Breandán lifted her face again, though she hadn’t realized it drooped until she felt his fingers beneath her chin. “But…” he repeated.
She swallowed the lump hardening in her throat. “But after what Callan had said…after knowing I am not his rightful heir…I can only imagine the disappointment you must feel. The regrets you must have in leaving your family behind and risking your life for a woman who is not even a princess. For all you know, I could be a serf’s daughter.” The thought settled deep and jagged in her chest. “Perhaps that is why you left me at the fire. Or why you hid yourself away in this forest.”
Breandán’s head drew back slightly, his eyes washing over her face. “My love for you has never depended upon who you are. But who you are to me.”
Tears started to well in her eyes. “And who am I to you?”
“Mara, you are my next breath. You are the reason I breathe at all.”
As if his profound words stole her own breath from her lungs, she stood bewildered, trying to contend with what he said, trying to grasp the wonder of his heartfelt statement echoing in her ears. She hadn’t expected to hear that from him, and could only stare into his stunning blue-green eyes.
She heard him sigh.
“I fear even my words are not enough to make you understand. As I said before, perhaps Marcas was right. I suppose I fail to intrigue you.”
Mara crowded her brows. And before she could think further on it, his hands clasped her face and pulled her toward him. He didn’t ask permission, nor did he wait for her to object. She had only a split second to see his eyes fall upon her gaped mouth, and feel the searing heat of his lips covering hers. It was a passion she had never known from him.
At first, it took her by complete surprise. But as she felt the gentle brush of his tongue slip past her lips, she understood the zealousness of his actions. His need to take her mouth and consume it was to express how deeply his love ran. To prove without question how severe his hunger was for her.
And oh, did she feel his hunger!
She parted her lips further and let her own tongue delve into the sweet hollow of his mouth. She explored the entire velvety length of his tongue and reached out to touch him.
His skin was cool and slippery, but the solid wall of muscle beneath her palms made her fingers clench. She grasped the narrow frame of his waist and pulled him closer.
It took no effort to draw him near as his body seemed just as eager for her embrace. She felt his hand slide down her neck and around her back, holding her with such strength, her knees nearly gave out.
He lifted her slightly, and set her bottom on the limb behind her, his hand guiding her legs to wrap around his back. She barely noticed the dampness of her clothes clinging to her from the water that had seeped from his torso, but she positively felt his bare erection now pressing against her womanly flesh, hindered only by the fabric of her breeches.
She felt a smile curve his lips while he continued to kiss her, his hands roaming over the small of her back to her buttocks.
“Do I intrigue you now, a thaisce?” he asked, his ravenous mouth dragging a blazing path over the sensitive area of her throat beneath her earlobe. His eager tongue flicked across her starved skin.
She hadn’t the strength to answer as he continued to torment her body. His kiss was like no other and had it not been for his brazen behavior, she doubted she would have ever had the nerve to find out herself.
Oh, aye! There was no denying how much he intrigued her.
She had never yearned so strongly for any man, save Dægan, and she hesitated to believe her reckless longings went beyond straight desire. She wanted to feel more of Breandán’s love, to taste the delights of uninhibited rapture, to be touched in places tingling with anticipation. But her mind would not allow her to fully yield.
She laid her hands atop his, obstructing him from stroking her thighs. She drew away from his kiss on her neck and released the restraints of her ankles around his back.
“You are scared,” he murmured against her skin.
The warmth of his breath chilled her to the bone. “Aye.”
“You need not be. I may have been bold in approaching you and seizing your lips in a heated kiss, but I would never take you this way. There are some things I still hold dear. I would never give in to temptation, under any circumstances, no matter how impassioned the rest of me may seem.” He slipped his hands from beneath hers and gathered them, kissing the top of her knuckles. “I respect you far too much to take from you what is not mine. Only a husband has that right. And until then, you will never find me selfishly taking advantage of that blessed privilege.”
The sound of an owl hooted—twice—and Breandán instantly looked up, scanning the dark woods. “Someone is coming. You have to go.” He quickly lifted her from the branch and set her to her feet. He reached past her and grabbed his tunic, throwing his arms into the sleeves.
“How do you know?” she asked, curiously peering into the grim maze of trees and shadows, the feel of his hard-muscled naked body still lingering against hers.
Breandán ushered her forward, his voice quick and tense as he continued to dress himself. “Trust me, Mara. Now go.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Mara nearly ran back to the fire, her heart about to escape her chest. She had heard well the urgency in Breandán’s voice, but she attributed her rapid heartbeat to the thoughts of their incredible kiss.
She could still feel the thrill of his hands on her body, the heat and strength of his arms holding her to him. She had hardly remembered how it felt to be held so intimately, to be claimed so feverishly by a man. Her body certainly refused to let her forget how hot and virile Breandán was in her own arms.
Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about his words thereafter: I respect you far too much to take from you what is not mine. Only a husband has that right. And until then, you will never find me selfishly taking advantage of that blessed privilege.
Was he actually contemplating marriage with her?
The thought of being wed to Breandán sent her heart skipping. Sure, she had given thought to him being a father to Lochlann. She’d actually enjoyed the thought of it on several occasions, but she never seemed to think prior to that. Of what it would literally take to make Breandán a father to her son.
Marriage.
Marriage to Breandán.
Was it really that far fetched? Was it really something difficult to envision, especially after she had recently surrendered part of herself to him and returned his kiss with a passion of which she barely had control.
And what if she hadn’t stopped? What if she went further and touched the part of his body rock-hard with arousal? Would Breandán have really been able to withdraw from her kiss, from her hand?
The thought brought a smile to her face, though it amazed her to think such wanton things. She wasn’t normally this audacious, mulling over shameless what-ifs and imaging herself performing daring acts of intimacy.
She was quick to picture her hands trailing from the broad width of Breandán’s shoulders down to the rippled plane of his stomach. She envisioned her fingers barely grazing the base of his shaft, and before she could stop herself, she imagined what he would feel like if she took hold of him. In her palm, she she felt the velvety smoothness of his skin pulled tight over a sizeable erection.
Though the birth of that wanton thought shocked her, it seemed there were some things, even a proper woman of gentle birth, fancied to do. She looked around, embarrassed, her cheeks flushing. She hadn’t expected to find herself so enthralled with the thought of Breandán and his beautiful strapping body. She literally had to fight back the urge of abandoning the camp again to seek him out.
Nay, she needed to stay put.
If anything, she needed this time to think. To sort out her feelings and figure out whether her lifted emotions were because her heart sincerely felt them, or because her body craved a man’s sensuous touch.
Lillemor had said a woman had needs, things only a man could fulfill. Was Breandán the man who could satisfy her and give her what she needed? Could he give her son what he needed? She liked to think so, but how would everyone else react to it?
With her head beginning to hurt from her constant brooding, she threw a log into the fire and sat down to watch it burn. Breandán’s kiss smoldered on her lips, his unabashed touch ablaze on her skin.
Excitement.
There it was again. That simple little word which encompassed everything. Ever since Breandán had come back into her life, he brought that and more. And tonight, she knew she’d never get over this exhilaration.
Her smile soon fell as she realized he’d one day be leaving. Returning to his home in Connacht once their journey here had ended. And when he’d leave, he’d take all her happiness with him.
She hung her head, not ready to say goodbye. With their eventual parting so close, she had a hard time picturing him waving to her from a distant currach drifting in the Atlantic toward Gaillimh’s bay. She felt her heart instantly ache.
“Are you all right, Mara?”
She turned her head, seeing Ottarr standing at the fire. She hadn’t even heard his approach until he spoke. She lied. “Aye. I am well.”
“I was worried about you,” the old Northman admitted. “I came to check on you and you were not here. So I went searching in the woods and came upon you and Breandán.”
She held her breath, wondering if he had seen their passionate kiss.
“I only caught sight of you leaving his side. You looked anxious. Did he say something to upset you?”
She had to smile with relief. “Nay. Breandán would never say anything to upset me. If anything, he has comforted me.”
Ottarr sat down beside her. “I am very sorry for what Callan has done to you. It must be very difficult not knowing who your real father is. But I hope you never forget the family you still have.”
Mara looked at him now, his kind words astonishing her. He had never been the sort of man to show sympathy. He was a brash old man who often spoke his mind, not caring for the feelings of others. She almost had to remind herself who was speaking so compassionately.
“Dægan brought you into our family, and you will always be welcome among us. You never have to fear that, Mara.”
She smiled, wanting to reach out and take his hand. “I am grateful.”
Ottarr shifted, looking as though he was uncomfortable with the conversation. “Dægan once told me true happiness is found in the arms of a woman.”
She looked at Ottarr oddly. He seemed to sense her wariness and backtracked.
“We often talked about things…affairs upon which most men would not regularly admit to discussing. Nonetheless, I believe Breandán has found happiness in your arms. At least, I think he would like to be there.”
Mara sat quietly, amazed by what Ottarr just conveyed to her. She tried hard not to look so shocked, but it proved to be a bit more complicated given the rarity of the situation.
“What I am trying to say is…no one should go through life alone. And if you can find happiness with Breandán, then so be it. I will not harbor any resentment with you…or him. There. That is all I am going say on the matter.”
Mara’s eyes widened and she took in a long breath, trying to find the right words. He seemed to realize her struggle and arose to his feet. “You should try to sleep, Mara. Tomorrow’s journey home will be long.”
She watched Ottarr leave, her brain in a fuddled mess.
****
Breandán leaned against the limb where Mara once sat. His body was wrought up with the feel of her soft warm body and weak with the intensity of his desires lynched around his groin. No woman had ever stirred a fire this great within him and he feared he’d not be able to extinguish it.
But he had to.
No man could proficiently scout the area for danger with an erection the size of a broad sword.
He sighed, hoping it would subside, wishing her sweet scent would dissipate so he could rid her completely from his thoughts. He could smell her as if she were still clinging to him, her arms and legs wrapped around his back. He turned his head to the side, finding the source of his troubles. The exotic aroma of her oils had been left on his cloak from when he had hoisted her upon the limb to sit. Unless he jumped back into the stream, clothes and all, he feared he’d never liberate himself from the sublime images running through his mind.
“Well, well, a chara,” Marcas droned as he approached. “That was an interesting bath. Though I wager there is not enough water in all of Ireland to cleanse your impure thoughts.”
Breandán looked at the coy smile his friend sported, refusing to justify himself. “I appreciate the warning. Who was coming?”
“Ottarr. But rest easy, he saw nothing. As soon as he came upon Mara leaving you in haste, he left as well.” Marcas circled him, his brow cocked. “I, however, saw more than I bargained for.”
“That was your own fault. You should have turned away.”
Marcas scoffed. “And possibly miss seeing Mara—”
“Go not any further, Marcas, lest you want your lip bloodied.”
Marcas raised both hands in submission. “Fair enough. But next time when you feel the need to kiss her, perhaps you should keep your clothes on. She might stay around longer.”
Breandán shoved himself from the limb and marched past his friend, his frustration withering away his arousal.
Thank goodness.
****
Breandán walked the perimeter of the camp—several times. He’d like to say it was due to an overzealous need to keep Mara safe, when in fact, it was more likely due to his need to gather himself together. He felt he was scattered about Ireland’s woodlands. Parts of him were still latched to the feel of Mara’s divine embrace while the rest of his scatterbrained self tried to perservere through the task of scouting the area.
After a few passes, he knew he would never wholly collect himself this night. It was futile. The thought of returning to her was far greater than his desire to assemble his haphazard self. Before long, he made haste to trek back to her.
His steps were no longer careful ones, quiet and guarded. His heartbeat soon matched the speed of his pace, his thoughts racing.
As he sprinted through the forest, his mind had already taken him to Mara’s kiss, her runaway hands skimming over his chest. Her body writhed against his, seeking ways to get closer. He obliged her and ripped the tunic she wore from top to bottom, his mouth opening wide to suckle the breasts he rendered for himself.
Was he mad? Was he out of his blasted mind letting his thoughts run rampant in that direction or merely a fool glutton for punishment? Either way, he couldn’t slow his feet. Every branch that smacked him in the face, and every sapling that tugged on his tunic, only fueled him more.
Panic set in, yet he had no idea why. To his knowledge, Mara was in no danger. But the faster he ran, the more he felt its grip upon him. It was as if he were trapped right in the middle of one of his past dreams, running to reach her.
The only thing that finally decelerated his stride was the moment he first saw the light of her campfire illuminating through the brush. Instantly, his feet felt like iron anvils, each step feeling awkward and labored.
He put everything he had into halting himself, his heart hammering in his chest, his breaths short and quick.
“Is everything all right?”
He jerked in the direction of the voice, finding Ottarr—his sword drawn and ready—standing a short ways from him. He’d been too caught up in his own self-induced fright to notice the Northman.
Breandán respired violently, trying to acquire some sense of composure. “Everything is fine. I…” He eyed Ottarr’s look of confusion now, not knowing how to explain himself. “I had to make certain Mara was well.”
Ottarr sheathed his sword, though he still looked mystified. “Aye, she is well.”
The two stared at each ot
her for a few moments more, neither knowing what to say or do next. To Breandán’s surprise, Ottarr spoke first. “You may want to check on her. She is still awake. And she is shivering with cold. I doubt she will get much sleep if she does not…find warmth.”
Empathy pulled at Breandán’s heart and he looked in her direction—as if he could actually see her shivering from that distance. It almost seemed as if Ottarr was insinuating he keep her warm versus throwing another log on the fire. The emphasis of Ottarr’s last words caused him to wrench his gaze back toward the Northman, but he was he was gone.
Interesting.
Was the Northman, under all that harsh exterior, going soft? Was this his way of making up for the sword he had once pointed at his gut?
Surely not.
But Breandán was not about to wait around to find out. He was a man of opportunity, and he’d be a fool not to take advantage of this one.
He drew in a long breath and looked behind him, the denseness of the woods surrounding him. Marcas was supposed to be manning his post at the north side of the camp and before he could join Mara, he wanted to be certain his friend was still there, awake and watching his back.
He called out a bird call, a secret language only he and Marcas understood, and within seconds, he heard a corresponding feathered-friend reply. With his tracks covered, he was more than ready to help Mara find warmth.
****
Breandán slowly walked to the place where Mara lay, fire blazing, her back to him. He didn’t want to startle her, or call her name if she had indeed found sleep. With careful steps, he circled her and approached from her feet.
An instant smile carved his face as he saw she was awake. Though her eyes were open, they were heavy with fatigue as she stared into the dancing fire. He had no way of predicting how much she’d affect him. His body instantly craved to be near her. He had to admit he liked it and hated it all at the same time. Temptation had a cruel way of tormenting the soul.
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 59
