Highland Sacrifice (Highland Wars Book 2) (8 page)

“Then we’d best continue. Let us give out the wine this night.” Ceana leapt from her chair and made her way to the door. She flung it open and to the guard there, she said brightly, “Relieve the storeroom of mourning wine and give every clan member a cup. We mourn no more. Tell them there is no mourning drink. Only hope wine.”

Chapter Nine

THEY sipped their wine in their chamber and listened to the outraged bellows of the council members below stairs, as the guards passed out the wine to the people in the courtyard. The cheers of those pleased dominated over the angry cries.

The miscreants deserved every bit of torment that Ceana and Macrath could pour over them, from taking away the people’s fear right down to emptying the stores of special wine. Theoretically, the wine was hers and Macrath’s now, and they could do with it what they pleased.

Macrath filled her trencher with thick strips of roasted venison, herbed carrots and mushrooms, a hunk of bread and honeyed pears.

“Eat now, my love, for I will not let you leave our bed until the morning sun rises and shines on the coverlet.” The sensual rasp in his voice glided over her limbs in an arousing caress.

Ceana grinned and picked up a hunk of meat with her knife, taking a bite. “Delicious,” she said, spearing another.

Macrath watched her eagerly, his eyes roving all over her face. She liked it when he studied her. Liked seeing his approval. She’d never been one to need approval, often running wild within her clan, and until now, she’d not realized how good it felt to be admired. Mayhap ’twas because it was Macrath, mayhap because she was changing. Whatever the cause, she found herself smiling at her husband.

“I love the way you eat,” he murmured.

She leaned forward slightly, cocking her shoulder, her grin growing wider. “How does one love the way another eats?”

A little chuckle left him as he, too, bit into the meat. “You eat with passion. The same way you kiss. The same way you make love. You are a fiery woman, Ceana. You do nothing halfway. You give all of yourself every time. ’Tis one of the reasons I love you.”

His words took her breath away. Tingles started in her eyes, but she wouldn’t let herself cry, even with happiness.

“You move me so,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

Unable to sit still, and needing a moment to compose herself, Ceana pushed her chair back and stood. Macrath watched her with interest.

The burden of her crown weighed profoundly, as though a thick, heavy stone had been placed upon her head. She took it off—surprised she’d not removed the burden before now. She tiptoed to the wardrobe and yanked open the doors, not wanting to see it anymore. She set it on a shelf inside.

“Want me to take yours?” she asked.

Macrath handed her his crown and she set it beside hers. Two beautiful crowns. Ornately carved and bedecked with jewels. The glow of the fire bounced along the smooth gold and played hide-and-seek in the jewels. She closed the doors, shutting away the sight of what those crowns meant.

Her hands rested loosely on the wood and she breathed in deeply, eyes closed.

“Are you all right?” Macrath asked, concerned.

Ceana smiled reassuringly. “Aye.”

She took the ribbons from her hair, letting her locks fall loose, massaging away the prickling feelings on her scalp.

“I love the way you look with your hair down that way,” Macrath said.

“Thank you, husband.” Ceana studied him, mesmerized by his strength, his rough beauty. She wanted to kiss him. To climb onto his lap and show him just how much she loved him, how much she admired him.

But perhaps there was another way to show him.

Taking a step back, she tugged the pin from her plaid sash, setting the jewel on the table. The only sound in the room was that of Macrath’s quickened breath, the beat of her heart and the slide of fabric as she pulled it from her shoulder. She untied the braided belt at her hips and draped it over her chair. With every move, her husband’s eyes grew darker. He sat back, legs spread out before him, one arm slung over the rear of his chair as he watched her, awareness pouring off him in waves. The way he looked at her made her tingle all over. Gave her the confidence she needed to keep going. Her gown was next. She turned around.

Her gaze met with the shuttered window, the soft-looking bed. She closed her eyes, blew out the breath she’d not realized she’d been holding. “Will you unlace me?”

Macrath cleared his throat. Wood scraped as he pushed away from his chair and then she felt his warm hands at her back. He caressed down her spine, fingertips slipping into the lacings of her gown. He tugged at the ties, slowly pulling them free. Done untying, he still didn’t move away. He leaned closer, his breath on her neck, tickling, and then his lips, and she sighed, letting him kiss her. But when she felt her sex squeeze tight with anticipation, she drew away.

“Not yet,” she murmured. “Sit down.”

Macrath didn’t ask questions, but listened.

Ceana slipped the fabric off one shoulder, keeping her eyes on her husband. Watching. His lids had lowered halfway, his lips parted. She wanted to lean forward, to kiss him. To feel his tongue slide between her lips, over her breasts, between her thighs. But they had to wait. They had all night, and she wanted to make it special, memorable, because who knew what unimaginable horrors awaited them on the morrow? She wasn’t going to waste this time alone in a hurried coupling. They would worship each other tonight.

One arm free, she slithered the fabric off the next one, the top of her gown pooling around her hips. Her nipples were hard, pushing against the light fabric of her chemise. In the light of the fire, she could see the dusky-red color through the sheer white material. As always she was captivated by the way her body reacted to Macrath. ’Twas as if her flesh and bones knew what she wanted before her mind had made itself up.

Macrath let out a harsh exhale. “Gods, but you are tempting.”

Ceana flicked her gaze back to him, grinned, her body tightening, gooseflesh rising on her skin as he regarded her hungrily. She’d not yet divested herself of her clothing and already he was completely enticed by her. She liked that. A lot.

“Just wait until you find out how much I intend to tempt you.” This time, she did lean forward and press her lips to his, needing to feel their soft, yet firm, touch.

He stretched toward her, his fingers dancing over her elbow, up to her shoulder and over her neck, but Ceana retreated just out of his reach.

“Not yet,” she repeated. It was hard to stay away from him.

She wanted so badly to touch him, to let him touch her. To deepen that little taunt of a kiss. But if she did, then her seduction would be over, for she knew in her heart she’d not ask him to stop.

She hooked her thumbs in her gown and pushed it past her hips, stepping out of the pile. Again, Macrath sucked in a ragged breath.

He’d seen her nude before. Had been inside her body. And yet, she felt almost as if she were standing before him for the first time. The previous occasions they’d made love had not been as intimate. Beautiful, wondrous, pleasurable, aye. But they’d lacked the sense of privacy and leisure they had now.

A shiver took her, but she wasn’t cold. She wasn’t afraid. It was a shiver of pleasure, her body anticipating just what was to come.

Her fingers trembled slightly when she tugged the lace at her throat. Once untied, the fabric of her chemise fell open, exposing the swells of her breasts to Macrath. His eyes widened and he shifted in his chair. His hands gripped tight to the wooden arms, knuckles white. She could tell he wanted to touch her. And gods, but she wanted the same thing.
Not yet
, she told herself.

Ceana let out a shuddering breath. This was harder than she thought. She wanted to let him reach out to her, to tug her chemise the rest of the way open, exposing her turgid nipples and swollen, heavy breasts. The sheer material of her chemise rubbed enticingly over her nipples. They ached for him; she ached for him. Between her thighs was damp, and sparks of pleasure continuously fired. Her knees shook.

She had to do this. She could do this. And without thinking about it another minute, she wrenched the fabric of her chemise over one shoulder and then the other until it slid down her ribs, over her hips and fluttered at her feet. Macrath let out a low groan—the sound finding its way into her core—and she answered with a soft moan.

With the gentle shove she gave as request against his shoulder, he pushed his chair back and she sat down on his lap, her legs over one arm of the seat.

“This is how I want to finish dinner,” she said.

“And then, I hope you plan on serving dessert, lass, for by the end of this meal, I’ve a feeling I’m going to be in dire need of something sweet,” he rasped, nuzzling her neck.

Ceana found her way to his mouth and tugged his lower lip with her teeth. “We will be starving for it. Now”—she turned toward the table and picked up a soft carrot with his eating knife—“let our dinner continue.”

MACRATH bit the carrot, plucking it from the knife. This was an entirely new side of Ceana he’d never dreamed of, but dammit, he liked it.

His cock raged hard against her hip, and he wanted to rip off his plaid and bury himself between her supple thighs. She was warm on top of him. Gloriously naked.

He let his gaze rove over her flesh, wanting to taste her more than anything on the trencher.

“Your turn,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

Macrath speared a piece of venison and brought it to her lips. The meat was bigger than she could fit so she bit off the end and chewed. He put the other half into his mouth.

“I’ve never had a meal nude, nor with a woman as fascinating as you.”

Ceana giggled. “Neither have I. I rather like it.” She grabbed a piece of bread, tore off a bit and placed it at his lips.

He snaked out his tongue, licking her fingertips, before gently tugging at the bread with his teeth. She bit into the softness, making an approving noise in the back of her throat.

“I love bread,” she murmured.

But he wanted her to love his touch more. Leaning forward, he kissed her shoulder, tickled her flesh with his tongue. He caressed her belly up to her breast, brushing his thumb over her nipple before dipping to taste the puckered flesh. He knew what she’d wanted—to seduce him—but he couldn’t help himself. He had to touch her. To heat her blood as she’d done to him.

“You taste better,” he whispered against her. He suckled gently while toying with her other breast.

Ceana squirmed against him, her hip brushing tantalizingly against his raging cock.

“I think I am ready for dessert,” he said.

“Aye, I think I am, too.”

Macrath needed no further approval from her. He trailed his fingers down her abdomen to between her thighs, brushing over the curls, then slipping over the damp folds. Ceana gasped, her body trembling. Macrath swirled his finger over the silken, slick skin, finding her opening. He paused.

She tilted her hips, urging him with her body to sink inside, but he rather liked teasing her instead. He trailed hot kisses up her neck to her mouth, nibbling on her lower lip before plunging his tongue inside at the same time his finger sank deep.

Ceana moaned against his mouth, her body arching, thighs clamping against his hand.

He slid his finger out and then back in again—adding a second. He rubbed the nub of her pleasure with his thumb as he worked her. Kissed her until they were both panting, and from the tightening of her slick walls, he knew she was close.

And he had something else in mind.

Macrath kept kissing her but removed his hand from inside her to push their trenchers out of the way. He lifted her up and set her bottom on the cleared part of the table.

“Macrath,” she said breathlessly, eyes widening.

“I said I wanted to savor you. Every time I sit down, I’ll recall this moment, with you spread out beautifully before me.” He pressed her thighs open and leaned forward to blow hotly on her glistening nether-lips. “I’ll remember how I enjoyed the best meal of my life.”

He licked around her opening and then upward around the swollen bud. Ceana’s legs quivered, and she threaded her fingers into his hair. He lifted her thighs onto his shoulders to gain better access to his sweet treat. Gods but she was beautiful, succulent. Every man’s dream, and yet for him, she was real. Ceana cried out, leaning back, holding her weight up with one arm, the other tugging mercilessly at his locks.

“Mmm…” Macrath growled, working his tongue over her sensitive flesh in systematic flicks, swirls and flutters.

Ceana’s moans grew louder, her breath hard. He kept his gaze on her face, watching the way her tongue slicked over her lips, her eyes closed tight, then widened, then closed again. Her cheeks were flushed. Breasts rose and fell at a rapid pace with her breath. Her mouth fell open, a cry of pleasure on her lips. She rocked her hips in time with his ministrations, and then cried out, bucking upward when her body could take no more and a climax crashed over her.

Macrath shoved out of his chair and stripped himself of his clothes. Ceana still sat on the table, half lying backward, propped on an elbow, eyes heavily lidded, lips parted. She watched him with steady interest, the pulse in her neck bouncing.

“I love to watch you peak,” he said.

He wanted to thrust home, to drive deep inside her until they cried out in harmony, but that would be too fast, that would go against his need to savor her completely. He stepped between her parted thighs and gripped his cock. With a wicked smile, he ran it over her wet sex, a groan escaping his throat.