Page 3 of Passion

Chapter 2

Caeleb climbedthe three flights of stairs to his chambers, his legs heavy, as if he slogged through calf-high mud. He opened the door and paused at sight of the low-burning fire in the hearth. He couldn’t help a tired smile. How many days had the fire been maintained in anticipation of his return? With a sigh, he closed the door and unbuckled his leather armor as he crossed to the bench before the hearth. Caeleb sloughed the armor from his shoulders and laid it on the bench. He removed his gambeson, tossed it onto a nearby chair, then sat on the bench and removed his boots. An acrid smell wafted up. He grimaced before realizing the smell was him. Caeleb lifted a shoulder, sniffed his plaid, then choked at the stench. His clothing smelled worse than a wet dog. He pulled his sash off his shoulder. As he dragged his tunic over his head, a knock sounded at the door.

“Enter,” he called, and tossed the shirt onto the floor.

The door swung open and Gwendolyn entered, followed by two young lads carrying a large, round, wooden tub. “Set it near the hearth,” she ordered.

The two lads placed the heavy tub near the hearth. Gwendolyn waited near the door, arms folded under her breasts, as additional lads carried in buckets of hot water and filled the tub. Once the tub was full, and a table was set nearby with a dish of soap and a drying cloth, she dismissed the lads.

One boy paused in the doorway. “Do ye need more wood for the fire?”

She shook her head. “Nae.”

He nodded, then hurried from the room.

“Stay, Gwen,” Caeleb said as he began unbuckling his belt.

The door clicked shut. Caeleb stripped off his breacan, then tossed it aside and stepped into the steaming water. No sound came from behind him, but he felt Gwen watching. He wetted his hair, then scooped a piece of the soft soap from the dish on the table and lathered the tangled mass. He ducked beneath the water. Warmth engulfed him. Eyes closed, Caeleb gave in to the weightlessness. Spending the extra coin to have the large tub built was one of the wisest choices he’d ever made. Unlike the decision to travel so near a valley that became a trap, forcing them into a life-or-death battle he’d had no intentions of fighting.

His lungs began to tighten with the lack of air. Caeleb rubbed the soap from his hair and lifted his head from the water. He raked hair from his face, draped his arms over the side of the tub, and waited.

A long moment of silence passed. “Come scrub my back, Gwen,” he said.

The faint rustle of skirts followed. He sensed her nearness an instant before she stretched an arm past him to the soap dish. Her fingers touched his shoulder and he allowed his head to fall forward as she washed his back. Stroke after stroke, his muscles relaxed beneath her familiar touch. His mind, however, replayed the memory of the sea of men bearing down upon them.

Two years ago, he had been a young laird of twenty-three, newly arrived in Dunvegan to replace his uncle as laird. Though the title wasn’t intended to be his, the clan welcomed him as their new chief. Where had his leadership been on his mission of peace…or when they’d been attacked?

War strips a man to his core. Tests his strength, his courage and his will. When confronted by a sea of hostile faces, a man’s humanity no longer exists. He reacts on instinct. Like an animal. A savage. That is what their enemies had made of them. Now, Caeleb simply wished to never again step foot on another battlefield. But that wish was not to be. Not until he put to rights their betrayal.

Gwen sighed. The soft sound drew him back to the present. He’d thought of her every day he’d been away. The knowledge that she awaited his return had given him strength when his muscles burned with exhaustion from wielding his sword. For the first time in his life, he loved a woman. He wouldn’t let the Donald dogs take his life, not when he had a chance to love a woman like Gwen.

Her hand slid lower. His bollocks tightened. Did she need him as much as he needed her? Her fingers stroked. His cock began to rise. He’d been away from home too long.

Caeleb slid down into the water to his shoulders, scrubbed the soap from his arms and back, then stood. Water cascaded off his body. He grabbed the drying cloth from the table, rubbed the dripping water from his hair, then stepped from the tub and faced Gwen.

She still knelt. As she did when uncertain, she nibbled her bottom lip. Caeleb rubbed the cloth over his chest. Her eyes followed the action. His heart began to pound. He tossed aside the cloth, then grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet. She threw her arms around his neck and he crushed her mouth beneath his. Caeleb reached behind her and yanked free the apron tie, then broke the kiss and made quick work of her dress.

The garment pooled at her feet and she stood in her chemise. She pulled the sleeves down her arms and shimmied out of the garment. His cock further hardened. He swung her into his arms, carried her to the bed and fell with her onto the mattress.

* * *

Gooseflesh racedacross Gwen’s arms when Caeleb lightly nipped her neck. She wrapped her arms around his neck. She’d lived these last weeks in fear that he wouldn’t return, in fear his death would be on her head. Wasn’t the death of his warriors on her head? She’d tried to find him. If she had, she would have confessed all. Tears rushed to the surface. Now that he had returned safely, she would ensure his continued safety—then disappear.

He kissed her, long, sweet and with a need that drove all other thoughts from her mind. She breathed in his scent. It was just as she remembered; clean and masculine. He thrust his member along her belly. She longed to feel him inside her. He broke the kiss and slid his mouth across her cheek to her ear.

“Did ye miss me, lass?” the murmur of his velvety voice melted her insides.

“Aye,” she whispered. So much it still hurt.

Two days ago, when rumors of the ambush at Daunlaby reached them, she’d been certain God would punish her by taking Caeleb in battle. Not until Caeleb’s warrior had arrived this morning with news of the battle—and assurances that he lived—had she known whether he lived or died.

He hugged her so tightly, the air expelled from her lungs. She didn’t deserve to share his bed. But she couldn’t live without experiencing the warm strength of his arms around her one last time.

He levered himself over her and fitted his cock to the entrance of her channel. Her pulse leapt when he surged into her. Each time was like the first. Their love had blossomed in those early months—despite her determination not to succumb to his charm. Theirs was a love that never should have happened, but a force she couldn’t fight. If destiny existed, Caeleb was hers. He began to move inside her. Her heart squeezed. He was her other half, but he wasn’t her future. He was a dream, and the time had come to wake. Her position with this clan had always been temporary. For now, she would cherish every remaining moment.

Caeleb kissed the spot where shoulder met neck. She shivered. He thrust faster, harder. He wrapped his arms tight around her as if he would never let go. Their sweat-slicked bodies contacted then separated with every thrust. Gwen tightened her grip on his arms. His skin glistened. She wanted to remember this forever. Would he remember her once she was gone…once another woman took her place in his bed?

His breath quickened. “Gwen,” he said in a voice thick with desire.