Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

They sat in a companionable silence for over an hour. Lucien glanced up and found his gaze straying to the woman by the fire. She sewed something that resembled his breeches. She worked tirelessly and when she was done, she rose silently and let the two animals outside for a bit.

The wind howled and she grabbed the oversized jacket. She slipped her feet into the boots he had worn and went out with them. She looked like the bear that attacked him. Lucien put down the pencil then started some water on to heat for tea. He smiled as he gazed over at his sketches and plans.

It was good. He had something he wanted to do. She was right. It would be his, not his father’s. He made her some tea and went to the door. When it opened, a snowy wolf ran in, trailed by a small snow-dusted kitten. A snow-covered woman who was shivering followed both of them.

He held out the tea to her as he took her coat. “Here. Drink this.”

“Th-th-thank you. It is cold out there.”

“Looks that way. Come sit here, I want to show you what I have so far.” He herded her toward the table.

“Bring it to the fire. I’m cold.”

Lucien picked up the papers as he followed her to the thick animal pelt that was on the floor before the fire. Ciara flopped down on her belly on the fur. Lucien swallowed as her firm butt was exposed to his rakish gaze. He laid himself next to her, allowing his leg to press against her firm one. He spread out the papers he had been working on.

Ciara held on to her tea as she looked over his ideas for stables. She pointed out some that she liked and others she didn’t. As she perused the drawings, she spoke. “Thank you for the tea. It hit the spot.”

Lucien grinned as if he had been named a hero for saving her life. He found that he craved her praise, her words of encouragement. The earlier incident was over. She had not held a grudge against what he had said and things were once again friendly between them. If that had happened in London, he would have had to spend money to soothe an irate mistress’s feathers.

“I like this, this and that one.” She moved them closer to him. “All seem good ideas to me and good if one is starting out small. I like the designs of the barns and the training areas. The others are good, but I don’t see you in them. They seem to be colder. I envision your father when I look at these based on how you spoke of him.”

She pushed herself up and stood. “I have some other things that need my attention. Can I get you anything while I am up? Coffee? Tea?”

When he rose after her and headed to the table, he muttered, “Coffee.” He was already absorbed back into his plans. She grinned as she made him a cup and set it in the middle of the table so he wouldn’t knock it over.

Ciara went to her room and checked on her drying herbs. She put them into containers and pouches before she picked up more things that needed to be sewed. She had almost finished a quilt for Marie. It was a slow process but she was almost done. All she needed to do was tie it. That could be finished tonight. She carried the heavy quilt out to the room and settled herself back down in the chair.

Three hours later, Ciara found herself exhausted. The quilt had been tied off, after months of work. She was still not caught up on the sleep she had lost from when she had nursed him back to health. She turned her head to glance at the object of her thoughts. He remained bent over the table making slash marks with the pencil as he worked on his ideas.

He was on the mend. His hair shone with health instead of hanging listless and dull. His skin was back to the golden color she knew it would be. He was not tired and his fracture seemed to have healed just fine. He was a strong man. He was not lean and wiry. He was big and muscular. His shoulders were broad, arms were well-defined as was his chest and stomach. His waist was narrow. He was a very good-looking man.

He had full lips, which as she knew were very nice to kiss. His eyes were piercing and she often found herself drowning in them when he looked at her. Thick lashes, that seemed a sin to be on a man, framed those eyes. His nose was slightly bent, as if it had been broken in a fight. His hands were large with long fingers that she knew could be gentle or, if provoked, cause serious damage.

“Like what you see?” The amused voice broke into her perusal of his body.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, full of male arrogance. He was beautiful and he knew it—and knew that she knew it. “Yes.” She spoke plain and honest while she hoped she was not blushing.

The animals made a quick trip and she was back in no time. “Goodnight, Wolf.”

“Goodnight, princess.”

* * * *

The storm woke Lucien in the middle of the night. He got up to put more wood on the fire when he heard it. Whimpers. Thinking maybe Kosse needed to go out, he lit the lantern. Kosse was nowhere to be seen.

The whimper came again. He carried the lantern and headed for the room where Ciara slept. As he stopped in the doorway, light reflected off the eyes of Faolan who watched his every move.

Lucien held up the lantern as he peered into the room. Ciara cried in her sleep while she tossed and turned. He stepped in but kept one eye on Faolan who stared at him with an intensity that was unnerving. Still the wolf did not stop his entrance into the room.

He set the lantern on the dresser in the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Ciara. Ciara, wake up.” She moaned some more and began to whimper. Lucien snuck one last look at the wolf and he saw that he had put his head down on his paws, but those eyes were still watchful, ever vigilant.

He reached out to touch her shoulder. Only his lightning-quick reflexes saved him. One second she was dead to the world, lost in the throes of a nightmare, and the next she had knocked him off the bed and was lying on top of him with a knife that moved smoothly into his neck.

“Ciara.” He gasped as the tip slide farther into the flesh under his chin.

Recognition poured in. She retreated and dropped the knife. “Oh my god! What have I done? I am so sorry. Sorry. So sorry. Are you all right?”

“Do you think you could get off me? Normally I would love to have you on top of me but right now I think we need to talk.” He struggled to keep his voice even, but he shook with untold emotions. A near-death experience was never a good thing. She moved like the wind.

She slid off his body and stood. When she offered her hand down to him, he ignored it and rose on his own. He knew she felt the slight but she did not say anything. When he regained his feet she said, “By the fire.”

He went first, Kosse next, followed by an ever-watchful Faolan. He had taken a seat by the fire when she came out of her room. She wore a gown of bright colors like the hangings in the cabin. It was form-fitting and worn thin from so many washings. He groaned as he shifted in the chair to hide his arousal as he traded one pain for another.

She walked toward him, heedless of how she affected him. He noticed her hair was down. It cascaded down her back and framed her face like a lover’s hands.

“What was that all about?” His tone was firm—it was the tone he used to give orders and have them followed to the letter.

“Sorry. Can I see to the wound?”

“Later. Tell me now. What happened that you would react so strongly like that?”

He was angry, and he knew she picked up on it. “I have always had a knife when I sleep, since we moved here. I am not used to having someone sleep in this cabin so when you touched me… Well, you were there, you know what I did.”

“That is not an answer.”

“Why did you come into my room?”

“You were crying in your sleep. I thought to wake you from your nightmare.”

“Thank you for that at least.” She rose and got a cloth to put on his neck. He sat completely still as she moved to be sandwiched between his thighs to administer to his wound. “I am sorry. It won’t happen again.”

He gripped her hand and applied pressure until she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. “It was a nightmare. It may happen again. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Tell me what it was about.”

Her eyes, which had been so full of remorse for what she had done, hardened. “No.” It wasn’t a ‘please ask again and I will tell you’ type no—it was a flat refusal. “I would ask for your forgiveness for my actions, but I will not speak of it. Not to anyone.”

Lucien slid a glance to the wolf on the floor that watched him. His free hand tipped her face to his as he spoke in hushed tones. “I will forgive you. I do forgive you. I would ask for but a kiss in return.”

“You don’t forgive someone and then ask them to give you something.” Ciara pulled away from him.

He stood as well. His eyes were hooded as he stared at her. “I don’t ask because I gave you my forgiveness. I ask because I want to taste you.” His voice lowered. “I wish a kiss, Ciara. Nothing more. Just a kiss.”

Lucien did not take his eyes off her. His body thrummed with need. He had to touch her. Taste the sweetness he knew she contained in her dusky rose lips. He wanted her to touch him of her own accord. He took a step toward her and heard a low growl.

It was Faolan. Lucien stopped. He didn’t look at the wolf but kept his eyes solely on Ciara. “The kiss? I am asking. Will you kiss me? Your wolf will not let me closer to you. The choice is entirely yours, Ciara.”

Ciara stepped toward him. When she was in front of him, he stood tall so as not to touch her. His hands clenched into fists to keep them from delving into her thick tresses that tantalized his senses with every movement she made. She looked up at him. He was too tall. “You are too tall.”

“Kiss me.” His soft command pulsed through the air. She reached up and put her hand behind his head and tugged. He bent, but as soon as she paused he stopped moving.

She pulled his head down so she could reach his mouth. When his lips were a breath away from hers she pressed them together. Briefly. It lasted only seconds. It was nothing more than a chaste kiss, but she did it on her own. It was a small victory in his eyes.

Ciara released his head and stepped back. He straightened, never once breaking eye contact with her. He blinked and gave a small, secretive smile before he spoke. “Goodnight, princess.”

Lucien sat back on his bed after she had disappeared into her room. His body was wound so tight that even if he went out into the cold he didn’t think it would cool his ardor for the embodiment of perfection that slept in the next room.

* * * *

When Lucien woke the next morning it was still dark. The fire blazed and there was the smell of food in the air. He looked for Kosse or Faolan. When he didn’t see either, he rose and dressed. He went to her room and saw Kosse asleep on the floor but there was no sign of Faolan or Ciara.

Lucien muttered as he looked to the door. Her cloak was gone. The wind strained against the cabin and he shuddered to think of her out there. He pulled on the boots and coat to go to take care of his morning ablutions as Kosse followed in his wake. The chill took his breath away as he held on to the rope. He cursed the weather. This was why she had said she wouldn’t be going anywhere till spring. The weather turned with the drop of a hat.

On the way back, he noticed Faolan was on the porch. The wolf entered in front of him and headed for the fire, Kosse trotting underneath his belly, protected from the precipitation that came down. As he closed the door behind him, he heard a voice say, “Don’t close the door.”

He watched as Ciara stumbled into the cabin, covered in the snow and rain mix that was falling. He had to push against the door to shut it, the wind was so strong. Ciara had gone to stand by the fire as she stripped from her cloak.

He removed his things and joined her by the fire. “Morning.”

“Good morning, Wolf.” Ciara looked into his gaze and gave him a small nod. “I will have breakfast ready soon. Just give me a few seconds to warm up.”

“Whenever. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Was this him? A marquess who offered to help with the making of food? No one back home would believe it.

“You could set the table. That, and get some water on for coffee. I am freezing.”

Lucien did as she’d asked. He liked this feeling of comfort, closeness. When he had been in England, his family harbored the opinion that servants were nothing. That all they cared about was money. They were beneath his notice. As he set the table he realized this was what it must feel like to be part of a real family.

Breakfast, a simple affair, still filled him up full. After, as Ciara cleaned up, Lucien went back to work on his plans.