Chapter 7 #2
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Worried about me, Princess?"
"Merely observing," I counter, though the lie feels hollow even to my own ears.
His hand rises to touch my face, a brief caress that's gone before I can react. "Get some rest. I'll join you later."
After he leaves, I continue my duties among the villagers, but my mind keeps returning to that fleeting touch, to the weariness in his eyes.
This is my opportunity—the first time in days he's left me unwatched, distracted by the potential threat.
I could slip away now, use the confusion of the villagers' presence to mask my escape.
The thought lodges in my mind, impossible to dislodge. Freedom, just a few calculated moves away.
I finish distributing the last of the blankets, then casually make my way toward the servants' entrance at the back of the hall. No one stops me, no one questions my purpose. I slip through the door into the darkened corridor beyond, heart pounding in my chest.
Freedom. I can almost taste it.
But as I hurry through the shadowy passageways toward the kitchen yard, where I might be able to slip out through the delivery entrance, another thought plagues me. What happens to these villagers if I leave? What happens to my father? To the tentative peace Lachlan has established?
I push the doubts aside. One careful step at a time, I make my way through the deserted kitchen, out into the yard beyond. The delivery gate is guarded, but only by a single man who appears half-asleep at his post.
I've almost reached the shadow of the wall when a hand clamps over my mouth from behind, an arm like iron banding around my waist. I'm pulled back against a hard chest, the familiar scent of leather and man enveloping me.
"Did you really think I'd let you out of my sight tonight of all nights?" Lachlan's voice is dangerously soft in my ear. "When we have enemies at our doorstep?"
He releases my mouth, but keeps his arm around my waist, holding me firmly against him.
"Let me go," I demand, though the words lack conviction even to my own ears.
"Never." He turns me to face him, his expression harsh in the moonlight. "When will you accept that there is no escape from me? That you are mine, now and always?"
"I'll never accept captivity," I tell him, though my body betrays me, leaning into his warmth despite my mind's protests.
"Captivity?" He laughs without humor. "Is that what you call being a queen? Having power, security, a husband who worships your body every night?"
"A husband who took everything from me by force!"
"And gave you everything in return." His hands frame my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't feel anything for me. That you don't think of me when we're apart. That your body doesn't ache for mine."
I try to look away, but he won't let me. The truth hovers on my tongue, desperate to be spoken, terrifying in its implications.
"I hate you," I whisper, but the words sound hollow, unconvincing.
"No." His thumbs stroke my cheekbones, his touch gentle despite the steel in his voice. "You hate that you want me. You hate that your body responds to mine. You hate that I know exactly how to make you cry out in pleasure."
"Stop." The word is barely audible, a plea rather than a command.
"Tell me the truth, Fiona." His face lowers, his breath mingling with mine. "Tell me that when I touch you, you don't burn for me."
His lips brush mine, the barest suggestion of a kiss. My treacherous body sways toward him, seeking more.
"Tell me," he murmurs against my mouth.
"I can't," I finally admit, the confession torn from somewhere deep inside me. "I can't lie anymore. I want you. God help me, I want you."
The admission breaks something loose inside me, a dam of resistance crumbling under the weight of truth. I surge forward, my arms wrapping around his neck, my mouth seeking his with desperate hunger.
Lachlan responds immediately, his kiss brutal in its possession, his hands sliding down to lift me against him. My legs wrap around his waist, my body molding to his as if made for him.
"Mine," he growls against my mouth. "Say it again."
"I want you," I gasp as his lips trail fire down my throat. "I hate that I want you, but I do."
He carries me back through the kitchen, through darkened corridors lit only by the occasional wall torch, never breaking contact, his mouth devouring mine as if starved for the taste of me. We don't speak again, no more words needed as we reach our chambers.
The door has barely closed behind us before he's pressing me against it, his hands tearing at my gown with uncharacteristic roughness. I'm equally frantic, pulling at his clothing, needing to feel his skin against mine.
"Tell me again," he demands as we fall onto the bed, both half-dressed, bodies entwined.
I look up at him, at the man who conquered my kingdom and is dangerously close to conquering my heart. The truth burns in my throat, terrible and freeing.
"I want you," I whisper. "Only you."
His answering smile is triumphant, predatory, and achingly tender all at once. As he covers my body with his, as he claims me with a thoroughness that leaves no room for doubt or denial, I finally stop fighting.
For tonight, at least, I surrender completely.