Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The library door slammed behind Moyra with enough force to rattle the hinges.
She pressed her back against the wood. Her eyes burned with unshed tears she refused to let fall.
The council meeting had descended into chaos—accusations flying like arrows, her father’s name a curse on every tongue, the weight of MacKenzie blood pressing down on her shoulders until she couldn’t breathe.
She’d run. Like a coward.
The shame of it twisted in her gut as she moved deeper into the shadowed sanctuary. Her fingers traced worn spines as she passed, seeking something—anything—to anchor her spiraling thoughts.
The door opened with a soft creak.
Moyra’s spine went rigid. She didn’t need to turn to know who’d followed her. The air itself seemed to shift when Euan entered a room, becoming charged and dangerous. Even now, with her world crumbling, her traitorous body responded—pulse quickening, skin warming, every nerve suddenly alert.
“I dinnae recall giving ye permission tae follow me.”
“And I dinnae recall asking fer it.” His footsteps were quiet on the stone floor. “Ye left rather suddenly.”
“I’ve discovered I have a talent fer making rooms uncomfortable.” She pulled a random book from the shelf, though the words blurred before her eyes. “Best I remove meself before someone else decides me presence is a curse.”
He stopped behind her, close enough that his heat warmed her back. Close enough that she caught his scent of leather and steel.
“Why dae ye hide, Moyra?”
“I’m not hiding. I’m trying tae read.”
“Upside down?”
Damn him. She flipped the book right-side up with more force than necessary. “Perhaps I prefer it this way.”
“Perhaps ye’re a terrible liar.” His hand appeared, gently taking the book and setting it aside. The brush of his calloused fingers sent sparks racing up her arm. “Talk tae me, lass.”
She turned to face him, and immediately regretted it. The library’s soft light caught the planes of his face. Her fingers itched to touch him, to trace the line of his jaw where dark stubble shadowed his skin.
“I’m tired of being the daughter of a traitor. Every time I enter a room, I feel their judgment? I bring only suffering.”
“Ye believe that? Ye think yer presence here is a curse?”
“What else am I tae think? Me father’s actions brought war tae yer doorstep. His men attacked yer villages. Innocents died because he wants me back. Every choice I make brings more death. Perhaps I should have stayed in that cell. Perhaps everyone would be safer.”
“Dinnae say that.” The command was sharp, edged with something raw. “Dinnae ever say that.”
“Why not? It’s true. Those refugees—those children—they’re homeless because of me. How many more will suffer before this ends?”
“None of that is yer fault.”
“Isnae it? His blood runs in me veins, Euan. His schemes, his cruelty—it all comes back tae me. I’m the weapon he’s wielding.”
He stepped closer, his broad shoulders blocking out the room, making the world shrink tae just them. Her pulse hammered as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze.
“Ye want tae ken what I see when I look at ye?”
She couldn’t speak, could only shake her head.
“I see a woman who survived three months of hell and came out fighting. Someone who stands afore me Council with her head held high. Someone who tends tae refugees when she could hide, who makes children smile when her own world is falling apart.” His hand lifted, cupping her face.
“I see strength, Moyra. Nae suffering. Someone worth protecting, worth—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching. “Worth everything.”
“How can ye say that? How can ye nae see the destruction I’ve brought?”
“Because I understand what it means tae carry a burden ye didnae choose.” His thumb caught a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “Ye think ye’re the only one who’s ever felt like a curse? Who’s wondered if everyone would be better off if ye’d never existed?”
The raw honesty made her chest ache. She thought of his scars—the ones she’d seen that night, the map of violence carved into his skin.
“After Loch Eilein, I spent years believing I was less than a man. That me scars made me weak, unworthy of leading. When I had tae take up me faither’s title at sixteen—Christ, Moyra, I was still only a lad, limping around trying tae pretend I could fill a dead man’s shoes.
I convinced meself that every problem the clan faced was because of me. Because I was broken.”
Her hands found his chest. “Ye’re nae broken.”
“I ken that now. Or at least, I’m learning tae believe it.
” His eyes held hers. “But it took years before I understood something important—the burdens forced upon us dinnae define us. What defines us is what we dae with them. How we choose tae move forward despite the weight.” His other hand came up to frame her face.
“Ye’re nae yer faither’s weapon. Ye’re nae his legacy.
Ye’re yer own person, and every choice ye’ve made since I found ye has been brave and selfless. ”
“I dinnae feel brave. I feel terrified.”
“Good. Fear means ye understand the stakes. It means ye care.” His forehead dropped to rest against hers. “But dinnae let that fear convince ye that ye’re the villain in this story, lass. Keith MacKenzie is the one who chose cruelty. Nae ye.”
She could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms, the warmth of his breath ghosting across her lips.
“We’ll be afraid taegether.” His lips brushed her forehead. “Because I’m terrified too. Every moment ye’re in danger tears me apart. The thought of losing ye—it scares me more than any battle I’ve ever faced.”
She pulled back to look at him. “Euan...”
“I need ye tae understand something.” His hands slid to her shoulders, his grip firm but trembling. “What ye make me feel isnae something I ever expected tae have or thought I deserved. But now that I’ve found ye, I’ll fight fer it.”
“Show me,” she breathed, her hands fisting in his shirt. “Show me we’re more than the burdens we carry.”
His control shattered. His mouth claimed hers, hard and demanding, his kiss a physical declaration of intent. Heat roared through her as his hands tightened on her shoulders. It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t gentle. It was a man claiming what was his, a warrior staking his claim.
Moyra met him halfway, arching against him, her body seeking more contact. More him. His tongue stroked hers, claiming her mouth in the most primitive way, and all she could think was yes. Yes, more. Yes, forever.
“Saints, Moyra.” He broke the kiss long enough to gasp the words against her throat. “Dae ye ken what ye dae tae me?”
“Show me.” Her hands found his waist, pulling his hips tight against hers, feeling his arousal hot and hard between them. The knowledge that she did this, that she could affect him that way—
It made her bold. Brazen.
She kissed him, nipping his lower lip.
He groaned into her mouth, a low rumbling sound that resonated straight to her core. One hand slid down her spine, palming her bottom, pulling her hard against his arousal.
“Like this?” he asked against her mouth.
“More,” she breathed. “I want more now. I want it all.”
“Christ.” He spun her, pressing her back against the bookcase.
Ancient tomes dug into her spine, but she didn’t care.
Not with Euan MacLeod’s mouth devouring hers, not with his powerful body pinning her, his thigh between her legs.
She arched against him, seeking friction, seeking pressure, seeking everything.
His hand slid up her ribcage, thumb teasing the underside of her breast, and the world spun. The feel of his calloused fingers—
“Yes,” she moaned. “Saints, yes.”
He cupped her, his palm rough, his mouth moving down her throat.
Pleasure spiked, bright and desperate, and she didn’t think about consequences.
Didn’t think about the risk. She gave herself over to the moment, to Euan and the way he was touching her, to the sensations that were quickly threatening to overwhelm her.
She grabbed a handful of her dress and pulled it up. “I want ye, Euan.”
His hand stilled, and she saw the conflict in his face—desire warring with caution, restraint with desire.
“Are ye certain?” he asked roughly. “Once we cross this line—”
“I’m certain.” Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her nerves despite her determination. “I trust ye.”
His eyes met hers, and she saw the moment he surrendered. “I want that too, Moyra. Christ, I want it more than anything. But—”
“But naething,” she said fiercely. “I want this. I want ye.”
The challenge hung between them, her trust and desire and nervous determination balanced against his honor and duty and centuries of clan history.
The moment stretched.
Then he growled, his mouth reclaiming hers.
His hand resumed its torturous exploration of her breast, thumb flicking the tight peak, sending pleasure crashing through her.
His arousal pressed between her thighs, thick and hard, the friction almost unbearable.
She shifted her hips, uncertain but seeking more, and the sensation sparked bright.
“Euan—”
He pulled her dress higher, his mouth moving down her neck, and then his fingers found the bare skin of her leg. He traced patterns up her thigh, higher, higher, until—
She gasped as his fingers slipped inside her, the invasion unexpected and shocking. Her entire body tensed, shock and pleasure and a dozen other emotions crashing through her.
“Easy, lass,” he murmured against her skin. “Let me take care of ye.”
“I dinnae—I’ve never—” Her breath hitched.
“Aye,” he murmured against her skin. “I ken. Trust me.” His fingers began a torturous rhythm, slow and deliberate, gentle and coaxing. “
She didn’t understand his meaning. She didn’t care. Because his mouth was on her neck, and his fingers were driving her to the edge of madness, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel.
“So sweet,” he murmured. “Saints, Moyra, ye taste so sweet.”
She was going to fall apart. Right there, against the bookshelf, the entire library at her back and Euan MacLeod’s mouth on her skin. His fingers inside her, his body pinning hers, his—
“Oh!” Her back arched as something snapped. Bright sparks danced across her vision. She grabbed his shoulders, holding on for dear life, her whole body shaking with the force of her release.
He pulled her close, cradling her while she rode out the waves. “Aye, that’s it, lass. Just like that.”
When the last shudder passed, she sagged against him, her head spinning.
“Are ye sure ye want tae go all the way?” He asked looking deep into her eyes.
She nodded, exchanging the depth of his gaze.
“I will be as tender as I can, but it may hurt fer a few instants…”
She nodded again.
Euan lifted his kilt, and then he was there, pressing into her. She was wet, so wet, and ready.
The feel of him sliding inside was unlike anything she’d imagined. She’d heard stories, of course. Knew how men and women fit together. But she hadn’t realized how it would feel.
Not just his body inside hers, but the connection. The joining.
“Look at me, Moyra.”
His voice was hoarse, the effort of holding back evident in every line of his scarred face. But it was his eyes that captivated her—dark with hunger and passion.
He withdrew, and then thrust again, and she gasped as it felt uncomfortable for just a moment, until he hit some part of her that felt good.
“Again,” she begged.
And so he did, his pace slow, steady, controlled. Each movement sent shivers across her skin. She felt full, completed in a way she’d never imagined. Powerful, as if she were the one who held the reins.
“Deeper,” she ordered. “I want all of ye.”
He growled, the sound vibrating against her skin. He shifted, his next thrust driving her higher, and this time the sensation was too much. Too fast.
She came apart again, the world spinning around her, Euan’s body her only anchor. He drove into her, again, and again, each movement sending pleasure roaring through her until—
His hips jerked once, twice, and then he followed her over the edge, his face buried in her shoulder, his arms trembling with the force of his release.
They remained there, both breathing hard, their hearts pounding against each other’s chests.
When her mind finally cleared, she found him watching her, a strange expression on his face.
“What?”
“Naething.”
“Dinnae look at me like that. What are ye thinking?”
“That ye’re magnificent.” He kissed her cheek. “And that I want tae stay inside ye ferever.”
The admission made her heart flutter. She kissed him, the movement slow, her tongue tangling with his.
He smiled against her lips. “Ye ken, lass, the next time we dae this, I’d like a bed. Something tae lay ye down and spread yer legs wide so I can take me time.”
Before Moyra could respond, urgent footsteps approached the door. A frantic knock followed.
“Me laird!” A guard called through the wood. “We have a problem!”
Euan froze. The urgency in his man’s voice sent ice spilling down Moyra’s spine.
Euan pulled away, and Moyra had to fight the urge to pull him back, to hide against his chest and pretend the world outside didn’t exist.
But that wasn’t her choice to make.
They took a second to cover themselves. Moyra tugged her skirts down, smoothing her hair and hoping her dishevelment wasn’t obvious.
“Enter,” Euan called.
The guard entered the room, closely followed by Niall who had also just heard the news. His gaze swept the scene, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of their rumpled clothing. Then he blinked and returned his attention to Euan.
“Me laird. MacKenzie ships are approaching our shores!” The guard exclaimed and then ran back to his post.