Dare, Lydia - Tall, Dark and Wolfish

He'd lost his ability to be a Lycan. Feeling nearly dead inside, he walked slowly toward the crofter's cottage, where he remained for six full days.

As the days passed, he hoped the pining for her would gradually decrease. Yet she still called to him, and he imagined her stroking slowly across her mark. It was time to go to her. When he crossed over to her land, he walked casually, knowing he was no longer the person he'd once been. And he just hoped she would accept him as he was.

He knocked softly on her door. Her tiny feet padded across the floor and the heavy wooden door swung inward. There she was. His wife. She held her arms out to him, and he could do nothing more than clutch her to him.

He was shocked that she went to him so easily, but she did. She melted against him and fit into him like she'd been made to be there. Perhaps she was.

She stepped back, took his hand in hers, and pulled him into the cottage as tears pooled in her eyes.

"I—" he started.

She placed a finger to his lips and whispered, "Shhhh…"

"I need to—" he began again. She stopped his words by standing on tiptoe and pressing her lips to his.

He gathered her tenderly in his arms and carried her to the willow bed, where he slowly removed her clothes. She smiled softly as he pulled her nightrail over her head and the wolf combs clattered to the floor.

He bent and picked them up, but she tossed them to a nearby table as though they were nothing. "My wolf," she sighed. "So lost." Her hand stroked the beard stubble on his face.

"Please, help me," he whispered softly, his eyes meeting hers.

"I promise." She kissed him tenderly and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from his shoulders. She moved to his trousers and asked quietly, "Did ye miss me?"

"Like a piece of myself was missing," he said as he kissed a slow trail across her bare shoulder.

When she'd fully undressed him, he laid her back on the bed and rose above her. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He proceeded to kiss her softly all over. He kissed her until the scent of her desire reached his nose, and then he settled between her thighs.

"I ken that ye werena yerself, Ben."

"Then who was I?" he asked, looking down into her green eyes.

Who was he? He was her love. He was her life. He was her mate. She had no doubt in her mind that he was the other half to her whole.

"Ye're my wolf," she said as she reached up and brushed the hair from his forehead.

"I'm not," he protested, shaking his head.

"Ye

are

," she repeated, catching his head in her hands. He kept his eyes tightly shut. "Ben," she prodded. "Look at me."

He opened his eyes, but didn't meet her gaze.

"I love ye," she admitted. His eyes immediately caught hers. The intensity in his gaze nearly scared her.

"How could you?" he asked quietly.

She shrugged and laughed. "I doona ken. I just do."

"I am not worthy of your love," he said quietly as his hardness prodded her flesh. She arched to meet him. As he slid into her he said, "But I need you so much."

"And I need ye, too," she gasped as he slowly stroked within her. "I couldna live without ye."

He gently carried her up and over the pinnacle of pleasure, slowly and methodically wringing all the pleasure from her body, then joining her. Finally he rolled to the side and pulled her close to him, clutching her closer than he ever had.

In the back of her mind, she briefly noted he'd never professed to love her back.

Thirty-five

The intrusive and obnoxious sun woke Ben the next morning as it filtered through the bedroom window. He blinked and raised his head, searching for Elspeth with his arm. She was gone. But he heard the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen again. He groaned and pounded the pillow with his fist.

"Sorcha, if that's you, prepare yourself to be offended," he called loudly. "In fact, I suggest you leave now to avoid the embarrassment."

The clatter ceased. He rose, wrapped the counterpane loosely around his hips, and walked toward the bedroom door on bare feet. Scratching his stubbly face, he wished for his valet. He reached to open the door, but before he could touch the handle it flung open on its own.

"Sorcha?" a familiar male voice asked. "How many women do you have, Benjamin?"

Ben cracked one eye and squinted at the man who stood in the doorway. His brother William looked fit and healthy. His clothes were pressed and his hair combed. "Mornin', Will," Ben muttered.

"You look like hell, Ben."

"Thanks" was the only response he could come up with before he closed the door and prepared to face the day. He sat back on the edge of the willow branch bed.

What the devil was Will doing here? He

was

here, wasn't he? Ben hadn't imagined it, had he? Ben stood up and crossed the floor again. He cracked the door open, peeking one eye through the hole.

No, he hadn't imagined it. Will was sitting at the table, drinking what must be blueberry tea and nibbling at toast, while Elspeth prepared something that smelled dangerously like porridge. Ben groaned; he hated porridge.

Breakfast was the furthest thing from his mind. He hurriedly dressed, wishing for a sharp razor and strop, but more concerned about what would have brought Will all the way from London. He opened the door and padded across the cottage in his now stockinged feet. He wasn't about to stand on ceremony with his brother.

Will glanced up from his tea, a wicked glint in his light blue eyes. "You growing a beard now?"

Before he could tear into his unwelcome sibling, Elspeth caught his eye at the stove. "It's so nice yer brother came for a visit?"

"'Nice' wasn't the word I was thinking," Ben replied as he bent to kiss her quickly before sliding into a seat across from his brother. "What are you doing here, Will?"

His brother drummed his fingers on the table. "Imagine my surprise when I called on you at Alec MacQuarrie's and was redirected here. What a lovely wife you have."

Ben glowered at him. Will certainly hadn't answered his question. Why was he being evasive? "Yes, she is lovely. The prettiest girl in Scotland."

Elspeth placed a cup of tea in front of Ben, with a shy smile, and he captured her hand. "Sit, love."

"Ye seem ta have things ta discuss. I can leave ye awhile."

After the last week away from her, the idea was like a dagger to his heart. "Don't be silly. You've barely met my brother, and I don't believe he'll be staying long."

Will grinned at Elspeth. "Sadly, he's not even the rudest member of the family."

"Don't try to charm her," Ben said with a scowl. "You want something bad enough to come traipsing after me, so out with it, whatever it is."

"I do

not

traipse." Will frowned. "I do have a question for you, however, Benjamin."

"Indeed?"

His brother's hand stopped tapping out its rhythm, and his icy eyes pierced Ben with a dangerous stare. "Would you care to tell me why you've been writing to Prisca Hawthorne?"

Was

that what this was about? Ben gaped at his brother

, then he shook his head in disbelief. "Do you mean to tell me that you've come all the way from London—"

"Hampshire," Will growled.

Ben squeezed Elspeth's hand. It was that or punch his brother in the face. "Of course it's Hampshire. Prisca isn't in London this time of year, is she?"

"

Why

have you been writing her, Ben?" Will's voice dropped menacingly.

"You could have saved yourself a trip if you'd just asked

her

."

"I've come all this way because

she

begged me to find you and make sure you were all right, since you've not written a word to either her or mother for far too long."