Highland Sacrifice (Highland Wars Book 2) by Eliza Knight

hated Beatrice with a passion. Simply recalling her name brought him back into that room where she’d violated him. Aye, he wanted to punish her every way that he could.
    “Then we’d best continue. Let us give out the wine this night.” Ceana leapt from her chair and made her way to the door. She flung it open and to the guard there, she said brightly, “Relieve the storeroom of mourning wine and give every clan member a cup. We mourn no more. Tell them there is no mourning drink. Only hope wine.”

 
    Chapter Nine
     
     
    THEY sipped their wine in their chamber and listened to the outraged bellows of the council members below stairs, as the guards passed out the wine to the people in the courtyard. The cheers of those pleased dominated over the angry cries.
    The miscreants deserved every bit of torment that Ceana and Macrath could pour over them, from taking away the people’s fear right down to emptying the stores of special wine. Theoretically, the wine was hers and Macrath’s now, and they could do with it what they pleased.
    Macrath filled her trencher with thick strips of roasted venison, herbed carrots and mushrooms, a hunk of bread and honeyed pears.
    “Eat now, my love, for I will not let you leave our bed until the morning sun rises and shines on the coverlet.” The sensual rasp in his voice glided over her limbs in an arousing caress.
    Ceana grinned and picked up a hunk of meat with her knife, taking a bite. “Delicious,” she said, spearing another.
    Macrath watched her eagerly, his eyes roving all over her face. She liked it when he studied her. Liked seeing his approval. She’d never been one to need approval, often running wild within her clan, and until now, she’d not realized how good it felt to be admired. Mayhap ’twas because it was Macrath, mayhap because she was changing. Whatever the cause, she found herself smiling at her husband.
    “I love the way you eat,” he murmured.
    She leaned forward slightly, cocking her shoulder, her grin growing wider. “How does one love the way another eats?”
    A little chuckle left him as he, too, bit into the meat. “You eat with passion. The same way you kiss. The same way you make love. You are a fiery woman, Ceana. You do nothing halfway. You give all of yourself every time. ’Tis one of the reasons I love you.”
    His words took her breath away. Tingles started in her eyes, but she wouldn’t let herself cry, even with happiness.
    “You move me so,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.
    Unable to sit still, and needing a moment to compose herself, Ceana pushed her chair back and stood. Macrath watched her with interest.
    The burden of her crown weighed profoundly, as though a thick, heavy stone had been placed upon her head. She took it off—surprised she’d not removed the burden before now. She tiptoed to the wardrobe and yanked open the doors, not wanting to see it anymore. She set it on a shelf inside.
    “Want me to take yours?” she asked.
    Macrath handed her his crown and she set it beside hers. Two beautiful crowns. Ornately carved and bedecked with jewels. The glow of the fire bounced along the smooth gold and played hide-and-seek in the jewels. She closed the doors, shutting away the sight of what those crowns meant.
    Her hands rested loosely on the wood and she breathed in deeply, eyes closed.
    “Are you all right?” Macrath asked, concerned.
    Ceana smiled reassuringly. “Aye.”
    She took the ribbons from her hair, letting her locks fall loose, massaging away the prickling feelings on her scalp.
    “I love the way you look with your hair down that way,” Macrath said.
    “Thank you, husband.” Ceana studied him, mesmerized by his strength, his rough beauty. She wanted to kiss him. To climb onto his lap and show him just how much she loved him, how much she admired him.
    But perhaps there was another way to show him.
    Taking a step back, she tugged the pin from her plaid sash, setting the jewel on the table. The