“Oh heavens,” she whispered, spotting a stray undergarment on the carriage floor. She snatched it up quickly, cheeks blazing as she tried to tuck everything back where it belonged.
Ian’s laughter filled the carriage, deep and amused. “There’s no hidin’ that flush on yer cheek, lass.”
“Daenae look at me,” she protested, though she could not meet his eyes.
“As if I could look elsewhere,” he teased.
She shot him a mortified glance. “Ye’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he said, leaning closer as the carriage slowed, “ye were askin’ how to please me not a moment ago.”
Her breath hitched. “Ian.”
He softened then, brushing his knuckles lightly over her heated cheek. “Another night,” he murmured. “When I can give ye me full attention.”
The carriage rolled to a stop, and though her heart still raced, a different kind of anticipation now fluttered inside her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ian sat in the dim light of his study, with maps and ledgers sprawled on the desk. His mind churned with a storm of guilt and desire, recalling the way Arianna had melted against him in the carriage, the flush on her cheeks, the way her hands had clutched at him as she released. He did not regret the taste, the closeness, the way her warmth had made his blood roar, but he knew he had acted like a beast. A cold weight settled on his chest as he realized he should have tempered himself more, kept his hands from wandering as freely as they had. She deserved better than having that moment in a carriage.
With a growl, Ian shoved back from the desk and stalked to the kitchens, startling the maids as he passed. Their eyes widened at the sight of his furrowed brow and clenched jaw; whispers of “the Laird’s in a black mood” rippled through the room. He grabbed a bottle of whisky without a word, downing a swig to steel himself. The burn of the alcohol did little to calm the fire still thrumming in his veins.
He marched out of the kitchens and onto the castle grounds.
Outside, the men were already training, wooden swords clanging against shields and each other in the brisk morning air.
Ian stepped forward, tossing his empty bottle aside. This is exactly what he needed to quell his hot blood.
He called out, “Come, ye lot! Let’s see if ye can keep up with the Laird today!”
One man grinned, brandishing a practice axe. “I’ll take that challenge.”
Ian smirked, circling him with calculated steps. “Ye speak too much, boy! Let yer sword do the talkin'.”
The man lunged, swinging wildly; Ian sidestepped smoothly, catching the man’s wrist and twisting, forcing him to drop the axe with a clatter.
“Learn yer angles, man! Or ye’ll be kissing the dirt before ye ken it!” he barked, pushing him back.
A voice inside his head reminded him sharply of his nature, of the greed and lust that had surged in his blood.
This is how ye were born, a beast, taking all ye desire without care.
Ian clenched his fists, knowing he had to temper that beast, to keep Arianna safe from it. He would not let her feel the fear he had sometimes felt in himself.
Flynn, ever perceptive, entered the yard with a grin. “Ah, Ian, I ken that look. Blood stirs in ye, aye?” He rolled his shoulders, drawing his sword. “I think it’s time we see if ye’re truly sharpened today.”
Ian accepted the challenge, and the two men clashed. Steel scraped and clanged as they danced around the yard, taunting each other.
“Ye fight like a drunken ox today!” Flynn spat, feinting to the left.
“Aye, and ye smell like one too!” Ian returned, countering a thrust and pressing him back.
Minutes passed in rhythmic strikes, the ground kicked up beneath their boots, sweat running down their foreheads. Finally, with a deft twist, Ian disarmed Flynn and sent him stumbling back.
“Ha! That’s enough, Flynn,” Ian said, breathing heavily but satisfied.
Flynn laughed, shaking his head. “I ken what ye need, Ian.”
