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Chapter Thirty-Two
The funerals of the last of the fallen men, those who had succumbed to their injuries, were a somber affair. Chrisdean helped carry them to their resting places himself, saying his last goodbyes to them. The situation was impossible to ignore then, no matter how much he tried to push his grief aside, and the sight of the graves reminded him of his family and the day that he had buried them.
It had been a dark, cloudy day, much like the one he was experiencing. He couldn’t remember if it had rained or not, but the rain that was falling down onto the earth now turned the ground into mud, making it harder for the men to bury their fellow soldiers. Chrisdean persevered, helping them even though Brock repeatedly told him to go inside the castle and rest.
By the time they were done, the little sun that they had seen during the day was low in the sky, casting a warm, orange glow through the clouds. Chrisdean, Brock, and the rest of the men were soaked to the bone with rainwater, their shoes and the pantlegs of their trews muddied.
Mrs. Greumach, the housekeeper, was bound to have their heads once she saw the mess they made on the castle floors when they headed inside, Chrisdean thought. When Chrisdean was a child, she was always running around after him, demanding that he stop trailing dirt all over the castle, but Chrisdean never listened, much to the woman’s frustration.
The memory brought a small smile to Chrisdean’s lips as they walked back to the castle. There were many reasons to be grieving, but there were also many reasons to celebrate, he reminded himself. Victory was theirs.
Like many of the days before, that day was spent in mourning, the entire castle quiet and dormant. The people went about their days in silence and drank whisky and wine in the memory of those departed. By the end of the night, Chrisdean was drunk, and when he woke up the next morning, he couldn’t even remember how he had gotten to bed.
“Brock carried ye here,” Nimue said, as if she could read his mind, and Chrisdean turned to look at her in the morning sun, squinting his eyes as the light blinded him. She was already dressed and ready for the day, as though she had woken up a long time ago, and Chrisdean couldn’t help but wonder just how long he had overslept.
With a groan, Chrisdean pulled the pillow over his head, trying to block all the light and noise. Before he could close his eyes again, though, and go back to sleep, Nimue had jumped onto the bed, roughly shaking him awake.
“Ye canna sleep,” she told him, and her authoritative tone reminded him of the night they had spent together, putting other things than sleep in his mind. “Ye’re already late as it is. Brock and me faither need to speak with ye.”
“I can think of somethin’ better than that,” Chrisdean said as he grabbed Nimue and pulled her down onto the bed, making her tumble on top of him. She laughed, and Chrisdean smiled at that sound that he adored hearing. “They willna miss me. They can talk on their own.”
“Aye, they will,” Nimue insisted, but she made no effort to pull away from him, and so Chrisdean kissed her, his hands running down her back until he could rest them on her buttocks. “Chrisdean, we canna stay here all day.”
“Na all day,” Chrisdean said between kisses as he moved down her neck and chest, brushing his lips over her skin. “Just . . . weel, most of the day.”
Nimue laughed again, shaking her head before she captured Chrisdean’s lips in another heated kiss. A roll of her hips had Chrisdean gasping, and he could feel himself hardening in the trews that he had slept in.
“I think ye’ll just have to be patient,” Nimue said as she moved away from him, jumping off the bed with a devious look on her face. “But ye’re awake noo, so let’s go. Get ready.”
With a playful growl, Chrisdean stood and rushed to Nimue, pinning her against the nearest wall. For all her talk of being late, she didn’t try to resist him when he slipped two fingers into the neckline of her dress, tugging it lower to expose one of her breasts. Instead, he saw her let her head fall back, lost in pleasure, and he dipped his own head to suck her nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue over the bud.
He knew that if he sank his fingers inside her, he would find her dripping with need, and he wanted nothing more than to plunge himself inside of her heat.
“Chrisdean . . .” Nimue whispered, already sounding breathless and hungry for him. Chrisdean doubled his efforts, exposing her other breast, as well, and continuing his ministrations. He caressed and nipped her milky skin, her moans urging him on and the hand that came to grab his hair making him reply with a moan of his own.
But as much as Nimue seemed to enjoy herself, she pushed him back, fixing her dress with a stern look on her face. “Ye willna convince me to stay here today,” she said, wagging a finger at him before pressing it against his chest. “But if ye behave, I may let ye convince me to stay in the chambers all day tomorrow.”
There mere thought of having Nimue all to himself for an entire day made Chrisdean’s muscles stiffen, and his body go taut like a string. He was certainly paying attention, and he would do anything to spend a whole day devouring her and pleasuring her.
“Deal,” Chrisdean said. He would play by the rules, he decided, but nowhere in the rules did Nimue say that he couldn’t try to distract her throughout the day or that he couldn’t drive her crazy with his teasing.
Soon, Chrisdean was dressed and on his way to his study. When he opened the door, he found Brock and Laird MacLellan already there, laughing over two cups of wine.
“Laird MacLellan . . . Brock,” he said, as he took a seat behind his desk, looking at the two men with a raised eyebrow. “I see that the festivities have already started.”
“Na festivities, just a cup of wine between friends,” Brock said.
“And allies,” the Laird added.
Their words brought a small smile to Chrisdean’s face. He had been waiting for the day that their two clans would be allies for too long.
“Verra weel,” Chrisdean said as he poured himself a cup of wine, deciding to join in on the fun. After all, they had defeated the Earl, and that was cause enough for celebration. “What is it that we must discuss so early in the mornin’?”
“Chrisdean, it’s almost noon, lad,” Brock pointed out. “Ye just canna handle yer drink.”
The two men across from him laughed at that, and it drew a sigh out of Chrisdean. It seemed to him like the two of them together would be a handful.
They spoke for a while, going over strategies and options for the upcoming war. It was all going too well, he thought, the three of them surprisingly agreeing to everything. He had a feeling, though, that it wouldn’t last long.
