Whereas Evan had the elegant polish and dangerous style of an early film star, Niall carried himself with the self-assurance and raw power she’d expect of a clan chief, no matter how romanticized he claimed her notion of that was. He wore the dress shirt and silk black tie of a tuxedo, but his jacket was what he called a Welsh Charlie, with gold buttons and a fly plaid pinned over the shoulder. Instead of slacks, he wore a kilt and rabbit fur sporran gilded with silver, his feet clad in the long socks and ghillie brogues.

She saw more than one woman give the two men a lingering look. Given that Tyler Winterman and a variety of other handsome men were in attendance, including the groom himself, that was saying something. Brendan was every bit as handsome as Chloe believed, with his swimmer’s physique, silky dark hair and jewel-toned hazel eyes, but Alanna only had eyes for her own escorts. She had an irrational desire to clasp both their hands, to make it clear they were with her.

Then the bride arrived, saving her from that embarrassing impropriety. As she turned for that vital moment, Niall’s arm was on the back of her chair, so she gripped his solid biceps. Chloe was a perfect match for her groom. The upper part of her dress was a glimmering corset the color of old ivory, highlighted by an antique garnet necklace that looked like it had belonged to an Egyptian queen. Alanna suspected it was a “borrowed” item from Marguerite. Her silk ribbon in Chloe’s hair was the color of taupe, and the way the ends trailed over her bare shoulder worked well with it, softening the severe look of the necklace. It also fit Chloe’s softness, the glow in her eyes, the smile on her lips. The skirt had an overlay of lace embroidery that split at the thighs to cut over the hips, etching their shape, before rejoining at the point of the buttocks and tapering down to the train.

Looking back toward the altar, Alanna saw Brendan was overcome by his bride as she came toward him, ready to join together as man and wife. Chloe was no different, her happy eyes glistening with tears by the time she reached him. It made Alanna’s throat thicken, her own eyes sting.

While he’d been waiting for the ceremony to begin, Brendan had been talking to some of the guests, and she’d noted how deferential he was toward obvious Dominants like Tyler. He was clearly in love with a woman who was not a Mistress, so Alanna hoped her first impression was right, that Chloe would be the type of person who could allow Brendan to serve her with his whole heart.

She’d embraced being an InhServ, seeking what this couple hoped to find when they clasped hands. A yearning that became something full and complete, a knowledge that the need would forever be satisfied in that bond.

Finding a handkerchief pressed in her hand, she looked toward her Master. Evan brushed her cheek, revealing the tear there. His touch, the kindness of the handkerchief, made her want to do all sorts of unlikely things. Sink down to the grass at his feet, stay on her knees, showing her devotion and desire, her need to at last be everything to a Master. A Master who wanted what she had to offer.

She closed her eyes as he stroked her hair in response. That tightness in her chest increased as Niall removed his arm to give Evan more access, but he closed his hand over hers in her lap. When Evan stopped stroking, she tentatively turned her other hand palm up, not daring to look down and witness her own presumption.

Barely a blink, and Evan’s hand closed over hers. She gripped them both, that three-way link, and then she brought both hands together in her lap, such that her hand ended up beneath both of theirs, their fingers loosely entwined over them. Two men, and she submitted to both, wanted to belong to both.

Evan had encouraged her to think of them that way. Having that reassurance, having them touch her now, she didn’t question it.

As the young couple made the sacred vows that would carry them through a lifetime, she noted Brendan had no best man. Marguerite stood in that place, a Mistress giving him into Chloe’s keeping. Gen stood behind Chloe as her maid of honor.

She recalled the oath of an InhServ, the words they were required to say first thing upon rising, and when lying down for rest. It was their only sanctioned prayer, their only approved faith.

I will serve my assigned Master with everything I am. Mind, heart, body and soul. No reservations, nothing withheld. My life belongs to the vampire who owns me, and I will never hesitate to give him whatever he desires, be it my last drop of blood or my last breath of life.

The oath didn’t include love. It was the service, the honor of living up to that oath, that had become her identity, not love for her Master.

Her glance flitted to Niall. Was that how he viewed it, his oath to Evan? A debt of honor, he’d said. Maybe that was what rankled between them now, the fact that it had become far more, and yet it was about to end. If she’d found with Evan what Niall had, no amount of time would ever be enough. Was the friction between them as simple as coping with the impending grief of separation? Did seeing her serve Evan remind Niall another would be taking his place before long, such that he was dredging up old angers and resentments to manage his emotions about that?

Evan’s fingers stilled on her nape. When she looked toward him, there was pain in his expression. Had he been listening, and she’d struck a nerve too close to home? If so, she suspected he wouldn’t share the thoughts with Niall, for which she was grateful, since she sensed Niall was dealing with his own private demons. His gaze had shifted from the bride and groom to the river beyond, and his eyes were distant, his mouth tight. Did Ceana’s ghost haunt him here, reminding him of promises he felt he hadn’t honored properly?

Putting her other hand on top of his, she stroked the Scot’s knuckles, a pressure that said she was here. Whether a crofter who’d had to bury his wife and daughter, or an InhServ who’d expected to be everything her Master had ever needed, they both understood losing the right to have expectations. As if they were the dreams of children, embarrassing and painful to recall now.

When he looked at her, it seemed perfectly natural to touch his face, stretch upward to kiss him. Evan’s fingers slipped to her shoulder, caressing her there, keeping the three of them still linked.

“It’s all right, muirnín,” she whispered, adopting Niall’s endearment for her. “She understood. And she loved you.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, for Niall’s expression gave nothing away. She’d swept some of her hair up, the excess a thick, silk tail, and now his hand came under it as he leaned in and kissed her. Not just a brush of lips, either. He deepened it, a slow, lazy exploration of her lips and tongue that made the back row a good decision.

A heavy tide of emotion came with that kiss. Evan’s fingers twined in her hair, taking a firmer hold to keep her head tilted upward as Niall’s fingers overlapped his on her neck, the two of them holding her that way until Niall at last lifted his head. He nodded to her. His tawny eyes were quiet and dark, his expression reminding her of a lone bear, heading for winter hibernation.

Clasping his hand again with both her own, she refused to let him go for the rest of the ceremony. Evan laid his hand over theirs, reinforcing the bond.

17

ALANNA decided a wedding and reception were aphrodisiacs. Niall and Evan both danced with her at different times during the reception. Holding her close, the two men took turns stroking her sensitive neck, shoulder blades and lower, the curve of spine revealed by the low back of her dress, hands lingering low on her hips. Niall played a game with her, seeing if she could guess the Dominants and submissives on the guest list through body language, nuances of conversation, significant pauses. It made her think about the following night and what type of participation Evan would prefer. The anticipation gave her some very vivid fantasies.

But there was a strong emotional draw to the festivities as well. Watching her handsome males interact with other guests, smile and laugh, hearing the rumble of their voices near her, noticing how they both glanced her way often, maintaining the connection with her, she felt like she was being woven into the fabric of their relationship, a permanent and accepted part of it. Since it was clear she was involved with both men, she was the recipient of a few speculative and envious glances from attendees who were unaware of the orientation of the groom and the many other guests, but she had no desire to discourage Niall or Evan from their obvious physical possessiveness.

When the bride and groom were escorted to a garden house prepared especially for their first night as a married couple, and the reception concluded, she and Niall returned to the guesthouse hand-in-hand. Evan indicated he would join them after a brief discussion with Tyler. Shrugging out of his coat and pulling off the tie first thing, Niall draped them over the wicker chair, then tugged her to him.

“Ye can put that up later. Come here.”

“What happened to ‘If he knocked it off, he can pick it up’? ”

“That was before I realized how nice it is tae have a lass doing all the chores.” He fended off her punch, and tucked her in close, running his hand over her backside, thumb pressing into the crease with brazen intent as he gripped her hard. “Christ, I’ve wanted to do that for hours.”

“I wish we could all three share the cellar bed.” She breathed against his mouth. “I want to be with both of you.”

“So I heard.” His brown eyes warmed as he lifted his head. “Heaven in both our arms . . .”

She flushed. “I exaggerated for the bride. I didn’t want to remind her of the more tiresome and boorish habits males can have.”

“Tiresome and boorish? ’Tis a lucky lass who gets to be with the likes of us.”

Did he know what thickening the accent while he still wore the Highland garb did to her? She had a feeling he did.

“So you say.” She managed a credible sniff, but it was no contest when he pulled her closer, brushed her hair to the side and put his lips to her neck, her jaw pressed to his, feeling the working of his throat as he gently teased that sensitive vein. Her breath left her, fingers coiling in his hair, trying not to mess up how she’d arranged it. With an impatient noise, he pulled the queue loose, letting her know he wanted her fingers buried in it.