The Dark Highlander
Page 88

Silvan sensed his son before he entered the great hall, and began to rise, but at the last moment before the door opened, he heard a soft rush of throaty female laughter. Then silence that could only be filled with kisses. Then more laughter.
Soft, faint, but Dageus’s laughter.
He went motionless in a half-crouch above the chair. How long since he’d heard such a sound?
Och, the darkness was still there beneath it, but whatever had transpired this day had granted Dageus a merciful reprieve. He didn’t need to see his son to know that his eyes would be—if not golden—at least lighter.
When his son swung the door open, Silvan slipped back into the chair, gathering the gloom around him with a few soft words.
His news would keep till the morn.
• 20 •
There’s something I haven’t told you, Chloe-lass, Dageus said, stepping forward from the shadowy circle of stones. His eyes said he wanted to tell her. His eyes said he was afraid to tell her. What might such a man fear? That he feared it, frightened her as well, and diminished her need to know substantially. For a novel change, her curiosity curled up and played dead.
You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, she prevaricated, wanting the dreamy pleasure of their newfound intimacy to remain unspoiled by difficult truths. From the look on his face, difficult was a mild word for whatever he was withholding.
The tendons in his strong neck worked and he opened and closed his mouth several times. He took a deep breath. Mayhap you should know—
A sudden pounding at the door jarred Chloe instantly awake. Her dream shattered into tiny particles of sandman’s dust.
When she jerked, Dageus’s arms tightened around her.
“Are ye awake in there?” Nell was calling through the door. “Silvan’s nigh beside himself with impatience. He’s requestin’ ye both belowstairs.”
“We’re awake, Nell,” Dageus replied. “Would you mind having a bath sent up?”
“Dageus, yer da will get himself in a fankle. He’s been waiting to show ye what he’s found since early yestermorn and ye know he’s ne’er been the most patient man.”
Dageus exhaled loudly. “A quarter hour, Nell,” he said, sounding resigned, “then we’ll be down.”
“I wouldn’t be disturbin’ ye, were it left to me.” A soft laugh, and her footsteps faded down the corridor.
Dageus rolled Chloe over on her side to face him, capturing one of her legs between his, cupping her full breasts possessively.
“G’morning,” she said drowsily, flushing from the memory of what he’d done to her through the night. What she’d encouraged him, even begged him to do. She smiled. She was achy and sore and felt scrumptious. She’d spent the entire night in his arms. Funny, she mused, of all the things that were so difficult to believe, the past twenty-four hours with him seemed the most astonishing. Since she’d given herself to him, he’d been a completely different man. Warm, sexy, playful. Oh, still every inch dominant, basely sexual man, but infinitely more approachable. Where, previously, sometimes it had seemed he was there but not quite there—a part of him somewhere else entirely—in bed he was one hundred percent there. One hundred percent focused and involved.
It was devastating to be the focal point of such raw, relentless eroticism. He was everything she’d fantasized Dageus MacKeltar might be in bed and more. Wild and demanding, battering past all her inhibitions.
Just as she was thinking how nice it was to see him at ease, his body as relaxed as a lion lazily sunning himself, he smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Oooh! Stop that. When you smile at me I want all of it.”
“What?” He looked confused.
Chloe slid her hands to his ribs, wondering if such a strong, disciplined man might be ticklish. He was, and it delighted her to discover that in some small way he was as helpless and as human as the rest of the world. She tickled mercilessly until, laughing, he captured her hands in his.
“I punish wenches who tickle me,” he purred, stretching her arms above her head.
“How?” she asked breathlessly.
He ducked his dark head and caught one nipple in his mouth, suckling gently before releasing it and dragging his tongue over her breasts to capture the other. “You have perfect breasts, lass,” he growled huskily. “As to the punishing, I’ll need to think on that,” he purred against her skin. “None has e’er tickled me before.”
“Gee, I wonder why?” she managed. When he circled a budded nipple with his tongue, her back arched and she inhaled sharply. Her breasts felt swollen, chafed by his shadow beard, and exquisitely sensitive. “Could it be because you’re always so reserved and in control? They were probably afraid to,” she said, gasping.