Chapter 16
William had faced danger more times than he could count.
Was it when he clashed swords with other lads in the darkness? Or when enemies tried to attack from the shadows?
Even worse, he had watched his parents get killed. That was the first time he experienced genuine fear. He had learned young how to meet fear without flinching, how to swallow it down until it became nothing more than a tool.
That incident had happened years ago. He was thirty now, and he couldn’t believe Sorcha was the one who made him feel fear again.
The sharp crack above, the heavy wood collapsing… it was a harrowing sight, because it meant only one thing: Sorcha was in danger.
His body reacted before his mind caught up, before logic had time to intervene.
He turned just in time. He did not remember how he moved. He could only feel the urgency to reach for her, to move her, before the worst could happen.
His arms wrapped around her, yanking her back with a force that startled even him. The painting crashed where she had been standing moments ago.
For a split second, all he did was listen to his own breathing as he muttered a few words of gratitude.
Her curves pressed against him as he held her. Without thought, he locked his arms around her, one holding her back, the other tight around her waist.
Her face was pressed into his chest, and he could feel her body trembling slightly. Could feel her fingers curl into his coat. The feel of her rapid heartbeat tore him in a way no blade ever had.
In response, his heart started pounding violently, a brutal rhythm that he could not slow even if he wanted to. He had not felt it race like that since he was a boy, standing helplessly as he watched his parents’ life’s blood escape them.
But not again.
He had managed to prevent her from getting hurt, and that was enough to be grateful for. Watching her, he did not know whether he should speak. He could not trust his own voice.
When he finally did, it came low and rough near her ear. “Are ye hurt?”
She did not answer.
Her silence made his heart clench. Still, it was all right. She had enough time to recover from the shock. His hand moved from her waist to the back of her head.
He forced himself to be gentle, his fingers stroking her hair, patting it slowly. He was grounding her. And maybe himself, too.
Almost immediately, she let out a shaky breath. He knew what it was. It was the fear she was trying to hide.
He could only imagine what was going on in her head. The ugly guilt of accepting that danger always followed her. The belief that she was cursed.
At that moment, he wanted nothing but to chase away those thoughts. However, he simply continued to pat her head.
When she finally spoke, her voice was steady enough to convince anyone else. “I’m all right.”
But William wasn’t anyone else.
He pulled back just enough to look at her properly. His hands slid over her arms, shoulders, searching for pain, for blood, for anything he might have missed.
His gaze traced her face, searching every line intently. Her blown pupils, the faint flush in her cheeks, the slight swell of her lower lip.
She was too close. Damn too close.
Before she could pull away, he bent and scooped her up into his arms. She gasped softly, and he ignored it, despite the brush of her breath against his neck.
“I’m takin’ ye inside,” he declared, his tone leaving room for no argument.
Sorcha looked at him then, truly looked at him. Something flickered in her eyes. Surprise, yes, but also trust.
She remained quiet, not fighting him, not pushing him away. Her body melted against his, soft curves against hard muscle. The sensation fanned the fire inside him.
Eventually, his feet led them to the study. He shouldered open the doors and carried her inside. Only when he set her down on the long seat by the hearth did he step back, putting distance between them.
Sorcha cleared her throat, smoothing her skirts with trembling fingers. “There was nay need for all of that,” she said softly. “I’m truly fine.”
William remained standing. He studied her carefully, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He saw the fear she tried to hide. He saw it in the way her shoulders hunched over, the way she avoided his gaze.
He inhaled slowly. His heart hurt to see a lass like her living in fear. She was not cursed, and he desperately wanted her to believe that.
“If ye were tryin’ to provoke me,” he spoke at last, “ye should’ve made sure the maids did a better job. That could’ve killed ye.”
Her gaze dropped instantly; his words clearly landed hard.
He did not intend to scold her. He felt a pang of regret when her face tightened with guilt. However, he did not take back his words.
“I didnae mean for it to happen,” she murmured.
Silence settled between them, punctuated by the crackle of the fire in the grate. Shadows danced against the walls.
William stood where he was, his frame tall and broad, painfully aware of how badly she could have been hurt.
He had been worried about her, and that frightened him more than any enemy ever could.
He drew in another steadying breath. Then, before his mind could catch up, he lowered himself onto one knee before her.
Her lips parted in shock, but he didn’t mind. He reached for her ankle and gently lifted her foot from the floor.
“What—what are ye doin’?” she stuttered.
He did not answer. Instead, he examined her foot, then the other. His thumbs brushed her flesh, checking for swelling, the smallest sign that the frame had hit her.
Too close, the voice at the back of his head warned. But he dismissed it. All he could focus on was how warm her skin felt beneath his touch.
His grip gentled without him meaning to, as though the feel of her skin calmed his nerves.
Slowly, his gaze lifted.
She was watching him. Not with fear, but with dark curiosity that had been roused by the way his hand cradled her foot, the way his thumb moved in lazy strokes.
His gaze dropped back to her feet. “Nay harm,” he said quietly.
Before he could look up again, she pulled her foot from his hand. The loss of contact struck him harder than he had expected.
He tried reaching for it again, but she pinned her feet to the floor.
“Stop,” she said, her voice tight with the command.
He remained kneeling, looking up at her. He could not help but notice the tremor in her shoulders.
“Why?” he asked, his voice rough with restraint.
Sorcha stood up abruptly. “I’m leaving,” she announced, turning away. “I’m fine.”
She barely took a step when William rose to his feet and caught her wrist. He spun her back to him with controlled force. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to stop her. Enough to make himself clear. That he wasn’t ready to let go yet.
She collided lightly against his chest, her breath hitching.
“Ye havenae answered me,” he reminded her. “Nae really.”
She stared at him, her lips trembling, clearly struggling to find words that did not betray her emotions. Then she yanked her hand free.
“Daenae touch me like that,” she hissed, “when ye’ll only turn around and tell me to find a suitor later.”
Her chest heaved as she let those words sink in.
Understanding dawned on him.
Sorcha went on, her voice thick not with tears, but with too many bottled-up feelings. “Ye clearly daenae want anythin’ to do with me, yet ye look at me like that. Ye touch me like that. It confuses me.” Her voice rose. “All I want is to stay far away from ye, and ye should do the same.”
William couldn’t stand it anymore. Couldn’t stand the pain in her eyes, the anger in her voice. He had caused it all. But at that moment, he couldn’t do the one thing she had suggested: stay away from her. If anything, he did the opposite.
He pulled her closer, his hand sliding up her throat before his mouth crashed onto hers.
This kiss was not gentle, yet it was not rough like the last. It was like the first bite after being starved for days, like savoring the taste while still fighting insatiable hunger.
His kiss was hunger and frustration and fear all at once. He devoured her protest, swallowed her sharp intake of breath. He claimed her mouth until she groaned against him. Until she stopped resisting.
Her hands curled around his shoulders, clutching them hard as though she might fall apart if she let go. His hands dropped to her waist to pull her closer still until there was no space left, until she could feel his hardness against her.
But then he broke the kiss most reluctantly. With a ragged breath, he rested his forehead against hers. Sorcha held him tight, shivering.
William closed his eyes briefly, forcing control into his voice. “Ye’re right.”
Her lashes fluttered.
“This is wrong,” he whispered.
As though she did not like the sound of that, her fingers dug harder into his shoulders. She didn’t speak. She seemed like she couldn’t. The kiss had stolen her words, leaving her with nothing but tremors.
With his forehead still pressed against hers, he breathed her in. Warm skin, faint lavender, something else that was uniquely hers. He inhaled deeply again, and she let out a whimper. Then, his teeth grazed the skin behind her ear, a gentle bite that made her shiver.
When he spoke again, his mouth was pressed against her throat, his voice vibrating through her. “Yet despite how wrong it is, I cannae overcome the temptation ye are.”
He felt her body respond to his words. She leaned even further into him, as though her own restraint was faltering.
She was driving him mad. He hated how she had broken through every wall he had spent years building. It angered him so much that a groan escaped him, deep and frustrated.
His fingers dug into her waist, needing to feel her despite the wrongness of the moment. Unable to help himself, he lowered his hand to the space between her thighs. Even through the layers, he could feel the wetness that proved how much she wanted him.
She was already so wet. He knew it without seeing it. He could feel it in the way she trembled against his palm.
And yet it still angered him so much. This pull. This need.
He groaned the words against her ear, his voice thick with hunger. “It angers me so much… that all I can think about is pleasurin’ ye until ye cry out me name.”
Sorcha trembled harder, her knees weakening as his palm began to move. He slowly rubbed the peak of her sex pressing just enough to tease.
Her fingers clenched even tighter, and a soft whimper escaped her.
The sound shattered his control. He wanted to make her feel every bit of the storm she had stirred within him.
Her head fell back slightly, and her eyes fluttered shut, lost in the feel of his hand, his words, his nearness. She looked like she was fighting hard. Until she no longer wanted to.
Finally, she found her voice, and it came out breathless, pleading, carrying the same frustration.
“Ruin me,” she begged, her gaze locking onto his. “Even if it’s just for this evening.”
A pause ensued as her words settled between them. It was a reckless invitation, one that made him freeze.
William did not take orders. He gave them. As a laird, as a warrior, he answered to no one. But hearing her say it, with her voice trembling, her eyes dark with want… something inside him shattered.
He dropped to his knees instantly. The movement was impatient. His hands gathered her skirts, pushing the heavy fabric up until he bared every inch of her pale skin.
She stood there, watching him with wide eyes, her breathing ragged. William inched his hands up her thighs in a smooth caress, , making her gasp.
He raised his brown eyes to hers, allowing her to see the hunger and awe in them. He wanted her to see how much he felt; she was something sacred he had no right to touch.
Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in slowly to inhale her scent. It was musky, intoxicating. It hit him like a drug that immediately made his body throb with need.
Without wasting another breath, he buried his face between her thighs. The first taste was sweet, purely her. It tore a low groan from his throat. Eager for more, he lapped at her hungrily, as if he had been starved his entire life.
Sorcha moaned, the sound even more raw and broken. Her hands flew to his head, and her fingers curled into his hair, badly wanting to hold onto something as waves of pleasure coursed through her.
William’s tongue teased and sucked on her pearl, gathering every drop of her arousal. Her back bowed, her knees bending slightly to give him better access.
And he responded, worshiping her with every flick and suck. His laps were slow and deliberate. The more she streamed for him, the more he drank, the more he got lost in her taste and sounds.
His hands slid up her waist to cup her breasts over her gown. He kneaded them, his thumbs finding her erect nipples. “Hm…”
Sorcha cried out, her hips bucking against him.
At that moment, all thoughts of his new role vanished. All shadows of past enemies faded into nothing. For now, he replaced them with the fierce need to pleasure this woman. To worship her body, to hear her fall apart because of him.
And truly, that was all he wanted to do.