Highlander's Heart (Clan Matheson Book 2) by Joanne Wadsworth

Author:Joanne Wadsworth [Wadsworth, Joanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B014XCVHW0
Published: 2015-11-18T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

Before Tor lost all thought and took his mate just as he wished to, he instead lifted her bodice back over her breasts, righted her skirts and forced himself to rise from her bed. “I want you to stay right here.”

“Where are you going?” She sat up, her beautiful golden curls mussed and the circlet headband of red silk flowers with trailing red and white ribbons now completely askew. She appeared a vision in her royal blue gown with its lacy white embroidered scalloped neckline, cinched waist and leather girdle with blue tasseled ties draping down to her knees. All he wanted to do was climb back into bed with her and never leave her again.

“To my chamber to collect my belongings. I’ll pack what I need to and return. From now on, I sleep in here with you.” He strode to her door, unbolted and opened it. “I’ll also wash up and change since I’m already without a shirt. Give me ten minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting.” She grinned, her gaze roaming his body and halting with mischievous intent on his crotch. “Particularly since I enjoy your attention so well.”

“You’re a vixen.” He fixed his too tight pants.

“Aye, but I’m now your vixen.”

“No moving. Stay right there on that bed.” He closed her door then gathered his scrambled thoughts and strode down the corridor with its narrow window at the end emitting a stream of midday sunshine.

In his chamber, he shucked his clothes, donned a clean pair of pants in a soft, faded brown leather and tucked her red ribbon from the old pair into the pocket of his new ones. He chose a loose-sleeved black shirt with golden thread sewn in a circular Celtic belted design on the front pocket. The design surrounded a tiny symbol of a crown and sword-arm, his clan’s motto, Fac Et Spera, “Do and Hope,” emblazoned around the edge.

Shirt and boots on, sword once again belted around his waist, he collected his satchel, flipped open the leather flap then nabbed the remainder of his clothes from the trunk under the window and folded them inside. He crossed to the side table, his gut gnawing at him as he filled the basin with water from the jug and splashed his face. Even being only a few doors away from her was pure torture when all he wished to do was hold her in his arms and never let her go.

A knock sounded. “It’s Tavish.”

“Come in.”

His brother strode inside with the padded cotun he’d worn earlier during training slung over one shoulder. Tavish closed the door after himself, a determined look on his face, one that likely matched his own. “Kirk has welcomed the MacDonalds into the keep. Donnan and his men are partaking of the midday meal in the great hall. Word is Donnan’s here to stay until he and Layla have spoken vows at the end of the week. How’d your conversation with her go?”

“Very well, although she can’t complete the bond with me until she’s no longer betrothed to him.

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