The Chief by Cecelia Mecca

Author:Cecelia Mecca [Mecca, Cecelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Medieval
Published: 2020-02-03T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Given the difference in their stations, he should not have thought such a thing, let alone said it out loud. He was once again doing what his brother had accused him of for years—acting without thinking.

It was the reason Terric refused to see him as an equal. The reason he refused to relinquish one of his two titles, chief of Clan Kennaugh and Earl of Dromsley, to him, even as he admitted he did not want both.

So be it.

Embracing what he was, rather than what everyone seemed to want him to be, Rory continued, “Stay here, at Bradon Moor.”

“Pardon?”

Rory tightened the blanket around them.

“We are good together,” he said. “Will you deny it?”

Cristane frowned. “Nay, but—”

“Yesterday, during that dance, I cannot explain it,” he said, struggling to put words to how he felt. “And now, it is even stronger. This connection between us.”

He had respected and valued her for years as a friend, both to his sister and to him, but now he wanted more.

“I’ve never wanted another woman,” he said sincerely, “as much as you.”

And it was true. He admired her, loved her like kin, and now that the blinders had been ripped off his eyes, Rory desired her in a way he had never experienced. The thought of being with her, slipping inside her and making her his, banishing all thoughts of the blacksmith’s son or any other man . . . aye, this was what he wanted.

And he could tell she felt the same way.

“But we cannot. I . . . I am a lady’s maid,” she said, as if he were not aware of the fact.

“Cristane.” Rory lowered his head, capturing her lips, softly at first and then more insistently. “I’d never dishonor you. Never again would you need to serve another. You could stay in the keep, or choose another home close by.”

He stood back, waiting for her reaction.

“I care for you deeply,” he said, “and once McKinnon is taken care of . . .”

“Your mistress,” she said. “You are asking that I become your mistress?”

How could he have never noticed the way her face was shaped almost like a heart? He wanted to cup it, treasure it . . .

“Your mistress?” she repeated, her voice rising. Something flashed in her eyes.

Was she upset?

“Would you not care for that?”

Aye, she was upset. Very much so. Cristane’s shoulders rose and fell with each heavy breath. He didn’t understand.

“You desire me,” he said, knowing it to be true. “As I desire you. And more, I care for you, deeply. When I realized McKinnon’s men had taken you . . .”

Rory stopped. His words were only making her angrier.

Stepping back, he groaned at the sight of the cream shift clinging to her every curve.

In response, Cristane reached out and snatched the blanket from him. Wrapping it around herself, she pursed her lips together, eyes blazing.

If he’d wanted to take her before, Rory wanted it even more now. But first he needed to address her anger. “Surely I did not misunderstand your desires?”

Cristane shook her head.

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