27 LOOKING FOR REDEMPTION

PUTTING DOWN HER wooden spoon, Bree regarded her husband. Seated opposite her—they’d taken their supper in their room rather than join the noisy crowd in the ale-hall itself—Cailean had barely touched his stew.

Instead, his gaze had turned inward as he silently ruminated.

Watching him stare down at the cup of ale he gripped, discomfort shifted in the pit of Bree’s belly.

He was retreating to a place where he felt safe, where self-loathing could bloom—a place she wouldn’t be able to reach him. She couldn’t let him go there.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bree asked finally.

Cailean glanced up, a groove appearing between his eyebrows. “No.”

“It might help.”

“Would it?”

Their gazes held, yet she didn’t flinch away from the hardness on his face. “It’s not your fault.”

He shook his head, a muscle bunching in his jaw. “Aye, it is. Eilig was right. I’m selfish.”

“You’re no different from most of us then.” She flashed him a thin smile. “It’s how we survive.”

His eyes guttered. “Aye, and my sister pays the price.”

“You weren’t to know she was in love with Eilig,” she shot back.

“Maybe not … but if I’d made this about Enya and not about me, I might have acted differently.” His face twisted. “Instead, I had to get my revenge. I didn’t care about anything else.”

Bree made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. “Self-pity doesn’t look good on you.”

He jolted at that. His eyes narrowed then.

She stared back at him, unflinching. Fortunately, his gimlet stare had never cowed her. She had to get through to him, even if that meant he turned the rage that was eating him up inside on her.

She could weather it.

“Aye, you’ve made mistakes … I have too,” she said after a long pause. “Back in Morae, I’d lost hope … but you gave it back to me. Now, I’ll return the favor by telling you that neither of us is a lost cause.” Her pulse quickened as his gaze glinted. “The truth is that Eilig mac Frang had it coming. Is it your fault that Enya has poor taste in men?”

“You talk as if my sister had a choice,” he countered roughly. His fingers now held the cup in a death grip. “She didn’t.”

“Neither did you.” She leaned forward then, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. “You both did the best with the fate the Gods dealt you.” They stared at each other across the table, the air drawing tight between them. “But you’re wrong. This has never been just about vengeance, Cailean … you might not realize it, but you were looking for redemption as well.”

He snorted, the firelight playing across his taut face. “Don’t make me sound noble,” he ground out. “I’m not … and after everything I’ve done over the years, I don’t deserve salvation.”

“I refuse to believe that,” she shot back. “There’s much about you that’s good. You’re loyal, steadfast … protective.”

Anger darkened his face, and he shoved himself up from the table. “I’m not listening to this horseshit.”

Undaunted, Bree rose swiftly to her feet and moved around to face him. Ancestors, he was tall. Even though she was an athletic Shee female, she still had to raise her chin a little to hold his eye.

“Aye, you will.” She shoved him in the chest, deliberately provoking him. “You looked out for Mirren and dealt out justice after she was raped, even though you angered the High King. You sent me back through the stones when you could have thrown me to the wolves. Shades … you even earned the love of a fae hound.” Tears stung her eyes then. She couldn’t help it. The emotion gathering in her chest was overwhelming. “And if you want to make things right with your sister, we’ll stay here at Cannich until you do. But don’t you dare give up!”

Moments passed, and she watched the anger drain from his eyes. “It won’t work.” His voice was thin now, raw. “She’ll never forgive me.”

“Aye, she will.” Bree broke off, her heart pounding. “But first, you need to forgive yourself. Let this self-loathing go. Let. Me. Help. You.”

Cailean stared down at her, his expression anguished. “You deserve better than me, Bree.”

“No.” She shook her head, vehement now. “We were meant for each other,” she whispered as a tear slid down her cheek. “Alone, we’d never have broken free of the past. Together, we’re stronger. Better.”

His lips parted, and something like wonder darkened his eyes. Lifting a hand, he brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek.

Bree couldn’t help it; she shivered.

“My stubborn, fiery wife,” he said huskily. “You won’t let this go, will you?”

She huffed a shaky laugh. “Never.”

His gaze turned limpid, his thumb skimming lightly over her mouth and down her jaw to her neck. It then settled in the hollow between her collarbones, where her pulse fluttered.

A wave of dizziness swept over her.

Reaching up, she steadied herself by placing her hands against his chest. And under her right palm, she felt the thunder of his pulse. “Cailean,” she breathed, as longing twisted deep in her chest.

“It’s terrifying,” he whispered back. “The power you have over me”

“And you … over me. You could crush my heart, you know?”

“But I won’t.” He slid his other hand up and cupped the back of her head. “Instead, I will guard it.” He bent his head, his lips brushing her cheek. It was difficult to concentrate then, for the tip of his tongue circled the shell of her ear.

A deep sigh shuddered out of Bree, and her fingers splayed wide against the wall of his chest. Her body was melting now, their surroundings fading. The crackle of the fire in the nearby hearth, the wail of The Whistle against the walls—all of it disappeared as Cailean walked her backward.

And there, pressed up against the stacked-stone wall, he cupped her face with his hands and kissed her deeply, tenderly.

Bree kissed him back with the same gentleness. In the past, their embraces had been fevered, wild. But the emotion of this moment couldn’t be denied. After their fraught exchange, they both needed this.

Her hands slid up to his face too, her palms cupping his cheeks, where stubble rasped across her skin. Their lips parted, their tongues entwining. The masculine scent of him invaded her senses, and the heat of his mouth drew her in.

She linked her arms around his neck now, craving more.

Cailean answered by pressing the full length of his body against hers.

Groaning against his mouth, she parted her legs, wrapping them around his hips. The kiss was still tender, still exquisitely slow, yet desire clenched in her gut.

Ancestors, how she wanted him. She would never stop wanting him. Not until the long years of her life faded to mist and shadow.

She felt his arousal then—a thick, hard column against her belly—and ground herself against it. She did so slowly though, matching the unhurried exploration of their mouths. Bree didn’t want to rush this.

Eventually, as Cailean continued to kiss her, his hands moved down, unlacing her leather vest. He then slid it off her before drawing up the woolen tunic he’d bought her in Morae.

Murmuring an endearment, her husband bent his head. An instant later, his hot mouth drew one of her nipples in, sucking and pulling at it with languorous, sensual intent that made her whimper.

She watched then as he sucked her other breast while stroking the naked skin of her torso. Bree started to tremble. His hands, big and calloused, were so gentle tonight, so warm. And every caress of his palms against her skin felt as if he was claiming her.

Sighing, she reached for the laces of his breeches. A moment later, she drew the scalding hot length of his erection free, sliding her fingertips over the satiny skin. The crown was leaking, and she gently rubbed her palm over its slickness.

Cailean’s low groan rumbled in his throat.

Meanwhile, Bree heeled off her boots and let him undo the close-fitting leather leggings she wore. He slid them down over the swell of her hips. She then kicked them off. She now leaned against the cold wall, naked, while Cailean was still clothed.

His gaze raked over her bare skin, burning into her. He then stepped back and divested himself of his vest, breeches, and boots. Gloriously nude, the firelight playing across the bulges of his biceps and the sculpted muscles of his chest, he stepped into Bree once more, gathering her against him.

Their mouths found each other again, still tender, yet with more urgency now.

“Bree,” he groaned as he slid his hands over the dips and curves of her body. “Mine.”

“Aye,” she whispered against his lips. “Yours.”

He nudged her thighs apart with his knee then, a hand slipping between them. His thumb circled and stroked her slickness—the pad grazing her most sensitive spot—and suddenly, Bree was trembling. Her legs could barely support her now. Heat washed over her, sweat beading upon her skin. His touch was devastating. The pressure in her chest tightened further, for the emotion building there was too powerful to be contained.

Cailean’s eyes gleamed in the firelight, unnaturally bright. His hands traveled down the long curve of her spine then, cupping her arse possessively. He lifted her up, and she spread her legs wide to receive him. An instant later, he slid into Bree with aching slowness, filling her inch by delicious inch, until he was buried fully inside her.

Letting out a low, breathy moan, she wrapped her legs around his hips and rolled her own against him, bringing him even deeper.

He gasped—the sound thrilling her, a shudder passing through his strong body—and she repeated the move.

“Wife,” he ground out, gripping her hips as he slowly drew back, letting her feel his thick hard length. “Do that again and this will be over far too soon.”

Bree huffed a breathless laugh. However, she heeded him.

She wanted to savor this coupling, to draw the pleasure out. And Cailean clearly felt the same. Gripping her hips tightly, he withdrew, almost to the tip, before inching back into her. And then, he repeated it, again and again.

All the while, they stared into each other’s eyes. The intensity of the moment—and what it meant to them both—made an ache rise under her breastbone.

Both their bodies were slick with sweat as Bree clung to Cailean, shudders rippling through her, aching pleasure coiling in her womb. She could feel his tension building too, the vibration of it in his arms, for she gripped his biceps, bracing herself against him as he took her. She was gloriously wet now, heat flooding her loins with every long, sensual slide.

He kept his self-control leashed, plowing her slowly, until she came apart, her hips kicking against his. She writhed on him.

Shades, it was too much. Too good.

She screamed then, intense pleasure rippling and pulsing through her. It turned her inside out, and she clutched at him.

Cursing, Cailean finally let himself go. He plunged into her now in deep, hard, claiming thrusts.

She bucked against him, savage joy blooming in her breast when he bellowed her name, the heat of his release pulsing into her.