Chapter 13

13

M aeve froze in one spot when his lips took hers. She gasped for air and instinctively raised a hand to his chest. She had no intention of kissing him back, but his lips were soft on hers, and she parted with ease, tossing every reasonable thought to the wind.

Kissing a Highlander is against the rules. There's severe punishment for breaking the rules. Maeve knew this better than anything else, but somehow, she was unable to stop.

When he slid his hands into her hair, a whimper fell out of her lips, and she arched her neck a bit to give him access. His kiss was sweeter than anything she had ever tasted. Maeve realized she could get drunk on the sensation snapping through her.

He groaned, muttered words in thick Gaelic, then skimmed his lips down the side of her neck to her chest. She sighed and held onto his arm. Every flicker of his tongue and whispering hot breath from his lips on her skin made her melt further.

The next time he took her lips, she kissed him back and leaned greedily into him. The hard planes of his body pressed into hers, and she couldn't stop herself from sliding a hand to her chest.

"Maeve," he growled a second later, dragging his lips from hers like she had burned him. He put distance between them and shook his head.

Maeve shook on the spot where she stood, unable to breathe right or move. Her knees felt weak, the pit of her stomach churned hard, and she wasn't sure if it was disgust or undiluted need.

It is definitely not disgust. She knew that well because she shivered with the need to feel his soft, insistent lips on hers again.

"Archer…"

"I cannae do this," he muttered and turned away from her. Maeve saw the hard-set muscles of his shoulders stiffen even harder. "Ye should get out of here now!"

Another shudder wracked through Maeve, and her arms slid around her body to envelope herself in the cocoon of a self-hug.

"Now!"

She staggered back when he thundered again but made no move to leave his study. Maeve's lungs snagged in a deep breath then she shook her head firmly.

"No." She found her voice with strength and added, "No, you married me and brought me to your castle. It is only right that you perform your marital duties with me and not stay away from me like I am a disease. This is not protecting me…This is you treating me like I do not exist!"

Something dangerous flared in his eyes when he turned around to look at her. Maeve suddenly felt a queasiness in the pit of her stomach, but she ignored it because she couldn't let Archer treat her like she did not exist in his castle.

After spending so much time living that way in England, she was hoping her fate here would be different.

"Are ye demandin' that I perform my marital duties with ye?"

His chin hardened, and his lips formed a wry smile at their corners.

Maeve shook her head quickly. "No," she blurted with a stammer. "I mean… I did not demand. I simply ask that you do so. Why else did you marry me? Am I not to be lady of your keep and mother of your children?"

That look returned to his eyes. It seemed almost as if a fire ignited in his green eyes. Their depths circled and drew her in. Maeve nearly forgot to breathe as pressure built in her chest.

She sucked in air, punching it into her stomach with force, so she could hold his gaze and not tremble.

"Do ye ken what ye ask of me?" Archer took one step towards her again, and Maeve squeezed her hands into fists at her sides. Thankfully, the skirts of her earasaid hid her tiny fists.

"I…It is true that as my husband, you are to share a bed with me and make children that will succeed your line, is it not?" She made sure to hold his gaze, so he did not think her weak for demanding this of him.

Maeve believed in perfection, and if her fate involved wedding the Laird, then she ought to perform her duties to the fullest.

"Aye," he nodded. "But do ye ken what we must do to make a bairn?"

This time she swallowed then arched a brow. "We must share a bed. You and I."

"And?" Archer stopped an inch away from her, and his full height towered over hers like he could engulf her any minute. "What do we do when we share a bed?" The bare whisper of his words awakened something in her. Maeve pursed her lips and tried to come up with an answer for him.

"I am not sure," she finally answered. "But…" Her tongue swept over her lower lip when her nerves tingled again.

"Dinnae do that," he whispered, groaning as he dipped his head towards hers. "Dinnae demand what ye dinnae ken about. Marital duties are…" He trailed off and hummed, so she felt the tiny vibrations of his breath against her face again.

Maeve's heart pounded like a racing wild stag in her heart. Her lids fluttered but did not close. Her skin flamed from the heat of his breath, and all the warmth rushing through her made the rest of her body heat with a pitching fever.

"I know what I speak of."

"Nae, ye dinnae," he answered with a light tilt of his head to one side. Her eyes dropped to his lips. They seemed full and a shade lighter than hers. Dizziness swamped her as she recalled them sliding over hers.

Who knew kissing could be so pleasant? Maeve did not think she would ever experience it, but she had read about the duties a wife performed to a husband in many books back in England, and she was ready.

I am prepared. I was taught…I know what must happen. Her mind said those words, but the delicious flutters racing through her made her believe otherwise.

Maybe I am out of depth here?

He kept staring at her like there was something on her face, and Maeve felt the urge to shrink out of his sight. She licked her lips again, and this time, he groaned, swooped his hands around her waist, and pulled her to him.

"Ye dinnae listen," he spoke harshly. "Ye want me to perform me marital duties to ye? All right then…" He seized her breath with the sensual brush of his lips on hers. Right then, Maeve's mind blanked out every other thought, and she raised herself on tiptoe to meet his kiss.

His hands circled around her waist and kept pulling her in. Archer caressed her with drifting hands sliding under her skirts and gently pulling them up till she felt the stroke of his fingers on her thighs.

She moaned and bunched her fingers up in his hair. Energy snapped in her making her act on impulse. Archer's rough groan when she stroked his hair and let her fingers get lost in his mane of midnight black hair was her undoing.

Maeve had never felt anything close to this electrifying rush of sensations. Her head swooned with it, and suddenly, her body felt lighter, like she floated in mid-air.

She only noticed Archer had lifted her into his arms when her behind pressed over something hard. Maeve realized he placed her on the edge of his sturdy table, parted her thighs, and pressed himself against her.

"Oh," she gasped and tore her lips from his.

"Ye want me to perform any duties to ye, Me Lady," he mumbled against her neck, still kissing her as he trailed a hand over the swell of her breasts down to her stomach.

Maeve was still fully clothed, but the onslaught of feelings rummaging through her at once made it feel otherwise. She clung to him, lids half open, so she could take in the look etched onto his face.

"Archer…"

"I want to, with everythin' in me…" he continued. "The thin's I could show ye, Me Lady…The passion…"

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard then nuzzled the side of her neck again.

"But I cannae," he finally concluded before inhaling a shaky breath and drawing away from her.

He drew away from her, and she instantly felt a chill from his absence. She stared at his back for a long time then jumped off the table.

After some time, Maeve cleared her throat. "All right," she spoke, smoothing down her dress as she found a steady breath, "I shall take my leave and understand that this is what our marriage must be."

Without another word, she exited his study but faltered in her steps halfway to her chamber because her chest kept squeezing tight.

This is for the best, Maeve thought before plastering her hands over her cheeks. Her marriage to the Laird was only an act. She was safe here rather than in England, and she did not need to fear the Laird's reputation because he had no intentions of ever coming to her.

Maeve knew she ought to feel elated. While Laird Devlin busied himself with whatever he preferred to spend his time doing, she could enjoy her return to her homeland and explore the Scottish lands like she used to years before she was forced to leave.

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Instead of heading for her chamber, Maeve made a turn and headed for the Keep's exit instead. Once outside in the cold night, she spread her arms out to her sides, lifted her head into the night's sky, and laughed out loud.

For the first time in years, she felt free. She did not need to worry about pleasing her master or her new husband, who did not care if she pleased him. She did not need to worry about her sisters, either.

All Maeve had to do was live. She burst into a loud laughter as she enjoyed the feel of the drizzling snow kissing her skin. Time passed as she stood out there and enjoyed the chill seeping into her.

But an image of Archer's greedy lips licking hers and teasing her flashed in her mind a second later, reminding her of the insane desire to be close to the Laird and have his lips on hers one more time.

She had never felt anything like it before. Now, I do for a highlander?

Being his wife was unavoidable because he had saved her and her sisters. But allowing him to evoke these feelings in her was also unacceptable.