Chapter 14
Magnus sat before the fire, watching the flames dance and crackle merrily. In his hands, he held a small witling knife and a length of wood, shavings littering the floor at his feet.
He could not remember when he had begun to carve shapes out of branches of wood, but it had been at a young age. His father had been a harsh taskmaster, never happy with his conduct or anything he did. Magnus found solace in working with his hands; it distracted his mind and calmed his thoughts.
Betty’s cane had been one of his earliest projects.
He still loved looking at it whenever she was nearby.
He had enjoyed the challenge of twisting the wood around the orb and watching it form as though molded from clay.
Somehow, he saw the pattern before he began, and his hands carved it without real thought.
He barely needed to look at the wood to carve now, and of all days, today he was in need of a distraction.
Despite trying to quieten his thoughts, his mind was filled with memories of Elizabeth, their wedding day, and the happiness he had believed it would herald for his life. Instead, it had brought him nothing but misery, and now he was expected to wed for a second time.
“I willnae let ye meet the same fate,” he muttered, staring into the fire, thinking of Leah’s open expression, the light in her eyes, and that mop of hair he loved so much.
He looked down at the piece of wood in his hands and cursed inwardly as he recognized the form he had carved it into.
His large hands held up the piece, and he looked it over, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger.
Without looking at the wood, he had created a small carving of a woman with long, wavy hair.
Even when he wished to distract himself from Leah, it appeared she was embedded in his thoughts.
He stood up, exasperated by his addled mind, and lifted his fist as though to throw the carving into the flames. Just as he was about to release it, however, a tentative tapping sounded at the door. He pocketed the piece instead and walked across the room to answer it.
Instead of Kenneth—who he had expected to find—Leah stood before him in the torchlight, her hand still raised as though about to knock again.
Magnus pulled the door wide open as her eyes darted about the room behind him, confirming that he was alone.
“Aye, lass?” he asked, uncertain whether she had come to argue or to call off the wedding. Her wide eyes were unsure and confused.
“I can’t sleep,” she said, her hands twitching at her sides.
She looked so small and vulnerable that Magnus felt his protective instincts kick in all over again.
“Get inside, there’s a draft,” he grunted and stepped back as she padded into the room.
She was wearing a long nightrobe that had once belonged to Betty. He recognized the silver thread running through it and the runes across the base. Betty must have lent it to her.
Magnus felt a jolt of unease as he recalled how few clothes Leah had for the weather and how cold she must have felt during her first few days in the castle.
“What do ye need?” he asked, closing the door against the brisk air of the corridor and looking her over.
Her hair was loose and ran down her back, accentuating the curves of her body. As he stood behind her, examining every inch of her figure, he longed to pull her against him, pressing her tight to his body and listening to her moans as he pleasured her.
He looked away and cleared his throat.
“I wondered if you might have any whisky,” she said, turning toward him, the glow of the fire glancing off her hair, making it look as though it were made of flames.
“Aye.” He walked to the drinks cabinet, keeping one eye on her as she moved about the room. “Accustomed to a dram, are ye? This is strong stuff.”
Leah gave him a knowing smile. “Oskar made sure I’m well-versed in the best whisky in Scotland,” she said confidently. “I hope yours is up to par. He insisted that his was the best dram in all the Highlands.”
Magnus could not help smiling at the thought of someone so small being able to hold their drink in such a way.
“He’s a dobber if he thinks his whisky is better than mine.”
He poured the amber liquid into two glasses and handed her one. She was fidgeting, apparently unable to sit still, and it was putting him on edge.
“Sit down, lass, or ye’ll wear a hole in me floor.”
She looked at the two armchairs in front of the fire and took a seat as Magnus did the same.
For a long while, they watched the flames leap in the grate, enjoying the companionable silence.
Magnus thought of a time in the future when he and Leah would lead separate lives. She in her castle, he in his. There would be no opportunity to sit before a fire in comfortable silence then. It was not a pleasant realization.
“Are ye worried about tomorrow?” he asked eventually, speaking the words that had been bouncing around his skull since she entered the room.
Leah swirled the whisky in her glass and glanced at him, frowning. “Are you?” she asked.
“I was married before,” he muttered, unsure what to say in reply. He watched with some amusement as her jaw clenched.
“It is not the wedding I had envisioned.” Her words were almost a whisper. “And I know this would not have been your choice either. You made that very clear.”
Magnus downed the rest of his drink and went to fetch another, feeling nerves flutter in his gut that she was somehow displeased with him.
“Ye have it wrong, lass,” he murmured as he poured the whisky into the glass.
“I dinnae wish to trap ye into a life ye dinnae wish to live, that is all.” He returned to the fireplace but felt too agitated to sit back down.
“Ye need nae worry about yer honor or yer future. Ye will live as though ye were a spinster. We shall be separate from one another in all but name.”
He could feel her watching him, and when he finally turned to look at her, those high cheekbones were a little pink around the edges.
This time, it was Leah’s turn to avert her gaze.
“And what if…” she trailed off, both hands coming to cradle the glass on her lap.
“What if what?” he asked, intrigued by her obvious uncertainty.
“What if that is not what I want?”
“Ye will have everythin’ ye could need. I will make sure ye are able to live the life of yer dreams,” he said sincerely, recognizing as he spoke the words aloud that he truly meant them. He wished to see her happy.
“What if I want something more?” she asked, taking a tentative first sip of the whisky with apparent enjoyment and glancing at the glass with an appreciation that warmed his heart.
“What do ye mean, lass? Ye want to live in this castle instead? Is that it?” He almost laughed.
“No.” Her voice was quiet and tentative as she glanced up at him, the blush on her cheeks deepening. “What if… I want to repeat what happened at dinner?”
Her words might have been soft, but her gaze was bright as fire as she looked up at him through her long eyelashes.
Magnus felt a throb of heat as he looked down at her. In their current positions, as she sat below him in the chair, it looked for all the world as though she might move to the floor, kneel before him, and beg him to take her as he wished.
He could feel himself hardening between his legs, and he looked away, his fingers tightening around the rim of his glass.
He cleared his throat, knocking back the whisky and feeling the burn run down his throat. He placed the glass on the mantelpiece and turned to her, walking slowly to her chair, watching her eyes track him across the distance between them.
Dinnae do it, Magnus, that same voice spoke in his mind. Keep her at a distance, and ye willnae get yer heart broken.
But he ignored it, unable to look away from that sky-blue stare.
Her tongue swiped across her lips, leaving a sheen across the surface that reflected the fire’s orange glow. Without conscious thought, his hand came up to grip her chin, and he watched her lips part willingly, her fingers tightening around her glass.
He ran his thumb across her bottom lip, looking her over, drinking in her beautiful features.
Ye’ll take her, and then what? She’ll be gone from ye, and ye’ll be alone again with only the memory of what ye could have had if ye werenae a cursed man.
“Ye should go to bed, lass,” he said hoarsely, stepping back from her and trying to ignore his disappointment at his restraint.
Leah’s expression fell, her eyes looking back down at her glass as she hurriedly rose to her feet, surprising him to no end by downing the whisky in one swallow and handing him the glass with a defiant glare.
He placed it beside his own above the fireplace, looking at the play of the light across the crystal, the glasses standing proudly side by side, wishing that his life had taken a different course.
He followed her to the door as she stalked across the room, her back rigid, her shoulders tense.
She turned to him then, the same fire he had learned to expect from her returning.
“Is this one of the orders I must obey, My Laird?” she asked, jutting her chin in challenge.
Magnus felt tension fill his shoulders, the restraint from only moments before evaporating. Something about her boldness made him wish to own her and show her who was in command. He took a step forward, and her breath hitched as she backed into the door, her eyes darting about her hesitantly.
His hand came up once more, about to grip her chin and force her to look at him, but he could not forgo the chance to run his fingers through her loose hair. He let out a low groan as she allowed it—it was just as soft as he remembered it.
She shuddered beneath his touch, her eyes dark with lust, stronger and more determined than he had yet seen her.
“As you said,” she whispered, “I am under your command.”
Magnus growled at those words, and Leah gave a startled cry as he placed his hands beneath her arms, pushing her up against the door so that she was at his eye level, her feet dangling above the floor.
Her head fell back against the hardwood, and she shuddered beneath him, her legs wrapping around his waist as he crushed his mouth against hers in a passionate kiss.
Just as before, he felt the fire spring to life within her as she gasped against his lips, scraping her teeth across his bottom lip and pressing her body against his.
She moaned in a way that sent a dark heat through him, and his hands gripped her waist even as his hips moved forward, pinioning her to the door as she shivered.
He groaned, pushing his tongue against hers, jolting in shock as her teeth came down on his lower lip, and he felt a sharp sting as she bit his flesh. His hips bucked forward, feeling the shape of her through her robe, wanting to strip her bare right here and bury himself inside her.
The hand that had gripped her waist traveled down the curve of her buttock and down her leg, forcefully hitching it up against the door, bringing their hips into closer contact, and he knew she could feel his length press against her.
She gasped, breaking the kiss as their gazes met and they panted into each other’s mouths.
With a strength he had not known he possessed, Magnus pulled back.
He had promised to protect her honor, and yet here he was, trying to take it from her on the eve of their wedding. He could so easily have parted the layers of her dress, pushed himself inside her, and had her just as he longed to. But he knew it was wrong and would not defile her in such a way.
He gently lowered her to the floor, enjoying the sensation of keeping their hips connected for as long as possible before finally releasing her, watching her breasts rise and fall as she gathered herself.
“Get to bed, lass,” he said quietly, his hand coming up to stroke her cheek as her eyes fluttered shut.
She leaned into his hand, allowing the gentle contact, making his heart kick in his chest like a mule.
Finally, she opened her eyes, and they stared at one another before her fingers fumbled behind her for the door handle. After a second or two, she managed to pull it open, letting in the rush of cold air from the corridor and breaking the spell between them.
“I will see you at the wedding,” she said, her eyes meeting his for an electric moment before she backed away, closing the door behind her, leaving Magnus with one hand still raised at the memory of her body against his, trying his best to get himself back under control.