Page 75 of The Iron Earl

Lachlan’s hands slipped down her backside, yanking her body into his, his member pressing hard into her belly. “I don’t know if I can make it to the room without being properly throttled.”

She leaned back against his hold, pulling her neck away from his lips. “And maybe that’s part of your punishment. A tortuous walk up to the castle.”

The growl expelling from deep in his lungs sent birds squawking, flying away overhead.

But she wouldn’t be swayed. The man needed to be punished, and if a stiff-legged stroll was what she could muster, it would have to be his due comeuppance.

~~~

They didn’t make it to his chambers.

Lachlan looked down at his wife’s pink cheeks, her upsweep askew with wild tendrils as they walked through the labyrinth of corridors in the castle. He should have just ripped out all the pins and let her long hair fall to the wind, but that would have interfered with his tongue drinking in her skin when he sank into her.

A grin that hid nothing of what they’d just done in the forest danced across her lips. He should find out if she played whist—she’d be horrible at it. Strip whist.

Her smile widened as her gold-green eyes lifted to him and it sent a jolt through his cock. He needed to get her up to his chambers, as he didn’t think he’d been duly punished quite yet. Only rewarded.

She dragged a lock of hair across her right temple, securing it in place. Her scar wasn’t visible—even so, it bothered him that she felt the need to constantly make sure the ragged skin was hidden.

They’d lost her bonnet at some point on the trail. He wasn’t exactly sure where, only that he’d stripped it from her head and dropped it as she led him on a merry chase.

The ancient oak tree that sat along the eastern moor would never be the same. Not with her back wedged against it, her fingernails digging into the bark as he lifted her skirts and drove into her, rutting against a tree like common animals.

He was waiting with trepidation for the moment he would be satiated of her body. For the moment when he didn’t come in her and instantly want to be hard again, sending her through the very same paces. But it refused to be tamed—his appetite for his wife.

If anything, he wanted her more today than he did the previous day. It’d been that way since the night he’d married her and he was no force against it.

To his gratification, he thought he was finally starting to chip away at the massive walls she’d ensconced herself in. Yet even after what he told her on the forest trail—confessing all of why he took her from Wolfbridge—he knew she didn’t fully trust him.

Not that he deserved it.

It vexed him—the portion of her that she still held away from him, wary to his words. Still waiting for her world to collapse—for him to make her world collapse.

Maybe it would always be so, his wife’s lack of trust. Or maybe it would merely take time. Time where she was given no reason to doubt him.

It may very well take until he was on his deathbed for the moment that she finally trusted him with everything she was. A sobering thought. But if he made it that far without giving her reason to doubt him, he would venture their lives together a success.

They rounded one of the five bends in the corridor on the third level of the castle en route to his chambers, and the mass of Domnall almost barreled into them.

Domnall stepped back, his look going from Lachlan to Evalyn. His gaze returned to Lachlan, a suppressed smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Lach—I was just looking for you. Your grandfather has been demanding your presence.”

Lachlan’s back stiffened, his thoughts sobering as his hand that had been wrapped along Evalyn’s shoulder dropped to his side. “He knows the outcome of the trial? It ended as predicted?”

“It did.” Disgust curled Domnall’s lip. “Mr. Lipinstein is on his way to Newgate as we speak. A smuggler, but not a murderer.”

A brutal wave of outrage swept through his gut. It was expected. But to actually hear it—that the bastard was escaping justice for his murderous ways—it cut deeply into his soul and tore at the raw, bloody wound that had festered deep in his soul since Jacob had died.

Done. It was done.

“And my grandfather?”

“Reacted as expected. Anything within his cane’s reach was broken.”

Lachlan nodded. “You were outside his reach?”

“My shin caught the first blow.” Domnall shrugged. “Not but a scratch.” His look went to Evalyn. “Shall I escort ye back to your chambers, lass?”

She looked up at Lachlan. “Do you wish me to accompany you?”