throat.

  “Thank you, Laird,” Emma choked out, and she turned her head away. Even deep in her cups, she seemed to have more sense than he did, but neither of them removed his hand that felt her pulse beating in her throat.

  His nose nudged the side of her cheek to encourage her head to move where he wanted it. More than anything, he wanted her to meet him and refused to use his hands to force her consent. Declan whispered, “Nay, Emma. The laird is nay here. He kens far better than to touch you and kens he is to leave you alone. You are the claimed daughter of the man he values most. You have saved his daughter’s life, and you are a protected guest within his walls. For all these reasons, you are nay to be touched by the laird.” But still, his hand ignored that warning.

  Nudging her again, he swallowed hard as her head turned to face him with her lips parted directly in front of his. “But the man wants to touch you, Emma.” His lips brushed lightly over hers, testing her response. When she sighed in pleasure, he whispered, “The man has dreamt of touching you since the day we met.” Such truths he never meant to admit. Mayhap my hand and mouth are in league to match her honesty.

  He felt the moment Emma softened and leaned subtly toward his kiss. Her hands lifted to hold his sides, and the feel of her hands on his bare flesh erased all thoughts of why he should send her away. Brushing his lips against hers, he could only think of all the reasons she needed to stay.

  Declan waited for it, the gasp h
e knew would make her surrender with a flick of his tongue against her lips. Seizing the moment, his tongue tangled with hers and relished the flavor of his whiskey in her mouth. Groaning into her, her tongue hesitantly danced with his while his hand buried in her hair to pull her close. Wanting complete control over the kiss, he used her silken strands to pull her head back and tear their mouths apart. The sound of her disappointment heated his veins. Her panting breath mixed with whimpers, and Declan craved the light of day; the shadows of the chamber denied him the sight of her gaze burning with desire. Leading her back slowly to him, he made her wait for the kiss that would not end until both were spent and sagging against the wall. He was done keeping her at a distance; consequences meant little with her warmth against him.

  He leaned into her hands that moved up his chest, certain he felt her resistance to the kiss he meant to deliver. Her soft voice questioned even as her breath panted. “Is this a good idea, Declan?”

  Her question was sound and hinted of the reason he had worked so hard to stay away from her. Threats held no meaning to him with her scent surrounding him, the feel of her hands on his bare skin, and the undeniable certainty that her bare body against his would bring pleasure like he had never known.

  “Oh, aye, Emma.” He relished the sound of his name from her lips, certain of her leaning toward him and not away. Barely pushing forward, he felt her resolve soften when again his lips brushed hers. Removing one of her hands from his chest, he placed it along the back of his neck, praying she would hold him close.

  When his lips pressed against hers, it was Emma’s tongue that darted and teased, and it was all that Declan could have asked for. She wanted him, too. For just that moment, he let her lead the kiss and moved into the hand that wandered his stomach and savored the heat from the one that stayed on his neck, gripping tightly to him. Then without warning, he took the lead and pressed her hard against the wall. Her height was a pleasure, he had no need to bend to meet her, and he pondered all the ways he could take advantage of such a delight. In his mind’s eye, he saw her robe opened while her long, toned legs wrapped around his waist, and need consumed him to make the image real. Lifting her thigh in his hold, Declan knew exactly how to take advantage of her height and groaned into her mouth.

  Emma gasped for breath and broke the kiss. “Oww,” she whispered and then lost her words to breathy laughter.

  Realizing too late that his movement put too much pressure on her wounded leg and that his battered arm could not support her, the notion of her back against the door faded. Unable to stop his laughter, he believed that was what had always been missing from his trysts, laughter to mix with passion. Afraid he would lose the heat of the moment, he placed soft kisses to her lips as he encouraged the other hand to wrap around his neck. She squeaked delightfully when he placed his good arm under her behind and lifted her off the floor to stagger toward the bed.

  Using what was left of his strength, he lifted her into his arms and threw her onto his bed. Her arms shot out to brace her fall even as she laughed midair. As he fell on top of the bed with no grace or finesse, Emma mumbled, “Oh, shit.”

  Declan laughed at the surprise on her face, and he crawled to meet her. Her heated gaze followed his path until he poised his body over hers, and then pain from his arm forced him to fall at her side. Joining her laughter, he pulled Emma to him, ensuring their wounds were away from the bedding. He brushed the sweet-smelling hair away from her face. “Such regret should be saved for after the loving.”

  “I didn’t know there were rules,” she teased as she leaned into his hand on her face.

  Declan pulled her into his body and rolled her beneath him. His want grew to a need as she shifted to accommodate him, her legs parting to allow him to settle against her. The feel of her body arching into him and her thighs against his hips inflamed him, and he pressed against her covered center to relieve the ache building in his loins. Whispering against her mouth, he said, “There are always rules, Emma. Regret should be saved for morning’s light.”

  “Will you regret this?” She asked softly and then turned her head away from his kiss. “What am I saying? We will both regret this.”

  The thought of mistake resonated in his head, but he pushed it aside. Kissing her petal-soft cheek and trailing his lips down her jaw, he said, “The man will never regret the night in your arms.”

  He could tell she meant to push him at first but settled for resting her hands on his upper arms. “But the laird will.”

  “Mayhap, so I will nay speak of it to him,” he teased. His lips kissed the beating pulse on her neck. Her sighs filled his ears, and the idea of regret had no meaning to him. “The laird seeks women who have secrets to tell and offer no challenge. You challenge him.” With a smile against her throat, he whispered, “I will share another secret with you. He enjoys your challenges immensely and the way your eyes burn with blue fire.” A soft moan left her lips while his mouth tasted her sweet skin and dipped down to her shoulder.

  Pushing the robe aside to clear a path for his mouth, Declan stopped at the scratches over her heart. Placing soft kisses to the bruised skin, he felt her tense. Not stopping, he pushed the robe aside to reveal one small, yet perfect breast. Inhaling sharply, Declan ran his tongue over the peaked tip, and a strained moan left her lips.

  “We shouldn’t,” she mumbled, but her hand wrapped in his hair rather than pushed him away. “I mean, you don’t want me. You said . . .”

  Cupping his hand over the small mound, Declan squeezed softly and listened to her sounds of pleasure and delight. Kissing the skin not covered by his hand, he whispered, “The laird is a fool.”

  Freeing her flesh from his hand, Declan placed a delicate kiss to the peak while her hand pulled at his scalp. Lost in her sweet sounds of building passion, he suckled and savored every inch of her sweet flesh. With her panted breaths filling his chamber, he couldn’t remember why he favored large breasts. No woman had ever responded to him with such abandon or raw delight. Every touch, taste, and breath had Emma squirming beneath him with her hips lifting for the joining to come. Never have I wanted a woman with such raw need.

  His greedy hands pushed the robe to bare her other side and the equally perfect breast waiting for his attentions. Kissing a path to the twin, he whispered, “Share your passion with me, Emma. Let us celebrate that we live as only a man and woman can. I want you.”

  Before she could reply, he latched onto the neglected breast and pulled the nipple between his teeth. Her cry of delight was all he needed to hear. Feasting on her flesh, he savored her responses and swore silently he would draw every gasp and cry she could make in one night, knowing such forbidden pleasures would never come again. But then he pushed that thought aside, not wanting the sorrow that accompanied the notion of only the night and not more.

  He left her breast and kissed a path down her flat stomach, pushing the robe aside as he went, feeling the soft skin and the way her body responded with heat and desire. “I would share all of my skill with you. Tell me, Emma. What skills do you have to share with me?” He wanted to hear her give voice to every thought in her mind. He wanted a night like he had never known with raw honesty and desire too strong to be denied. I want everything she has to offer.

  “I have no skill,” she said with soft laughter.

  Even with his passions roused to bursting, he enjoyed that she toyed with him. They would make a fine game of word play to complete their stolen night. “All women have a skill of their own learned over time. I would hear yours.” His mouth kissed her hip while his hands slowly pushed the robe to reveal skin to explore, never baring more than he could taste. He would draw out their joining, savor her every gasp and breath, make her insane with need before he would join their flesh, even if it took every ounce of his control.

  “I have no skill.” Emma’s groan filled his ears when he nipped the tender fles
h of her hips. Oh, Emma, will you make such sweet sounds all night for me?

  “You have skill with all you touch, and you have no issue speaking to me of all you are able to do.” Her stomach lifted to meet his kiss, and he bared the outside of one hip, entranced by the new piece of her revealed. “Tell me, Emma. Why do doubt yourself?” Every gasp and movement from her body screamed a passionate nature he would bring to life over and over before dawn forced them apart.

  Her body bowed as his tongue licked the crease where hip met thigh, and he knew she would come apart for him when his lips and tongue teased and tormented her barely covered heat. Then all thoughts of exploration and forbidden moments changed at her next panted words.

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  In a heartbeat, Declan covered her body with his and rested on his arms with no thought of pain from his wound. The uncertainty on her lovely features mixed with desire combined with the effects of the drinking. He asked the question he never imagined needed to be spoken. “Are you saying you are untouched?” His question mixed with his labored breathing, but he needed the answer.

  With a roll of her eyes and nervous giggles, Emma said, “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I’ve never . . .”

  He stopped her explanation with a soft kiss to her lips and knew that it needed to end. An untouched woman in the laird’s bed meant only one thing, a wife. Still, he kissed her softly and finally recognized the innocent passion she offered, a sign he should have noted at their first kiss if he had been thinking and not lost in her. Yet, instead of moving away, he settled within her thighs and rubbed his hardened length against her barely covered core and caught her gasp in his mouth. Her shock at the raw pleasure filled him, and her lips continued to seek his with hunger. Continuing to rock against her, building her passion to a fire, new ideas flitted in his mind.