She believed that tonight he had been communicating something to her through his actions. She felt that the message could be one of two things. Either he wanted her to know he could be free with her, that he trusted her to understand the needs hidden within him, and to accept them.
Or tonight had been a blatant warning.
If the first, then she could accept him. She wanted his rough ways, craved that he made her feel so much like a woman just because he was so much a man. She thought of his teeth nipping her and shivered. She didn't want him to hold back or feel he had to hide anything from her.
If his actions had been a warning, he'd failed miserably. Because she desperately wanted everything he was warning her from.
Was there a message here that would reveal why he hadn't asked her to marry him? Were the Gaelic words he oftentimes rasped to her when they made love some type of promise? Once she had asked him what they meant, and he'd said only, 'I will tell you soon.' She wanted to demand answers, to force the issue, but these days with him were so precious to her that she feared jeopardizing them in any way.
She sighed. These thoughts plagued her because each day passing was a step closer to her ruin. Soon she would be given a choice, and if he hadn't made her his wife, if he wouldn't make her his wife, she would be forced to prove to all that she was just like her mother, that the Castilian blood ran far too hot in her veins. Because she would be choosing ruin to be with her Scottish lover.
He shifted positions, bringing her to him now, his head above hers. She knew he slept, but his hand unerringly went to her breast. His hand, so dark and scarred, stood out against her skin. Such a primal sign of possession. At once her nipple hardened beneath his hot palm.
What he couldn't know was how badly she wanted to possess him back.
Chapter Thirty-one
Court drew Anna closer against him, her back to his front, her bottom tucked in his lap. He put his face to her hair and inhaled, recalling the night before and growing harder.
Then the doubts assailed him.
He'd taken a young woman, innocent and impressionable before she met him, and he'd bent her over and spread her and driven into her hard. And he knew he'd do it again—
'You're going to ask me if you hurt me,' she said in a languid voice, reading his mind. He was just about to speak when she took his erection in her hand. 'You're going to ask me if I was embarrassed.' She stroked him. 'You didn't hurt me.' She guided him into her. 'I'm not embarrassed.' She wriggled her hips until she was better placed, then slowly moved down on him.
She was doing this? After last night? Though he was sure he was still dreaming, he met her and entered deep.
She gasped, then sighed contentedly. 'See? None the worse for your wear.'
'I dinna embarrass you at all?'
'Perhaps at first, but certainly not toward the end.'
'Then maybe I'm no' wicked enough for you?' He nipped her ear and she laughed. He felt it. 'I'm an old man with no more tricks in my bag?'
In an instant, he wrapped his arms tight around her, clasping her to him, and turned on his back. 'Courtland?' she cried, when she lay atop him.
He spread his knees, locking her legs wide outside of them and set his hands all over her breasts and belly. She moaned when he dug his heels down to thrust up into her while his fingers flicked and played. He took her like this until she arched her back off his body, driving herself nearly down to the hilt, and when she melted on him, he spent hot within her.
Afterward he returned her to her front and reluctantly withdrew from the warmth of her body. He brushed her hair to the side and ran his thumbs along her slim shoulders until she slept again, then murmured in her ear, 'Anna, my heart is full.'
He rose and dragged on his trousers to return to his room. When he glanced back at her before shutting the door, she turned to her back, treating him to a view of her delectable breasts, and he groaned, knowing he wouldn't even make it till the afternoon before having her once more. He'd bring her breakfast and see if he could tempt her. He grinned. She was always as tempted as he.
In his room, he washed and dressed and found himself whistling. He wasn't a whistler. He shrugged, then stomped down the stairs, but when he was halfway down, his face fell.
Ethan was home.
His brother always looked furious, but this time markedly so, his scar whitening. Bloody hell. He gave Court one look and turned for the study. Court swore under his breath and followed.
'I have heard some of the situation,' he began as soon as Court shut the door. 'How long do you intend to stay like this?'
'Her brother will come soon,' he hedged.
'And then you'll let her go with him? Even though you've slept with her?'
'Hugh told you?'
'He'd said nothing. Our mother is no' the only one getting reports from this house. I'd heard and then your face told me.'
Of course Ethan knew. Ethan knew everything.
'Your Castilian has been asking the servants what a peculiar Gaelic phrase means.' He skewered Court with a look. 'Her pronunciation is extraordinary, I'm told. She couldn't have just heard it once in passing and then repeated the sounds so perfectly.'
Actually, she could. She could mimic Ethan cold within five seconds of meeting him.
'You bound her to you?'
'Aye.' The words had just seemed to flow from him. There was no stopping them. And yes, he'd told her that more than once.
'So she was innocent and of good family?'
'Aye,' he said, putting his shoulders back. He refused to be ashamed of what he'd done.
An amused expression of disbelief. 'You actually think you're going to marry the lass?'
'I will.'
'Tell me, brother, do you hate her?'
Court narrowed his eyes.
From a leather satchel by the desk, Ethan withdrew a weighty tome and tossed it onto the desk.
Leabhar nan Sùil-radharc. The Book of Fates.
Court scrambled back, never taking his eyes from it as every muscle in his body instantly went rigid with tension. The cover glimmered like the scales of a fish and showed none the worse for wear from all the times his forefathers had sought to destroy it. Court's stomach clenched, then roiled. The only marking the book had accepted was blood.
It was not as thick as it could have been—more pages could've been added. But they knew it ended where it did because there were to be no more direct descendants to have their fates foretold.
'You must hate her. You've put her in a situation where she can marry you or be ruined. Of course, she had better choose ruined. Much better than death and torment at worst, or at best a financially strapped mercenary who canna give her children.'
'Why did you bring that here?' He looked around wildly, not believing Anna was in the same house as this cursed thing.
'I thought I might need to refresh your memory.'
Court didn't bother to disguise his fury. He could kill Ethan for this. 'As if I'd ever forget.'
'But you have. And you've apparently forgotten what happened to the last woman engaged to one of us. Specifically me.'
'It is no' like that, Ethan. I feel that this is different—'
