Highland Hunger by Hannah Howell & Michele Sinclair & Jackie Ivie

Author:Hannah Howell & Michele Sinclair & Jackie Ivie [Howell, Hannah & Sinclair, Michele & Ivie, Jackie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780758261526
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2011-08-30T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Every candle had been lit in the earl’s chamber, sending light onto every available surface: her father’s wasted body beneath the cover, the servant’s worried expression, three MacAvee Honor Guardsmen attended as witnesses . . . and her. Ulrich was presiding over the wedding, looking and acting official, and much older than his thirty years. The twins were missing, their bruises telling why Lenn was escorting the sister. They had orders to keep those ladies occupied or lock them into their rooms. Either way, there wasn’t to be any disturbance that might upset his Tira.

And that included him.

But then she appeared, the silk skimming her frame as he’d known it would when he’d purchased it and ordered the design. All the while knowing it was self-destructive, but he hadn’t changed it. The torment was ceaseless in nature and ever increasing as well. Iain realized it as the barely leashed beast within him stirred, striving to release all the pent passion, power, and lust. The combination went to a threatening degree as he approached and took her hands within his, the contact adding to his ordeal and heightening its effect, as if the creature within him laughed at any effort of control and was determined to undermine it.

Tira had her neck craned, meeting his gaze with eyes as clear and bottomless as Loch Nyven, looking lit from some glow within and not simple candlelight. Iain’s suffering worsened the longer he delved into her eyes, his heart quickening, his loins thickening, and his frame trembling, and yet he was powerless to change it. It was impossible to keep hold of her and equally impossible to let go. Everything on her seemed to vibrate, as if calling to him, and no one seemed to notice as Ulrich started the ceremony.

The chieftain feile-breacan was woven of thin, barely tensile strands of wool to a drape that shouldn’t be a problem, and yet as Tira’s unblinking regard continued, the plaid grew hot, cloying, and thick . . . as restrictive as those Sassenach trousers. Words swarmed about his head, barely denting the incessant buzz sound in his head, and he watched Tira open her mouth to answer.

“I do. I take Iain, uh Evan? James. And did you say Duncan as well? Yes?”

Her words carried laughter, and Iain pulsed in place although nothing on him moved. He worked at control, holding every muscle to a painful degree to keep the hunger for her at bay. Her laugh threatened all of it. He’d warn her if he dared as she continued adding to his distress by more words exchanged with Ulrich.

“Alexander, too? The fourth? Very well. All of those names. Him. I do take this man with all those names as my husband. Forsaking all others until death. Yes. Definitely. I do.”

Iain forced his gaze to where Ulrich stood, smiling broadly at both of them. Then came his names in order, all of them; a listing of his titles, all of them; and then his clansman

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