Chapter 16
Elijah held her while she cried, his hand moving in soothing circles on her back. The material of her dress was thin—far too thin, really—and he could feel the warmth of her skin through it.
And then his fingers brushed over something else. Something that made him freeze.
Raised skin. Ridges. Scars.
His hand stilled on her back, and Piper must have felt the change because she stiffened in his arms.
"Piper." His voice came out rough, dangerous. "What—"
She pulled back abruptly, wiping at her face. "It's nothin'."
"That wasnae nothin'." Elijah's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. "Show me."
"Nay."
"Piper—"
"I said nay!" Her voice rose, defensive and frightened. "Ye daenae need to see—"
"Show me yer back." It wasn't a request. "Now."
“I’m sorry,” she hiccupped, pulling back slightly and wiping at her eyes. “I dinnae mean to fall apart like that. I’m fine now.”
“Strip.”
Piper’s head snapped up, her gray eyes wide with shock. “What?”
“Strip. Now.” Elijah’s voice came out harder than he intended, but fury was building in his chest. “Show me yer back.”
“I… What? Nay! Ye cannae just—” Piper tried to step away, but Elijah’s hands tightened on her shoulders.
“I felt scars, Piper. Under yer dress. And I need to see them. I need to check if they’re infected, if they need treatment.”
“They’re fine!” Piper’s face flushed red. “They’re old wounds, they’re nae infected, and ye have nay right to demand I strip.”
“I have every right!” Elijah’s voice rose. “Ye’re under me protection. That means yer wellbein’ is me responsibility. And if ye’re injured, if ye’re hidin’ wounds, then I need to see them.”
“I’m nae hidin’ anythin’! They’re just, they’re from before! From me parents and from…” she stopped abruptly.
“From the hunt,” Elijah finished, his voice deadly quiet. “From when ye were held captive.”
“Aye. But they’re healed.”
“Show me.” It wasn’t a request. “Now, Piper. Or I’ll call for a healer and have them examine ye.”
Piper glared at him, her gray eyes flashing with anger and humiliation. “Ye’re an arse, ye ken that?”
“Aye. I’ve been told. Now strip.”
“I hate ye.”
“I can live with that. Strip.”
For a moment, Elijah thought she might actually refuse. Might tell him to go to hell and storm out of the room. But then, with jerky, angry movements, she turned her back to him and began unlacing her dress.
“This is completely inappropriate,” she muttered.
“Then why dinnae ye tell anyone about the scars?”
Piper was quiet for a moment. Then, so softly he almost didn’t hear, she said, “Because they’re nae pretty. And I dinnae want anyone to see.”
Something in Elijah’s chest twisted at those words, but he forced himself to remain focused. “Let me see, lass.”
Piper’s hands stilled on the laces. “Promise ye willnae… willnae look at me differently. After.”
“I promise.”
Slowly, Piper pulled the dress down to her waist, keeping her front covered but exposing her back to him.
Elijah’s breath caught.
Her back was a map of old pain. Scars crisscrossed her skin, some thin and faded, obviously old. Others were newer, still pink and raised. Some looked like they’d come from a belt or strap. Others were clearly from something sharper.
Rage—hot, fierce, and absolute—flooded through him.
“Who did this to ye?” His voice came out as a growl.
“Me parents mostly. The older ones.” Piper’s voice was steady, matter-of-fact. “They’d beat me when they lost at gamblin’. Or when they were drunk. Or when they just felt like it.”
“And the newer ones?”
“From the captors. But they’re nae as bad as they could have been.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I wasnae defiant like Gabriella. Dinnae fight back, dinnae cause trouble. And I wasnae like Madison, who managed to escape once. So, they dinnae hurt me as much.”
“That’s nae…” Elijah stopped, forcing himself to breathe. To think past the fury. “That’s nae somethin’ to be ashamed of, Piper. Survivin’ however ye could, that took strength.”
“Did it?” Piper’s laugh was bitter. “Or was it cowardice? I did what they wanted. Let them push me around. And they kept me mostly unmarred because…” she stopped.
“Because what?”
“Because I wasnae pretty enough.” The words came out flat. “The other lasses—Gabriella, Madison, even wee Flora—they were bonnie. The kind of women men want. But me? I’m plump and plain, and the captors worried the hunters wouldnae want me. So they tried to keep me without too many visible marks.”
Elijah stared at her back, at the scars, at the matter-of-fact way she said those words. As if she actually believed them.
“Ye think ye’re nae pretty,” he said slowly.
“I ken I’m nae pretty.” Piper started to pull her dress back up. “It’s nae a tragedy. It just is.”
“Stop.” Elijah’s hand shot out, stopping her from covering herself. “Daenae move.”
“Elijah.”
“Ye actually believe that, daenae ye? That ye’re nae beautiful?”
“I’m nae.”
“Ye’re wrong.” Elijah moved closer, his fingers tracing the air just above her scars—not touching, not yet. “Ye’re so bloody wrong it’s almost funny.”
“I ken what I look like,” Piper said, her voice tight. “I’ve had it pointed out to me for me entire life. Me parents called me fat. The villagers called me plain. The captors said I wasnae pretty enough.”
“They were all blind fools.” Elijah’s voice was rough. “Every single one of them.”
“Ye daenae have to try to make me feel better.”
“I’m nae just sayin’ it to be kind, Piper.” He finally let himself touch her—his fingers trailing gently over a particularly nasty scar on her shoulder blade. “When ye ran into me arms that day in the forest, do ye ken what I thought?”
“That I was clumsy?”
“That ye were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
Piper twisted to look at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Ye’re lyin’.”
“I’m nae.” Elijah held her gaze. “Out of all the lasses at that hunt, ye were the one who stole me breath.”
“Ye’re just sayin’ that.”
“And for the past days, I’ve been tryin’ to convince meself that what I feel for ye is just protectiveness. Just duty.” His hand moved to cup her jaw, turning her face fully toward him. “But it’s nae. It’s so much more than that, and it’s drivin’ me mad.”
“Elijah…” Piper’s voice was breathless.
“Ye want me to prove it?” He leaned closer, his lips a breath away from hers. “I’ll prove it.”
He kissed her.
His mouth crashed over hers, not asking, but claiming. One palm clamped at her waist, yanking her against hard plaid and harder muscle; the other tangled in the loose chestnut curls that had tumbled from her coif.
His scent—peat smoke, horse, and something darker—filled her lungs. The heat in his gaze had scorched every doubt she wore like armor, and now his touch was doing the same to her resolve.
One palm clamped at her waist, yanking her against hard plaid and harder muscle; the other tangled in the loose chestnut curls that had tumbled from her coif. His mouth crashed over hers, not asking, but claiming.
Piper’s knees betrayed her, trembling as his tongue traced the seam of her lips until they parted on a gasp. The smoky sweetness of aged malt mingled with summer heather clinging to his clothes. She tasted it all and wanted more.
Her fingers curled into the coarse weave of his tunic, nails scraping the linen shirt beneath, dragging him so close her breasts flattened against his chest.
When he finally let her breathe, her lips felt swollen, branded. His breath fanned her ear, hot promise wrapping around every syllable.
“Let me show ye, lass.”
Deft fingers found the silken laces at her back, plucking, loosening. The gown slid further down her shoulders, slithering over the swell of her hips until it pooled around her heeled slippers.
Candlelight painted warm ribbons across the thin linen of her shift, turning it nearly translucent; her nipples stood in aching peaks, shadows darkening the space between her thighs.
Elijah’s gaze devoured every inch.
”So bonny,” he rasped, calloused thumb brushing beneath one breast, lifting the weight as though measuring treasure. The rough pad dragged across linen, rasping the sensitive tip, and a ragged breath tore from her throat.
He sank to his knees before her, his beard scraping the quivering skin beneath her ear, down the fragile line of her throat. Each small nip sent lightning straight to her core. Piper’s head tipped back, exposing the pale column of her neck to his ravenous mouth.
Without warning, he rose, hands gripping her waist, and lifted her as easily as if she were thistledown.
The polished oak table, polished by generations of clerks hammering out rents and marriage contracts, met her backside with a soft thump. Ancient portraits looked on, austere eyes rendered in flaking oils, as Elijah spread her knees and stepped between them.
Cool air kissed her thighs when he shoved the shift high. Instinct and shame warred; Piper started to press her legs together, but his palms slid up the fragile skin, parting her wider.
He stared.
There was no other word for the frank hunger burning across his rugged features, at the dampened curls and slick folds he’d unveiled.
A low groan rumbled from him. “Already wet for me, beauty?”
Her answer strangled in her throat as his mouth descended. The first swipe of his tongue through her folds ripped a cry from her lungs. He licked again, slower, spreading her open so he could circle the aching bud of her clit, flick, retreat, flick, until her hips jerked against his grip.
His beard abraded tender flesh in delicious contrast, creating friction that sang along every nerve. He suckled her gently, then harder, drawing the small pearl between his teeth with teasing pressure.
Piper’s hands flailed before they found his dark hair, twisting, holding him close or pushing him away—she hardly knew, desire was a drumbeat drowning thought.
He plunged his tongue into her entrance, teasing her with wicked strokes, then laved upward again in a ruthless rhythm that coiled heat low in her belly. Slick sounds mingled with his hungry growls and her broken moans, filling the high-ceilinged chamber with the raw evidence of her pleasure.
“Elijah…” His name tore free as her legs shook. “Please, I need…” She didn’t finish, couldn’t articulate how large the need had grown.
He pulled back slowly, chin glistening with her arousal, eyes feral in the candlelight. “Tell me, lass. Tell me what ye need.”
“Ye,” she rasped, fingers clutching the hem of his kilt. “Just ye.”
He put his mouth between her legs again and resumed the rhythm.
“Let go for me, lass. Just let it go.”
As if that was all the permission she needed to hear. She let herself pour out her juice, her legs shaking and her eyes rolling back.
She looked at Elijah and saw the smirk on his face as he took her in.
He straightened, the belt clinking open. The wool fell away from his narrow hips; his shirt followed, ripped over his head and tossed aside. Bronze skin stretched over sculpted muscle, a scatter of dark hair tapering to the thick jut of his cock.
Pulse leaping, Piper knelt and reached out, palm sliding up the veined heat, thumb swiping the bead of moisture crowning the flushed head.
Elijah hissed through his teeth, hands clamping on the table at either side of her head. She guided him to her mouth, nudging that broad tip through her tongue. He held her gaze for one weighted heartbeat, then held her head and started moving.
She took him all in. Sucking him one moment and teasing him with her tongue the other moment.
She started going faster and faster, her breasts bouncing beneath the linen with each movement.
Primal urgency flared, overriding courtly restraint. He got harder, and she could feel him coming to the edge.
Pressure coiled tighter and tighter. She urged him without words. Elijah shifted his angle, his hips tilting, and every plunge slammed into a secret place that sent white sparks behind her eyes.
He snarled something wordless.
Elijah drove deep and stilled, his spine bowed, then pulled out. He let out a guttural growl as hot spurts painted the table, pulse after pulse of his seed.
Their ragged breaths mingled in the sudden quiet. The portraits kept their stern counsel, candle shadows stretching long across marble. Slowly, Elijah eased back, arms sliding beneath her to draw her upright against his sweat-slick chest.
He buried his face in her tangled hair, voice gravel and velvet. “Ye’re beautiful, Piper. Never doubt it.”
She sagged into him, spent, her skin humming, her heart pounding against his ribs. In the shelter of his arms, with the Highland night pressing cold stone against their backs and the taste of him lingering on her tongue, all thought of leaving—of anywhere else—faded like morning mist.