The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(62)

It took all of his resolve to pull himself from such comfort every night. But damnation, warriors didn’t sleep in beds.

Hell, who was he fooling? It wasn’t the pillows and bed linens that made him reluctant to leave, it was his too-enticing wife. But his hunger for her was to be expected, he reasoned. The newness of their marriage and his insatiable lust for her would wear off soon.

He heard a loud burst of laughter and clapping coming from the Great Hall. Wondering what the commotion was about, he rounded the corner into the entry and stopped flat in his tracks. He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t seeing his wife perched on top of a table with what appeared to be a candlestick in her hand, brandishing it like a sword.

He sucked in his breath. God, she was beautiful. Her hair fell loose down her back, pulled back from her face with a simple ribbon, her big, dark eyes sparkled like the moon on the sea, and her velvety-soft cheeks were flushed pink with excitement. She looked happy, carefree, and young. Very young. Tor couldn’t remember ever being that young. Or being that happy or carefree, for that matter.

She was a breath of fresh spring air in the dank of winter.

But what in Hades was she doing? He watched her scoot around the table. Some kind of performance, by the looks of it. Gathered around her were what appeared to be most of the household servants and three small children, who were watching her with rapt expressions on their faces.

No one had noticed him come in—all the attention was focused on the tiny lass giving the impassioned performance. For a moment a memory teased at the edges of his consciousness of his mother’s animated face as she tucked them into bed with a story. He felt a sharp longing for times gone by and had the fleeting thought of how different his life might have been had his parents lived. He shook it off, ashamed by the weakness.

Christina waved the candlestick at the boy standing below her. “This time you will not escape your punishment, Maleagant,” she said in an exaggerated deep voice. “You have besmirched my lady’s honor and I, Lancelot, the Greatest Knight in the Kingdom, will defend her. You must pay with your life.” She made a stabbing motion with the silver. “Die, you evil scourge.”

The little boy cried out and died most dramatically, much to the amusement of his sisters and the crowd, who burst out into another round of clapping when his legs gave their last prolonged twitch.

“That was brilliant, Ewan,” Christina said, putting down the candlestick to join the applause. “You would make a wonderful knight.”

“But I don’t want to be a knight, my lady.”

She looked perplexed. “I thought all little boys wanted to be knights.”

He puffed up his small chest. “I want to be a fierce Highland warrior like the ri tuath.”

Smart lad, Tor thought with a grin.

“Oh, my lady,” the elder of the two little girls said, “what happens next? How does the queen reward Lancelot for his devotion?”

A hot blush fired up Christina’s cheeks. Suddenly, her gaze found his. A startled gasp emitted from between her softly parted lips, and her cheeks seemed to blaze even hotter.

“My lord! You’re here!”

Realizing they’d been caught idling, the servants hastened to appear busy and promptly scattered. The elder boy and girl grabbed their protesting younger sister and pulled her along behind them.

The little girl tried to break free. “But I want to hear—”

“Shush, Anna,” the boy said, making haste out the door. Over his shoulder he remembered, “Thank you, my lady.”

“I see you’ve been abandoned by your audience,” Tor said, crossing the space between them in a few strides to stand before her.

A wry smile curved her mouth. “It seems I have. Rather ungallant of them, wouldn’t you say?”

He found himself returning her smile. “I would apologize for the interruption, but I think in this case it was well timed. Am I right to think that the queen thanked the knight in a way you’d rather not share with the children?”

She blushed again and nodded, lifting her gaze to his. “I think Deidre guessed that I was doing a little editing of the more ‘romantic’ parts of the story.”

She started to climb down off the table, but he stopped her and circled her waist with his hands. Her dark eyes locked on his. His skin sizzled with awareness. The memories of last night’s lovemaking were still fresh in his mind—and in his body. “Allow me,” he said huskily. He lifted her off as if she weighed next to nothing—which she did—and brought her against him, lowering her slowly to the ground and savoring the moment of connection as her body slid against his.

Heat washed over him. She was so soft and smelled so sweet. Just her nearness made him harden against her. “So how did the queen show her gratitude?” he asked softly, unable to resist.

Her cheeks might end up permanently stained dark pink if he didn’t stop teasing her. But damn, it was adorable.

“I—I,” she stammered.

He tried not to laugh. She might no longer be a maid, but she was still enchantingly innocent. So different from anyone he’d known before. He held her a moment longer than was necessary, more than tempted to carry her back into their chamber. He released her. “I must go,” he said firmly, more to remind himself than anything else. “I have duties I must attend to.”