Chapter 10
The door closed behind Leona with a soft click that echoed like a death knell in the sudden silence.
Murdock stood frozen in the center of his study, his chest heaving, his entire body still thrumming with unsatisfied need. His hardness strained painfully against his trews, thick and insistent, demanding what he’d been denied.
Leona’s scent lingered in the air. Heather and something sweet and uniquely her, now mixed with the musk of arousal that made his mouth water.
He could still feel the phantom weight of her in his arms. The silk of her thigh beneath his calloused palm. The way she’d whimpered when he’d touched her breast. The heat of her through that thin, soaked fabric that had nearly undone him.
Christ.
What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. The moment his hands had touched her, rational thought had fled, replaced by pure primal need. The need to claim. To possess. To make her his in every way that mattered.
Another knock sounded, sharper this time. “Me Laird?”
“A moment,” Murdock bit out, his voice rough as gravel.
He moved to the window, needing distance from where she’d stood, where her scent still clung to the air.
His hands gripped the stone sill hard enough to hurt, the pain grounding him.
He forced himself to breathe. To think. To remember who he was and why he couldn’t afford to lose control like that again.
The Beast of Ainsley. A weapon honed by his father’s cruelty. A man who’d survived by keeping his emotions locked away, by never letting anyone close enough matter.
And yet one green-eyed lass had shattered that control in a matter of days.
When he finally opened the door, his face was blank. The guard stood there, shifting uncertainly.
“What is it?” Murdock demanded.
“Apologies, me Laird. There was a disturbance in the village. Some travelers passin' through caused trouble at the tavern. Fraser thought ye should ken, but…” the guard trailed off, clearly sensing he’d interrupted something important. “It’s been handled. The men were escorted out.”
Of course, it had been handled. Fraser was perfectly capable of dealing with drunk travelers. This could have waited until morning.
“Thank ye for the report,” Murdock said, his tone dismissive. “Inform Fraser I trust his judgment in such matters. He doesnae need to send for me unless there’s real danger.”
The guard bowed and retreated quickly, no doubt sensing his Laird’s foul mood.
Murdock closed the door and leaned against it, his eyes falling shut. He could still see Leona’s face when he’d told her to leave. The hurt that had flashed in those expressive eyes before she’d masked it. The way her hands had trembled as she’d smoothed her skirts.
This changes nothin', he’d said.
Liar. Everything had changed. He’d tasted her desire, felt her body respond to his touch, heard his name on her lips like a prayer.
And now he’d have to pretend none of it mattered.
That tomorrow they’d ride to the village as if he hadn’t nearly taken her against the wall of his study like some rutting animal.
His arousal throbbed at the memory, still hard and demanding. He needed to clear his head. Needed cold water and solitude to remind himself why this was a terrible idea.
He grabbed his cloak and left the study, his boots echoing through the quiet corridors. Most of the castle had retired for the night.
Good. He didn’t want company. Didn’t want to see the knowing looks or answer questions about why he and Lady Leona had both fled the dining hall looking thoroughly undone.
The night air hit him when he stepped outside, cool and sharp with the promise of autumn. He breathed it in deeply, letting it fill his lungs, trying to extinguish the fire still burning in his veins.
His feet carried him through the gardens, past the training yard, toward the path that led to the loch. It was a walk he’d made countless times over the years, usually when sleep proved elusive or when memories of his father became too vivid.
Tonight, he was fleeing something else entirely.
The loch stretched before him, dark and still, its surface reflecting the moon like polished silver. Trees surrounded it on three sides, providing shelter from prying eyes. Murdock had come here since he was a boy, first to escape his father’s rage, and later to find peace in the silence.
He stripped off his tunic and boots without ceremony, leaving them in a pile on the bank. His trews followed, and then he was wading into the water, hissing as the cold bit into his heated skin.
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
He dove under, letting the shock of it steal his breath, his thoughts, everything but the feel of cold water closing over his head. He stayed under until his lungs burned, then surfaced with a gasp.
Better. This was better.
He swam with powerful strokes, pushing his body hard, trying to exhaust the restless energy that thrummed through him. But even as his muscles worked, even as the cold seeped into his bones, he couldn’t stop replaying what had happened.
The way Leona had looked at him when he’d backed her against that wall.
Not with fear, though she should have been afraid.
He’d been rough, demanding, taking what he wanted without asking permission.
But her eyes had been dark with desire, her body arching into his touch, her lips parted on breathless gasps that had driven him wild.
She’d wanted it. Wanted him. As much as he’d wanted her.
Then stop, she’d challenged when he’d said it was wrong.
And he hadn’t been able to. Christ, he’d barely been able to keep himself from tearing off her dress and taking her right there, propriety and promises be damned.
His body still ached with unfulfilled need, every muscle tense with the desire he’d been denying himself. He dove under the water again, swimming harder this time, pushing himself with punishing strokes that made his lungs burn and his arms shake with effort.
He pictured her as she’d been against that wall. The flush in her cheeks. The way her chest had heaved with each breath, her nipples tight against the fabric of her dress. How wet she’d been when he’d touched her, the evidence of her desire soaking through her undergarments.
The images only made things worse. His arousal throbbed insistently, refusing to subside despite the cold water and his desperate attempts to exhaust himself into submission. He swam faster, more violently, cutting through the water with brutal efficiency.
He remembered the taste of her skin, the sounds she’d made, the way she’d gasped his name like a benediction.
Murdock, please…
Faster. He had to swim faster. Had to push his body until it had nothing left to give, until the desire finally burned itself out and left him in peace.
But it wasn’t working. Every stroke only seemed to heighten his awareness of what he couldn’t have. Every breath brought her scent back to him, phantom and maddening. Every movement of his body reminded him of how she’d felt pressed against him, soft and willing and perfect.
Finally, gasping and frustrated, he stopped. Let himself float on his back in the cold water, staring up at the sky as his chest heaved with exertion. His arousal had finally begun to subside, not from satisfaction, but from sheer exhaustion and the relentless chill of the water.
For a moment, he just floated there, breathing hard, his body still humming with unfulfilled need even as fatigue settled into his bones.
Pathetic. Wanting a woman so desperately that he had to swim himself into exhaustion just to make his body behave. Rutting after her like some untried boy because he couldn’t have what he wanted, what he’d foolishly let himself taste.
Except he could have her. That was the problem. She was his betrothed, even if it was a lie. No one would question it if he took her to his bed.
But that would make everything so much more complicated. This was supposed to be temporary. A year-long arrangement to solve both their problems. She wanted protection, he needed heirs. Simple.
Except nothing about Leona Gilmore was simple.
“Enjoyin' yer swim?”
Murdock spun in the water, his heart hammering.
Hamish stood on the bank, arms crossed, grinning like the bastard he was.
“What the hell are ye doin' here?” Murdock demanded.
“Making sure ye daenae drown yerself.” Hamish settled on a large rock, clearly intending to stay. “Ye and the lass both left the dinner table lookin' rather… upset. Thought I should check on ye.”
“I’m fine.”
“Aye, ye look fine. Swimmin' alone in the dark, probably freezin' yer bollocks off. Very fine, indeed.”
Murdock swam closer to the bank but stayed in the water.
He was naked, and while he didn’t particularly care if Hamish saw him bare, he needed the concealment.
His body was already stirring again just from thinking about Leona, and that was something he definitely didn’t need his man-at-arms noticing.
“I needed to clear me head.”
“Must have been quite the conversation ye had with Lady Leona.” Hamish’s tone was knowing. Too knowing. “Looked like ye were about to devour each other in the hallway before ye disappeared into yer study.”
Murdock’s jaw clenched. “We were discussin' arrangements for tomorrow.”
“Is that what they’re callin' it these days?” Hamish laughed. “Come on, me Laird. Ye cannae blame yerself for desirin' yer betrothed. She’s a bonnie little thing. Any man with eyes can see that.”
Something dark and possessive surged through Murdock’s chest. His hands curled into fists beneath the water.
The casual way Hamish had said it. Bonnie little thing. As if she were a trinket to be admired. A plaything.
Before he could think better of it, Murdock surged from the water. He was on Hamish in three strides, grabbing the man by his tunic and hauling him to his feet.
“Be careful,” he growled.
Water streamed down his naked body, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was the way Hamish had looked at Leona. Had smiled at her during dinner. Had held her hand. His friend, his most trusted man, looking at his woman with appreciation.
Hamish’s eyes widened, then a slow grin spread across his face. “Well, well, imagine that.”
“Imagine what?” Murdock demanded, though he knew. He already knew what Hamish was going to say, and he didn’t want to hear it.
“Ainsley’s weapon, undone by a lass.”
The words hit him like a physical blow.
Murdock released Hamish with a shove, sending the man stumbling back. “Ye daenae ken what ye’re talkin' about.”
“Nay?” Hamish straightened his tunic, that infuriating grin still in place. “Ye just threatened me for callin' yer betrothed bonnie. Ye can barely keep yer eyes off her. And unless I’m very much mistaken, ye were in that study, doing more than discussin' travel arrangements.”
“Enough.” Murdock turned away, grabbing his trews from where he’d left them. The fabric stuck to his wet skin, but he yanked them on anyway, needing the barrier. Needing to feel less exposed.
“I’m nae judgin', me Laird,” Hamish said, his voice softening. “I’m just sayin'… it’s nae a bad thing. To want someone. To let someone in.”
“It is when it’s temporary.” Murdock yanked his tunic over his head.
“This betrothal isnae real, Hamish. A year from now, she’ll leave.
Go back to reclaim her clan or wherever else she chooses.
I cannae afford to—” He cut himself off.
Couldn’t finish that sentence. Couldn’t admit what terrified him most.
“Cannae afford to what?” Hamish pressed. “To feel somethin'? To let yerself be happy?”
“To lose someone else.” The words came out before Murdock could stop them, raw and honest in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
Hamish was quiet for a moment. “Ye’re thinkin' about yer maither.”
Murdock’s hands stilled on the laces of his boots.
His mother. Dead before he’d turned ten, worn down by his father’s cruelty until there was nothing left of the vibrant woman she’d once been. He’d watched her fade, watched the light leave her eyes, and been powerless to stop it.
“I’m thinkin',” he said carefully, “that carin' about someone gives them power over ye. Power to hurt. To destroy. Me faither taught me that lesson well enough.”
“Yer faither was a bastard who twisted everythin' good into somethin' dark.” Hamish moved closer, his voice gentle. “But ye’re nae him, me Laird. Ye never have been, nay matter how hard he tried to break ye.”
Murdock finished with his boots and straightened. “This discussion is over.”
“Fine. But answer me this.” Hamish crossed his arms. “If this betrothal is just business, just temporary, why did ye look ready to murder me for saying she’s bonnie?”
Because Leona was his. Because even the thought of another man looking at her with desire made violence surge through his veins. Because he wanted to mark her, claim her, make it clear to every man in the Highlands that Leona Gilmore belonged to Murdock Lyall.
But he couldn’t say that. Couldn’t admit that a lass he’d known for barely a handful of days had somehow gotten under his skin in a way no one ever had.
“Go to bed, Hamish,” Murdock said instead. “We have an early morning.”
Hamish studied him for a long moment, then shook his head with a soft chuckle. “As ye say, me Laird. Though for what it’s worth…” He paused. “I think she might be good for ye. If ye let her.”
He walked away before Murdock could respond, his laughter echoing through the night.
Murdock stood alone by the loch, water still dripping from his hair, his body finally cool but his mind no clearer than before. He looked up at the sliver of moon, at the stars scattered across the dark sky like diamonds on velvet.
Hamish was wrong. Had to be wrong.
A woman he barely knew couldn’t have such power over him. Couldn’t make him feel things he’d locked away years ago. Couldn’t make him want things he’d convinced himself he didn’t need.
At least he hoped so.
Because if Hamish was right, then Murdock was in far more danger than he’d ever been in any battle.
And this time, he wasn’t sure he could win.
He gathered his cloak and began the walk back to the castle, each step heavy with the weight of truths he wasn’t ready to face.
Tomorrow, he’d take Leona to the village. They’d play their parts, smile for his people, pretend this betrothal was real. And he’d try very hard not to think about how much he wished it was.
For her own good, he told himself as the castle walls loomed before him.
For her own good, he had to keep his distance. Had to remember this was temporary. Had to protect her from the darkness that lived inside him, the violence his father had bred into his very bones.