Chapter 12 #2
She thought about asking him if he would be alright for the ceremony the next day, but she wasn’t sure if talking about their pending marriage was the right way to start a conversation with him. Using a clean cloth from a bowl of warm water he had on the table, Kira tended to him.
Her eyes betrayed her by falling to the muscular ridges of his back.
Every muscle was visible and well defined from the years of training Hunter had devoted himself to.
And there in the soft firelight, she could see it, a mosaic of scars.
None looked to be too serious, most likely gained in his early years of learning the sword.
But they were cuts and scratches that told a story of determination and devotion.
It was in that moment, with her fingertips brushing along one of the white scars on the backside of his ribs, that she fully felt the weight of his pain. Hunter had pushed himself physically to protect those he loved so that an incident like the one that took his parents would never happen again.
And Kira had never loved something that intensely.
She loved enough to weep, to long in the darkness—but never to the extent of bodily modification and pain. Her entire life had been spent avoiding pain with all she had, and Hunter had embraced it as a necessary evil. Because of her father.
Because of her.
“What are ye doing?” Hunter asked.
Kira blinked, pulling herself out of her reverie. “Forgive me, I got lost in thought,” she admitted. Putting the soiled cloth back in the bowl of water, she dried the wound before applying a balm carefully.
“What were ye thinking about?”
The question caught her off guard, especially with the way his voice was gentle instead of demanding and rough. Her eyes flickered to the side of his face, but he wasn’t so much as glancing her way.
“It does nae matter,” she murmured.
“Tell me anyway.”
Her heart stammered, unsure of what to make of his intentions.
She considered trying again to brush it off or lying, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
While she couldn’t be certain, it felt like he was handing her a rare opportunity to grow closer and dishonesty or dismissal wasn’t the way forward.
“I was admiring the work ye’ve put in over these years,” she started before pausing. Her face grew hot, worried that it sounded a bit suggestive. “As in with training. Ye’ve completely transformed and it’s to yer own credit. But I ken I carry the blame for why ye felt the need to do so.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye,” she murmured. “But it’s more than just self-pity, it is admiration.
Nae only for yer strength, but yer ability to love.
I dinnae think I’ve ever loved anyone enough to be this hurt over losing them.
And… I suppose I find that to be the most beautiful trait of all.
More than any muscles or scars or dashing looks. To love so fiercely…”
He finally turned his head to look at her, their eyes locking as she finished her thought.
“I hope to love like that one day and to be loved just the same.”
There was something about the way he was looking at her that stole her breath away. Dare she label it as longing? Kira couldn’t decipher what he was thinking or feeling, but it wasn’t anger. When Hunter was pissed, rage radiated off him like heat from the sun.
As she wrapped the wound in clean bandages, she had to move her position so that she was directly at his side so she could adjust them properly. A small detail of his face that she hadn’t noticed before caught her attention. “Ye have stubble.”
The words fell out of her mouth without hesitation or thought. She cursed herself and tried to appear completely nonchalant.
“Aye. What of it?” he questioned.
She shrugged. “I’ve… never seen ye with facial hair. I’m surprised ye havenae grown a big, bushy beard like Lairds tend to.”
“Ye’ve seen me with facial hair,” he snorted. “But… I suppose it was a long while ago. Perhaps ye’ve forgotten.”
Her brow furrowed at the statement. The words stirred her memories and soon the confusion cleared.
He had to have been no more than seventeen at the time when he first attempted to grow a beard.
It had grown in ginger and light but had the promise of growing in full instead of patchy.
And after a day of riding horses, they had sat in the meadow eating apples and watching the clouds.
“I prefer clean-shaven men,” young Kira had said, feigning an air of confidence. Back then, she had longed to be grown, to be taken seriously by him. “Facial hair seems itchy.”
Young Hunter hadn’t said anything and merely bit into his apple and kept watching the sky.
Her heart stammered again and her breathing felt shallow and quick. It couldn’t be that he had maintained a grooming habit based on a preference she had said in passing eight years ago. But the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes then made her wonder all the more.
That’s when she saw it. Above the hearth was an oil painting of Kira the late Laird Galbraith had commissioned just months before his death.
She was posed at the fence of the horse corral, a bouquet of flowers from Lady Galbraith’s garden in her arms. She remembered the day well, how her body had grown stiff and tired from standing like that for so long.
Hunter hadn’t said much, but he had been standing near, smiling all the while.
And she knew looking at the final piece after all that time, the smile the artist had captured on Kira’s face and the distant look in her eyes was because she had been looking at Hunter and admiring that rare smile of his.
“Why… Why do ye still have this?” she asked, her voice coming out in a hushed whisper.
Flickering her attention back to him, she saw the danger had returned to his eyes.
Only the danger staring her down right then wasn’t because she was an enemy, but because he wanted to swallow her whole.
Kira’s mind was foggy and it felt like she had been blind all this time and was finally coming into focus.
The intensity of his stare was making it hard for her to concentrate.
“We both want something out of this marriage, Kira. I ken it is freedom ye are after. But if I grant that to ye, will ye leave Clan Galbraith?” he queried.
An arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her closer.
At once, she was overwhelmed by his smell of smoke and peppercorns and his warmth that seeped down into her bones.
She couldn’t answer him, having to put all of her effort into breathing evenly and maintaining eye contact with him now that he was so damn close to her face.
“What of Laird Barclay? Will ye run back to him?”
“Never,” she heard herself reply instantly. His eyes flashed with excitement and she reached out to touch his cheek, her thumb brushing along his stubbled chin. “I’ve only ever dreamt of being with one man, Hunter. And that has always been ye.”
She heard a throaty groan sound from him in the split second before his lips were on hers. His tongue pressed past her lips, claiming her mouth as he pulled her into his lap. Kira kissed him back fervently. Her mind was still a mess, but it all cleared away the moment that Hunter’s lips found hers.
Their bodies pressed together and a shiver ran down the length of her spine at the sensation of his manhood erect and pressed against her inner thigh.
How could a man who loathed her like he did also be so easily excited by her?
There had to be an old lyric or poem about the thin line between hate and passion, and it described their predicament exactly.
Hunter’s fingers made quick work of the laces of her bodice and tossed the garment to the floor before his hand cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her shift.
She had forgotten that she had dressed for a night in her bedchamber before her walk, but she was thankful for her oversight for propriety right then.
Even with the thin fabric between them, her body tingled at the feeling of his hand.
Strange, but not unpleasant, waves rolled through her as he pinched her nipple lightly.
“Ye undo me, Kira,” he murmured into her lips. “I’m nae myself around ye.”
“Is that a bad thing?” she replied.
“I’m nae longer sure,” he admitted before he dipped his head down and proceeded to kiss the length of her neck.
Her body responded, pressing harder against him. When his tongue rolled over her skin in dizzying circles, Kira heard herself moan. Had she ever moaned in pleasure before? She wasn’t sure, but she knew she didn’t care right then.
Hunter kissed his way back up to her lips and she raked her hands through his tousled light brown hair, pulling him ever closer. Her heart was pounding away in her chest and all of her thoughts were out of focus except for her longing for Hunter.
Her hips flicked forward, pressing her clothed core against his manhood. In the next breath, Hunter had her back flat against the couch, whilst he hovered over her. His lips hung in the air, mere centimeters away from her own, the tip of his nose grazing her nose.
“I will nae take ye until ye’re my wife, Kira,” he purred. “Nay matter how tempting the circumstances are…”
One of his hands found the hem of her shift and pressed past it, his large hand trailing up her outer thigh.