That scar brought Bannon back to reality in a hurry. Feeling like a voyeur, he shook his head and glanced up at the ceiling.
What’s wrong with being a voyeur?
Nothing actually, but everyone is entitled to privacy.
If you say so. Timothy actually groaned in his head.
“Ciaran, I came to apologize. I didn’t mean to make things rough on you this afternoon. I only meant to help.”
Out of his peripheral vision, Bannon saw Ciaran turn to look over his shoulder, but he continued to stare at the timber beams in the ceiling.
“Dinna fash yeself. I ken ye were trying tae help.”
“But what about the council? They said they want Louie and me to leave. Perhaps we can go with….” His stomach wadded itself up in a knot, and he could not make himself finish the statement, even though he was sure Patrick and Marcus would welcome them. The truth was, he really did not want to leave. Lochwood felt like… not home exactly, but perhaps a home away from home. He’d known he had feelings for Ciaran, but the strength of them surprised even him.
“I dinna want ye tae leave.” The gentle conviction in Ciaran’s deep whisper sent Bannon’s head reeling.
He lowered his head without thinking and his gaze met Ciaran’s.
Big mistake. He was snared as surely as if he’d been caught in a trap. Those deep dark eyes drew him in and refused to let him go. That gaze simmered.
Ciaran’s lip curled up ever so slightly on the right side, the grin both flirtatious and… caring? “Come over here so I can look at ye while we talk. I’m getting a crick in my neck.”
Forget manners, privacy, and societal dictates! Bannon could not refuse even if he wanted to, and he did not want to. He walked forward as if in a daze. Moving to the side of the tub, he stood there, not quite knowing what to do.
Ciaran looked up at him from the tub and reached out a hand.
Bannon became mesmerized by those long fingers and callused palm. Water dripped down Ciaran’s forearm and off his elbow into the tub. A few sprinkles abandoned his fingers for the carpet of woven rushes below. With his attention glued to Ciaran’s hand, Bannon took it and let himself be pulled down.
“I don’t want to leave,” Bannon whispered, but it sounded more like a plea. He sat beside the tub, and Ciaran did not release his hand. Bannon knew there were no bubbles, he could steal a peek if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to… not yet. It didn’t feel right. He did not want to break this trancelike connection between them—he wanted it to build—so he shifted his gaze, staring at the fire.
“I dinna want ye tae leave either.”
Euphoria filled Bannon, and he fought the urge to sigh. Timothy wasn’t as strong; he did sigh.
“I’m still laird, and I have the support of my warriors. My men make up two-thirds of the clan.”
“Mutiny, then?”
“Nae mu….” He shrugged. “Perhaps, if need be.”
Bannon smiled. “I don’t want to cause problems. I want to help. That’s why I came in here to talk to you. I’ve been thinking about this afternoon and what Maggie said about her garden.”
Ciaran cocked his head to the side a little.
“You are short on food, but I have not noticed any sort of garden in the castle. And there is no livestock inside the castle walls except horses.”
“The crofters supply us with food. It is how they pay rent,” Ciaran said, as if it should be obvious.
But it wasn’t obvious. Back home at Eversleigh Manor, the tenants paid Father money. They had their own gardens and their own livestock at the manor. “But you are short on food?”
“Aye. Last spring was a harsh one, and now that the crofters are getting raided, things are a little rough.” Ciaran frowned and a furrow creased his brow. He brought his knees up, closer to his body.
Bannon resisted the urge to look at the glassy surface of the water and cursed the lack of bubble. What was a bath with no bubbles? “Then why don’t you bring livestock inside the castle gates? Why not build a garden? We can replant Maggie’s gardens and take some cuttings. Then you can charge the crofters money, and buy more supplies.”
Ciaran opened his mouth, but Bannon held up a hand. He already knew what was coming. He’d already discovered how generous Ciaran was and how much he cared for his clan. “When they are able to pay. Perhaps now you can send men to help guard the crofters’ livestock?”
After staring at him for several moments, Ciaran nodded, then reached out and touched Bannon’s cheek. “And ye ken how tae take cuttings?”
Bannon leaned into it, taking comfort in the gentle caress and the water dripping down his chin. “I even know how to do grafts and cross pollination.” He knew about hydroponics too, but he didn’t really want to explain that at the moment. Shrugging, Bannon continued, “I got bored with lessons a lot when I was a kid, so I spent a lot of time hiding out in the fields with our head gardener. Drawing the wildlife, mostly. But I learned a few things too.”
“Ye are a surprising man, Red. Ye have hidden depths.”
That was true, he supposed. But everyone did, didn’t they? “We have that in common, I think.”
“Among other things?”
Bannon arched a brow.
Chuckling, Ciaran pulled his hand back. “We both hate failure. And we’d do anything fer our people.”
The realization that Ciaran was correct hit Bannon right between the eyes. It was like getting the air knocked out of him. He’d always hated all of his society’s dictates, but it was true, he loved his family and friends and would do anything to protect them and their way of life. “Yes.”
“And we are much better working together than apart.”
“We are?”
“Oh, absolutely. That is why we are going tae fix Maggie’s garden tomorrow and then start our own, and tonight we are going tae the building site after the castle is asleep. Now….” There was a sparkle in Ciaran’s eye that should have warned him, but it still surprised Bannon when the water sloshed and Ciaran held out a washcloth to him.
Bannon just stared at it for a moment, then met that mischievous gaze. “What is this for?”
“Tae wash my back, of course.”
Yes! Timothy shouted and did a little jig. And best of all—no bubbles!
Blinking in surprise, Bannon reached for the soapy washcloth. Good grief, is it hot in here?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Who knew there were advantages to not using bubbles in one’s bath?”
—Timothy on personal hygiene.
Ciaran seized Bannon’s wrist and tugged him right into the bath.
Bannon sputtered and gasped as the warm water quickly soaked him. “What are—”
With a chuckle, Ciaran gripped his waist and settled him across his lap.
Outrage warred with Bannon’s sense of adventure. He’d gone swimming in his clothes before, but it was different and strange being only partially wet. At least the water was toasty. His adventurous streak and his longing for this man finally won out. He gripped Ciaran’s shoulders as his bottom obtained complete sogginess. “What are you doing?” Galaxy, his voice was husky, out of breath.
Not even the least bit repentant, Ciaran smirked at him, showing off the dimple in his cheek. He slipped his hands around Bannon’s torso, onto his back. He leaned forward inches from Bannon’s face, and his breath caressed Bannon’s chin as he said, “Probably making a mistake, but at the moment, I canna seem tae bring myself tae care. Any objections from Timothy?” His voice was even deeper than normal and laced with lust.
Heat raced through Bannon at the soft, seductive words, and he shook his head. “Not a—”
Ciaran’s mouth descended on his, and it seemed they opened their mouths as one, melding together in perfect sync.
Bannon sighed out his pleasure and closed his eyes. The nervousness was still there but less. It was like he had been waiting for this moment. It felt so right. Even more right than the last time.
Their t
ongues languidly danced together, and Bannon flattened his palms on Ciaran’s chest. The pulse against his hand matched the one in his own chest.
Ciaran touched his cheek, then his forehead, dragging downward. It was a pleasant touch that tickled and soothed at the same time.
The only sounds were the soft slosh of water and the crackling logs. Bannon felt cocooned in a bubble with the edges of the room fading into darkness outside the glow of fire. The cozy, intimate feel went right to Bannon’s head, making him dizzy with excitement. Like it was only the two of them in the world.
Water dripped down his cheek and onto his neck as Ciaran’s fingers trailed behind his ear, brushing his hair back.
Bannon leaned into the touch, but Ciaran began to trail kisses down his chin, to his jaw, biting and sucking as he went.
Pulling his head closer, Bannon begged—for what he didn’t know and he didn’t care. He just wanted more. He felt everything. The air, the water, Ciaran’s breath. Ciaran’s cock hard against his hip. The sensations collided in Bannon’s lower back, tingling up his spine and down to his toes. As Ciaran licked a long line up his neck, he felt it all over, but especially in his groin and lower abdomen. It was like the two places were connected by a nerve, making him yearn for Ciaran’s hand on his bare flesh.
As if Ciaran read his thoughts, he abruptly let go of Bannon’s back. He bit down on the spot between shoulder and neck, and Bannon felt a jolt. His body jerked, making the water splash. He tightened his fists in Ciaran’s hair. Ciaran chuckled against his skin, and even more water sloshed out of the tub onto the stone floor.
Ciaran gripped the falls of Bannon’s trousers, and all Bannon could think was yes! He fumbled around, jostling Bannon’s cock with the backs of his fingers.
It was heaven and hell, and if Ciaran didn’t touch him soon, he just might expire on the spot. A spear of longing zipped through his bollocks and settled into his stomach, making it tense and his bollocks draw tighter. If his body could talk, it’d be begging and pleading like a starving man.
Bannon groaned.
“Why do ye have so many clothes on? How do ye get these things open?” Ciaran huffed out against his neck.
“I don’t. I’m practically naked.” He hadn’t bothered with his cravat, waistcoat, and coat this morning, since Louie hadn’t been there to help him. It wasn’t like anyone would care. They certainly didn’t wear as many clothes. Now he might never wear a cravat again if it meant this ease of access. He loved the feel of lips on his neck. Perhaps Trouble had a point about cravats being suffocating.
“Nae, ye are nae.” Ciaran pulled back, looking down at them and breaking Bannon’s bliss.
To expedite things, Bannon knocked his hands out of the way and undid his trousers.
“This is why ye should wear a kilt.”
Bannon snorted. “I dinna like wearing kilts.”
With a bark of laughter at Bannon’s mockery, Ciaran nipped his bottom lip. “If you wear a kilt, I can get to your cock so much easier,” Ciaran said, sounding like the stuffiest of Regelence lords.
Grinning, Bannon kissed him. “That was verra—”
Ciaran’s hand plunged into his smallclothes and wrapped around Bannon’s prick.
Forgetting what he was about to say, Bannon hissed and bucked his hips upward.
“Ye were saying?” A teasing sparkle lit Ciaran’s eyes.
“Not a thing.”
“Guid.” Ciaran stroked up and down in a nice slow rhythm and a tight grip with the water easing the way. “Touch me, Red.”
Nodding, Bannon let his head loll back on his shoulders. He had just enough mind power left to reach between them and grab Ciaran’s cock, and galaxy be damned, he was thick.
Bannon had seen a glimpse of him in the water when he’d stood over him to wash his back, but the peek did not do him justice. He lifted his head and peered down. He’d meant to look at Ciaran, but his attention was snagged by the sight of Ciaran’s big hand stroking his cock. Goodness, he was still dressed. Something about that made the whole thing even more erotic. He watched the crown of his cock peek out of Ciaran’s fist, then that big hand drag upward, hiding all but the tip of Bannon’s cock. Decadent and erotic. It was nearly enough to make him spill. Bannon’s whole body went tight, and he looked away, concentrating on the hard heat in his palm. He watched his own hand do the same to Ciaran under the water.
It felt so odd holding another person like this. He could actually feel the tickling caress on his own hand. “I’ve never done this before.” The awe in his voice was evident even to him, but he couldn’t help it. He was mesmerized. Enchanted. There was just something about the forbidden that made it feel soooo good.
“Ever?” Ciaran asked. His lips tickled Bannon’s neck.
Shaking his head, Bannon marveled at the flesh against his palm. He could feel every pulse, every muscle flinch. He could feel Ciaran swelling more. “Not to anyone else.”
Ciaran lifted his head and looked at him, his dark eyes heavy-lidded. For several moments they just stared at each other. It was amazing, and never had Bannon felt more connected to another person. “Ye are doing j… just fine.” His breath hitched.
Bannon wavered back and forth, caught between pleasure and excitement. Pleasure at what Ciaran was doing to him and the excitement of actually getting to touch Ciaran. His ego crowed at the thought of making this big man quiver.
Then Ciaran twisted his hand just right, rubbing the under edge of the crown of Bannon’s cock, and Bannon was lost again in pleasure as his own body quaked and strained toward release.
Wrapped in sensation, Bannon became aware of the splat of water keeping a steady staccato on the gray stone floor as it spilled over the edge, and Ciaran’s heavy breathing as he rested his head on Bannon’s shoulder. Together they stroked and caressed. Their lips found each other again. Their breath mingled, and finally it was too much. Freeing his mouth, Bannon shook his head, fighting release. His gaze focused on Ciaran’s bare shoulder, the tight sinewy deltoid, that triangle of skin and muscle connecting to his neck.
Bite him, Timothy whispered.
Bannon obeyed. He clamped down on the skin and tightened his grip, stroking faster.
Ciaran dropped his head back, roaring out his pleasure as his cock pulsed in Bannon’s hand.
It was like being shocked. Bannon’s whole body tensed and followed Ciaran in pleasure. His bollocks pulled tight and everything exploded.
Slowly he came back to himself, feeling relaxed but slightly less enamored at sitting in a tub of water with his feet dangling over the side. He kissed Ciaran’s neck, then licked all the way to his ear, just because he could.
“That tickles.”
Bannon leaned back, letting go of Ciaran’s prick. He glanced down at himself and didn’t know whether to laugh or grimace. He sat sideways on Ciaran’s thighs in a tub, with his spent cock flopped over helplessly against his belly. The falls of his pants lay on his thighs and his smallclothes were scrunched down. The water was wicking down the legs of his pants almost to his calves. And his boots…. Good grief, they needed polishing. He’d never thought he was fussy, but no, he was having to reassess that idea. You just came your brains out, and you are worried about your appearance? What a dolt. That made him chuckle. “I look ridiculous.”
“Ye look delicious.” Ciaran kissed his cheek. “But this water is getting cold. If I sit here any longer, my bawbag will be small as an acorn.”
That made Bannon laugh even harder. “Your what?”
“My bawbag. Ye ken.” As if to point out his meaning, he reached down and tugged on Bannon’s bollocks through the linen fabric of his smallclothes.
Bannon sucked in a breath. His brain flared with interest, but his cock said no way. “I love the way you talk.”
Ciaran smirked. “Well, what do ye call it?”
“Bollocks.”
“Hmm….”
He gave Ciaran one last kiss and reluctantly got up. It was not an easy task. His
feet slid on the wet stone, and he nearly fell back into the tub. He flailed about for a moment, but then Ciaran placed a hand on his arse and shoved. Bannon finally stood up and tucked himself back into his pants and then buttoned them up. He turned just in time to see Ciaran stand. His brain went numb.
Ciaran was all dripping muscles and all man as he reached for the towel on the chair next to him. “What do ye call ye boaby?”
“My what?” The word was so silly Bannon couldn’t help but chuckle. Surely Ciaran was jesting, but his face was serious. “Is that like a bogle?”
Wrapping the towel around his hips Ciaran stepped out of the tub and frowned. “Nae.” He moved his towel aside and grabbed his cock. Oh wow! Even spent it was a thing of beauty, big like the rest of him. “Ye ken, a tadger,” Ciaran said.
“You mean a penis?” Bannon choked out. The idea of calling it a boaby or tadger was just too much. He started chuckling and couldn’t stop. Ciaran gave him a fierce look that only made him laugh harder.
With a shake of his head, Ciaran grinned and grabbed his plaid and started to wrap it around his waist. “Penis sounds stranger than boaby or tadger,” he mumbled.
Bannon laughed so hard, he had tears in his eyes. Gads. Who knew intimacy would be this fun?
When Bannon finally stopped chortling, Ciaran said softly, “Red?”
“Yeah?”
Serious and steady, Ciaran met his gaze. “Get ready tae go tae the building site. We may need ye superior marksmanship. I suspect they ken we are coming.”
Bannon’s chest grew tight, but he couldn’t decide if it was from fear of having to use the fragger again or the fact that Ciaran trusted him so much. Probably both. He did not want to have to kill more men, even though he knew he could if needed, but the fact that Ciaran actually trusted him to do so…. At home, his family would never willingly put him in danger. He was protected, like a delicate flower, but here…. He rather liked having someone depend on him and knowing he was important.
My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book 5 Page 18
