Page 58 of The Scot

Chapter 24

He’d meant to court her.

To act honorably.

Her sister, the wife of a dear friend, was just downstairs in the hall. Her father, likely no farther than the outer castle walls.

But Terric simply could not stay away from her any longer. Something about Roysa tugged at him in a way he’d never experienced before. It was insistent, painfully so.

Terric tried to be gentle when he pulled her toward him. Attempted to move slowly, coaxing her mouth wide as his tongue plunged into her sweet depths. But he knew time worked against them—and so did his lack of patience. His desire for Roysa had become so consuming, Terric feared his judgment suffered for it.

He had stared at the strings of her kirtle so hard, he knew the direction of the ties. His fingers moved nimbly to undo them, not pausing once for contemplation. Once the ties were freed, he tore himself away so that he might lift the heavy gown free.

Terric paused, both fists grasping a handful of fabric, and caught her eye. He cursed inside at what he saw there. Desire, aye. But she worried too, and he could imagine the cause. Thankfully, the bastard who’d hurt her was already dead—otherwise, Terric would gladly have done the deed.

He opened his mouth to tell her, to explain. But he knew a better way.

In one swift motion, he lifted the gown and tossed it onto the ground.

Terric didn’t know if he’d hoped for an undertunic or not. This certainly made things simpler, but they still did not have much time. Not enough for him to fully love her. Besides, he had no intention of getting killed and leaving her with a wee babe.

But that did not mean he could not pleasure her.

“My gown!”

Roysa turned toward the table and looked at the pile on the floor at her feet. The view of her backside proved too enticing to ignore. Stepping forward, he grasped both breasts, pressing against her.

Roysa’s gasp, and the way she gripped the edge of the wooden table in front of her, was simply too much. He wanted to hear that sound again. Needed it like he did air. Pressing into her, Terric whipped the hair at her back to the side, kissing her neck with the fervor of a man deprived.

“Terric,” she breathed, tilting her head to the side to give him greater access. “I can feel you against me.” He pressed harder. “I . . .”

She didn’t have the words yet. He would give them to her. Another day.

Reaching down, he lifted her chemise and very swiftly pushed aside the last remaining fabric that separated him from his goal.

“You will think of me,” he demanded, slipping his fingers inside without warning. “When you wake.” He began to move his fingers. “When you sleep.”

Her firm grip on the table pleased him.

“I want you to close your eyes. There, now feel the evidence of my need for you.” He circled his hips. “Imagine me inside you, as I will be when I return.”

From the way she moaned and clenched around him, he knew Roysa was desperate for release, though she’d never known it before. Had no idea how close she was to the blissful taste of heaven she was about to experience. Just thinking of it made Terric realize he had to finish this quickly.

Or risk coming inside his trewes. He was hard. Ready.

“Can you feel your own wetness on me?”

He used his thumb then, and knew she was close.

“This is for me, Roysa. For me alone. And when I return”—he licked and nipped at her ear, tormenting both of them—“you will know more of me than what I’m able to give today.”

She screamed his name. Not my lord or Chief but his given name, so blessedly sweet on her lips. He stopped then, allowing her time to enjoy. To recover. To understand . . .

This was the pleasure she should have known as a wife.

This was the pleasure he would give her when he returned.

Groaning at the loss as he pulled away, Terric looked down. He could not go marching into the hall to announce his departure on a mission to save Dromsley . . .