“Now that,” he said with a smile, “was a proper orgasm. Welcome, officially, to the club.”
20
“Ian, wake the hell up,”Grey whispered frantically. “The laird is back . . .”
One thing Ian had learned about having a castle bedchamber: it was like having the ultimate blackout shades. If it weren’t for a strong internal clock, servants would be having to wake him up left and right.
“I so miss waking up to the sound of your voice, Grey,” he said, sitting up in bed. The last thing he remembered was waking up in the middle of the night practically clutching his wife to his chest. At some point, she’d rolled over, and he must have put his arm around her without realizing it.
“Is that . . . ?”
Ian put his finger to his lips. Màiri was still sleeping. In her shift, thankfully. Ian had possessed enough sense to retrieve her shift for her before they came to bed. Once he was able to cool his arousal enough to walk again. No way could he have kept his hands off her if she’d slept next to him unclothed.
This whole marriage thing was spiraling out of his control. He’d invited her to stay with him last night, and then he’d held her until she fell asleep. And kept her next to him until his thoughts finally settled enough for him to sleep too. And when he’d woken up beside her?
He’d felt happier than he had in a long, long time.
Ian, to use his favorite word he’d so eloquently taught Màiri the night before, was well and truly fucked.
“Màiri,” Ian whispered in response to his brother’s question. “Yes. And she’s still asleep. What time is it?”
The fire had gone out, and it was pitch black now that Grey had closed the door.
“You missed the morning meal.”
“Otherwise known as breakfast.”
Silence.
Ian was in no mood for Grey’s judgements. He’d forgotten about the potency of medieval wine and had a headache to show for it.
“Get up.”
Grey opened the door just enough for him to see his hastily discarded shirt and boots. Putting them on quickly, not wanting to wake Màiri, he grabbed a pinch of mint off the table and chewed it as they left the chamber. What he wouldn’t do for proper toothpaste . . .
Grey reached over to fix his hair the way he’d done ever since they were kids. His brother seemed to think it was his personal duty to tame his hair, never mind the fact that he was nearly thirty years old.
And this was exactly why he still lived at home even after all three of his brothers had moved out. His father never once smoothed his hair. Or told him he looked like a cross between a surfer and a NYU dropout. And because Dad needed him.
“Sorry. I didn’t know she was in there. I thought you slept in separate chambers.”
Why the hell hadn’t he taken ibuprofen with him before reciting that chant?
“How do they cure headaches now?”
“Headaches? That’s what you’re curious about? Headaches? Have you thought about the fact that barbers pull teeth without anesthesia as a remedy for cavities?”
“Jesus. No.”
“More importantly, why is Màiri sleeping in your bed?”
Ian only had to distract Grey until they reached the hall. “You said the laird is back? Did you meet him yet?”
Grey gave him a look like,I know what you’re doing. But strangely, he did not call Ian on it. “Not yet,” he said. “We were just finishing the meal when someone said he was spotted in the village. He’s probably here by now. Took me a half a day to come fetch you.”
Judging by the sweat on Grey’s brow, he had obviously already been outside training.
“Why not send someone for me?”
