To test the theory, she dragged her hands down either side of his neck, massaging the tightness she found there. “Ye are so stiff all the time.”
“Ye have nae idea,” he muttered, shifting again.
Knowing he couldn’t see her smile, she dug her thumbs into the knots in his shoulders, allowing the rest of her fingers to slide under his shirt and brush against his skin.
“That’s the kind of happiness I mean, Alistair. Ye need to release this stiffness somehow.”
And I’d be happy to help.
With a groan, he let his head drop forward. Was it release, or surrender?
“How, lass?” he rasped.
This was the moment she’d been hoping for for years.
“Give up control.”
Chapter 3
Give up control?
The suggestion was ludicrous. Preposterous.
Strangely appealing.
What? Nay! Nay, he couldn’t just give up control…could he?
For the last few years, since Da had turned the running of the clan over to Alistair, he’d always been in control—had to be in control, because ‘twas the only way to get anything done around the castle. But he had to admit, it could be exhausting at times.
Give up control.
And the advice—the command?—had come from Lara.
Lara, his little sister’s best friend. Lara, the housekeeper’s daughter, who’d always just been underfoot. Lara, whose hands were currently making him moan with pleasure.
And need.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, not sure how he felt about her advice, but also not wanting her to stop touching him yet. So his tone was hesitant when he asked, “What do ye mean?”
She hummed, then repeated, “Give up control. ‘Twill help with this stiffness, Alistair.”
When she said his name like that, when her lovely tongue formed the syllables so important to him, his cock twitched. Which was impressive, considering how stiff in that particular area he was already.
So he cleared his throat and shifted on the wooden seat. “How exactly would that help?”
He was staring straight ahead, but all of his attention was on the lass standing behind him, and the way her hands had turned gentle against his skin, stroking instead of rubbing.
St. Elzear’s ankles, she had talented hands!
Which led to other thoughts…
To his surprise, her hands left his neck and shoulders and moved down his right arm. She massaged his upper arm, then lifted his forearm and dug her fingers into the muscles above his wrists. Until she did that, he hadn’t realized how sore they were—from holding a stylus? Or a sword?
He groaned and slouched against the chair back.
“See?” she murmured, a smile on her lovely face. “It might be a conscious decision, but if ye just allow yerself to relax every once in a while, ye’ll be much happier.”
Humming in agreement, he just studied her, his head propped against the back of the chair, and the rest of his body—with one notable exception—was limp in her hands.
By St. Elzear’s sacred armpit, she was beautiful, was she not? The blonde hair she shared with her mother and her brother, Brohn, was accented by her eyes, a fascinating color which swirled between light brown and gray, depending on the way the light hit them. Right now, they twinkled with something like mischievousness, but also something more. Desire mayhap?
Hmm.
“I confess, lass, that I like the idea of relaxing a bit. But…” He sighed, not really caring to lift his head now that the muscles of his neck were so loose.
“But ye dinnae think ye can. Ye dinnae ken how,” she finished for him, a slight smile on her lips, as she moved her thumbs to his palm and began to rub in circles. “But in yer case, ‘tis easy.”
He was still distracted by how good her massage felt and was only able to manage an interested, “Hmm?”
She peeked at him, her lips tugging farther up. “Give up control.”
“Aye, ye said that before,” he mentioned speculatively. “But what does that mean?”
Shrugging, she focused on the muscles in his hand once more. “ ’Tis verra freeing to ken ye dinnae have to do everything all the time, and ye can allow someone else to take command for a little while.”
“If I did that, ‘tis possible the clan would collapse.”
“Would it?” she asked quietly.
And he had to think about it. “Well, I’ve been the one in charge of correspondence and schedules and harvest and—” He sighed. “Finn handles our trade, thank St. Elzear, and Rocque handles the training of our warriors, but everything else…”
“Have ye considered turning some of yer duties over to yer other brothers?”
“Dunc is busy in his forge, and Malcolm is my resource, the problem solver. He handles the things I dinnae understand.”
“And Kiergan?”
He snorted softly and closed his eyes. “What about him?” He loved his twin brother, aye, but the man avoided responsibility like…like something you’d arduously avoid. A pile of cow shite? Nagging mothers-in-law? The priest after a night of debauchery?
Avoided responsibility like a pile of cow shite.
Aye, as colloquialisms went, that one could work.
“Kiergan is a smart man, Alistair. He’s a charmer, the same as Finn.”
“Finn uses his charm to work out trade agreements to better the clan’s future. Kiergan uses his to woo women into bed.”
There’d been a time when he’d thought Lara was one of his twin’s conquests. St. Elzear knew that Kiergan often teased Lara and Nessa, making them both laugh. But at Malcolm’s wedding celebration, Alistair had been surprised to discover that what the two of them felt for one another was merely friendship, and that Lara’s heart lay elsewhere.
She was in love with another man, yet she stood here, rubbing Alistair’s hand and worrying about his happiness.
When she spoke, her words were cautious. “Yer twin brother is kind and generous, and aye, a charmer. He’s funny and—”
“He lacks responsibility.”
“Because he’s never been given any,” she was quick to return. “He also has a fair hand and a gift for phrases, if ye’ve never noticed. Ye could turn the clan correspondence over to him and save yer hand for more important things.”
Slowly, Alistair sat up, his eyes opening to see that same twinkle in hers once more. “More important things,
