Chapter 14
Pacing back and forth in front of the roaring fireplace, Heather’s former eagerness had been exchanged with anxiety and unease. A thousand thoughts crashed through her head, becoming so crowded that she could not pick out a single calming notion.
He says he wishes to have me as his wife, but can I believe that?
What if this is merely a ploy to dishonor me, so I can never return to England?
She paused, not knowing when she had stopped thinking of England as her home.
Gallagher Castle seemed more like a prison now, which she had fortunately escaped.
In truth, even if she had the choice of going back, she was not sure if she would.
“What would I gain from it?” she whispered to the flickering flames.
“A locked door and a life of solitude, prohibited from going within ten paces of a book or anything that might bring me joy. Remember, Heather, you were not living while you were there. You were just existing, ruled by the harsh commands of another.”
At Dunn Castle, no such rules existed. She could visit the library whenever she pleased, to read at her leisure.
She could wander wherever she liked, though Owen had insisted on her having a small escort if she left the castle grounds.
Nevertheless, the two guards who were tasked with protecting her did not attempt to intrude upon her peaceful endeavors; they merely followed at a distance.
“Can I ever really belong here, though?” She crouched down in front of the fire and lifted her hands up to warm them, though the room was already thick with heat.
In the fortnight she had been there, Clan Dunn had neither been dismissive nor embracing of Heather’s presence.
They offered polite greetings whenever she passed them and mustered smiles, but she knew it must have been difficult for them to see her there.
After all, they had lost brothers, fathers, sons, uncles, cousins, to the war against her people. The English.
The battle is over but the war rages on in the minds of the people.
Cromwell had been victorious, that much was true, but Scotland would always be a proud country.
The people of Clan Dunn surely held some bitterness in their hearts, while Heather must have served as a stark, unpleasant reminder of a drawn-out defeat.
“Perhaps, I do not belong anywhere.” Her shoulder sagged as she watched the flames dance, seeing shapes and figures in the fire that made her envious. No flame rejected another. No fire forged a divide because their foundations came from different trees.
Just then, a knock came at the door. Heather’s heart leaped into her throat, for she had momentarily forgotten why she had been nervous in the first place.
She stood to answer the knock, when the door swung open of its own accord.
Owen stepped into the chamber with an emerald-green ribbon wrapped around his hand. The same ribbon she had neatly tied onto the door handle half an hour ago, though she had untied it and retied it countless times prior.
“I didnae ken if I’d see this or nae,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Heather stood frozen to the spot, unable to speak.
He looked more handsome than she had ever seen him: his hair half-braided off his face, his short beard trimmed, his eyes already brimming with desire.
He wore neither the jerkin nor the breeches she was accustomed to seeing him in.
Instead, he had donned the colors of his clan, woven into the wool of a belted plaid.
A more familiar shirt was tucked into it, though it was unbuttoned almost to his navel, revealing the sculpted muscle she had first seen in the dungeons.
“I thought I’d make meself look more respectable.” He smiled and walked to her, every step stealing away more of Heather’s breath.
Is he wearing undergarments beneath that attire?
Her mind could not help but fixate upon the thought.
Had he dressed this way to allow himself swifter access to the part of a man she had never seen?
Or did he truly believe this way of dressing to be respectable?
After all, where she hailed from, it would make a woman faint to see a man’s bare calves.
“Are ye well?” He cradled her face in his hands, eyeing her closely for any sign of harm or illness. “Have ye a fever? Ye’re tremblin’ and ye’re red in the cheeks, Lass.”
Heather managed to shake her head. “You surprised me, that is all. I was not anticipating you to be clad in your… traditional attire.”
“Och, it was time I remembered I was in the Highlands, nae trudgin’ across battlefields to the south,” he explained. “Have ye nae seen the other lads around the castle wearin’ this sort of garment?”
She swallowed thickly. “I always avert my gaze when there are men around. I suppose it is a habit I did not know I possessed.”
“Have ye nae also changed yer attire?” His fingertips caressed her neck, trailing down to the neckline of her dress.
Gone were the restrictive bodices and cascading layers of skirts and petticoats.
In their place, she had adopted the plainer fashion of the Dunn women: a woolen dress, tightened at the waist with a wide ribbon, with a gauzy collar and a pair of billowing sleeves.
Stays still restrained her bosom, but they were far less robust than those she was used to.
“I thought it would lessen the stares if I looked more like one of you,” she replied quietly. “I cannot deny that it is more comfortable. I have not breathed so easily in many a year.”
He grinned. “Aye, it’s the same for me. There’s always a pleasin’ breeze when I wear me plaid, unless it’s the dead of winter. Then, it’s nae so pleasant.”
She could tell he was teasing her, though she did not dare to think about it too much. Surely, he could not be making a jest about what he had beneath his plaid? Although, she supposed it answered her first question about whether or not he wore any undergarments beneath.
“Do ye want me to leave?” he asked, a short while later. “Ye daenae seem sure of me bein’ here.”
Of course he would think that, for Heather had not said a word for at least a few minutes. How could she say anything, when her mind was filled with countless improper thoughts? Indeed, she feared that some of her curious, coarse questions might somehow slip from her lips.
“It will nae wound me if ye send me away, Lass,” he assured, with his fingertips still lightly tracing the border of her dress’ neckline. “I can teach ye another time.”
“No…” she rasped, struggling for breath, “I would have you teach me now. I am… nervous, that is all.”
He licked his lower lip. “Ye have nae cause to be nervous with me, Lass. If there’s anythin’ ye daenae care for or there’s a moment when ye’d have me cease, all ye have to do is say so.”
As if fearful that she might change her mind and send him out of the door, Owen caught hold of the back of her neck and brought his lips to hers in a ravenous graze.
Stunned, Heather remained still for a second or two, as her mind tried to catch up to what was happening.
If she did not kiss him back, she knew he might really think she did not want him to be there, which could not have been further from the truth.
She did, very much, but she had no knowledge of what was about to occur. That was what unnerved her.
“Kiss me,” he urged against her mouth, his arm gripping around her waist, pulling her into him.
Heather was awoken from whatever spell was holding her rigid, and her lips pushed against his.
All restraint fell away as she allowed the instinctive, primal part of her mind to take over.
Here in her chamber, the rules of her old home had no place, and no one would scold her or lock her away if she did precisely what she wanted to.
She could give into the things she had repressed throughout her womanhood, for the sake of always being polite and prim and proper.
Her palms smoothed up the contours of his broad, muscular chest, her fingertips slipping into the open sides of his collar so she could feel the warmth of his skin beneath her touch.
Following the sun-browned triangle, she cradled the sides of his neck, as he did so often with her, and let her thumbs caress the corded lines that angled down from his strong jaw.
All the while, their lips danced together in a fervent exploration, more intense than anything they had shared before. She did not even balk when his tongue slipped into her mouth to exchange an echoed kiss with her tongue. True, it was an odd sensation, but only for a moment.
Spurred on by his guidance, she moved her tongue against his, savoring the spiced-wine taste of him. Indeed, the sensation was not odd at all: it was merely something she had never experienced before. A delicious lesson to be learned, and she the eager scholar.
“Ye stir me in ways I didnae ken I could be,” Owen panted, drawing his kiss away from her mouth to savor the curve of her neck and the indents of her collarbone.
She arced her neck back: her fingertips running through his soft, shiny hair. The scent of forest herbs and something akin to rosehip infiltrated her senses, letting her know that he had bathed recently.
What I would not give to see all of you, sinking into the bathtub, and to hear your gasp of relief as all the tension ebbed from your muscles, she thought to herself, moaning in the back of her throat as the image became vivid in her mind.
The sound of her moan seemed to stoke the fires of Owen’s passion even further, as his fingertips deftly unfastened the ribbon at her waist. Her dress loosened: the sleeves falling from her shoulders.
Wherever bare skin appeared, his lips followed, grazing white-hot kisses across her trembling flesh.
A few moments later, her moan turned into a cry of wonderment. “Oh, goodness… Owen… Oh, Owen!”