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“How can I nae?” he asked while putting a paper to the side. “Ye are all of five feet away from me.”
“I daenae know how hard it is for ye to take some advice about the castle,” she muttered. “It’s nay as if I had a knife to yer throat.”
Conner looked up and oddly, he found her scowl—something he would have never ever considered— endearing. She turned and her eyes had the consistency of emerald shards. “Things cannae stay the same forever.”
“Nay,” he said. “They cannae.”
He went back to work, but Olivia began questioning him, only to ruffle him a little. “The battlement needs wider crenels, ye should get workmen to refit them.”
“They do nae.”
“How are the reserves of gunshot and powder in the keep? They need to be checked regularly to make sure they arenae wet. Have ye ever tried to shoot a pistol with wet powder?”
“No, I havenae.”
“My faither did once and it was the most difficult thing possible. Have ye kent about buying cannons? It would be a good thing to use and defend ourselves with if a sudden attack comes from the sea.”
She heard a snap and looked—the quill was in half in his hands and ink was bleeding over his hand. “We daenae need cannons, lass.”
“Longshot muskets then,” Olivia said, while she turned to look at the window. “It would be easier to remove an enemy from the bow of a ship—”
The angry grate of Ó Riagáin came around the table. His long legs ate the distance in two steps and he slapped his hands on the arms of her chair. He glared at her, his golden eyes glittering and Olivia felt like a rodent in the sights of a ravenous goshawk. She was face-to-face with the depth of his anger and was suddenly keenly aware of their being alone.
“Be quiet,” he said, his voice rumbling over her skin. A wash of gooseflesh raked over her skin and her middle began to tremble. Olivia met his gaze, her heart suddenly battering hard against her ribs.
The one thing that consumed her mind—had her heart aflutter—was when his eyes lowered to her lips. In her limited experience of the world, she had never seen a man look so… hungry, with such intensity and so much desire.
Without forethought—only burning, searing instinct— her hand snatched up, dug into his thick hair and tugged his head down—and then their lips met. Fire ran through her body and out the tips of her breasts as his tongue caressed her mouth. Every inch of her flesh wanted to touch him. She gave him entrance and the first hungry lick of her tongue took his breath away.
He tasted like honey and cider, sweet and intoxicating at the same time. She eased her kiss but Conner ran his free hand up to her neck, preventing her from pulling away. He increased the depth of his kiss, demanding that she return it in kind. The feel of his tongue, warm and smooth, gliding over hers made Olivia stifle a gasp.
With a muttered curse, Conner pulled her up against him, scattering the remnants of her sense. His kiss was hard, wild, and hungry, and tangling her hands in his hair, the strands thick but soft like spider silk, she matched it. This was the first kiss they had shared, and it burned down to the tips of her toes.
Then, as abruptly as it had come, it was gone. He yanked his head away. His gaze, tainted with shock, flew over her face before he backed away and left the room without a word. Bewildered, and slightly upset, Olivia sunk to her seat, her fingertips touching her lips in surprise. Had she truly made him kiss her?
Nay, I hadnae forced him to kiss me back. Ó Riagáin is a strong man, he could have pushed me away—but he dinnae.
After casting a look around the room, the table, the chairs and the wall filled with weapons, she stood and hurried away from it, desperate to find her quarters and have a quiet moment.
* * *
Striding aimlessly down random corridors, Conner felt the odd urge to run or ride so quickly he would find the other end of his earth. Had he just kissed the lass? When just only two days ago, he had told her that she could expect nothing from him but civility?
Stopping, Conner raked a hand through his hair and with a set jaw, spun and went the way he came. He was no coward to hide away from his actions and he knew the lass must have questions too. Taking the staircase to his meeting room, he pushed the door open with her name on his lips—only to find the room deserted.
After a moment he let out a long breath; why had he expected Olivia to stay in the room after that? Going to his desk, his eye dropped to the empty bowl there and guilt nearly took his knees from under him. He sank to his chair, stared at the papers before him, and with turmoil in his chest, reached for a drawer and plucked out a new quill. He had work to do.
* * *
Dawn met Olivia’s open eyes as she had not slept a wink the night before. The feeling of Ó Riagáin’s lips on hers had burned itself on her mind and she could not dismiss it. Her body felt heavy, and her mind was full. Conner, for all his words about how nothing would happen between them, had not kissed her like a man who wanted little to do with her.
What was wrong? What was she missing? How had they gone from having a cordial agreement to arguing and teasing to him kissing her?
Sitting up, she slipped out of bed and went to wash. There was no reason to try and sleep, and ever more so, this was the day before the wedding. She could not hide away in her rooms.
When Ana came, she bathed and dressed in a dark green outer gown and a pale green kirtle, with long bell sleeves and a fur mantle. Her hair was free flowing, falling in waves down her back but had a circlet to hold it from her face.
“Thank ye, Ana,” Olivia said. “I’ll be down in the great hall in a moment. Please give me a minute.”
