Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
"Where are we going?" Mhairi asked as Alpin led her away from the fire.
The celebration had died down to embers and quiet conversation and Mhairi was still feeling dazed from everything that had happened.
Engaged.
She was engaged to Alpin MacDougal.
"Somewhere we can have a bit of privacy." He guided her toward the edge of the village, where several tents had been erected for those whose homes had been destroyed. "The villagers set up a tent fer us. Well, fer me initially..." He smiled.
"Alpin, we're nae married yet. People will talk if we share a tent."
"People just watched me propose tae ye in the middle of the village square. I think they've already assumed we're sharin’ a tent." He paused at the entrance to the largest tent. "But if ye'd rather have yer own space, I can arrange it. I daenae want ye tae feel pressured."
Mhairi considered.
The proper thing would be to insist on separate accommodations until they were formally wed. But after that day, after the violence and fear and uncertainty, she didn't want to be alone.
"I want tae be with ye," she said quietly.
His expression softened. "I am happy. But first, I need tae take care of something. Wait here."
He disappeared into the tent and emerged moments later with parchment, ink, and a portable writing case. He settled on a log near one of the dying fires and began writing, his expression grim in the flickering light.
Mhairi moved to sit beside him, watching the careful formation of letters across the page.
"What are ye writin’?" she asked.
"A letter to Ashcombe." His jaw was tight. "Telling him exactly what I think of his tactics and what will happen if he tries this again."
"Will he even read it?"
"Oh, he'll read it. And he'll understand that this changes everything." Alpin's voice was cold with controlled fury. "He thought he could terrorize me people into giving ye back. Instead, he's just guaranteed I'll never surrender ye tae him. Nae fer any price."
He finished writing and sealed the letter with wax, pressing his signet ring into it with deliberate force.
"Duncan!" he called, and one of his warriors appeared from the shadows. "Find our fastest rider. This letter goes tae Ashcombe's camp taenight. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. I want him tae have it by mornin’."
"Aye, me laird." Duncan took the letter and disappeared.
Alpin stood, brushing off his hands, and turned to Mhairi. "Now. Where were we?"
"Ye were about tae show me our tent."
"Our tent." He tested the words, a smile breaking through his earlier grimness. "I like the sound of that."
The tent was larger than Mhairi had expected, with a proper floor of woven mats and cushions piled in one corner to create a makeshift bed. Someone had left a lamp burning low, casting warm light across the interior.
"It's nae the castle," Alpin said, "but it's comfortable enough."
"It's perfect." Mhairi moved to the cushions, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the day settle into her bones. "I cannae believe everything that happened these past two days. The attack, the foragin’, the..." She touched her hand where his ring would eventually rest. "The proposal."
"Regrets?" His tone was light, but she could hear the thread of genuine concern.
"Nay. Just... overwhelmed." She sank onto the cushions with a sigh. "This mornin’ I woke up as yer guest. Taenight I'm going tae sleep as yer betrothed. It's a lot tae process."
Alpin knelt beside the cushions, his hands gentle as he began unlacing her boots. "Then dinnae process it all taenight. Just rest."
"What are ye daeing?"
"Takin’ care of ye." He slipped off one boot, then the other, setting them aside carefully. "Ye've been on yer feet all day tendin’ the wounded and organizin’ supplies. The least I can dae is help ye get comfortable."
His hands moved to her cloak, untying the clasp at her throat. The fabric slid from her shoulders, and he folded it neatly before setting it aside.
"Alpin."
"Lie back," he said softly. "Let me take care of ye."
Mhairi obeyed, settling against the cushions. Alpin retrieved a blanket from the pile and spread it over her, tucking it around her shoulders with careful attention.
"Better?" he asked.
"Aye, but—"
He silenced her with a kiss. It was gentle, unhurried, his lips moving against hers with a tenderness that made her chest ache.
"I get tae dae this now," he murmured. "Kiss ye whenever I want. Take care of ye. Call ye mine."
"Ye've been daein’ those things already."
"Aye, but now it's official." His hand cupped her cheek. "Now everyone kens ye're spoken fer. That ye're nae just someone I'm protectin’, ye're someone I'm choosin’. Someone I'm buildin’ a future with."
Mhairi's went up to cover his. "I'm choosin’ ye too. In case that wasnae clear from me sayin’ aye in front of the entire village."
"It was fairly clear." His smile was warm. "Though I wouldnae object tae hearin’ it again."
"I choose ye, Alpin MacDougal."
She watched him through half-lidded eyes, her pulse quickening as his gaze darkened. There was hunger there, but something else too; reverence, maybe. Or possession.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine, her nipples tightening beneath the fabric.
His sleeves brushed against her arms as he leaned over her, the coarse weave of his tunic scraping delicately against her skin.
Then his mouth was on hers, slow and deep, his lips parting hers with a patience that made her ache.
She tasted the ale he’d drunk earlier, the faint salt of his skin, the heat of him seeping into her like a promise.
Her hands found his shoulders, broad and solid beneath her fingertips. Even through the layers of his clothing, she could feel the corded muscle, the strength of him.
She let her palms slide down, over the hard planes of his chest, her thumbs catching on the laces of his tunic. The need to feel him, all of him, was a fire in her veins. She tugged at the ties, her fingers fumbling in her haste, but he caught her wrists gently, stilling her.
“Patience, mo chridhe,” he murmured against her lips, his voice a rough purr.
His hands returned to her body, sliding the straps of her shift down her arms, baring her shoulders to the cool air of the tent.
She gasped as the fabric pooled at her waist, her breasts spilling free, the nipples already tight and aching. His breath hitched, his gaze dropping to take her in, and the way he looked at her—like she was something precious, something his—made her thighs press together.
“Alpin,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, his mouth found the sensitive skin of her neck, his lips pressing hot and open-mouthed against her pulse.
She arched into him, her fingers tangling in the thick waves of his hair as his tongue traced a path down to her collarbone. The wet heat of his mouth sent a jolt straight to her core, her hips lifting involuntarily.
His hands followed the curve of her waist, his calloused palms rough against the softness of her skin, before slipping beneath the hem of her shift. She gasped as his fingers found the inside of her thigh, his touch firm but teasing, inching higher with maddening slowness.
“Ye’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he growled, his breath hot against her skin. His fingers brushed against the damp heat of her, and she moaned, her head falling back. “Always so wet fer me.”
She couldn’t do anything but whimper as his fingers parted her, sliding through the slick folds with deliberate precision.
One thick digit pressed inside her, and she muffled a cry aware of where they were, her nails digging into his shoulders. He crooked it, finding that spot that made her vision blur, her body clenching around him.
“Alpin, please,” she begged, her voice breaking.
He didn’t make her wait.
His mouth crashed back onto hers, his kiss bruising as he shifted above her, his weight settling between her thighs.
She could feel the hard length of him through his trews, the heat of his manhood pressing against her inner thigh.
Her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer, and he groaned, the sound vibrating against her lips.
His hands trembled slightly as he worked at the laces of his trews, his movements losing some of their earlier precision.
She helped him, her fingers brushing against his as she pushed the fabric down his hips, freeing his manhood. It sprang free, thick and flushed, the head already glistening with pre-cum. She bit her lip, her folds clenching at the sight of him, so ready, so hers.
He positioned himself at her entrance, his gaze locked with hers, his jaw tight with restraint.
“Mine,” he growled, and then he was pushing inside her, slow and steady, stretching her open.
She whimpered, her nails raking down his back as he filled her completely, his manhood seated deep, the stretch of him almost too much.
For a moment, he didn’t move. He just breathed, his forehead pressed to hers, his hands gripping her hips like he was memorizing the feel of her.
Then he began to rock into her, his thrusts deep and measured, each one dragging against that perfect spot inside her. The furs beneath them rustled with every movement, the sound mixing with their ragged breaths, the slick slide of his cock in and out of her.
“Ye feel so good,” he groaned, his voice rough. “So tight, so perfect.”
She could only moan in response, her body winding tighter with every thrust. Her heels dug into the backs of his thighs, urging him deeper, harder.
He gave her what she wanted, his hips snapping against hers, the slap of skin on skin filling the tent. Pleasure coiled low in her belly, her orgasm building with every drag of his manhood, every grind of his pelvis against her clit.
“Alpin—I’m—” she gasped, her body trembling on the edge.
“Let go, mo leannan,” he commanded, his voice a dark rasp. “Come for me.”
And she did.
The orgasm crashed over her, her back arching off the furs as her sensitive spot clenched around him, her walls milking his manhood.
She surpressed another cry, her nails scoring lines down his back as wave after wave of pleasure wracked her body.
Alpin groaned, his thrusts turning erratic, his manhood swelling inside her.
“Mhairi…”
His release hit him hard, his body stiffening as he buried himself to the hilt, his cum pulsing deep inside her.
She felt every hot jet of it, her own climax prolonging as he filled her, his hips jerking against hers.
He collapsed onto her, his weight pressing her into the furs, his breath coming in ragged gasps against her neck.
She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers tracing the damp skin of his back, the muscles still twitching from exertion. His manhood softened inside her, but neither of them moved to separate.
Not yet.
“Me laird,” she murmured, her voice soft, her lips brushing against his shoulder.
He lifted his head, his dark eyes warm as he tucked a strand of sweat-damp hair behind her ear. His thumb traced her bottom lip, his touch gentle.
“Me lady,” he replied, his voice rough but tender.
He kissed her then, slow and deep, his tongue tangling with hers like he had all the time in the world.
And in that moment, with the quiet of the tent wrapping around them like a cocoon, the rest of the world ceased to exist.
There was only them, the warmth of his body against hers, the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm, the way his lips moved against hers like a vow.
She was his. And he was hers.
Forever.