Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The celebrations below still thundered through the corridors with music, laughter, and enough whisky to drown half the Highlands by the time Sebastian finally managed to drag Alba away from the Great Hall.
Her hand caught firm in his, the bound plaid still looped loose around both their wrists where the priest had left it.
“Where are ye takin’ me?” she laughed, breathless, stumbling half a step behind him as he pulled her toward the Tower Stairs, skirts bunched in her free hand to keep from tripping on the worn stone.
“Somewhere quieter before Fergus starts singin’ again.” He did not slow down. “The man is three cups past the point where anyone should let him near a fiddle.”
“He’s only ever three cups past that point.”
“Aye, and tonight I have nae the patience for it.”
She laughed again, nearly stumbling on the last turn of the stairs, catching herself against his shoulder as he pushed open the chamber door above them, the sound of the celebration below fading to a low, distant hum through the thick stone walls.
The room was still almost empty. Whatever furniture had once stood there had been cleared out days ago at Alba’s insistence, and in its place, thick blankets covered the floor near the hearth, a few furs piled carelessly alongside a scatter of cushions, the fire already burning low and steady, casting the whole room in a warm, shifting gold glow.
Sebastian slowly shut the door behind them, the latch clicking into place with a quiet, final sound, then turned to look around the space with mock pride, one hand still holding hers.
“Ye planned this,” she accused, glancing at the neatly stacked furs, the fire already built up and waiting. “Ye had someone set this room before the ceremony even finished.”
“Philomena, actually. Threatened her with extra kitchen duty if she didnae have it ready by the time I got ye up here.”
“Ye bribed me own maid against me.”
“I bribed yer own maid for ye. There’s a difference.” He tugged her closer by the loosened plaid still looped around both their wrists. “Ye’re welcome, by the way.”
“I hadnae thanked ye yet.”
“I am efficient. I like to be ahead of things. Welcome to our chambers, me Lady.”
“I seem to recall a certain Highland brute complaining bitterly when his chambers were emptied for this.” She arched a brow at him, though the corner of her mouth was already fighting a smile. “Somethin’ about a perfectly good bed being replaced with blankets on the floor like a pair of vagabonds.”
“Aye.” His mouth curved slowly, unhurried, watching the firelight catch along the side of her face. “Strange how quickly a man learns to adapt, given the proper motivation.”
“And what motivation was that?”
“Ye. Every time, apparently.”
Alba laughed softly under her breath, gentle and warm, and reached up to work on the laces along her shoulder.
Her fingers were numb and a little clumsy from the whisky she had drunk and the day she had had.
Sebastian caught her wrist gently before she could do it and finished the task himself, slowly and deliberately, watching her face rather than his own hands.
The gown slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. Her cheeks flushed at his touch, at the way his gaze moved over her without hurry, like a man who finally had all the time in the world and intended to use every last minute of it.
“And yet somehow ye ended up with me in it anyway,” she said, voice gone quieter now, the teasing edge softening into something more honest.
Sebastian laughed once, low, and closed the last of the distance between them, catching her properly against him, one hand sliding along the curve of her waist, the other tangling into her loosened hair.
“Aye,” he murmured against her mouth. “Looks like I finally won.”
“Ye didnae win anythin’, MacGregor. I chose ye.”
“I will take that as winnin’.”
“Ye should.”
He kissed her then; slowly at first, his kiss reminiscing nothing like the desperate, bruising kiss he had given her in Kerr’s clearing, nor the fierce, triumphant one after the battle, nor even the one before the whole Clan an hour ago.
This one had nowhere to be and no one watching, and he let it show in the unhurried way he held her face between his hands. She met his pace, melting against him rather than burning him with her usual fire.
He pulled back just enough to look at her properly, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone, tracing the same path his hand had traced in Kerr’s clearing weeks earlier, though nothing about this moment carried any of that desperation now.
Her fingers found the fastenings of his own shirt, working them loose with far more patience than she had managed with her own laces. He shrugged out of it when she finally freed the last one, letting it drop somewhere near the hearth without either of them sparing it a second glance.
“Ye’re starin’,” she said against his mouth, though she made no move to stop him.
“Aye. I have earned the right, I’d say, after everythin’ it took me to get here.”
“Ye make it sound like a siege.”
“Felt like one; some days.” He walked her back a step, then another, until the backs of her knees found the pile of furs near the fire. She eased back, pulling him down with her, laughter catching in her throat as they went down together in a tangle of limbs and blankets and firelight.
He braced himself above her, one hand finding hers, threading their fingers together against the fur, and for a long moment neither of them moved, simply looking at each other in the low, golden light, the noise of the celebration below reduced to something distant and unimportant.
“Sebastian.”
“Aye.”
“Ye’re still starin’.”
“I intend to keep doin’ so.”
“For how long?”
“However long ye’ll let me.”
She reached up and pulled him down gently, no words needed between them, the fire burning low and steady while the rest of the castle celebrated without them.
Fergus’s singing echoed up through the tower stone a moment later, off-key and completely unbothered by its lack of talent.
A second voice, probably Hamish’s, joined in with even less skill, dragging the whole tune further away from anything resembling music.
“Ye realize,” she said against his shoulder, half-laughing, “we willnae hear the end of that man’s singin’ for the rest of our lives now, aye?”
“Aye. I have made me peace with it.”
“That quickly?”
“I am an adaptable man. I believe we established that already tonight.”
Much later, Alba lay curled against his chest, the fur pulled loose around them both, firelight reduced to embers and soft shadows.
She pressed her palm more firmly against his chest, feeling the steady, unhurried rhythm underneath, as if counting his heartbeats might somehow make this new, quiet certainty between them feel more real than it already did.
“Ye’re quiet,” she murmured, tracing an idle line along his collarbone. “Ye’re doin’ that thing again, where ye go quiet and I cannae tell if ye’re thinkin’ or broodin’.”
“Can it nae be both?”
“It usually is, with ye.”
“I am thinkin’.”
“Dangerous habit for ye.”
“Aye, so I am told.” He pressed a slow kiss to the top of her head, tightening his arm around her. “I am thinking that three months ago, I’d have called any man mad who told me I’d end up here. Wed. Happy. Nae a single wall standin’ between us anymore.”
“And now?”
“Now I cannae imagine it any other way.” He tipped her chin up with one finger, meeting her eyes in the dying firelight. “Ye’re stuck with me, Alba MacGregor. For however long I have got left to give ye.”
“MacGregor,” she repeated, testing the shape of the name like she had not quite settled into it yet. “I suppose I will manage.”
“A compliment?”
“The highest I have got to give for now.” She pressed a kiss to his jaw and settled back against his chest, the sound of distant, off-key singing still drifting faintly up through the stairs. “Ask me again in the mornin’, though. I reserve the right to change me answer once the whisky’s worn off.”
“Ye wouldnae dare.”
“Try me, MacGregor.”
He laughed, low and warm, and pulled her closer.
The firelight danced across the stone walls, casting flickering shadows that made the chamber feel both intimate and vast. They lay on the fur near the hearth, the woolen shift clinging to her curves, its thin fabric doing little to ward off the chill or the heat building beneath her skin.
Her first marriage had been a political arrangement, her husband old and indifferent, dying before they had ever… well. But Sebastian, her Sebastian, was different.
His fingers brushed her cheek, calloused from the sword and the reins, yet gentle as moth wings.
Alba leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed.
Sebastian’s other hand came to rest at her waist, his thumb stroking circles through the thin fabric.
She could feel the heat of his palm seeping through, branding her skin.
When his lips met hers, it was not the chaste kisses they had shared before.
This was deeper, hungrier. Sebastian’s tongue traced the seam of her lips, and Alba opened to him with a soft sigh.
He tasted of whisky and desire, his kiss claiming her mouth with a thoroughness that made her knees weak.
His hands slid down her back, cupping her buttocks through the shift, pulling her flush against him.
Alba gasped as she felt his hardness pressing against her belly. Even through layers of fabric, his size was intimidating.
“Easy, love,” he whispered against her lips, sensing her tension. “We have all night.”
His hands moved to the hem of her shift, slowly lifting it. Alba’s heart hammered against her ribs as the fabric bared her legs, then thighs, then the curling hair between them.
Sebastian dropped to his knees before her, his gaze reverent as he studied what he had uncovered. He pressed his face against her belly, breathing deeply as if memorizing her scent.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, his beard tickling her skin. “More than I imagined.”
Alba’s fingers tangled in his dark hair as his kisses drifted lower. He nipped at her hipbones, his tongue tracing patterns that made her shudder. When his mouth found the damp curls between her thighs, she cried out, her back arching from the fur.
Sebastian held her steady, his hands gripping her hips as his tongue delved into her folds.
He licked and sucked with an expertise that shocked her.
Where had he learned...? No, daenae think about that! Just feel.
And gods, she was feeling. Heat coiled in her belly, spreading outward like wildfire. Her hips moved instinctively, riding his face as pleasure built to an impossible peak.
“Sebastian,” she gasped, her voice ragged. “Please...”
He chuckled against her flesh, the vibration sending another wave of sensation through her. “Please, what, Alba? Tell me what ye need.”
“I need ye. Inside me.”
He rose slowly, his eyes dark with desire. With slow, intimate movements, he unfastened his kilt, letting it pool at his feet.
Alba’s eyes widened. He was magnificent, broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, his manhood jutting proudly from a thatch of dark curls. It was larger than she had imagined, the head flushed and weeping with need.
Sebastian stretched out beside her, propped on one elbow as he looked his fill. Alba felt exposed, vulnerable, but the warmth in his eyes put her at ease. His hand traced her collarbones, then drifted lower to cup her breast. Her nipple pebbled against his palm.
“Perfect,” he breathed, leaning in to take the other nipple in his mouth.
Alba arched off the blankets as he suckled, his tongue flicking around the sensitive peak.
His free hand slid between her thighs, finding her slick and ready.
One finger circled her entrance, teasing, before slowly sinking inside.
Alba’s breath hitched at the intrusion. It was strange but not unpleasant. Sebastian moved his finger gently, in and out, then added a second. He scissored them, stretching her carefully. The slight burn gave way to pleasure as he found a sensitive spot inside her.
“There,” he murmured against her breast. “Right there.”
He worked her with his fingers until she was writhing, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Sebastian, now. Please, I am ready.”
He positioned himself between her thighs, his manhood nudging at her entrance. Alba tensed, remembering stories of pain, of blood. Sebastian sensed it, pausing to kiss her deeply.
“Relax, love,” he whispered. “Trust me.”
She nodded, forcing her muscles to unclench. He pushed forward carefully, slowly stretching her opening. There was a brief, sharp pain, a tearing sensation that made her gasp. Sebastian stilled immediately, his body rigid with control.
“All right?” he asked, his voice strained.
Alba took a breath, then another. The pain was already fading, replaced by a feeling of fullness. “Aye. Daenae stop.”
He moved deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed. Alba felt stretched to her limits, filled with hard, pulsing flesh. Sebastian held still, letting her adjust, his forehead pressed against hers.
“Alba,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “Me wife.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Move. Please, move.”
He started to thrust gently at first, then with growing confidence. Each movement pressed against sensitive places inside her, reigniting that coiling heat.
Alba instinctively met his movements, her hips rising to meet his. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, mingling with their gasps and moans.
Sebastian shifted slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly something inside her lit up. “Oh gods!” she cried out. “Right there. Daenae stop.”
He obliged, hammering that spot with each thrust. Alba’s nails raked down his back as pleasure overwhelmed her. She was close, so close...
“Cum for me, Alba,” Sebastian growled, his voice rough with passion. “Let me feel ye.”
His words pushed her over the edge. Alba shattered, waves of ecstasy crashing through her.
She cried out his name as her folds clenched around his manhood, milking him.
Sebastian thrust twice more, then buried himself deep with a low, primal groan.
She felt him pulse inside her, his hot cum flooding her channel.
They collapsed together, limbs tangled, hearts racing. Sebastian rolled to his side, taking her with him, still joined. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
“Alba,” he whispered, his voice soft with wonder. “Me chirdh.”
She smiled against his chest, feeling his seed trickle down her thigh. “Me husband.”
The fire had burned low, but the heat between them would last till dawn.