Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens by Suzan Tisdale Read Free Book Online Page B

not stand the thought of his disgust or doubt or skepticism.
    “Ian,” she whispered in a voice she barely recognized as her own, “though I wish nothin’ more than for you to continue, I fear we can no’.”
    His lips were on her neck, his tongue making slow, circular motions that were driving her to the point of madness.
    “Pray tell, wife, are ye no’ enjoyin’ me kisses?”
    She sucked in a sharp breath when he blew a hot breath against her tender skin. “Oh, Ian, I am.”
    “Then why must we stop?” he asked as he took her earlobe betwixt his teeth and nibbled.
    “Because we are no’ exactly married.”
    An interminable, painfully long moment passed as she felt him grow rigid with confusion. “What do ye mean, we’re no’ exactly married? ” She could feel his breath against her neck.
    Unable to speak at first, she had to clear her throat before she could answer. “I mean,” she paused, searching for the best way to describe exactly what had happened the night before. “Well, ye see, ye were verra into yer cups. And ye kept demandin’ that someone find a priest to marry us. And, well, ye see, ye were verra drunk…” she trailed off, for she could feel his spine stiffen, and was certain he would be as angry as a poked bear.
    Another long moment of silence passed between them before he let her go, stood taller, and looked her in the eye. “Were we married or no’?”
    “No’ exactly,” she said, diverting her eyes to his chest, for she could not bear to look at him. Shame and humiliation built.
    “Ye said that. Now explain yerself.”
    There was no easy way to explain it, so like any good woman, she decided to confront the issue head on. “Ye were verra drunk,” she began.
    “Ye said that and I ken I was drunk,” he reminded her. He sounded perturbed and she knew he was going to be downright furious by the time she explained it all.
    “Ye were verra drunk and yellin’ fer someone to fetch Father MacBrodie. Well, he was no’ here, ye see, so ye demanded we wake yer da. As chief he can marry a couple, ye ken.”
    “I ken,” he said.
    Chancing a glance at his face, she could see a tic begin to form in his jaw. “Well, we did no’ want to wake yer da, so Frederick said that as chief of Clan McLaren, he could marry us.” That much was true. “Well, ye started sayin’ vows, that ye’d love me until ye took yer last breath on this earth and then beyond. Ye promised to cherish me all the rest of yer days.”
    “And?” he asked with a skeptical tone and raised brow.
    “Well, before I could make ye any promises, ye sort of passed out.”
    His eyes widened in disbelief. Unable to form the words, his mouth opened and closed repeatedly.
    “We carried ye up here and put ye to bed. But ye would no’ let me leave. Ye kept professin’ yer love fer me and begged me to no’ leave ye.” She was speaking so rapidly it was difficult for him to keep up. “And then when ye woke this morn, I thought only to jest with ye fer a moment. But then ye got so angry and said ye regretted marryin’ me, and I was so hurt, I was no’ goin’ to tell ye.”
    Finally, he moved. He took a few tentative steps away, a look of utter disbelief etched on his face. Agitated, he ran a hand through his blond locks. “So we be no’ married?” he asked, still unable to believe what he’d just heard.
    “Nay,” she whispered. “We be no’ married.”

    * * *
    T here was no mistaking her pain, for her blue eyes grew damp, her bottom lip trembled. Ian knew her sorrow was real. It had not been easy for her to admit the truth. Valiantly, she held the tears back as she stared at her feet and worriedly worked her fingers together.
    He had two choices.
    One, he could use this moment as an excuse to walk away now and forever. Let her go so she might make a life of her own, with someone else who could give her all the things he felt certain she deserved.
    Or two, he could swallow his bloody pride and do as she suggested;