Chapter 27
Neil did not let go of her hand. He nodded once to Lachlan and Davina, then walked her out of the hall. The din faded behind them while the torches threw small pools of light along the corridor. Her steps quickened to match his.
“Neil,” she breathed.
“Aye,” he said, not slowing his pace.
She saw the door a second before they reached it.
His study.
Her pulse quickened as he opened the door and pulled her inside. The lock settled with a quiet click, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
Kristen looked past the papers that lay in neat stacks on the desk and the door that led to the inner library. She could barely breathe.
“It was way too hot out there,” Neil groaned, pulling off his shirt.
Kristen remained by the door, her breath catching over and over again.
His skin glistened in the firelight, and his kilt hung low on his hips, revealing lines that disappeared beneath the tartan.
She tried to look away and failed. Even as the scars across his back and shoulders flashed in the light. Even as the bandages she had wrapped around his arm gleamed white.
He turned and came to her in two strides. She backed up until her shoulders hit the door, and he braced a hand beside her head.
“We should talk.” Her voice was calm, but her hands were not.
“We have done nothing but talk,” he said. “Talk and avoid and argue. We tell ourselves this is duty. It is nae.”
“Then what is it?” she asked.
He looked at her mouth and then at her eyes. “It is me wanting ye.”
Her breath hitched. “Ye stayed away for days.”
“I tried,” he rasped. “It didnae work.”
“The whole clan is here,” she cautioned. “We must be careful.”
“I will be careful with ye,” he emphasized. “Nae with this.”
His knuckles brushed her cheek. The touch was light, and it made her stand a little straighter. He put his other hand on her waist, and heat seeped through the blue fabric. She did not pull away.
“Say nay,” he said. “If ye mean it.”
She held his gaze. “I didnae say nay in the hall.”
“Say it now.”
She swallowed. “I am tired of refusing what I want.”
“What do ye want?” he prompted.
“Ye.” The word was steady.
His nostrils flared. “Good.”
He bent and caught her mouth. It was not gentle. It was hungry and desperate.
She rose on her tiptoes and answered. Her hands fisted in his hair. The door dug into her back. He made a rough sound in the back of his throat and kissed her again, slower this time. He tasted the word she had spoken and held it like a vow.
“Tell me if I hurt ye,” he murmured.
“Ye daenae,” she breathed. “Ye make it hard to think.”
“Then let me think for both of us.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth and the line of her jaw. She turned her face and kissed him back.
The room shrank. A chair scraped when his hip brushed it. A stack of notes teetered and fell.
She laughed against his mouth. “We will have to read those again.”
“I will write new ones,” he assured her.
The room seemed to spin around them as he backed her to the wall. He leaned in and kissed her lips, then her neck and the hollow at the base of her throat. He groaned, the sound reverberating through her.
He pressed against her, and she felt his hard manhood against her thigh. Her hands tried to reach for it, but he pinned them above her head. His lips traveled down her covered chest and settled on the seam of her bodice.
“Neil,” she groaned, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.
He lifted her skirt and straightened, sealing her lips with his. Then he traced a path up her thighs with his fingers. She threw her head back, desperate to grab onto something. The sconce nearby, his hair, the rafters if she could.
He slid a finger into her and curled it, sending waves of pleasure down her spine. All the while, his lips moved over hers, swallowing her moans.
After she adjusted, he slid another finger and started a rhythm, grinding against her to match the pace.
His lips moved down her chin to her neck as he curled and uncurled, listening to what made her moan and what made her breath catch.
He twisted and turned, then increased the pace, his harsh breath fanning her cheeks.
Her hands raked over his back and arms, but eventually settled against his chest. He pumped his fingers into her like his life depended on it. Like her life depended on it.
Soon, the pressure that had been building in her core for the last few minutes burst, causing her to almost black out. His fingers didn’t stop even after she grew sensitive, and her soul almost left her body.
She reached for his hand and held it in place, quivering against him.
“Och lass.” Neil groaned into her ear.
Kristen kept her back against the wall, her breathing ragged, her lips swollen from his kisses. The room still smelled of warm wax and smoke. Her gown was rumpled, her hair mussed, and her heart felt too large for her ribs.
Neil’s hands moved to her waist, his thumbs drawing slow circles above the blue fabric as if he meant to learn her by touch alone.
The words slipped out before she could snatch them back. “I… might have missed ye, too.”
Her voice was small and honest. Not the voice that had scolded him in the hall, not the voice that had set rules days ago.
She watched his face as her words sank in. The hard line of his mouth softened, and his brow smoothed.
For the first time since she had met him, his lips curled into a genuine smile. It was not wide. It was warm and a little boyish, and it looked like a secret he had forgotten how to show.
Something fluttered in her chest.
This is really the man I could have loved, had the world been kind.
His breath brushed her cheek, and his fingers tightened on her waist. She wanted to lean into the space he left for her. She wanted to ask him to keep that look. Instead, she swallowed, afraid that any sound would shatter the fragile thing that had bloomed between them.
The banging at the door came like a blow, chasing away all thoughts.
A fist crashed against the door, and she flinched. Neil’s hands squeezed her waist.
“Neil!” Lachlan’s voice roared through the door. “Come out here. It’s urgent!”
The moment broke, and Neil’s mouth flattened. He closed his eyes for a beat and drew in a slow breath, then let it out through his nose.
“Of course,” he said bitterly.
He dropped his hands, and Kristen felt the loss like cold air on wet skin.
She pushed off the wall and dragged her hands over her bodice, smoothing what could not be smoothed.
The laces sat straight. The fabric still trembled over her ribs.
Her cheeks burned, and there was no remedy for the gleam in her eyes.
“Later,” she said, not sure if it was a promise or a plea.
She did not know what she asked for, only that she wanted to hold the soft thing they had found, and she feared the outside world would snatch it from them.
Neil did not answer. The man who had kissed and pleasured her went still. His shoulders stiffened, and his gaze sharpened.
The Laird stood where her husband had been—where that delicate man had been—just a few seconds ago.
She stepped to the side and watched as he went to the door and yanked it open. Lachlan filled the threshold, his face pale and tight, his breath coming in quick gasps.
“There’s a man in the courtyard,” he panted. “And he’s nae alone.”
Kristen’s stomach sank as if the floor had opened beneath her. She hurried to the door and stopped beside Neil.
The corridor ran long and narrow toward the night.
Torches flickered in iron sconces and spat resin.
A draught funneled in from the open doors at the end, carrying the smell of wet earth and smoke.
The thread of music had thinned, and in its place, she heard low voices and the restless scrape of boots against stone.
Lachlan’s eyes darted between her face and Neil’s bare chest, and a part of her was grateful the situation was dire enough for him not to ask questions.
“Who is he?” Neil asked.
“I daenae ken yet,” Lachlan replied. “He is making a show of it. Ye really need to speak with him.”
Neil nodded, before turning back and snatching his shirt from the floor.
Kristen pressed a hand to her middle, then forced it down to her side.
Daenae show fear.
She had told herself that too many times to forget it now.
She kept pace with the men, the hem of her skirts whispering over the floor with every quick step. The torches along the wall wavered as they passed.
Shadows danced across Neil’s jaw and the curve of his cheeks. He looked carved from the same stone that held the keep together.
She tried to catch his eye. She needed one look. One small sign that the soft smile she had seen on his mouth had not been a trick of the light.
“Come,” his voice broke into her thoughts, giving her all the answers she needed.
He was already ahead of her, his mind in the courtyard, his focus narrowed to a point.
“Neil,” she whispered.
He did not turn back. Instead, his stride lengthened.
She matched it even as her pulse skittered. The memory of his hands on her waist a minute ago, of his thumb tracing slow circles, of his smile—all of it felt fragile.
She wanted to bottle it up and carry it. She wanted to keep it safe from whatever waited outside. Whatever had made Lachlan go pale.
The walls breathed around them, and at some point, a maid flattened herself against the wall to let them pass. A guard dipped his head and moved to follow.
They reached the wide arch that opened onto the night, and cool air kissed her face. The courtyard lay beyond, lanterns swinging on their hooks. The laughter that had filled the space earlier had faded. Instead, a low murmur pushed and pulled at the edges of the square like a tide.
Men stood with their hands raised, and women pushed children behind their skirts. The night smelled of smoke, and sweat, and iron.
This was not the atmosphere Kristen had left behind. No, the atmosphere she had left was peaceful and merry. This one, for some reason, felt charged and biting.