“Ye must see that being the laird isnae easy. The laird has to give up so much of himself, has to sacrifice his happiness. I…” She shook her head. “I dinnae want that for ye.”
“Ye dinnae want me to be laird?”
‘Twas the surprise in his tone which damn near broke her. Before she realized what she was doing, she was beside him, her hands on one of his forearms, squeezing. “Alistair, I believe the Oliphants would be blessed were ye to become laird. Ye’re intelligent and thoughtful and kind and devoted. So devoted. But ‘tis a hard life. I also want ye to be happy.”
He didn’t shake off her touch, but actually untucked one of his hands to brush the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Ye dinnae think I could be both? Happy and the laird?”
“I would make it so,” she vowed, surprising herself.
I could make ye happy even if ye were the laird.
“Then marry me, Lara,” he whispered. “Make me happy.”
And by marrying him, he’d have a chance at becoming laird.
She sighed. “ ’Tisnae that I dinnae want ye to be laird, Alistair…”
“Then what is it?” His hand snaked around to rest against the back of her neck, reminding her of his strength, and how easy ‘twould be to raise herself up on her toes and taste him again. “Why will ye no’ marry me?”
She hesitated and dropped her gaze to his chin. Despite the awkwardness of the explanation, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from his touch. Rather, she leaned into it, trying to make sense of her own mind.
“I want ye to want to be happy.” Was that enough of an explanation? Nay. “I want ye to realize there are better things in life to aspire to, besides a future of devotion to the clan.”
“Like what?” he whispered.
Her gaze darted up, catching him once more. “A son might make ye laird, Alistair, but he is also a son. A bairn. He should be more important than the lairdship. So should a daughter. And a wife.”
He frowned, searching her eyes, and she wasn’t certain if that meant he didn’t understand, or didn’t agree.
“Love, Alistair! Love is worth aspiring to. ‘Tis more important than power.”
And ‘tis easier if ye give up control.
Finally, he slowly exhaled. “Ye said ye love me.”
“I do. I have. For years.”
“But…” He shook his head. “Ye gave yerself to another?”
God’s Wounds, this again?
Did it matter so much to him that she might not have been a virgin? Or was it the fact she claimed to love him while fooking someone else?
Aye, judging from the hurt hidden deep in those blue eyes, that might just be it.
Softly, she moved her hands from his arm to his hips, and when she did that, he lifted his other hand to her cheek, cupping it, holding her in place.
As if she might run.
As if there were any other place else she’d rather be!
For now, she was here, in his arms, and the heat which had always been present between them was already making her breathless.
“Alistair, ye were my first.”
“Nay.” The denial was immediate. He even shook his head. “I ken I’m nae small man, Lara. Ye took me all without complaint, and ye didnae bleed.”
‘Twas his matter-of-fact statement which had her squirming, her core going wet at the memory of his length.
“I…” She caught her breath, trying to focus on his words. “Nay, I didnae bleed. Treenis saw to that.”
“Treenis?” He was frowning again.
“He’s my little—well, mayhap no’ so little—friend. Treenis has stretched me, made me able to accommodate yer—yer…” Blessed Virgin, why could she not say it without blushing? “Yer cock,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to his lips.
Which were frowning.
“And who is Treenis? The diseased donkey’s arsehole who thought naught of taking what ye offered and leaving ye—”
‘Twas almost funny, his misunderstanding. Fighting a smile, she lifted one hand and pressed her fingers against his lips. “Nay,” she whispered, pressing herself up on her toes.
He shook his head. Under her fingertips, he mumbled, “Tell me where to find this Treenis bastard, Lara, and I’ll kill the man.”
Stifling a giggle, she pushed her chest against his and began to trace his lips with the tip of her index finger. Her lips inches from his, she murmured, “He is nae man.”
His eyes widened. “A woman?”
And unable to stop the chuckle, Lara surged up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.
‘Twas an effective method of making him forget all. She’d have to remember this, once she got around to marrying the man.
With a growl, Alistair’s arm dropped to her waist, pulling her flush against him. She’d always known she was a curvy lass, thanks to her berry tarts. But in Alistair’s arms, she felt perfect.
The entire world felt perfect.
His lips captured her moan, and his tongue teased hers. When she rocked forward, pushing her aching core against the hard length she could feel under his kilt, Alistair leaned against the desk, bracing them both. She could feel him growing and ground her pelvis forward.
With a groan, he wrenched his lips away and dropped them to her jaw, then the sensitive place under her ear. His arm was still around her, but his other hand came up to cup her breast. Under the linen of her chemise and the wool of her kirtle, her nipple hardened, and when he pinched it through the fabric, she blurted his name.
“St. Elzear’s cockring, lass,” Alistair panted against her skin, trailing kisses down to the top of her breasts.
Dimly, Lara wondered what a cockring was, but didn’t have time to ask, because she was in very real danger of finding her pleasure right then and there. She ground her wet, aching center against his hard length, mewling desperately, as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
Her blood was pounding in her temples, louder and louder, until she was surprised her heart hadn’t burst. She could hear his heartbeat as well, drumming in time with hers.
Thump thump thump
