Claiming Her (Renegades & Outlaws) (39 page)

Once inside, he set her on her feet. She stumbled back, taking a moment for the blood to return to her limbs.
 

“How
dare
you?” she gasped.
 

“I dare much,” he said coldly. “You think this castle can survive, riven in two? Some who heed you, some who heed me?”
 

“No, I…” Her words fell away.
 

“It would not last the night,” he said harshly.

She felt strung up on the strands of a dozen conflicting emotions, some of which were due entirely to the fact that, for the first time in their many complicated, high-passion encounters, Aodh had never looked at her as he was right now.
 

As if she could not be trusted.

“Never again,” he said, and turned to walk out.

Pressure whirled in Katarina’s body like a tempest, a storm comprised of shame and fury and desire and something so frightening it could not be named.

But Aodh Mac Con suffered none of these things. If he wanted a thing, he took it; if he was angry, he smashed things: walls, houses, lives. His confidence was his armor. His right to pass through the world was assured, mayhap not safely, but as he wished. Oh, men were mirrors of one another. They took what they wanted, and left ashes in their wake.
 

“Are you going to lock me in again?” She flung the words at his back.

He kept going.
 

“Anytime things do not go as you will them, you stamp on whatever stands against you? I swear to you, we shall have a troubled time if that is how it is to go. Arrogant, mule headed
amadán.
”
 

“I see you learned a few foul Irish words too,” he commented, swinging the door open.

“Mayhap I was wrong, but you are too.
Loscadh is dó ort!
”
 

He slammed the door shut and came back around.

She met him this time, her boots planted. “You think it all yours to take. You think of nothing but taking, of winning. I think of our
people
. I think to save their homes, and our crops—yes,
our
crops, for how else do you think we will winter next year? I am thinking to save them a few of the horrors that you and I”—she pushed her fingertips to his chest—“have had to go through. Have you ever had your home burned to the ground? Have you ever watched loved ones die in flames? I did, last winter, when the fire raged. It was awful.” She pushed at him again.

He caught up her hands, bent them to her chest, and pulled her to him. “I have had my home burned thrice. I watched my mother die when I was nine in a fire set a’purpose by Englishmen. I well know the horrors.”

“I did not know,” she whispered.

“No, you would not. I do not want you to know.
I
do not want to know of it. What I am telling you, Katy, is your path is laid, and it is
my
path. Our path. And battle is coming, whether you wish it or no. So knowing that, you stand fast. And Jesus God”—his voice broke—“you do not let them
lure
you.”

His hands gripped her elbows so hard, his knuckles were almost white. His face was taut, his voice rasping, the eyes staring into hers so filled with emotion, it almost broke her heart.
 

He was afraid for
her
.
 

They stared at each other, then, as one, their mouths met in a violent kiss.

They staggered back to the bed, grappling at clothes as they went. Her skirts were hiked up before she hit the mattress. He knelt between her thighs and tore at her bodice as she fumbled with his hose. His erection sprang out, full and hard. He pushed her knees apart and entered her in a single thrust.

She flung her head but did not look away. This union was about a different thing from all their others, and it did not require kisses, which was just as well, for there were none. It required intense, unceasing contact of body and gaze.
 

Fierce and relentless, he took her, holding himself up on one palm, the other hand gripping her knee to his side, spreading her, allowing him to sink in with urgent, rolling thrusts. She lifted her hips with each surge, put her elbows on the bed and pushed to meet him, battling to take every hard plunge.
 

Then suddenly, he gave a curse. “Jesus, Katy,” he muttered, and rolled them so she was on top. Her hair fell down around them. His body, still fully armed, lay beneath her.

“Go on,” he said hoarsely. “Take me. Say whatever you mean to say.”

It was an amen. Her eyes filled with…were those tears? Her voice, when she replied, was thick.

“I mean to say…”
 

She looked down at this man who’d defied every rule, ascended every summit, overcome every obstacle, accomplished every outrageous goal ever set for him. Councilor to a queen. Pirate and lace-sketcher. Courtier and conqueror. Captured a castle, locked her in a tower, and never touched her without her permission.

He’d had a vow imposed upon him, to come claim his ancestral lands, his skin pierced by the promise they’d demanded of him.

And he had done it.

Against all odds, against all the world’s desires, he had done this thing.
 

“I mean to say,” she whispered. “I love you.”
 

His eyes widened, then his head dropped back to the bed and he murmured something—it sounded to be an Irish prayer—then he lifted his head and kissed her, gently, so gently. “And I, you, Katy.”

Her tears fell onto their kiss. “I am sorry,” she whispered.

He said nothing, just lifted his hips, rocking into her.

“But I…” she moved on him. “Aodh, the world may hush me, but not you. When you did, I quite lost my mind.”

“Aye, you did.” He curled his hands around both her hips.

“We will find a way,” she promised.

“This is our way.” He pulled her slowly forward, spreading her open as he sank in farther. Her head fell back as a sluggish undulation of pleasure moved through her.

“I was dying without you,” she said, a whispered confession.

“I died a long time ago, Katy.”

She leaned over his mouth. “You are not dead.” She kissed his lips. “You saved my life. You are flame and fire.”

“No. You are the fire. I will tend you.” She closed her eyes, focused on the sensations rippling through her, the scalding pleasure brought by Aodh’s slow possession of her. His acceptance of her, his need for her. Her hair swung, her breasts swayed.
 

He held her hips, took over the rhythm. “I will listen to you, Katy, when you have something to say. And I will consider it well.”

“I know.”

“But you cannot do that again.”

“I will not.”

“And I will not hush you.”

“Good.”

“That said…,” His words drifted off in an ominous way.

Her body, splayed by him, stilled.
 

Shifting so that he reclined on only one elbow, he slid his hand between their joined bodies, abrading her slippery-sensitive skin with his thumb, pushing into her wetness, a hard pulse over the nub at the crest of her. “When we are in our bed, Katy, this is mine,” he said, and did it again.

Heedless, she flung her head, trying to breathe, trying to nod.

He sat up and cupped the back of her head. “And when we are in our bed, your mouth is mine.” He slid two painted fingers into her open mouth.

She turned to him, closed her lips around his hard fingers. He stroked them in and out, at the same rhythm she was rocking her hips. As the hard thrust of him pushed up inside her, so his fingers took her mouth. Golden pleasure, hard pleasure, hot shudders of pleasure, filled her.

“When we are in our bed, your body is mine, whatever I want, however I want it,” he instructed, and his mouth closed over her breast, both tongue and teeth.

She arched her back as he took her hard, his mouth alternating between her breasts, their hips meeting in a hard, striking, relentless rhythm. Her body shuddered under the storm of pleasure.
 

It was over almost before it began. She climaxed with huge, shattering undulations that moved through her body in successive waves. Aodh came deep inside her, a hot, cascading eruption, urging her to come again, and again, as he held her and whispered in her ear of how much he loved her.
 

Less than half an hour later, he was back on the walls, making plans with his men.
 

*

“You snore,” said a voice, yanking her out of sleep the next morning.

She rolled over. Pale sunlight illuminated the bedroom. Aodh stood beside the bed, fully clothed, in armor and cloak.
 

She struggled to a sitting position. “Snore? I most certainly do
not
!” She clutched the sheets to her breasts.
 

“Aye you do.” He tossed her her cloak. It settled over her face. “Come.”

She wrestled it off, her hair sparking as it lifted in wild arcs. “Come where?

“We ride for The O’Fail.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

THEY RODE ACROSS a landscape exploding with spring life, flowers, and bright green mosses. Then on the far hill, a high-walled stone castle appeared. Around it, a perimeter of high stone battlements. No simple pele tower this; this was a fortress of strength.

“Are we certain he’s no’ a Saxon?” Cormac muttered warily as they started down the hill and crossed the meadow toward the towering stone ramparts. Small pinpricks of shapes on the walls solidified into men in armor, patrolling the walls.
 

They rode in silence up the dirt pathway and clopped over the wooden draw.

They were admitted into the outer bailey, and the portcullis gate winched shut behind them with a squeal of iron and a heavy bang as it hit the earth.
 

The outer bailey was large and hosted a huge contingent of stables and shops, a smithy and kitchens. Cormac had been right; it was more like a bustling English town than an outpost on a marchland. As they passed, everyone stopped their activities.
 

They passed into the inner bailey, and drew to a halt in front of the high, narrow stairs that led to the keep. Ré and Cormac dismounted, and the twenty knights and squires behind them did the same, almost in unison, a sort of dance, men who’d long worked together and moved together without thought.

Aodh stayed on his horse, looking at the keep. Katarina cleared her throat.
 

“By the way, did I mention…?” A significant pause ensued.
 

His gaze slid off the tower. “What?”

She smiled. “’Tis nothing. Nothing at all. The O’Fail and I once…shared a kiss.”

Stillness radiated out from him like a stone that had set in the sun all day. Ré and Cormac exchanged a wary glance.
 

“Why?” he asked, very slowly.

It was only a word, but it was enough to make Ré reach out and put a hand on his arm. So did Katarina. “It was years ago, Aodh.
Years
. It was so trifling, and so long ago, I’d entirely forgotten about it. Until just now.” She smiled brightly.
 

“Just now, is it?”

“Yes, just this very moment.” Another bright smile.
 

“What was the occasion of your trifling kiss with the Irish prince?”

“He was one of several princes, you must understand, years ago. A potentiate. Nothing of regard. But…” Her voice drifted off, then came back. “In any event, a union had been proposed. Bandied about, as such things are—”

“You were going to
wed
him?”

“—but in the end, it came to naught. So, there you have it.” She smiled again.

“I have something,” he agreed, the Irish lilt a little stronger, implying strong emotion, but his words were level and seemingly devoid of emotion. Ré gave a little shake of his head.
 

She patted the hard length of Aodh’s arm. “Come, he has likely forgotten about it, in much the way I did. One does, you know. Let us forget it ever happened. We shall present our case, and see what he has to say.”