Chapter 23
Talia was out foraging for herbs when she came to an unsettling realization: there was something she enjoyed thoroughly more than her work.
In the past few days, she and Darragh had spent their every waking moment together. Enjoying his hardness and thickness, on her part; her tightness and softness, on his part. Her pleasure was a new territory she could not get enough of exploring.
Sometimes—most times—she found herself finishing work early and seeking him out in the middle of the day.
She would find him in his study or in some other room, not too far from her.
In his study, he would rise before she crossed the threshold and take her into his arms. Then he would lower onto his lacquered mahogany desk and strip her bare.
Sometimes, she would find herself straddling him in his armchair.
On rare occasions, when her legs didn’t fail her, they would make it back to his bedroom.
There was nothing she loved more than the warmth of his chambers.
And the golden glow of the hearth that highlighted the muscles in his back and the globes of his arse when he was lying on top of her.
And the shadows that danced across his face as he moved down to her pulsing center.
And the feel of his tartan blanket as he gripped her hair and slammed into her from behind.
She stood from the lily of the valley bush she discovered in the woods, blushing as she remembered her legs being disgracefully parted for a penetrative exploration.
For so long, she had believed flowers to have the most pleasant of smells.
She was proved wrong when she had first smelled the mix of their perspiration and arousal.
When all she could do was smell, her hands tied to the bronze panel behind her and eyes covered with his plaid, that scent became an insidious drug, pulsing through her veins, bending her to its perverse will.
Just then, she heard a crack and whipped around.
Darragh stood at a distance, dripping wet and undressed.
“What are ye doing here?” She felt a flutter in her chest that turned into something depraved in her core.
Anticipation, that was what the feeling was. Hot, throbbing, and hungry.
“I missed ye.” His hard muscles strained against the thin linen of his shirt.
She watched his arms and chest flex and relax as he shrugged off the plaid dangling from his shoulder. He had already disposed of his boots and socks.
“Did ye swim through the loch?”
He quirked an eyebrow. He never looked more handsome when he was being naughty. “I did.”
She appreciated the stretch of flesh when he peeled off his wet shirt. His body glistened, like an oiled bronze statue of a Greek god.
She had never seen him so naked in broad daylight before. Her visions of him were usually under a gentle light, or he was always so close to her that lust suffused her, and she didn’t feel so… aware, embarrassed.
It was ridiculous, considering she had touched him so intimately and so often that she could picture the contours of his body clearly. She then understood that imagination and reality were two different things.
The fact that he was also eyeing her hungrily had an opposite effect. She felt exhilarated.
“Why did ye nae go around?”
She had discovered at some point that she could not access the woods by boat.
The village had a perfect traversable path, which he must have been aware of.
It was just outside the keep and more sensible.
She had only used the boat again because she enjoyed paddling; it made her feel like a one-woman pirate crew.
“Because then I would have nay reason to strip.” Her breath caught when he reached for the belt holding up his kilt. His eyes raked over her. “Why arenae ye undressing?”
“Because I am nae wet.”
“That is for me to find out.”
Then the kilt dropped around his feet.
The problem Talia had with lovemaking in a forest was the stubby blades of grass poking her back.
“Ye shouldnae come out here when it’s so dark,” Darragh said.
They both lay naked on their backs, watching as stars dotted the darkening sky. They had drifted closer to the keep, where the grounds were more grass than soil.
The edge of the forest wasn’t so far that their nakedness was completely concealed from the crenellated turrets of the castle. Even with Darragh assuring her that they were hidden from view, she had some apprehensions, but not enough to throw on her clothes.
Her chest heaved softly. “It was four o’clock when I came out here.”
“That’s impossible, it’s nearing seven o’clock.”
“Ye have a habit of getting carried away.” A satisfied smile stretched across her face as she replayed the last three hours in her head.
“I have ye to blame for that.”
She rolled onto her chest. A soft breeze ruffled Darragh’s hair, causing it to fall over his eyes.
She reached out and brushed the strands away.
He was looking at her, hanging on to every little movement.
The flutter of her lashes, the parting of her lips, the shift of her gaze as she studied him. Adoration was writ large on his face.
She giggled. “I fear I willnae be able to walk.”
“Then I shall carry ye.”
“Please nay.” She imagined herself in his arms as he padded through slate corridors. “I would be terribly embarrassed.”
It was not as though they had made a great effort to hide it. They frequently woke up in each other’s rooms or disappeared for hours, only to reappear together.
Still, she wanted to keep their trysts secret.
Amber had once tried to engage in idle gossip and broached the subject of sex.
Talia, an experienced healer who had no problems conversing on matters of sexual relations with her patients, had turned beetroot red.
If their frequent disappearances were not telling enough of their trysts, then her reaction was a sure telltale.
Another telltale was their lying naked out in the open.
“Nae more embarrassing than limping, I assume?”
“Still, I would like to walk.”
“And row yer little boat across the stream?”
She had never considered that. How were they going to return?
She felt no inclination to swim—though a cold dip might invigorate her—and they could not both fit into the wee vessel.
It would capsize under their combined weights.
Trekking through the village was out of the question, Darragh carrying her even more so.
“I should like to do that, too.”
He sat up. “Then I will have to tire yer hands so ye would have to depend on me.”
He straddled her and pinned her hands above her head. If they had not been attracting attention before, they surely were now. Her erect nipples pressed into his chest, making his skin tingle.
She leaned up defiantly. “I shall crawl if I have to.”
The look in his eyes was of pure appreciation for her breasts.
“Be careful, or ye might be mistaken for a ghoul and get smitten where ye crouch,” he said in a low, sultry voice.
“There is nae a man on this earth who has the courage to fight a ghoul as menacing as me.”
His lips quirked up. “So ye believe yerself threatening?”
“How else would ye describe me?”
“I have to flip ye on yer hands and knees.” She watched the scene in his eyes as he described it.
“Look at the way yer skirt frames yer bottom. Good God! Yer breasts are also spilling out of yer neckline.” The result of his imagination pressed into her thigh.
“Nay, there’s nae a man who would see ye as threatening.
I fear I must stop ye from doing that because ye appear more like a succubus.
Look…” He lowered his gaze to his throbbing erection. “Ye are already possessing me.”
“What shall we do about it?” she breathed, a suggestion and an invitation.
His mouth hovered above hers. “Ye’re sore.”
He sounded as though he were fighting himself. He must have been, with the way he was both holding back and holding her tight.
“I am.”
They did not let up, engaging in some mental battle where they were urging the other to break first. They were both spent, no matter how much their bodies stirred. Another tumble will end regrettably.
Darragh caved first, but not in the way she had expected. He fell off her, groaning like a man forced to throw down the white flag.
“It’s getting dark,” she stated, a smile playing on her lips. “Ye should retrieve yer clothes so we can head back to the castle.” She made no move to retrieve hers.
Darragh watched the stars, his arms crossed behind his head. “I have nay need for them; the night shall be me clothes.”
“Darragh, ye cannae do that!” she cried and propped herself up. “It’s nae even that dark.”
The moon had risen in its entirety, setting its silver eye on the indomitable fortress that was the keep. Torches were lit at the parapet, chasing the shadows all the way into the woods.
“Once we reach the castle, ye shall go ahead and snuff out the lights until I make it safely to me chambers.”
He stroked her forearm as if to coax her, but she wrenched it away, holding it to her chest. She feared he could get her to do anything she was opposed to at the moment.
His smile was boyish, mischievous and alluring.
She was already lying naked under the stars when she was usually shy about her body.
“I shall like nay part in yer madness.”
“As me wife, ye have to help me, especially in me madness.”
She liked that. His possessiveness was attractive, and when he claimed her, it felt as though she were floating on a bed of clouds.
She could not help the smile pulling at her lips, so she rose. “Good thing I am nae yer wife yet.”
His eyes followed her, from when she left his side to when she bent over, retrieving her frock from where he had dropped it. “Look at how ye disclaim me in me time of need.”
“Ye’re being irrational.”
His clothes were no longer drenched, but smelled strongly of earth, and the white shirt had turned a shade of green and brown.
Their predicament now was how to get to the castle. As expected, she was sore, but not so sore that she could not manage a trek. The problem was the stream.
She gave it another thought. It would be absolutely embarrassing to have Darragh watch her wiggle into her little boat and struggle against the flow crosswise.
And with her palms scarred by the bark of the tree he had held her against, it would be almost impossible to hold onto the oars.
A bridge would have made matters so much easier.
He seemed to read her plight in the forlorn look she gave the still water. “I can build ye a bridge.”
She looked to him just as she fastened the hooks of her skirt. “I daenae need one,” she said modestly.
She knew Darragh had plans for the clan, grand plans that required the better part of his inheritance.
He had confessed them to her one evening when they were cooped up in her chambers during a storm.
He had told her about the investments he wanted to make, the projects he would start to transform the village.
Then he told her about the surgery he wanted to build on the keep grounds.
She watched him transform from a man who shouldered a weight that was too heavy for him to a free man.
He smiled as he spoke with an unrestrained passion.
She believed that the man she had never gotten to meet, the one who had been happy before his father ruined him, was in her bed, sharing his deepest desires with her, and she fell in love with him all over again.
His dreams were big, and Jonathan’s bequest was generous, but until he accomplished everything he wanted to, until she was sure he had found the stability he had always desired, she would not be a bother.
“Why? It would make comin’ out here easier, would it nae?” Oh, she was becoming a permanence in his life that he made preparations for. “And have ye ever had a picnic on a bridge? Ye can feed the swans bread crumbs after ye’re done.”
“But there are nay swans.”
“If ye like them, I can buy some.” Another preparation.
She was at a loss for words. She stared at him, her fingers working over the buttons on her blouse. One could not think when they were ambushed by an awakening that defied the ethos of one’s existence.
Here he was, wanting to buy her swans just because he wanted her to have a good view. Who would have imagined her life could take such a romantic turn?
“Would ye like that?” He came to her and cupped her face in his palms, staring at her intently.
Moonlight haloed his dark hair, casting a white light over the planes of his face.
Still, she could not decipher his expression.
It was pleasant and gentle, as if he weren’t such a large man who shouldn’t be capable of such tenderness.
It seemed needy and servile, as if he wanted nothing more than to please her.
She was even more nonplussed when she saw a glint in his eyes that was sharp and coarse against the softness of his countenance.
Perhaps it was love. Perhaps when he looked at her, he saw his soulmate. She could not presume his feelings.
But her feelings were…
“I love ye, Darragh Boyd.”
She felt his grin against her lips. “I love ye, Talia Collins.”