by Eliza Knight
A knock sounded at the door, startling her. She leapt into the air, which only caused Alice, her maid, to jump from where she’d been adding another log to the fire in the hearth. The knock had been hard, not the light, fluttery knuckling of her mother.
“Are ye all right, my lady?” Alice’s eyes were wide, and she stood, brushing debris off her hands onto her skirts.
“The door.” Cora swallowed, finding whatever little bit of strength she had left in her to face whoever was on the other side.
“Right.” Alice hurried to open it, revealing Liam.
Despite how wary she felt at seeing him, he still took her breath away. He was several inches taller than the door frame itself. With hands braced on either side of the door, he leaned his head inside. His features were schooled in a look that was both fierce and intoxicating.
“Thank ye, Alice,” Liam said, his voice mirroring the expression on his face—no nonsense. “I’d like some privacy with my wife.”
Alice nodded and hurried from the room, leaving the two of them alone. It was hard to look at him, hard to stand there under his scrutiny. Within her boots, her toes curled in, as though pulling away from him. As if that tiny bit would make a difference. Just when she got up the nerve to ask why he had avoided all talk of marriage and introduced her as nothing more than a weak Sassenach, Liam turned his back on her. She thought he was leaving, but all he did was duck through the door and wave his hand, ushering in a servant with a tray full of delicious-smelling food. Her stomach growled loud enough for anyone within shouting distance to hear. The servant bowed to her and Liam and then left. Liam shut and barred the door.
“Are ye hungry?” His voice was gruff as he approached the table, set out two trenchers and motioned her forward.
The room seemed smaller with him in it. Even her own headspace seemed smaller, as though every thought, every sense was consumed by him. And that seemed rather unfair.
“I am,” she managed to croak out, her heart skipping a beat.
Eating required moving closer so that he could fill her mouth with food from his own fingers or eating utensil. The intimacy of it was too much right now.
“The king and his court were served before we arrived, so I’m afraid the meat may be a bit cold, but it will fill us, and that is all we can ask for, aye?”
“Yes. I am grateful.” She inched toward the table, eyeing him with suspicion. Why was he acting so…normal?
They sat at the table, and he cut off a piece of venison, dragged it through a brown sauce and held it to her lips. “Bite.”
Cora did as instructed. She chewed slowly and the flavors of rosemary, thyme and garlic burst on her tongue. She watched Liam spear another piece of meat, dip it in sauce and take it into his own mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, watching her. Both of them remained silent. She swallowed, and another bite was presented to her, this one somehow more delicious than the last.
Liam offered her a sip of wine from his cup, knowing exactly when she was finished, as if they shared the same tongue. They ate mostly in silence, but the tension in the room was stifling. She wanted to know what had happened with her mother, and he clearly had questions of his own, if the intense way he was regarding her was any indication.
After feeding her another bite, he finally spoke. “I have to leave on the morrow.”
Cora hurried to chew and swallowed probably sooner than she should have. The pain of a too-large bite being swallowed caught her. She pointed to the cup, and Liam lifted it to her lips, where she sucked down the wine and eased the passage of her idiocy. “Leave?” she managed to say when the large piece of meat had finally slid down the rest of the way.
“Aye. The king has requested that I complete my mission of taking Castle Ross.” He offered her another bite, this time of stewed carrot that tasted of spicy cinnamon and succulent butter. “Ye will be safe here. The king has given ye his protection.”
She wasn’t going with him. She was supposed to stay here in a castle full of Scots. Cora resisted a shiver. “And my mother?”
Liam grimaced and fed her another carrot. “She will also be safe.”
“What happened with her?”
Liam sat back in his chair, swallowed a healthy sip of wine and then refilled their shared cup. “She told the king what he wanted to know.”
She shook her head when he offered her more to drink. “There’s more to it than that.”
“Aye.” He didn’t deny her, but neither did he embellish.
Cora pursed her lips, settling in for battle. “Tell me.”
“I dinna think that’s a good idea.” He speared another piece of meat and held it out to her. Cora shook her head. “Ye need to eat, lass.”
“Why won’t you tell me? Because you still don’t trust me?”
He gazed at her sharply, eyes scrutinizing her face. “I do trust that ye’ve told me the truth, lass. But…”
“But what?”
Liam set down the eating knife, her meat still on it, and sat back in his chair. “’Tis complicated.”
“You yourself said I was intelligent.” She sat forward, not letting him escape her. “I assure you, I can understand complicated things. Or is it because I’m a woman?”
Liam sighed. “What? Nay, ’tis nothing to do with your sex. And, aye, I did say ye were intelligent, ’tis not a fact I’ll deny.” This time, when he picked up the eating knife and held it toward her, as though he were silently expressing that getting his answer depended on her eating. So, she took the bite.
“Your father broke a treaty with my king.”
“Oh.” Cora frowned, the realization of what had happened sinking in. If her father had made a treaty with the Scots, he would have many English enemies, and by breaking the treaty, he had enemies on both sides. Ughtred had taken the opportunity to attack when her father was at his weakest. But why would her father have done such a thing? Why would he put his family and people at risk? “I didn’t know. He did not discuss politics with me.”
“Aye, but he did with your mother.”
That she knew. She only wished her mother had been able to confide in her. “And so, your king has taken her prisoner?”
“He didna put her in the dungeon.” Liam raised a challenging brow.
That wasn’t an answer to her question. Cora raised her own defiant brow in return. “But she is still not free to go. Am I?”
“Ye’re not a prisoner. Ye’re my wife.”
“A fact to which you did not want to admit in the bailey when we arrived. Am I your wife only behind closed doors? Does the king even know? Is the only reason I’m not locked away because of our marital status?” The questions flew from her mouth like the arrows that flung from castle ramparts when under attack.
“Aye, ’tis. And the king does know. I kept quiet about it upon our arrival for your own safety, and because I was not about to disrespect my king by revealing it to his subjects before I told him. I could have been tossed in the dungeon for marrying ye, lass, and could have incurred more of his ire since I’ve lied all these years.” Liam sat forward, his large warm hand on her forearm, shocking her with his gentle touch.
Cora found it hard to think or speak. Her hurt feelings seemed petty now. He’d not kept it in to shun her or make her less than, but to protect them both. The truth was out now, and he wasn’t imprisoned. She’d not even considered that a possibility before. She swallowed hard around the lump that had formed in her throat and glanced down at where his hand rested on her forearm. “Thank ye,” she murmured, “for your honesty.”
Liam grunted. “Dinna thank me yet, lass.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “I dinna know how long I will be gone, and I need ye to be careful while I’m away. Ye have the king’s protection, but that doesna mean others willna still see ye as the enemy.”
Cora’s throat went dry. She knew he spoke the truth. The fact remained, married to Liam or not, she was English, a Sassenach as they called her. An enemy of their country. “What should I do?”
/>
“Dinna talk to anyone about…your da or your ma. Or your brothers.”
She’d felt so safe with Liam before, naïvely since what her being with him meant. The truth sank in, painfully deep. She was in the Scottish king’s castle. Her mother was a prisoner. And her protector was leaving her. She was going to be sick.
“Please, take me with you.”
“I canna. ’Tis too dangerous.”
“’Tis dangerous here, too, you said so yourself.” As if she expected men to crash through the door right then and there, her gaze flew to the closed entry. No one was coming.
“Lass…” he drawled.
Cora turned back to him and held her breath. Liam’s gaze was drawn toward her neck, and she felt her skin prickle with awareness. He reached forward, a fingertip on her collarbone, and she sucked in a breath as he traced a line to the dip at the base of her throat. Then he fingered the gold chain and tugged until the amber stone revealed itself from where she’d kept it nestled beneath her dress.
“A gift from my father,” she said, staring down at the jewel. It was not particularly pretty or feminine, but he’d given it to her only a few months ago, and so she’d worn it every day since, trying to be closer to a man who seemed so far out of her reach. Now that he was gone, she didn’t plan to take it off.
“’Tis…interesting. What is the meaning of it?”
“I don’t know.” Cora watched his fingers slide over the chain, imagining they were once more on her skin, trailing down her neck to the place between her breasts…
“He didna say anything when he gave it to ye?”
She laughed at the memory, the sound throaty and distant. “Only that knights would fight for kingdoms over something so simple, and that I had the power to bring men to their knees. Nonsense really.”
The corner of Liam’s mouth quirked up, and he trailed the amber up her chest to the dip at her throat. “I dinna think he is wrong, lass.”
Cora rolled her eyes for show, her pulse racing, and her breath hitching. “I am but a woman.”
“Do ye not ken, lass? Women can have power, too.” Down the stone trailed toward the center of her chest.
At his statement, she laughed, though she was finding it truly hard to breathe or concentrate. How could he make the touch of a stone so…sensual?
“Ye laugh, but I am sitting here before ye. Is that not proof enough?”
She stilled, her laughter falling away when she saw his pupils dilate as he studied her. “What do you mean?” Her voice was so soft, husky, barely her own.
“Ye say I’ve saved ye twice, lass, and, aye, I have. And both times that I saved ye, I was willing to go against my king to do so. I was willing to die for ye. I still am.” He shook his head, the smile gone now, and she felt her stomach plummet somewhere near her feet. “That’s dangerous. That’s power.”
Mary Mother… His admission was enough to bring her to her knees. “I would never want you to defy your own king, Liam. I would never want you to die for me.”
Glorious green eyes locked on hers. “I believe that.”
“I am quite serious.”
“I know.” He let the jewel drop back down between her breasts where it felt like it was singeing her, and he sat back in his chair, lifting the cup of wine to his lips.
Cora moved quickly to stand between his sprawled legs. He gazed up at her questioningly, but she said nothing. His plaid dipped between his thighs, exposing his knees and several inches of muscle above. How she wished she could touch him. Feel all of that strength beneath her fingers. Would she ever get the chance? If there was only one way to prove that she would not betray him, maybe it was by giving herself to him in the one way she’d not yet. The one way a wife should. The one form of true payment a woman possessed.
Cora stepped a little closer. His thighs encased hers, their heat seeping through the skirts of her gown. Though his gaze wondered over her, he remained silent, waiting.
“You’re leaving,” she said, stating the obvious since he’d told her earlier.
“Aye. At first light.” His hands flexed on the arms of the chair, as though he were trying to hold back from touching her.
“Before you go…” She swallowed hard, unsure of how a lady went about seducing her husband.
“Aye?” he encouraged softly.
“Perhaps we should…” Saints above, this was hard. Her throat was tight, her heart pounding.
“Aye?” He was staring up at her with intense interest now, his left thigh bouncing off hers in a rhythmic tap, a finger dancing lazily on his jawline.
Cora was quickly losing her bravado. Perhaps she should simply back away. Put some distance between them. She swayed a little, and Liam leaned forward and gripped her hips with his large, heated hands. Saints, but she could have dropped then, could have melted into his hold.
“Are ye unwell?” he asked. “Dinna faint on me.”
“I’m not.” She laughed a little, nervous.
He tugged her closer, his thighs pressing a little more on her own, his hands dancing circles on her hips. Even with her standing and him seated, he was such a mountain that she would need only lean down an inch or two to press her lips to his. The distance between them was barely more than half a foot. She imagined what it would be like if she were the one to kiss him, as he’d kissed her before. The very idea had her belly leaping into her throat before plummeting to her toes.
“The way ye’re looking at me,” his voice gruff, “makes me think ye’ve got kissing on your mind.”
Cora nodded. His words, the way his voice drawled with his Scottish brogue, took her breath away.
“Do ye want me to kiss ye, lass?”
She nodded again, unable to find her voice, and she was surprised she was even able to move her head at all.
Slowly, he leaned in and slid a hand halfway up her ribs. He cupped her face with his large, calloused hand as he drew her closer. He steadied her with his thighs and pressed his scorching mouth to hers. Cora sighed against the softness of his lips, breathed in the spicy, male scent of him and shuddered at the way his breath fanned over her cheek.
Their last kiss had been intimate, sensual, and yet so…gentle. This one felt different from the outset. More potent. Intense. Instead of simply touching his tongue to her lips, he dipped between them, coaxing her to open her mouth. She gasped, allowing him entry, and then gasped again at the incredible sensation of his wicked velvet tongue sliding over hers.
Cora rested her forearms on his muscular shoulders, wishing she could knead the corded ripples and dredge her fingers through his hair. She swayed against him, wanting, needing their bodies to touch.
Liam seemed to sense her need, and he lifted her up and set her on his lap, her legs draped over the side of the chair. He tugged at the ribbon holding her plaited hair and threaded his fingers into her long tresses, while his other hand ran up and down the length of her leg and his mouth worked magic on hers.
Would he take what was his? Would he make her his wife in truth?
Cora gave everything she had to his kiss, tasting the wine on his tongue and growing intoxicated by the sensations coursing through her. Their kiss became frenzied, and his caress moved from her thigh, over her ribs to cup her breast.
Cora let out a shocked gasp. Not because he’d done it; she wanted him to, but at the sensations that roared within her at such a simple touch. Her nipples hardened, and she arched her back to push her breast more fully into his hand. Magic soared from the pad of his thumb as it brushed over her nipple, making her cry out. In her excitement she bit his lip, and Liam grunted at the nip.
“I’m sorry,” she hurried, her eyes widening, expecting him to be angry.
But his eyes were hooded with desire, and a sensual smile covered his lips. “Och, lass, there are war wounds to be had in battle and in love.”
Love… She knew he didn’t mean it, yet it still made the flames of her hope grow all the more intense.
Cora smiled into his
kiss, as he claimed her mouth once more. Then she was in the air, literally, and cried out in surprise as he carried her toward the bed.
A moment of panic made her still in his arms, but as soon as he laid her gently on the mattress and slid down beside her, her worries disappeared. This was really happening. There would be no turning back. No one could take this away from them. She’d be his wife until death parted them.
Liam stroked her cheek, his lips parting from hers as he stared into her eyes. Every inch of her reached for him, and yet she was also mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze, felt desired beyond words. “Ye need your rest, lass.”
Wait… He wasn’t going to…? Cora stared, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “But I thought…”
He slowly shook his head, brushing his lips over her mouth and then her cheek.
Oh, how humiliating this was. She didn’t want to appear like a beggar, and yet she wanted to keep on feeling the way she felt when he touched her. She wanted to be his. “I thought you would make me…your wife.”
He nuzzled her neck, sending whispers of desire skating over her flesh. “I’ve already made ye my wife.”
Oh, why was he toying with her? Her face flamed with heat. Was he really going to make her spell it out? “Well, the other part.”
“Ye mean make love to ye?” He splayed his hand over her belly, green eyes on hers.
Oh, why did it have to sound so delicious when he said it like that? “Yes. Make love.” The words fell off her tongue with ease, and she watched his eyes cloud with desire, and the way he hardened his jaw as though he had to force himself to be still.
Liam cleared his throat, his fingers no longer tracing circles on her belly. “Not yet, lass. Not with your hands the way they are.”
“But you’re leaving.”
“Aye. But I’ll be back. And when I am, I want to feel ye touch me. Believe me.”
Cora nodded, biting her lower lip still swollen from his kiss and trying not to be disappointed. He truly was being a gentleman, and she did desperately want to touch him.
