Chapter Sixteen
Despite a few necessary changes she’d made, meaning to adapt as much as she was able to her circumstances, and to the fourteenth century, sleep was still sometimes hard to come by. She wandered the corridors of Dunmara as she had several times before. The world was quiet at this hour, peaceful in a way that made her feel strangely calm, though sleep yet eluded her. As she wandered, she silently acknowledged a small expectation—hope, really—that she might bump into the keep’s laird.
But he was nowhere to be found.
Questioning her seemingly acute disappointment, Emmy made her way back to her chamber.
Actually, there was no mystery surrounding either her hope or her disappointment. This afternoon, she’d stood atop the battlements and had watched as Brody, on that magnificent war horse of his, had returned from the village.
Even before he’d ridden through the gate, he’d commanded her attention—the way he sat tall and steady in the saddle with his dark cloak billowing behind him and his horse moving with splendid grace beneath him. There was something magnetic about the sight, something that made her breath catch in her chest. He’d looked large and powerful, nearly a romantic figure for being as handsome as he was. Until that moment, the courtyard had been quiet, vacant, but his presence had been like a ripple through the stillness, the quiet shifting just slightly to accommodate him.
For a moment, she’d let herself take it all in—the way his dark hair caught the light, the strength in his shoulders, the quiet confidence that seemed to radiate from him without effort. She’d bit her lip, her heart fluttering in a way it hadn’t in a long time.
God help me , she’d thought then, I’ve got a crush on Brody MacIntyre.
The realization had bloomed slowly, warm and undeniable, curling low in her chest.
Before she could overthink it, Brody had glanced up, his eyes locking onto hers.
“Ye’ve taken to haunting the battlements,” he’d called up in his deep voice, maneuvering the horse to stand directly in front of her.
“The view is spectacular,” she’d said, only belatedly thinking of the unintended double-meaning, Brody on his horse being a sight as appealing as the rolling hills beyond the gate. She liked that he’d not only inclined his head to acknowledge her presence but had gone out of his way to address her. She’d felt girlishly pleased, even as she thought she’d read too much into the simple act.
“We’ll have to see about taking ye out to the watch tower,” he’d said. “The view is far superior, especially when one is awake and alert.”
Emmy had smiled while a small bit of joy unfurled inside her, at what appeared to be in invitation and another wee dose of Brody MacIntyre’s charming lightness, so rarely seen. “I’d like that.”
Oh, yeah. I’ve definitely got a crush on him.
Returned to her chamber now, she left the door open. Not wide open, of course, just... enough. Just in case.
She unwrapped the MacIntyre plaid from her shoulders and laid it on the bed and, having decided that maybe stretching would help her settle for the night, she pulled a spare wool blanket from the trunk at the foot of the bed. She rolled her shoulders, exhaling as she stepped onto the blanket she had spread on the wide-planked floor—her makeshift yoga mat. A deep stretch of downward dog loosened the tension in her shoulders, her shift billowing loosely around her upper body.
She was halfway through a slow-moving sequence when she felt it. A shift in the air. A presence.
Straightening, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned to find Brody in the doorway, his shoulder braced against the frame, his dark eyes unreadable. Her stomach flipped at the sight of him, at the way the candlelight wavered over his face and bare chest, casting sharp shadows along the hard planes of his jaw and the lean muscle of his torso. As he’d been before when she’d bumped into him during the night, he was breathtakingly shirtless now.
“Ye still struggle to sleep,” he guessed.
“Same as you?” she wondered. Lowering herself into a seated position, she sat cross-legged, making sure the long shift was modestly arranged around her legs. “I was hoping a bit of stretching would help.” She tilted her head at him. “Again, you’re welcome to join me.”
He shook his head. “I...I kent ye were adjusting to Dunmara...to this life,” he said, “better than ye had been.” Obviously in reference to, or as a question about, her wakefulness at this hour.
Emmy gave a soft but dry laugh. “I’m sure it looks that way.” She inhaled thoughtfully. “Honestly? Sometimes I feel as if I’m standing inside a fire. It’s dangerous, it might be fatal, everything around me is smoky and blurry, and I’m afraid to move. Or I can’t move. I don’t know what to do.”
She hadn’t meant to say all of that. It had just... spilled out.
“But ye ken ye need to move,” Brody surmised.
Nodding, Emmy dropped her gaze to her hands, tracing the lines on her left palm with her right forefinger. “I had a professor once who said something similar,” she murmured. “He used to say that fire is both destruction and transformation. That if you fight it, it burns you up, but if you stand in it—walk through it—it can make you into something stronger. He said that’s why trials—real challenges—change people.” She glanced up at Brody. “I think this is my fire.”
His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—an understanding, maybe.
Emmy considered that Brody, this enigmatic man in front her, might have been forged in fire—by war, by pain, by his own limitations, maybe even doubt.
“Fire is destructive, but it is also a forge,” she said, recalling her professor’s words, but thinking of Brody now. “It purifies metal, strengthens steel, and reveals what is truly valuable.”
“I dinna ken professor ,” he said finally, “but I do ken fire. Fire is nae always meant to be fought .” He paused, as if weighing his next words. “And yet, ?tis nae always optional. My da used to say fire—hardship, suffering, burdens—was a creator. Sometimes it makes a man, he’d say. Burns away what is weak. Leaves only what is true.”
His voice was quiet, but Emmy felt the weight of it settle deep in her bones.
Leaves only what is true.
She wasn’t sure why, but the words sent a shiver down her spine.
She held his gaze, the ensuing silence between them thick and charged. Emmy swallowed hard. She’d seen him like this before, wandering the corridors at night, shirtless, but this felt different. Intimate. Deliberate.
Almost imperceptibly, Brody’s gaze dipped, tracing the outline of her form beneath the linen shift, his eyes skimming over the fabric draped over her legs.
Emmy felt the heat of his stare like a touch, her skin prickling in response. She shifted slightly on the blanket, suddenly hyper-aware of the thinness of the material between her and the cool night air and his dark gaze, aware of how vulnerable she was in this moment—not because she felt exposed, but because she wanted to be.
His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking there, his hands flexing at his sides as if he were fighting something within himself.
Seconds ticked by. Neither of them spoke. An ember popped in the hearth and wind sighed against the stone.
And between them, the space seemed to grow smaller, was suddenly drawn tighter, as if one of them only had to move—just an inch—to close the distance.
Boldness wasn’t always in her nature, not as often as she wished it was. But right now, she wanted to be bold. She rose to her feet, her heartbeat quickening, and stood face to face with Brody. Nothing but ten feet of wooden floor separated them.
"If I...” she began, her voice soft, “if I walk toward you, would you kiss me?"
The words, spoken so plainly, so deliberately , sent a pulse of anticipation crackling through the air.
Brody pushed himself away from the doorframe. His expression didn’t change—his dark eyes held hers, unblinking, but she saw something flicker in them, something deep and restrained. “Is this ye, standing in the fire?” He asked.
Emmy hesitated, considering his words. Then, with quiet certainty, she said, “This is me walking through it, because I think what’s on the other side is worth the risk.”
It wasn’t a lie. She wanted him. No, that wasn’t even the right word. She needed him, or she felt like she did. It wasn’t just desire, though God knew she desired him. It was something deeper she wanted, something raw and real, a connection. But only with him. She didn’t care about consequences, about tomorrow’s possible awkwardness, she thought only of Brody, the promise of his steady gaze, the heat of his touch.
Her pulse pounded in her ears as she took a single step forward. “I want to sleep with you,” she said plainly. “Well, I want to have sex with you.”
He stiffened slightly, as if the words startled him.
But he didn’t scowl, didn’t turn and run.
A nervous smile emerged as she wondered if the word sex was known in this time. “Do I need to explain what that means, or is it obvious?”
One dark brow arched, but still, he didn’t move, either toward her or away. “I ken well enough.”
“Good,” she said. “But you should also know that it’s not my style to... just hook up . I don’t need promises, I’m not asking for commitment, but...” She hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “I don’t want to sleep with you only for...if there’s no...well, generally, I have to feel at least some connection to a guy,” she paused, and then shrugged, finishing with a question in her tone, “and I have to know that... he feels something, too?”
His jaw clenched slightly, and a thick vein in his neck throbbed. “There’s little chance of sleep if I understand what ye’re so boldly saying,” he said, his voice rough.
That made her smile. “I am bold, aren’t I?” She tilted her head slightly. “I can be, when there’s something I want. Actually, I’m a little surprised you’re not. More bold, that is. I was pretty sure that you...wanted me as well.”
He exhaled sharply, his gaze raking over her face. “Aye, I do.”
His voice was strained, tight, as if the admission cost him something.
Her breath caught at the intensity in his eyes. She felt deliciously lost in the depths of those dark pools.
“But, lass,” he continued, his tone quieter now, “ye’re nae... well, ye’ve just said it, have ye nae? Ye’re nae asking for commitment, but a...connection.” He hesitated, his brow wrinkling while he moved his gaze to her bare shoulder. Through clenched teeth, he advised, “And yet, I feel compelled to remind ye, I have little to offer...ye’ve seen Dunmara, ye ken its state...and mine.”
His own awkward stammering was possibly the most profound and heartwarming thing she’d ever witnessed
But his words made her laugh, though not unkindly. “Okay, but are you thinking that I have something to offer?” She poked her finger into her chest. Brody’s gaze followed. “Spoiler alert—I came here with nothing. I’ve accumulated nothing. Aside from the clothes I arrived in, I have nothing.”
His brow furrowed, as if he didn’t like hearing that.
Emmy felt compelled to qualify that statement. “Actually, that’s not entirely true. I have this,” she revised, opening her arms. “This fantastic experience. New friends. Actual friends, I think. And... you.”
His expression tightened yet more.
“I’m not looking for anything that isn’t already inside the man, Brody,” she went on. “I value honesty and openness, and desire, but not only in a physical way.” Something flickered in his expression at the word openness, and she smirked. “And yes, before you get all gruff and defensive, I know you’re not exactly good at that.” She relaxed slightly, stepping just a little closer. “But I feel like every day, you open up more and more to me. And I don’t think it’s a stretch to guess you don’t do that often. Not with others. Maybe not even with the people you’ve known your whole life.”
His own person, and his personality, his qualities, his foibles, were obviously not topics he felt comfortable talking about. His wordless frown said as much.
Emmy drew in a fortifying breath. “I’m me,” she told him. “What you see is what you get. I think you’re kind of similar in that regard. Do you want to kiss me now?”
Brody answered by closing the space between them in three long strides.
Emmy lifted her arms as he crashed into her. Hungrily, he sought her lips. Greedily, she embraced him, her tongue dancing with his. She buried her hands in his thick hair and returned the kiss with a fire to match his. And yet, she felt as if she had to race to keep up with his kiss, a kiss that took away her breath, that bruised her lips while the stubble of his square jaw scratched her chin. A frantic kiss that spoke of longing born not only today, in this moment. Emmy reveled in it.
He kissed her until she moaned helplessly and clung to him, nearly unable to stand on her own. Longing, fire, and need twisted and screamed inside her, weakening her in the most delectable way imaginable. Her lips, no less eager than his, sucked and pulled and tasted . There was barely a thought in her head but a recognition of the feel and taste and scent of him, and too, her own body’s response to him.
He’d taken his mouth from hers, showering kisses down her neck and over her shoulder before settling those lips devastatingly on her nipple through the thin fabric of her shift, tightening the peak to marble hardness. A delicious shudder racked her body. The sight of his dark head lowered over her breast enlivened her, and she dug her slim fingers into his thick crop of hair, holding him to her nipple, reveling in the insane swirling inside of her. But he lifted his head, came back to her lips, scooping her up in his arms with such ease one might not suspect he had only one good arm. Sadly, though, he removed his mouth from hers as he swept her out of the room.
“Where...?” She asked breathlessly.
“My chamber,” he answered evenly. “The bed will be...more accommodating." Inside, he kicked the door closed with the heel of his boot and gently lowered Emmy onto his much larger, firmer bed.
He did not join her immediately though, but stood at the side of the bed and began undressing.
A flicker of desperate anticipation coiled inside her. Emmy’s hand flopped absently over her chest as she watched him. At the same time, he seemed content to look his fill of her sprawled out on the bed, wearing only the shift and her desire. The hunger in his eyes was a fierce thing to behold, though his expression was shrouded by the bare light of the room, provided stingily by the moon, and filtered through the barely-covered windows. Emmy drank in every inch of his naked chest, which expanded as he slowly inhaled, watching her. He squared his shoulders, standing tall, sinewy muscle traveling down to corded abs. Holding her breath, she watched him unlace the ties at his trim waist at the same time he kicked off his boots. He lowered his breeches and whatever was worn beneath in one downward swipe of his hands and straightened to his full height, magnificently naked. Between his legs, his penis was hard, standing up proudly, seeming to point in Emmy’s direction. Brody moved forward and Emmy had only a glimpse of thick, powerful thighs, and a vague impression of another gruesome wound on his thigh, the flesh ripped open and sewn back together.
With graceful movements, he eased on top of her, his long male body covering the length of hers. As he moved upward, he brought her shift with him, prompting Emmy to lift her hips and then shimmy her back and raise her arms until he’d removed it altogether, tossing it carelessly aside.
Both equally naked, Emmy welcomed him into her arms, delighting in the feel of the scrape of chest hair against her breasts, fascinated by the disparity of his hard body and soft, smooth skin. He kissed her wildly again, as if they hadn’t just been kissing madly moments ago in her chamber. She sighed into his kiss, entwining her arms around his neck, sliding her foot along his calf.
Brody paused, lifting his face above her. His eyes glittered in the near-total darkness.
“ Jesu , ye’re feet’re cold.”
“They’ve been cold since I got here,” she responded mechanically. “I’m hoping you’ll warm me from head to toe.”
He grinned. “We’ll have to see what can be done about that. But...lass, I have to tell ye, I feared ye would run if ye ken the full power of my desire, lass.”
Emmy’s heart thudded in reaction. “That’s...wow, Brody, those are some pretty powerful words—pretty compelling words.” Her voice sounded wobbly to her ears. “If...if I didn’t already want to sleep with you, I do now.”
He grinned in response and Emmy’s heart did another flip.
“If I’d have kent that, I’d have trotted out those words some time ago.”
A warm smile of wonder curved her lips at his unexpected quip, at the sight of the grin lifting the corners of his beautiful mouth before he covered her mouth with a lingering kiss. Her breasts were heavy, aching for him, her nipples hard against his rock hard chest. Brody licked a path down her neck, and lower, and when finally his lips touched her breast, Emmy gasped, in need as much as pleasure. She arched her body against him as he flicked his tongue over one nipple and then the other before taking the taut peak into his mouth. Emmy threaded her fingers into his hair and held him against her. Each pull of his teeth and lips was felt deep inside her, all the way between her legs. He cupped the breast he attacked with his hand while he stroked her hip with the other.
Emmy reached a hand between them, wanting to touch him, not only feel the force of his desire on her leg.
Brody caught her hand. “Nae,” he said gruffly, sounding like a man barely in control of himself. “Nae tonight, nae the first time.”
First time had a beautiful ring to it, implying there would be more. They hadn’t even finished yet, and she was thrilled at the idea of more of this.
At the same time Brody lifted her hand and shoved it into the mattress above her shoulder, he said, “Open your legs for me.” And he trailed his fingers down the inside of her arm and over her ribs and lower. His palms were calloused, roughened, but they made her tingle everywhere.
Emmy obeyed automatically, letting her thighs fall open while Brody shifted a bit to one side. His fingers now skimmed over her belly and between her legs. Emmy’s head swam as she instinctively shifted upward against his hand while gripping his biceps. His fingers rubbed along the thin strip of soft curls and Emmy was awash in sensation. Before she realized what she was doing, she slid her hand down his forearm and laid it atop the hand between her legs, silently beseeching him to dispense with gentleness. He grunted in pleased response and delved further at her urging, his fingers stroking her more intimately.
“Yes,” she moaned, knowing this was only a prelude, wanting so badly to have him—his impressive cock— inside her. God, it had been so long—and it had never been this good. No one had ever set her ablaze with so much need as Brody did. She began to shake her head and now pushed his hand away, fearing she would come before he came inside her. “I can’t wait,” she said, opening her eyes, shifting herself, trying to wedge her leg under his so that he was between her thighs. “I’m sorry. I’m impatient. I need you inside me now, Brody.”
He stilled for a moment, his hand unmoving between the legs she opened even more. He stared at her with awe while she returned his passionate gaze with helplessness. “Please,” she begged.
Brody rolled over her, putting her legs on either side of him, and Emmy happily raised her limbs around his hips, encircling him, drawing him closer.
“Ye’ll be the death of me,” he predicted throatily, but didn’t sound at all displeased by the prospect.
“Oh, but what a way to go,” Emmy said absently as he settled deep between her legs.
He entered her, thick and so gorgeously hard, the glide easy for how wet she was. He thrust more firmly and filled her completely. They gasped in stereo when they were fully connected. A breathy cry of sheer joy emerged from Emmy.
He kissed her again, kissed her rather decadently, and began to move in and then out, slowly, again and again. The sensation of Brody inside her had not been imagined, could not have been imagined. It was unlike any other intimate moment she’d known, so full, so thrilling, so...perfect. Her heart hammered in her ears. Every inch of her body was on fire with the feel of him, with her own spiraling need.
She shifted her hips to better accommodate the size of him and moved against him and there it was, again that building fire. Her breasts tingled with each scrape of his chest against them. She matched his rhythm, even as it increased, until this thing rose to such a degree that she wordlessly begged for release. And it came, cresting and slamming upon her, opening her eyes with the wonder of it, tightening her thighs around him, pushing her beyond reason or reality.
Brody slipped a hand under her ass, shifting her, pressing his long fingers into her burning flesh. He moved faster and faster until she could barely recall her own name. Emmy felt him shudder several moments later, and heard his gruff cry given into her hair as he slumped against her.
Neither moved. She simply could not, not for a long while. Brody seemed content to be draped over her body, though he held the bulk of his weight off her. Emmy kept her hands in his hair, scratching idly at his scalp while her eyes remained closed.
Oh, this is heaven , she thought. Absolute heaven.
She hadn’t yet thought, Now what? when Brody stirred atop her. But then, almost immediately, even as he lifted his head and gazed deeply into her eyes, as he bent and pressed a soft, appreciative kiss against her lips, she feared he might send her back to her own chamber, to that small, cold bed.
“I’ll want more of ye, Emmy,” he said instead, withdrawing slowly from her before he dropped off to her side. “Already, I feel I canna have enough.”
“Give me five minutes to recover at least,” she said languidly, smiling inside.
Brody slid a hand around her middle and tugged her toward him. Emmy shifted obligingly, turning onto her side as he drew her fully into his embrace.
“I might need ten, lass,” he said, pressing his lips to the side of her head.
Emmy laid her hand over his forearm and smiled as she slipped off to sleep.