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Chapter Eleven
Aindreas
Aindreas pressed his lips against her forehead. His hand buried itself in her hair. Her lips parted as he drew away from her and her head tilted back, displaying the curve of her pallid throat. His tongue licked his bottom lip while her mouth parted for him, beckoning him to claim her. Her body leaned into him, pressing flush against his chest. His whole body tensed, feeling her hands slide up his front. Fingertips stroked against his jawline, and he couldn’t stop himself from grabbing her and pressing her against the wall.
He seized her lips, moaning when he felt her tongue twine with his, stoking the fires brimming within him. Her moans spurred him on. She writhed against him, and he growled low in his throat. He grabbed her leg, holding it against his hip while he ground against her. His hands pushed her skirts up, unable to wait any longer. She gasped, breaking away from the kiss, her emerald eyes captured his and—
Aindreas sat up in his bed, gasping for breath while his heart pounded in his throat. He swallowed, pushing his hands against his hair, still feeling her all around him, her mouth on his lips, her body pressing into his. Looking around, the room was still dark. The sun was just beginning to rise. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself while searching for the seductress who wouldn’t leave him be.
But he was alone.
He found his tartan on the chair across from him while his shirt laid on the floor, wrinkled and smelling of ale. Last night he had spent drinking and singing with his lads, trying to drown out the temptress haunting him. Yet, it didn’t matter what he did.
She was always there.
He pressed his palms against his eyes, willing the images of Blair writhing against him away, yet his whole body tingled with want and need. He could still feel the silky smoothness of her hair against his fingers. He could still hear her moaning in his ears.
It had been a dream, he told himself.
He hadn’t taken Blair. None of it was real.
But how he wished it had been. He hated that he wanted her, that he was desperate to have her, despite knowing he shouldn’t. Day after day, her gaze constantly followed him. Even yesterday, he found her watching him while he was practicing with the men. Her hand had raised, and he turned away. His body had fought him, but he knew it wasn’t right to goad her on, to give her attention when nothing could happen between them.
If he gave in to his wants and needs, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from kissing her, from touching her. Ignoring her was for the best, for both of them. Yet, she was still everywhere he went. The great hall, the courtyard, the gardens, the corridors; he couldn’t get away from her no matter how hard he tried.
Even in his dreams, she haunted him, tempted him. Aindreas groaned, tilting his head back and scowling up at the ceiling. No matter how hard he tried to avoid the lass, or forget her presence, every night, she tormented him with her touch, her warmth.
He couldn’t have her, he told himself. He was nothing, he reminded himself. And being nothing meant he had to do everything within his power to ensure he obtained the lairdship. Blair, with her red lips and her innocent, emerald eyes, wouldn’t aid him on the path he needed to take. She couldn’t provide him with what he wanted, what he needed. He was foolish to even try having her before.
Aindreas threw off his blankets and stalked towards the washbasin. He splashed the cool water on his face. His shaft twitched with need, and he was tempted to touch himself, to be rid of this intoxicating tension pulling at him. He stared at himself in the looking glass while his hand slid down his front. He ground his teeth, his hand tightening on his hard member.
Gasping, he imagined a lass’s hands touching him from behind, her mouth on his shoulders, her emerald gaze glimmering at him mischievously through the mirror. He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out, but the lass in his fantasies turned to him. Her plump, red lips lifted into a dark smile.
Aindreas flinched, letting go of his stiff shaft and cursing himself once more for imagining Blair. He breathed in, trying to calm his breath. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, worried he would imagine her once again touching him, kissing him.
Even awake, his mind was filled with only her. It was almost as if she had weaved a spell over him. His hands gripped the basin, and he hovered over the water, glaring at his reflection while willing thoughts of her away. He clamped his eyes closed, but still, she was there, holding onto him while they stood in the garden, fear taking hold of her while she searched the area.
“Do ye think it’s an assassin”?
Aindreas shivered as he recalled her voice, the way her fingernails had dug into his chest. He desperately wanted to be rid of these thoughts, yet they wouldn’t leave him, as if God himself was punishing him for his misdeeds.
He shoved the basin away and turned on his heel, unable to look into the mirror for fear he would find Blair’s apparition there. He couldn’t think of her. Not when Sorcha would be at Castle Lachlan in three days' time. There was a possibility she could arrive sooner if the Cambels moved efficiently with few stops. He needed to forget Blair and focus on Sorcha’s arrival.
Quickly, he dressed, his fingers fumbling with the buttons in his shirt. He needed to get to the chapel as soon as possible before anyone saw him, knowing he needed to confess his sins at once. It had become a morning ritual the past week, though it hardly helped. No matter how much he confessed, she was still there.
His feet took him down the steps and outside into the courtyard. The soldiers from the night’s watch stood at attention as he walked by. Their bloodshot eyes widened briefly before returning to a squint.
“Master Aindreas,” they murmured in greeting before leaning against the wall, their hands hovering above their swords.
Aindreas nodded in answer, yet his focus remained on the chapel in the far corner. He pushed open its doors, striding towards the confessional box and taking his seat on the hard, wooden chair.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Aindreas muttered while making the cross before him. “I continue having sinful thoughts for the lass. No matter my attempts, she dare not leave me, and I know not what to do. I fear,” Aindreas paused, his stare darkening on the stone floor as he wondered whether or not to speak the words, “I fear I may be my father’s son. I fear these sinful thoughts are due to him, due to his lustful desires.”
“My son,” the priest rasped on the other side of the dark curtain, “I sense darkness in yer heart. This is not the first I have heard of such sinful desires.”
“It is more so now than ever before,” Aindreas spoke harshly, his hands fisting as once again Blair intruded his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about her soft smile, her voice like the caress of a bonnie siren. “I hate myself for having these desires. I cannot stop this anger taking hold of me.”
“Wrath and lust seem to be the sins that demand yer soul, young laird, but fear not,” Aindreas lifted his head, turning towards the dark curtains, wondering what his punishment would be this time. “For God forgives all if ye confess yer sins to him.”
