Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Agnes's eyes sparkled, and those full lips curled into a coy smile. A shudder ran through Leo from head to toe. He wanted to make Agnes go down to her knees, to see those lips wrapped around his length and see her smile when she realized he was under her spell.

Perhaps she had some inkling of that, for his flushed and pleasured wife replied in a pert tone, as though he hadn't made her cry out his name over and over again, "At least for tonight, I shan't, husband."

Leo bit back a laugh and tried to give her a stern look, but Agnes tugged on his arm, beckoning him closer. Against his better judgment, he leaned down, and she went up on tiptoe. Suddenly, those soft lips were pressed against his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered and then drew back, suddenly turning bright red.

Her shyness was like a mercurial summer breeze, playful and strong one moment and then fleeing to the sea the next.

"You're welcome, Nes," he said in a soft tone, and her head flew up. For a moment, it was hard to say who was more surprised by that nickname. "Here, let me help ye with yer dress."

"No, no, I'm fine," Agnes said and drew back, her hands covering her breasts as though Leo hadn't already looked and touched his fill. "Thank you, but please look away."

He went to argue, then stepped back, fighting the urge to strip her bare. Leo swallowed hard. He'd gone too far, and the poor lass was overwhelmed, whether she'd thanked him or not. Sentiments and reassurances bubbled up, but he pushed them down and turned on his heel.

"I'll take a walk, get some fresh air," he said as he went to the door. "Take yer time, but consider what I said. I'll nae have ye provokin' me at every turn, Agnes." He couldn't help but toss a stern look over his shoulder. "Break me rules again and there will be consequences."

Agnes, even though he knew she should know better—or perhaps he should've by now—simply sighed and muttered, "Not this again."

Leo whirled before he could stop himself, his hands clenching and unclenching. Did the lass not realize how close he was to snapping and rutting into her like a beast? Bending her over that bed and grabbing that full rump? Taking his pleasure instead of giving it to her?"

"Enough, Agnes. Ye heard me."

Hands on her hips, Agnes scoffed. "Yes, but breaking your rules meant I got to spend time with you and get to experience that. " His mouth opened and closed, hands loose at his sides, while Agnes gave him a triumphant, sassy look. "Will you please leave so I can take a bath?"

For a moment, Leo thought he'd do nothing of the sort.

"Fine," he barked. "But we're nae done discussing this. My conditions stand."

"For now," Agnes said as he stepped out the door.

His hand tightened on the handle, and it took everything in him not to slam it behind him, for he was sure he had, or they had, already caused quite a ruckus. Instead, he quietly closed and locked it, testing it once to see that it would hold up.

He did not want to leave Agnes, but at the same time, he knew the greatest danger in this inn to her was the beast roaring where her husband's heart once was.

Instead, he silently stormed down a back staircase and out into the quiet, clear night with endless shadowed fields and starlight. The peace of the evening should have seeped into him, calming the fervor in his veins. Instead, the throbbing only got worse. Glancing around, he adjusted himself and jolted at his own touch—as though he were a lad again.

Finding a spot where he could keep an eye on the inn and the fields, Leo drew in great, deep breaths and tried to ignore his thundering pulse. But he could not remember the last time such a tempest had been inside of him, a fierce clash of something sweet as hope and twice as dangerous.

Lust and longing made him wonder how he might get through the night, never mind the week, nor the years ahead with Agnes as his wife.

Flashes of what had just transpired dogged him, the soft press of Agnes's curves against him, never mind how slick and soft she'd felt, and the enticing heat of her sweet center. Her sounds, from those soft pants to her moans to her cries and pleas. He could still hear his name echoing in his skull as she'd climaxed.

His fists clenched, and he tried to steady himself, but had she ever—no, that had to have been her first time. Leo knew he should be repenting, but instead, he was filled with a heady, vicious satisfaction that she'd experienced and learned at his hand—no one else's. Not even her own.

Although, the thought of Agnes touching herself, thinking of him, biting her lips—or fully unclothed, in his bed…

Leo turned and pressed his forehead to the tree, taking in deep breaths. God, but her breasts had been luscious. He felt a pang of regret that he had not heard the sound Agnes would make if he'd taken those rosy peaks into his mouth. Then he broke out into a cold sweat imagining himself tasting her—for she could not have learned that from the Craeghil crones.

And then, to think of taking her, of filling her?—

Stop.

Leo swore he heard the tree crack as he gripped it. He was about to lose his mind, and that was the last thing he should do. Leo had no idea how long he stood there, but when he had finally composed himself, the stars had shifted. He trudged back, with the uneasy sense that he should be wearier and not filled with anticipation.

The inn was silent when he returned. He stole up the stairs, silent as a thief, and when he pulled out the key, it glinted at him like a sly promise. Heat prickled up his spine.

If Nes is awake ? —

He shook his head. No, none of that. If Agnes , his wife by the Queen's Edict, a necessary evil to keep the peace between England and Scotland, to bear him heirs, was awake, it did not matter.

Still, he held his breath as he stepped in and closed the door. Something smote his heart when he saw her curled under the blanket and deeply asleep. Exhaustion had caught up with her, and it staggered Leo to suddenly realize they'd only been married that morning.

When he finally got into bed, after debating whether to stay in his breeches or braies, he thought he'd fall asleep immediately. Instead, he could not get comfortable, the bed too small, Nes—Agnes too close, and his manhood too stiff to ignore.

Lying there, listening to Agnes's soft breaths, and watching the dying firelight dancing on the ceiling, Leo should've been lulled into a deep sleep. Instead, he lay awake into the wee hours, sensing the turn of stars outside. For he could not shake the thought that niggled at him much as the sight of Agnes at that loch had stopped him in his tracks.

This wasnae supposed to happen.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.

I must keep me distance from her.

He remembered her parents' entreaties, the tears in her mother's eyes, and the guilt and worry on her father's face. Leo turned over and pressed a hand to his face. They were selfish, foolish people, and even they had seen the truth about him.

I must protect me wife from the Beast of Briorn.

The next morning, he woke Agnes early, then set to make preparations that would help hasten their long journey north. She'd been tired and quiet at first, but upon returning to the room after she'd had breakfast, she was beaming and wearing yet another new dress.

"Good morning, Leo," she said with a smile that nearly knocked the wind out of him. "I saved you a bit of breakfast."

He grunted and strode over, grabbing a few bites of meat and bread and shoving them into his mouth. Avoiding her eyes, he walked around the room, checking for anything that might have been left, and then turned to her.

"We leave now."

"Oh," Agnes said, and her eyebrows knitted together. "But—" She faltered as Leo picked up her bags and nodded his head. "All right."

Quietly, she followed him downstairs, through the near-empty inn, only stopping to thank the innkeeper, who grinned and winked at Leo. Then the man, who'd been indifferent to Leo's mask and fierceness last night, seemed to think better of making any comments. Instead, he bowed to them.

Agnes shot Leo a look that was half-worried, half-reproachful, and Leo hated that he could read the clear message in her eyes.

That man was kind to you and treated you with respect, and you cannot offer him any thanks in return?

He did not acknowledge her until they got to the carriage, where James and Niall were yawning in the seat. Agnes, her head bowed, climbed into the carriage without a word, and the sound of the door closing brought Leo a mixed feeling, where his shoulders relaxed but his gut clenched tight.

Still, he knew it was for the best, and they did not exchange any unnecessary words for the rest of the day. And at the next inn, they did not sup together, nor did they share a room.

Leo vowed they never would again.

Silence and distance became their routine.

Whether it was the increasing arduousness of the journey or Agnes finally realizing she needed to obey her husband, Leo knew he should be grateful. Sometimes they would barely exchange more than a handful of words a day.

Still, at times, he felt a restlessness, a frustration that made him want to go into the forest and fell trees with his bare hands—or challenge a foolish Englishman to a duel. He almost had at one crossroads inn, but Agnes had laid a quelling hand on his arm, and perhaps saved him from a night in jail.

One long night, Leo had to sleep outside the carriage after making a bed for Agnes, jolting at every snap of brush and rustle of wind. On the one hand, it meant they were closer to Briorn Castle and MacLarsen lands, but on the other hand, he sometimes smelled phantom smoke in the wind.

Either way, even Niall and James had ceased jibing and singing, and Leo felt like an unforgivable arse more than a beast. How strange to think he'd once been thrice as joyful and lively as those lads.

Now, he was as grim as the mountains that surrounded his family's ancestral lands, which finally came into view one evening as spring waned and summer approached.

Still, the journey had never taken so long, and it seemed years had passed when they finally made their way down the long road that led to home as dawn broke on the first day of summer.

Leo's heart throbbed as the sun shone over the mountains, illuminating the loch with pink and golden hues, almost as lovely as the vision of Agnes walking down the aisle toward him. Everything was green and lush, with the new stone castle proudly rising on the shore, green fields all around, and the mountains beyond. A few horses raced across the long fields, as though sensing their Laird's return, and he almost smiled.

Only another few leagues .

A good ride still, but breakfast would be ready and hot by the time they arrived.

At least Agnes would be happy and free here, that was something. ‘Twas not the same place he'd grown up in—that was on the other side of the loch, in a small valley that had never regrown, with charred trees and the foundations of the old castle. He never went there, finding it filled with too many ghosts, but Kristie and Granny Ro often made pilgrimages there for herbs, under the watchful eye of Fergus.

This site had taken almost five years to develop and make into what it was today. A strong keep near Loch Briorn, with boats for his folk to escape to the water, fields ringed by stout walls or heavy fences, with a stone watch tower in the corner. Fields that ran down to woods they knew well, and the village of Orsal girded by three sets of stone walls and guarded heavily.

Kristie, Granny Ro, and now Fergus wanted to push more into the hills, but they could not be as easily fortified, with the treacherous mountain passages beyond. It was hard to say exactly how those men had come upon the old MacLarsen Castle all those years ago, but one weak spot had been all that land, and the way it ran to many mountain paths.

Too many to keep track of , Da had always joked.

Leo knew they weren't wrong—their horse breeding operations had been going well, and they needed more land, but he kept hedging, trying to find a different area to cultivate. Sometimes he wished he could burn the woods, but his ma's love for them stayed his hand.

Well, that and his fear of Granny Ro's wrath.

Leo could see the second night shift of MacLarsen men, along with some of the field hands, and he let his eyes roam to the river that looped along the west meadows, to the young woods, and the old forest beyond.

Then he stiffened, steering Fafnir around, and his heart began to pound. He stared down the long avenue of trees they'd just passed, certain he'd seen a shadow of a rider in the woods. One not wearing MacLarsen colors but clad in dark green and gray.

"Wait a mo', lads," Leo said in a low voice. James clucked, and the horses came to a halt. "I'll be right back."

With that, he took off, riding hard and looking around. Deep down, Leo knew that he could trust his men to keep watch, to not just look for intruders but signs of them, yet he pushed his tired horse to run faster.

When he came to the end of the avenue, he slowly scanned the woods and then the ground. It was hard and uneven here, yet he knew his men sometimes passed through. Could it have been a villager or a trader from Mosage taking a shortcut? Nothing seemed amiss.

Leo glanced down at Fafnir's black mane, watching the horse's ears twitch back and forth. His flanks heaved though, in a way they so rarely did, and Leo patted his neck, a twinge of guilt settling low in his gut. With a gentle cluck, he urged Fafnir forward, vowing to get Hamish to rub him down.

He decided not to go back to the road, to instead loop through this part of the woods and then return. It would ease his mind. The wind quieted then, and Leo leaned forward, listening, as Fafnir carefully picked his way along. Even the horse seemed more alert.

They both tensed up as the wind blew wildly before it abruptly stilled.

Fafnir's ears perked up, and he seemed to start as a shout came from the road. Leo twisted to see, but the woods were too dense here, filled with young pines. Fafnir surged forward, clattering down the wretched path. Leo heard it then, too.

A rider on the road.

I did hear someone.

Fafnir seemed to boil under him, charging through the trees. The man and the horse twined into instinct, riding hard through the woods they knew, with Leo aiming for where he could cut back to the road. From what he could hear, the rider was making for the castle.

Up ahead, the woods came to a slope and then cut out into the road before the first wall. Leo could hear the single rider approaching fast, flying along at a wild speed, and part of him did not understand why they were alone. But the other part of him did not care and reached for his sword.

He caught a glimpse of color through the trees, and Fafnir suddenly became coltish, tossing his mane as he broke free of the woods and charged up the hill. Leo spared a glance down, frowning at his horse, and then looked up in time to see a gorgeous, dappled horse galloping hard up the road.

A dappled horse that looked exactly like the feistiest of the four that had been pulling his bride's carriage.

Time seemed to slow as Leo watched the horse nearly skimming the earth, and the rider crouched low on his back, their dark hair fluttering in the wind. A woman, laughing and joyous, who rode the horse in a way that could never be taught but was innate—Leo could tell that much immediately.

His wife rode horses as though she were born to them.