Sing Me Home by Lisa Ann Verge

Author:Lisa Ann Verge [Verge, Lisa Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Irish warrior, Sexy adventure, medieval Ireland, warrior poet, abandoned baby, road trip romance, historical romp
ISBN: 9781940963075
Publisher: Bay Street Press
Published: 2015-05-21T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Maura drummed her fingers against her crossed arms. She paced in front of a wattle screen, kicking up bits of chaff and old hay. Here, in this musty upper room of the castle of William Caddell, she’d spent the last hours suffering Matilda’s poking and painting and Arnaud’s bellowed warnings, while all of the minstrels acted as if this was just another evening performance. Now the furious jig of Padraig’s pipe siphoned up from the stairwell, punctuated by shouts and laughter and the shuffle of dancing feet. Just another St. Vitus’s Day feast. As if they all weren’t deep in the heart of the home of a man Colin intended to kill.

Soon Arnaud would be coming for her to drag her down to sing before Lord William. She closed her eyes and pressed her fists against them. She would sing, aye, she would sing. If she had her way, she would sing Colin—wherever he was—right out of a hangman’s noose.

“Hello, Maura.”

She dropped her hands and there he was, outlined in the glow of the open stairway. She flushed with fresh anger that this afternoon, without a word of good-bye, he’d disappeared into the woods less than a mile from the gates of Shrule.

“Where have you been?” Her bells jangled as she trembled with agitation. “The twins and Matilda were chewing their fingers off with worry—”

“That worry will be done, soon enough.”

He sounded deadly calm. He stood straight and wide-legged in the portal. Though his gaze was fixed upon her, she sensed one part of him was already looking through her.

“Colin,” she said, swallowing what tasted suspiciously like a sob, “just lay a curse upon the man, as you did O’Kelly back in Tuam.”

“A hundred thousand curses have already been rained upon him and they slide off his back as if the devil forged his armor.”

“Can’t you just—”

“No.”

He crossed the room in two long strides and dragged her up into his arms. He seized her hair, arched her head back, and muffled her cry with his mouth. She wanted to curl his tunic in her fists and shake him, shake him, shake him. She wanted to scream until her voice went raw. She wanted all these things, even as she pounded on his chest only to fling her arms around his neck.

He wore a leather strap across his chest fitted with a buckle that bit into her breast. He pushed her behind the shadow of the screen until they slammed against the castle wall. He dragged his hands down her body. She gasped, broke the kiss, and arched against him.

He yanked the borrowed silks above her knees. She dug furrows into his shoulders as his tongue slipped around the lobe of her ear and then probed the hollow behind. She should be pleading with him now—while he wanted her, while he was vulnerable—but she couldn’t speak in this rush of feelings.

This was no soft roadside loving. Her blood coursed through her, wanting him all the more now that she knew what it felt like.

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