Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
The long hallways of Brigrock Hall seemed unusually still that night, peaceful in a way it had not been in decades.
The storm had passed; there was no rain now, only the soft, warm glow of candlelight reflecting off the polished dark wood and the deep silence of a safe house.
Malcolm led Penelope toward his private chambers without speaking a word, his large hand resting gently against the small of her back. The moment the heavy oak door shut securely behind them, locking out the rest of the world, Penelope stopped holding herself together.
The rigid composure she had maintained for the servants and the magistrates shattered completely. Her breath broke sharply, a low, wounded sob leaving her throat.
Malcolm turned instantly.
She pressed both of her hands against her face, her shoulders racking with violent sobs. “I thought… Malcolm, I thought he was going to catch him. I thought he would catch Nicholas before he could reach the stables.”
His powerful arms closed around her before she could even finish the sentence, pulling her flush against his body. Penelope clung to him with a terrifying intensity, her fingers digging into his back until her knuckles ached.
“I know,” he murmured repeatedly against her hair, his voice a steady anchor in her storm. “I know.”
“I thought he would take him from me, I thought he would destroy everything.”
“But he did not,” Malcolm said gently, his deep voice filled with a quiet, absolute certainty.
His large hand moved slowly, rhythmically up and down her spine, grounding her, pulling her out of the terror of the past.
Penelope pressed her face harder against the linen of his shirt, breathing him in deeply. She filled her senses with his scent: the smell of fresh rain, expensive leather, woodsmoke, and something entirely, fundamentally Malcolm. Safe. Absolute safety.
Malcolm reached down, his fingers tipping her chin upward with an unbelievable gentleness. In the warm candlelight, the dark purple bruises along her jaw and throat were fully visible now.
The sight changed his rugged face instantly. The ancient, cold fury flickered back into his dark eyes, his muscles tightening.
“He touched you,” Malcolm’s jaw clenched so hard she could hear the bone grind. “I should have killed the bastard when he lay on the stones.”
She opened her eyes and reached up, her soft palm carefully cupping his scarred cheek. “You came for me. That is all that matters. You saved me.”
Malcolm’s eyes shut tight at her touch, a long, shuddering breath leaving his lungs. When he opened them again, the fierce, terrifying warrior was gone, replaced by something so raw, so dangerously unguarded, that it stole the breath from her lungs.
“I will never let anyone harm you again, Penelope. Never.”
The promise settled deep inside her soul. It wasn’t a boastful declaration of a proud nobleman; it wasn’t a dramatic line from a poetry book. It was an absolute, terrifyingly permanent vow.
His thumb brushed with infinite care just beneath the dark bruise on her cheek, his touch as light as a feather. “I am responsible for you,” he whispered, his gaze locking onto her lips. “Because you are my entire world.”
A sudden tide of intense emotion tightened in her chest, a beautiful, suffocating warmth. “Malcolm…”
He lowered his head, pressing his forehead firmly against hers, his breath hot against her skin. “I love you, Penelope.”
The words stole the remaining air straight from her lungs. They weren’t polished or practiced like the pretty lies of London suitors. They were rough, heavy, and raw, sounding as though they had fought their way out of the deepest, darkest depths of his scarred heart.
His large hand shook once where it rested against her silk waist.
Malcolm leaned forward, kissing the bruised corner of her mouth with absolute reverence.
“I love the way you fight for what is yours,” he murmured against her skin.
He pressed another soft kiss to her uninjured cheek.
“I love the fierce, beautiful way you look at Nicholas.” He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering.
“I love that this bloody, dead house no longer feels like a tomb when you are breathing in it.”
Her eyes burned with fresh, happy tears. “Malcolm…”
“I love you, Penelope,” he repeated, the words a fierce vow.
Penelope cupped his face between both of her hands, her fingers tracing the rugged lines of his jaw and his scars. “I love you too, Malcolm. With all my heart.”
The change in him was instantaneous. His breath caught sharply in his throat, his dark eyes widening.
Then his mouth found hers.
This kiss was nothing like the careful, restrained embraces of their first days.
There was no hesitation, no holding back of the wolf beneath his skin.
It was a collision of pure relief, deep hunger, and an absolute, overwhelming love tangled together so tightly she could barely separate one from the other.
Penelope melted completely against his massive frame with a soft, needy sound, her arms locking around his neck. Malcolm’s large hands slid into her chocolate hair, effortlessly loosening the remaining silver pins until the thick, dark waves spilled fully down her back in a beautiful, silk cascade.
“You are safe,” he murmured frantically between deep, bruising kisses.
And she believed him. For the very first time since she was a girl of eighteen, she believed it completely, without a single shred of fear.
Penelope’s hands trembled with a sweet, frantic anticipation as Malcolm effortlessly lifted her into his arms, carrying her toward the massive four-poster bed. The beeswax candles beside the hearth flickered a rich, dancing gold across his rugged features.
His heavy riding coat was gone already, discarded on the floorboards. His linen shirt hung completely open at the throat, exposing the warm, bronzed skin and the hard, overlapping lines of powerful muscle beneath.
She reached up, her fingertips gently tracing the jagged white scar along his cheekbone as he laid her down against the soft velvet mattress.
“You are looking at me again,” he murmured, his dark eyes burning down into hers as he hovered above her frame.
“You are handsome, Malcolm,” she whispered honestly.
Something incredibly vulnerable, a boyish disbelief, crossed his expression so quickly it almost hurt to see, before his dark lashes swept down.
Then he kissed her again. Slowly this time. Deeper. As though now that the terrifying fear of loss was gone, he could finally take his absolute time with her flesh, savoring every breath.
Penelope’s fingers worked frantically at the remaining bone buttons of his shirt. Her touch was clumsy, impatient, driven by a desperate need to feel his skin against hers. Malcolm caught her small wrist briefly, pressing a warm kiss against her knuckles.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he rumbled against her mouth. “We have all night.”
“I do not feel easy tonight, Malcolm.”
His dark eyes darkened to near black immediately, a flash of primal hunger igniting in his gaze.
“No,” he said softly, his voice dropping an octave. “Neither do I.”
The linen shirt finally fell completely open beneath her eager hands.
Penelope pushed the fabric from his broad shoulders slowly, letting it slide away into the shadows.
The sheer sight of his torso stole her breath every single time.
A broad, powerful chest, scarred skin, and an undeniable, massive strength written in every line of muscle beneath the candlelight.
But tonight, as she looked at him, she saw something far deeper.
She saw trust.
He remained perfectly still, allowing her to touch every single blemish, every mark of his violent past without flinching away or hiding in the dark. Her fingertips moved slowly over a pale, jagged indentation near his ribs.
“A knife?” she whispered against his chest.
“A French boarding pike,” he murmured. “In the channel.”
Her fingers tracked upward, tracing a long, puckered mark across his shoulder blade. “And this one?”
“A cannon splinter at Toulon.” Malcolm’s mouth curved into a faint, self-deprecating smile as he looked down at her.
“They’re beautiful,” she breathed. “Like the beautiful warrior that you are, Malcolm,” she said softly before she pulled him down into another deep, adoring kiss.
Then, his large hands found the silk laces at the back of her ruined green gown.
Everything in the room seemed to slow to a crawl after that.
The expensive green silk slid from her shoulders, pooling around her waist like water.
His warm mouth followed the path of the fabric, pressing slow, intoxicating kisses against her newly bared skin, making her shiver.
The heat of his palms moved reverently over her full curves, tracing her ribs, her hips, as though he still could not quite believe she was truly his to hold, his to cherish.
Penelope let out a sharp, breathless gasp when his warm mouth closed over the aching peak of her breast through the thin linen of her shift. “Malcolm—Heavens.”
He looked up immediately at the sound of his name, his dark eyes heavy with passion. He didn’t stop his movements; he simply watched her face, tracking the flush of her cheeks, the parted line of her lips. The sheer intensity of his gaze unraveled her completely.
Malcolm kissed his way slowly, deliberately down the length of her body, pausing his lips wherever she trembled most beneath his touch, as though he were systematically memorizing every single reaction of her flesh.
When he finally settled himself between her thighs, his weight a comforting, solid warmth, Penelope’s entire body tightened in fierce anticipation, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
“Look at me, Penelope,” he murmured, his voice a low command.
She opened her eyes, her honey-brown gaze locking onto his dark ones. His large hand slid slowly, smoothly up the inside of her thigh, his skin burning against hers.
“You are mine, and I am all yours. All yours.”
Something incredibly fierce, tender, and deeply possessive flashed through his face at her words. Then, lifting her hips slightly, he entered her carefully, deeply.
Penelope gasped sharply, her back arching slightly off the mattress as she clutched at his powerful shoulders. Malcolm froze instantly, his muscles locking as he stared down at her face with concern.
He brushed a damp lock of chocolate hair away from her face with infinite gentleness, his eyes softening. Penelope pulled his head down into a desperate, deep kiss, wrapping her legs securely around his waist to draw him deeper.
Malcolm let out a rough, primal sound against her mouth and began to move, his strokes deep, slow, and deliberate.
Every single touch felt intentional. Careful. Malcolm watched her constantly through the shadows, kissing every startled breath from her mouth, whispering her name against her skin like a holy prayer.
The pleasure built slowly, a rising, beautiful tide until Penelope no longer knew where to place her hands, her breath, or her racing thoughts. She only knew Malcolm.
His massive weight above her. His deep voice in her ear. The fierce, protective tenderness in every single touch of his split knuckles.
When the release finally broke through her, it hit with a violent, beautiful force that stole all sound entirely from her lungs, her body shaking beneath him.
Malcolm followed her moments later with a low, guttural groan against her throat, his powerful body racking with a deep tremor as he buried his face in her shoulder, holding her as if he would never let her go.
Afterward, neither of them moved for a long, peaceful while.
The hearth fire crackled softly nearby, casting long, dancing amber shadows across the canopy of the bed.
Malcolm lay half-above her, his massive frame a comforting weight, one large arm securely cradling her shoulders while her slender fingers traced lazy, aimless patterns across the hard muscle of his chest.
There was no fear in the room tonight. There was no shame, no lingering trauma, and no cold loneliness. The ghosts of Brigrock Hall had finally been laid to rest.
Penelope closed her eyes slowly, a deep, profound peace settling over her soul. Malcolm’s lips brushed softly against her hair.
“My wife,” he murmured into the dark, the words a proud, quiet vow.
A beautiful, radiant warmth spread through Penelope’s chest, filling every hollow space left by the years of pain.
“My husband,” she whispered back into the quiet room.
And for the very first time Penelope felt entirely, completely safe.