Chapter 15
The trees closed around Leona like a living wall, blocking out the firelight from the festival until only scattered moonlight remained. The music faded to a distant echo, swallowed by the whisper of leaves and the rush of her own breathing.
She paused, looking around. The forest was darker than she’d expected, shadows pooling thick between the trunks. Murdock had disappeared ahead of her, his dark form swallowed by the night.
“Murdock?” she called softly, stepping deeper into the trees. Her eyes struggled to adjust, and every rustle made her heart jump. “Where are ye?”
Silence. Only the wind through branches and her own pulse thundering in her ears.
“Me Laird?” she tried again, louder this time.
Uncertainty crept in. Had she misread his signal? Was he even—
A hand shot out of the darkness, wrapping around her wrist and yanking her sideways.
Leona’s scream caught in her throat as she was pulled against a hard body, her back hitting the solid wall of a man’s chest. An arm banded around her waist, holding her immobile, and panic spiked through her veins.
“It’s me,” a rough voice growled against her ear. “Christ, lass, ye shouldnae make such noise. The whole village will hear.”
Relief flooded through her so quickly that it left her dizzy.
“Murdock.” She sagged against him, her heart still racing. “Ye scared me half to death.”
“Did I?” His arm didn’t loosen. If anything, he pulled her closer, his body a furnace against her back. “Ye followed me into the dark woods. What did ye think would happen?”
Good question. What had she thought? That they’d have a civilized conversation? That the tension crackling between them all day would somehow dissipate once they were alone?
She was an idiot.
“Ye could have warned me,” she managed, trying to turn in his arms.
But he held her still, his grip firm, his breath hot against her neck.
“And miss the way ye jumped? The little sound ye made?” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “I think nae.”
Heat flooded through her, pooling low in her belly. “Did ye need a word, me Laird?”
“I did.” He finally released her, spinning her to face him.
In the scattered moonlight, his face was all hard angles and shadows. His eyes glittered, dark and intense, pinning her in place more effectively than his hands had.
“We need to discuss something,” he said, his voice carrying an edge that made her shiver. “Set some rules for our betrothal.”
“Rules?” Leona’s mind struggled to keep up, distracted by his proximity, by the way he loomed over her in the darkness.
“Aye. Rules.” He took a step closer, forcing her back until her shoulders hit a tree trunk. “Because watching ye out there, watching ye dance and laugh with other men, was really fucking annoying.”
The crude language should have shocked her. Instead, it sent a bolt of heat straight to her core.
“He’s just a lad,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly even as her pulse raced.
“He’s a man.” Murdock’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “A young man. Closer to yer age than me. Looking at ye like—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.
“Like what?” Leona pressed, emboldened by the darkness and the desire she could see burning in his eyes. “Looking at me like what, Murdock?”
“Like he wanted ye.” The words came out harsh, almost pained. “Like he was imagining what it would be like to touch ye. To kiss ye. To—” He broke off again, his breathing ragged.
Leona stared at him, her own breath coming faster. “So? Why would ye be mad about it, me Laird? It’s nae like this betrothal is real. It’s nae like ye have any claim on—”
“Daenae.” The word came out sharp as a blade. “Daenae finish that sentence.”
“Why nae? It’s the truth, is it nae?” She knew she was poking a predator, knew it was dangerous, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “Ye’re the one who said this changes nothin'. That it’s just business. Just—”
“I ken what I said!” His fist slammed into the tree beside her head, making her jump. The violence should have frightened her, but instead it sent liquid heat through her veins. “I ken exactly what I said, and I was a goddamn fool.”
He seemed angry with himself more than her, his expression twisted with something that looked like self-loathing. His hands unclenched, then clenched again, over and over, as if he was fighting the urge to reach for her.
“Why?” Leona’s voice came out breathless. “Why were ye a fool?”
“Because I daenae want it to be nothin'.” The admission tore out of him, raw and honest. “I daenae want other men lookin' at ye, touchin' ye, makin' ye smile like that. I daenae care if it’s rational or right or smart. I just ken that watchin' him dance with ye made me want to break his hands.”
The confession hung between them, heavy with implication.
Leona’s heart hammered so hard that she was certain he could hear it.
“I daenae ken,” he continued, quieter now but no less intense. “I daenae ken why ye have this power over me. Why the thought of ye with someone else makes me violent. Why I cannae stop thinkin' about ye, wantin' ye, needin'…” He shook his head as if trying to clear it.
The silence stretched, broken only by their labored breathing and the distant sounds of the festival.
Then Leona smiled. Slow and mischievous and utterly deliberate.
“Did ye want to dance too?” she asked, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Is that what this is about? Ye’re jealous because Colin asked and ye didnae?”
“Leona…” His voice carried a warning.
But she was already moving, stepping away from the tree to close the distance between them. Her hands found his, lacing their fingers together despite his resistance.
“We can dance here,” she suggested softly, pulling him closer. “Just the two of us. Nay one watchin'. Nay one judgin'.”
She started to sway, humming the melody she’d heard at the festival, trying to coax him into movement.
For a moment, she thought it might work. Thought the tension might ease into something gentler, something safe.
Then Murdock moved.
His hands released hers only to shoot out, gripping her waist and spinning her around. Her back hit the tree again, but this time he followed, his body covering hers completely. One hand braced against the trunk beside her head, and the other splayed across her lower back, pressing her against him.
They were hidden now. If anyone wandered this way from the festival, they wouldn’t see them in the shadows, shielded by his larger frame and the darkness.
“I daenae think ‘dancin’ will help, lass,” he growled, his face inches from hers.
Leona couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The weight of him against her, the heat radiating from his body, the intensity in his eyes, it was overwhelming.
“What will?” The question was barely above a whisper.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she watched his pupils dilate, watched the last threads of his control begin to fray.
“This,” he said roughly.
And then his mouth was on hers.
Not gentle. Not tentative. This was hunger unleashed, desire finally breaking free.
His lips crashed against hers with bruising force, demanding entry, taking what he wanted without asking permission. Leona gasped, and he swallowed the sound, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with devastating skill.
This was fire and need and mutual desperation.
Leona’s hands fisted in his tunic, pulling him closer, even though there was no space left between them. His body pressed against hers from chest to thigh, hard muscle and masculine heat that made her head spin.
He kissed her like a man starving, like she was air and he’d been drowning. His hand tangled in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss, and she whimpered into his mouth.
The sound seemed to drive him wild.
His other hand slid down from her back to grip her hip, his fingers digging in with enough force to leave bruises. He rolled his hips forward, grinding against her, and she felt his thick length pressing against her belly.
“Murdock,” she gasped when he tore his mouth away to kiss down her throat. “Someone might—”
“Let them,” he growled against her skin, his teeth scraping over her pulse point. “Let them see. Let the whole fuckin' village ken ye’re mine.”
His hand left her hip to slide up her ribs, cupping her breast through the fabric of her dress. Even through the layers, his touch sent lightning through her. Her nipples peaked instantly, tight and aching, and when his thumb circled one, she cried out.
“Shh,” he murmured, though his own breathing was ragged. “Unless ye truly want an audience, lass, ye need to be quiet.”
Leona bit her lip, trying to stifle the sounds he was coaxing from her. But it was impossible. Every touch, every kiss, every deliberate stroke of his thumb made pleasure spike through her until she was trembling.
His mouth found hers again, swallowing her moans as his hand kneaded her breast with rough possession. The tree bark bit into her back, but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care about anything except the man devouring her, touching her, making her feel things she’d never imagined.
His hips rolled again, grinding his arousal against her, and the friction made her whimper. She could feel herself growing wet, dampness gathering between her thighs in a way that should have embarrassed her but only made her want more.
“Do ye feel what ye do to me?” Murdock’s voice was rough as gravel, his accent thickening with arousal. “Do ye feel how hard I am for ye? How much I want ye?”
“Aye,” she managed, her voice breaking. “I feel it.”
“Good.” His hand left her breast to grip her thigh, hitching it around his hip. The new angle pressed his arousal directly against her core, and they both groaned.
He kissed her again, harder this time, more desperate. His hand slid higher up her thigh, bunching her skirts, seeking bare skin.
Leona knew she should stop him. Knew they were in a public forest, barely hidden from view, where anyone could stumble upon them. Knew this was mad, reckless, dangerous, and completely inappropriate.