Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The wind howled outside the tavern, rattling the shutters with such force Tavish wondered if they'd hold through the night.
He shifted on the wooden floor, tugging the thin blanket higher around his shoulders.
The boards beneath him felt harder with each passing moment, digging into his hip until discomfort bordered on pain.
"This is ridiculous," Maighread muttered from the bed above him.
"Aye, well, cannae say I'm enjoying meself either." He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling beams barely visible in the dying firelight.
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the storm's fury and the occasional creak of timber. He could hear her breathing, quick and shallow, could picture her lying there rigid as stone.
"Ye're shivering," she said after a long moment.
"'Tis cold."
"The floor must be freezing."
"Aye,” he couldn't keep the edge from his voice.
Another pause, longer this time. Then she sighed, the sound carrying exasperation and something else he couldn't quite name. "Just get up here before ye freeze tae death."
Tavish pushed himself onto his elbow, peering toward the bed. "What?"
"Ye heard me. I'm nae repeating meself."
He hesitated, every instinct warring with the rules they'd set. But his body ached, the cold seeped into his bones, and the floor offered nothing but misery. He stood, gathering his blanket, and crossed the small space.
The mattress dipped as he settled onto the far edge, maintaining as much distance as the narrow bed allowed. They lay back to back, the gap between them feeling wider than the entire room.
Minutes crawled past. The fire sputtered lower. His muscles refused to relax, every nerve aware of her presence mere inches away.
"This isnae working," Maighread whispered.
"Nae arguing there."
She shifted, and he felt the movement through the mattress. "We're both adults. We can share warmth without…."
"Without what?" The question came out rougher than intended.
"Without being foolish about it."
He turned his head slightly, catching her profile in the faint glow. "Ye're the one who made the rules, lass."
"I ken that fine." She rolled onto her back, staring upward. "But freezing tae death seems a poor way tae maintain them."
Despite everything, a laugh escaped him, sharp and unexpected. "Fair point."
The tension eased fractionally. He adjusted his position, no longer clinging to the very brink of the mattress. Her shoulder brushed his arm as she did the same.
"Better?" she asked.
"Getting there."
More time passed. The storm showed no sign of abating, and the temperature continued its descent. He became acutely conscious of the warmth radiating from her body, tantalizingly close yet still out of reach.
Then she moved closer.
It happened gradually, almost imperceptibly at first. A slight shift brought her nearer. Then another. Until her back pressed against his side, seeking heat.
Tavish went absolutely still.
"Dinnae read anything intae this," she murmured, voice muffled.
"Wouldnae dream of it."
But his heart hammered against his ribs as he carefully, slowly, slid his arm beneath her shoulders. She settled against him with a soft exhale, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder as though it belonged there.
Sweet suffering saints.
Her hair tickled his chin, carrying the scent of heather and something uniquely her. He could feel every curve pressed along his side, the rise and fall of her breathing, the flutter of her pulse where his fingers rested against her shoulder.
"This is just fer warmth," she said, but uncertainty crept into her tone.
"Aye. Just warmth."
Neither of them believed it.
She tilted her face upward, and he made the mistake of looking down. Her eyes caught what little light remained, dark and wide and entirely too close. Her lips parted slightly, breath ghosting across his jaw.
Every coherent thought fled his mind.
"Tavish..." His name on her tongue sounded like prayer and damnation combined.
He should pull away. Should remind them both of the boundaries they'd established. Should do anything except what he did next.
He kissed her.
The contact sparked through him like lightning striking dry timber. Her mouth moved beneath his, tentative for only a heartbeat before she responded with equal hunger. His hand slid from her shoulder to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair.
She made a sound low in her throat that sent heat pooling in his gut. Her palm flattened against his chest, feeling the wild thunder of his heartbeat, then slid upward to curl around his nape.
The kiss deepened, turned desperate. He rolled, bringing her beneath him without breaking contact, swallowing her gasp. Her thighs parted to accommodate his hips, and the feel of her soft and yielding against him nearly undid what remained of his control.
"Maighread," he breathed against her mouth, her name a prayer and a plea.
"Dinnae stop," she whispered, pulling him back down. "Please dinnae stop."
His hand found her waist, spanning the curve through layers of fabric. He traced upward slowly, mapping the dip and swell, feeling her arch into his touch. When his thumb brushed the underside of her breast, she broke the kiss with a sharp inhale.
"Alright?" he managed, voice rough with need.
"Aye." Her fingers threaded through his hair. "More than alright."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, while his palm covered her breast fully. Even through her chemise, he could feel her respond to his touch. Her breath hitched when he circled it gently with his thumb, learning what made her gasp, what made her press closer.
Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, his back, anywhere she could reach. She hooked one leg over his hip, and the feel of her nearly shattered him.
"Maighread..." He forced himself to pause, lifting his head enough to meet her eyes. "If ye want more… if ye want me tae show ye…"
"Aye." Her voice came soft but certain. "Aye, I want that.
" His hand slid lower, bunching her skirts upward.
Her skin felt like silk beneath his calloused palm, smooth and warm and trembling beneath his exploration.
He traced the length of her thigh, watching her face transform—eyes closed, lips parted, breath coming in short gasps. Higher, higher, until—
Memory crashed back like cold water. The rules. Her voice in his mind, firm and uncompromising.
Nae physical intimacy beyond what's necessary.
And beneath that, the sharper memory. Her pride, fierce and unyielding, the way her eyes flashed whenever she felt challenged or controlled.
His hand stilled high on her thigh, fingers spread against heated skin, trembling with the effort of stopping.
Her eyes flew open, confusion clouding their grey depths before frustration replaced it. She looked at him, a question forming on kiss-swollen lips.
"The rules," he managed, his voice barely recognizable even to himself.
Understanding dawned in her expression, followed by something that looked like betrayal. Her body remained arched toward him, seeking what he'd withdrawn, and the sight nearly shattered his resolve.
The war between honor and desire tore through him.
His entire body screamed at him to continue, to give them both what they desperately wanted.
Every nerve ending fired with need. His hand trembled against her thigh, caught between pulling away entirely and sliding higher to where she burned for his touch.
But he'd given his word. Had insisted they set boundaries, that they maintain honesty between them. Breaking that now, when she was vulnerable and wanting, would break something precious—something he hadn't even realized he valued until this moment.
He watched emotions flicker across her face: desire, frustration, anger, and beneath it all, something that might have been relief that he'd stopped. That he'd honored what they'd agreed to even when neither of them wanted him to.
Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks through his shirt. For a long moment they stayed frozen like that—him trembling with restraint, her body taut with unfulfilled need.
Then slowly, deliberately, she released her grip on his shoulders. Her hands slid away, leaving cold spots where her heat had been. She turned onto her side, presenting her back to him, the line of her spine rigid with pride and frustration.
The loss of contact felt like punch to the gut.
Tavish rolled onto his back, every muscle locked tight with denied desire. He stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, trying to steady his breathing. The ache wouldn't fade—might never fade. His body protested violently against the restraint, every nerve screaming that he was a fool.
Maybe he was.
He folded his arms behind his head, to keep himself from reaching for her, because he didn't trust what his hands might do if left free.
"I hate ye right now," she whispered into the darkness, her voice small and raw.
The words hit harder than any blow. "I ken." His own voice came out rough, scraped raw. "I'm nae particularly fond of meself either."
Silence settled over the room like a heavy quilt.
The fire had died to nothing but embers, their faint glow barely touching the darkness.
The storm outside had quieted to occasional wind gusts that rattled the shutters.
Inside, there was only the sound of their breathing—hers quick and uneven, his deliberately controlled.
His body cooled by agonizing degrees, though awareness of her remained sharp and unrelenting.
He could feel the heat radiating from her back just inches away.
Could sense every small movement she made—the adjustment of her shoulders, the shifting of her legs beneath the blanket, the way her breathing gradually, reluctantly steadied.
The mattress creaked whenever either of them moved. The ropes beneath groaned under their combined weight. Small sounds that normally would have gone unnoticed became deafening in the charged silence.
Time stretched. Minutes felt like hours. The ache in his body transformed from sharp and immediate to a deeper, duller throb that settled into his bones. Exhaustion crept in around the edges of desire, softening its demands.
His eyelids grew heavy despite the turmoil still churning through him. Sleep beckoned, offering escape from the wanting, from the regret that wasn't quite regret but felt close enough.
He drifted, thoughts fragmenting into images: grey eyes that saw too much, lips that tasted of wine and defiance, skin like silk beneath his calloused hands. The memory of her arching into his touch, the sound of her breath catching, the feel of her trembling beneath his exploration.
Dreams claimed him gradually, full of the same images but hazier, gentler. In sleep, there were no rules to follow, no boundaries to respect. Only her, wanting him as much as he wanted her.
Sometime in the deepest part of night, he surfaced briefly from those dreams. The room was utterly dark, the last embers dead. The cold had crept in, making the air bite at his exposed skin.
But pressed against his side was warmth. Maighread had moved closer in sleep, her body seeking his heat as naturally as breathing. Her hand rested over his heart, palm flat against his chest, feeling each steady beat.
He should move away. Should maintain the distance she'd created when she'd turned her back. Should honor the anger she'd expressed.
He didn't.
Instead, he let his arm settle carefully around her shoulders, drawing her closer into his warmth. She stirred slightly, making a small sound in her sleep, then settled against him more fully. Her breath warmed the hollow of his throat.
This, at least, he could give her. Warmth in the cold night. Comfort in sleep, if not in waking.
His eyes drifted closed again, and this time when sleep claimed him, it was deeper. More peaceful. The ache remained, but it was bearable now, wrapped in the rightness of her weight against his side, the simple trust of her hand over his heart.