The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,41

yer sore head.”

“Forgive me, m’love.” While holding in laughter made his head hurt worse, he would attempt it for her sake. He caught hold of her hand before she could jerk it away and kissed it. Sorcha was his beloved wife and deserved a hundred times better than ruthless teasing. He would not make the same mistake again. He brushed another gentle kiss across her knuckles. “I merely thought to make ye laugh, so ye wouldna be so afraid.”

“I am not afraid!”

Damnation, everything he said made things worse. He let her go and folded his hands across his stomach. “Again, forgive me, mo chridhe. I am most ashamed of my thoughtlessness.” With a heavy sigh, he stared up at the ceiling. He could be such a fool at times. “My infernal mouth is my own worst enemy a good deal of the time. I’m sure ye’ve noticed that about me.”

A heavy silence grew between them. Only the popping of the logs in the fire and the crying of the wind filled the night. With a frustrated growl, Sorcha pulled his arm away from his side, clambered over against him, and thumped her head down on the dip of his shoulder. “Dinna ever think me afraid of ye, d’ye hear me?”

“So ye forgive me then?” He dared to curl his arm around her, praying she’d relax and melt closer against him. Saints save him. She smelled of smoke, cow shite, and the tempting warmth of a lush, passionate woman in dire need of loving. What he wouldn’t give to roll her to her back and introduce her to the pleasures they could both enjoy. He pulled in another deep breath of her intoxicating scent, then realized she hadn’t answered. “Mo ghràdh? Ye forgive me, aye?” he asked again.

Much to his pleasure, she relaxed against him with a nod. “Aye, I forgive ye.” She shifted with a heavy sigh. “My gracious won’t this be a fine wedding night tale to tell our children—once they’re fully grown, of course.”

He hugged her tighter and kissed her forehead. “We have many more nights in our future that’ll more than make up for this one.” He kissed her again. “Besides—this isna such a bad night. Here we lie in each other’s arms in a toasty warm bed while the Highlands rage with winter’s last clutches.”

“Aye. It could most certainly be worse.”

A long heavy pause followed, but he could tell Sorcha hadn’t finished speaking her mind. “What is it, m’love?”

“I canna imagine who would do this to ye.”

“I have made many enemies in my lifetime.” He trailed a fingertip up and down her arm, wishing the tight-sleeved lèine she wore was somewhere else rather than on her body. A snorting laugh escaped him, stirring the aching in his head. “But I thought the only enemy I had here at Castle Greyloch was yerself.”

“Garthin and Lady Culane were with us in the great hall when it all started.” Sorcha ignored his jest, speaking as though deep in thought.

“I dinna remember seeing Garthin fighting the flames.” Sutherland sorted through the muddled memories of the night’s events. A few were still a mite foggy, but most were clear. He couldn’t remember encountering anyone.

“Thank heavens Magnus found ye.” She snuggled closer, even going so far as to rest a hand in the center of his chest and tickle her fingers through the tight curls of hair. “What made him think to look for ye, I wonder?”

Her innocent touch inflamed him, tortured him worse than any blow to the head. He grabbed hold of her fingers and stilled them. “Magnus and I always watch out for one another whenever we travel together. He’s not my blood, but he is most certainly my brother. We’ve survived much together, he and I.”

“I thank the Almighty for him,” she whispered.

“As do I.” Sutherland returned once again to the memories of battling the fire in a feeble attempt to survive sharing a bed with this woman and not relinquishing to his cock’s wishes.

Silence fell between them again, but it was different this time. More like they were of one mind rather than a pair of battering rams.

Sorcha wiggled again, draped a leg across his, then hurried to draw it back. “Forgive me. I dinna think this was wise. I think I’d be better off in the sitting room on the couch—or on the bed in the adjoining lesser room. I could hear ye from there should ye have need of me. Ye could call out, and