by Emma Prince
She gasped when her legs bumped into the table. Without breaking their kiss, he hoisted her onto its edge, but when her hands came down on his shoulders to steady herself, he winced and muttered a curse.
Vivienne pulled back reluctantly. “We shouldn’t,” she breathed, eyeing his injured shoulder with worry. “You aren’t well enough yet.”
Like hell he wasn’t. The slight discomfort from her touch had already faded—and it was naught compared to the aching need beneath his kilt.
“Let me show ye just how well I am recovering,” he rasped, capturing her mouth with his once more. He took her wrist and guided her hand to his cock, which strained against the scratchy wool of his plaid.
She pulled in a breath as her hand encountered the hard, thick length of him. “Aye,” he growled. “It isnae my shoulder that needs relief.”
Her lips curled into a coy grin before he reclaimed them with his own. He kissed her until she was sighing and reaching for him once more. This time she threaded her arms around his neck, lacing her fingers in his hair.
He groaned his approval, his own hand tangling in the tresses at the nape of her neck. He tilted her head back and kissed a path down her throat to the top of her dress.
“Blasted clothes,” he muttered at the offending garment.
He reached behind her and began fumbling with the laces running down her back. When they loosened, he tugged on the material at her shoulders, working the gown away from her chemise.
She shimmied to allow him to pull the wool over her hips and down her legs, all the while remaining perched on the table’s edge. As he reached for her chemise, she pulled his shirt free of his belt, sliding her hands up his sides slowly.
He had to pause in his efforts to disrobe her when it came time to pull his injured shoulder free of his shirt, but the faint twinge of pain was quickly subsumed by the need coursing through him.
When at last he’d glided her linen chemise down and tossed it aside, he let himself feast on the sight of her. She hadn’t bothered to plait her hair that morn, so it hung in long, flaxen waves around her. Her lips were already rosy and damp from his kiss, and they parted on a breath as she gazed up at him. Her depthless blue eyes were dark and hooded with desire.
Taking her shoulders, he eased her back onto the table so that she lay sprawled before him. Hell and damnation, she looked more delectable than the finest meal he’d ever seen splayed out on the table like that. Her skin was all berries and cream, her lithe, slim limbs and delicious curves mouth-wateringly tempting.
Unable to hold back any longer, he leaned over the table and flicked his tongue over one pearled, petal-pink nipple. Her back arched off the table in invitation, her breath catching in her throat as he teased the peak. He shifted his ministrations to her other breast, the sound of his own blood hammering in his ears mingling with her moans and gasps of pleasure.
When she was writhing beneath him, her legs falling open of their own accord, he trailed a path of kisses down her flat stomach. He ached with the craving to pleasure her with his mouth, but he wanted to draw out her anticipation.
His lips found first one of her soft, creamy thighs and then the other, dropping kisses on each. He dragged his teeth over the sensitive skin there, moving ever closer to her womanhood.
But soon he could take no more of torturing her, or himself. He found her center, kissing her deeply.
When his mouth closed on her, she bowed off the table with a strangled moan. God, he loved the taste of her, all earth and woman and something that was uniquely Vivienne. He licked and teased her, bringing forth passionate gasps from her and then backing off, letting her catch her breath.
Soon her legs were trembling with need, his name on her lips in a plea for release. Just as her breath began to hitch toward ecstasy, he pulled back.
“Nay, no’ yet, lass,” he growled. “I want to be inside ye when ye come.”
He rose up from his knees, making quick work of his belt buckle. When it snapped free, his kilt slid down his legs and pooled at his feet.
She lifted her head from the table, her eyes sparking with passion as her gaze devoured him. Her breath came short with expectancy as he stepped between her open legs and positioned himself at her entrance, holding her eyes with his.
He took her slowly, savoring the sounds of her panting moans despite the raging need to thrust deep and hard. Once he was buried to the hilt inside her, he halted, still holding their stare.
Joined as one, she bared herself to him, revealing the contours of her soul—her strength, her vulnerability, the secret heart that she so often kept guarded. And he bared himself as well, unshuttering his eyes and lowering the wall around himself.
Something expanded in his chest, a stuttering and seizing that had naught to do with lust or bodily desire. He’d thought he knew what affection felt like, but this went far beyond the comfortable warmth and contentedness he’d experienced before. He might as well have been shot with an arrow again, but this time straight through the heart.
Vivienne moved beneath him, rolling her hips in a wordless entreaty. Lust hammered him, yet he could not lose himself solely in physical sensation anymore. Nay, his desire was entwined with the aching need in his chest, which he saw mirrored in Vivienne’s dark, defenseless eyes.
He began to rock in and out of her, feeling her shuddering pleasure as his own as they moved as one.
“Kieran,” she moaned, a half-plea, half-prayer.
The last shreds of his control slipped through his fingers at that. He thrust hard now, unable to hold off any longer. She lifted her hips, taking him fully. Her breasts bounced with his rhythm, taunting him with their lush sway and the pink tips he’d tasted earlier.
Suddenly she cried out, shattering in ecstasy. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—her face flushed with passion, her breasts arched into the air, her lithe legs trembling around his hips.
He felt his own release surging over him and began to pull away, but Vivienne hooked her feet behind his back, halting him.
“Non, don’t,” she breathed, her eyes locking with his. “Stay inside me.”
His breath hitched in his lungs. He didn’t have time to contemplate all that it would mean between them, all that could come, for some primal instinct in him wanted this just as she did.
With a swift nod, he buried himself inside her once more. With two more thrusts, he came undone, the force of his release wringing her name from his lips.
As the last shudders receded, he folded possessively over her, catching himself on his good elbow.
Sometime later, he scooped her up and carried her to their nest of plaids on the bedstead, then fetched them each a bowl of the now-hot stew. He couldn’t help but swell with pride to feel her eyes following his naked form as he moved about the cottage, or to catch her staring and blushing when he turned to hand her a bowl.
The rain must have stopped, for water no longer dripped through the roof, making the cottage quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire. They ate in silence, for which Kieran was grateful. His mind churned with tangled thoughts, but more than that, his heart twisted strangely.
He couldn’t deny it anymore. Something had passed between them, grown between them, changing him down to his very soul.
The longer he sat with it, the more it worried him. Hadn’t he been in this position before? And didn’t he know what came next? Nay, he told himself, it had never been like this, but if his feelings were only more intense than they had once been, did that mean the inevitable pain and loss would be that much worse as well?
“What is wrong?”
Vivienne was looking at him with drawn brows. He realized he was frowning and clutching his bowl hard enough to make his knuckles white. He shook his head to clear it, but the thrumming in his heart—some mixture of longing and fear—continued. “Naught,” he replied, then muttered, “naught that a wee dram of whisky wouldnae chase away.”
“I’ll fetch the skin,” she said, se
tting her bowl aside and rising from the bed. He watched her move gracefully away, all soft curves and creamy skin, but she was more modest than he. She bent and retrieved her chemise, slipping it over her head before continuing on to the cupboards next to the table.
She opened one of the cupboard doors but apparently didn’t find the skin, so she opened another, peering inside. “Where did I put it?” she muttered as she continued to search. She pulled open the last door and rose up on her toes to see the top shelf. “Ah, there—”
She reached up, but when she removed her hand, she held not only the waterskin, but also some small wooden object.
“What is this?” She held up the carved piece of wood, turning it into the light of the fire for a closer look.
Kieran’s stomach dropped even as his heart leapt into his throat. Over the roar of blood in his ears, he heard himself say, “It is a carved horse. A bairn’s toy.”
Vivienne blinked, then realization dawned across her face. “It…it must have been yours, oui? From when you were a child?”
Mayhap it was a sign that the time had finally come to tell her the truth. Aye, why else would she have found that forgotten hunk of wood he’d carved as a man of twenty, full of hope for the future? It was a perfectly timed reminder from fate of all he’d lost, and all he stood to lose again if he let anyone into his heart.
How could he have been such a fool? Hadn’t he learned ten years past that loving was only an invitation for pain and suffering? How could he let himself hope, even in the most secret corner of his heart, that things could be different this time, that he could find everlasting happiness with Vivienne?
“Kieran?” Vivienne’s soft, worried voice pulled him from his thoughts, but the darkness had already descended around him.
He should never have let himself care for her. He should never have lowered the wall around his heart.
It was too late, of course. Love throbbed like a pulse deep inside him. Yet the memory of emptiness, of utter isolation after Linette’s death, clawed at him, making him wild to escape the same fate again. So he sealed his heart away behind cold stone, meeting Vivienne’s eyes with a hardened stare.
“Nay,” he ground out. “It wasnae mine, though I made it.”
Vivienne’s brow furrowed. She set aside the skin of whisky and looked at the carved horse, then back at Kieran.
“For whom?”
“For my bairn.”
Chapter Thirty
Vivienne’s breath stilled in her lungs. At Kieran’s suddenly flat, hard stare, trepidation slithered up her spine.
“You have a child?”
“Had.”
The word was sharp and cold as a shard of ice. Before Vivienne could comprehend the depth of such a loss, Kieran went on.
“And a wife, too.”
“You…” Vivienne swallowed hard, forcing down the panic rising in her throat. Kieran wasn’t Guy, she reminded herself. He wouldn’t hurt her like that. And she was not the other woman again. “You were married?”
“Aye. But she died, along with our unborn bairn.”
“I-I don’t understand,” she began. “Why have you never mentioned either of them?”
He lifted one shoulder coolly. “What is there to tell? It is in the past now.”
For all his sudden frostiness, it was obvious that something had abruptly shifted within him when she’d found the carved horse. When they’d made love, they’d been raw and vulnerable with each other. She’d seen the emotion burning in his eyes and had let herself believe that something far greater than lust lived in his heart for her. She could not give up so easily.
“What was your wife’s name?” she tried again.
“Linette.”
“And how did you come to be married?”
“I met her at a clan gathering when I was seventeen. I thought her bonny, so when my da died and I was left with this stead at eighteen, I asked her to wed with me and join me here.”
Blindly, Vivienne reached for one of the nearby chairs and pulled it out. Legs trembling, she sank down onto it.
“So you lived here with Linette for two years before she passed.” She could barely think over the loud thud of her heart in her ears. Part of her tried to push down her mounting fear and listen to Kieran with understanding and tenderness. If his current detachment was any indication, he’d been through hell and didn’t want to revisit the dark memories.
But another part of her was stunned to only be learning all this now, after revealing so much of her own painful past to him. She had shared his bed—his and Linette’s bed—without knowing any of this.
“Aye,” he replied. “After the first year, she discovered she was carrying our bairn. Six months later, they were both gone. So I left.”
“Slow there,” she said, holding up a hand. She swallowed. “How did they die?”
He blew out a breath and suddenly sprang from the bedstead, still naked. “Must ye poke and prod, Vivienne? Why does it matter?”
His sharp words stung. She watched in silence as he bent and snatched up his shirt, shoving it over his head with a grunt as he worked the arm on his wounded side into its sleeve.
Still, she needed to know. The fear that she had done it again—had fallen for a man who would keep secrets from her—gnawed in her gut.
“I have opened myself to you,” she said, her voice low and tight. “I haven’t held aught back.”
“And that was yer choice.” He grabbed his plaid from the floor and set about re-pleating it around his hips.
She drew back, stunned by his sudden harshness. “I would have hoped that after all we’ve been through, you could—”
He rounded on her. “It was cold out. Linette went to check on the animals and slipped on a patch of ice. She landed wrong and began bleeding. I rode out into the night to fetch the midwife, but by the time we got back, Linette was already verra weak.”
He dropped his gaze as he fumbled with his belt. “Linette delivered the bairn, but he—it was a lad—was already dead. And then the bleeding wouldnae stop. Linette died a few hours later.” When he lifted his head once more, his pale eyes flared with pain. “Is that what ye wanted to hear?”
Tears burned in Vivienne’s eyes, blurring Kieran’s stony, drawn features. “I’m so, so sorry for all you lost,” she murmured. “I cannot imagine what you must have endured.”
“As I said, it is in the past.”
Confusion at his continued iciness engulfed her. He had just spoken of a terrible loss as if it were naught. “But it clearly still pains you,” she replied.
“Nay, it doesnae,” he said flatly. “I fancied at the time that I loved Linette, but we were little more than bairns when we wed, and in truth I hardly kenned her.”
Vivienne shook her head slowly, an inkling of understanding beginning to dawn. Kieran was a strong, rough-edged man, but he was not made of stone. He was trying to protect himself from something. “I do not believe you.”
“Oh aye?” he said acidly. “Ye would rather I tell ye that I did love her?”
“If it is the truth, oui. I will not hold your past against you, just as I hope you do not hold mine against me,” she said, rising from the chair to face him. Though he towered over her, she refused to shrink away. “But I would ask that after all we’ve shared, you at least be honest with me. With yourself.”
“Since ye seem to ken so much,” he replied, “why dinnae ye tell me the truth, then?”
Vivienne drew in a breath. “I believe you did care for her, but losing her terrified you. What happened to Linette and your child was a freak accident. You couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t control it. You couldn’t protect the ones you loved, and that frightened you to your core.”
“What do ye want me to say, Vivienne?” He spread his arms wide, glaring hard at her. “That I loved her? Aye, mayhap I did. That it was damned excruciating to lose her and the bairn? Fine. That is why I put it—and this place—behind me.”
“So you sold everything and
left, as you said,” she replied, willing her voice to remain calm. “You joined the Bruce’s cause, but you cannot stand the thought of putting your trust in someone again. You said before that you pride yourself on never having to rely on others, because doing so will only get you hurt.”
“Call me a fool, but I dinnae care to go through the trouble of losing someone again.”
There it was. The truth of his sudden coldness. The reason behind all the times he’d ducked her questions or avoided addressing the growing connection between them.
“And your solution is to never let anyone into your life again,” she breathed. “To keep everyone at a distance so that you won’t be hurt as you were before.”
He took a step closer to her, and she had to force herself to remain rooted in place. “Ye think ye have me all figured out, dinnae ye, lass? Dredging up my past doesnae mean ye ken me, though.”
“I know you better than anyone has in ten years,” she countered.
He crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly. Abruptly, Vivienne realized that arguing with him would get her nowhere. He was a proud, bull-headed man, and she could not get through to him simply by force of will.
But she had to get through the walls he’d erected. She couldn’t let him seal himself away, not when she so desperately—
“I love you,” she blurted.
His eyes widened and his jaw went slack.
“I love you,” she repeated. “Mon Dieu, mayhap I am the fool, but I love you, Kieran.”
Of course she loved him. She’d felt the seed of it in her heart long before, but the truth in the words now struck her like the pure, clear ring of a bell.
Just like him, she had been scared. Scared to trust her heart to another, to risk being hurt again.
But to her surprise, saying the words lifted a weighty burden from her, as if she were no longer trying to fight the inevitable. It was a relief not to struggle against it anymore. As if she could have ever resisted loving him—she might as well have been trying to hold back the tide or stop the sun from rising.