Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The forest path was little more than a deer track, narrow and overgrown, forcing them to ride single file through the dense undergrowth.
Liliane's thighs ached from gripping the saddle, her shoulders burned from maintaining her balance on the uneven terrain, and exhaustion pulled at her like a physical weight.
But she didn't complain. Not when every man riding with them bore the same weariness without a word.
The moon had risen hours before, pale and distant through the canopy of leaves overhead. They'd left Keppoch at dawn, taken the main road only as far as necessary before veering off into hidden paths that wound through MacDonald lands toward the border.
"How are ye holding up?" Tòrr's voice came from behind her, low enough not to carry to the other riders.
"I'm fine." Her voice was steadier than she felt.
"Ye've been sayin' that fer hours. But yer shoulders are tense as drawn bowstrings."
She tried to relax them, only then realizing how rigid she'd been holding herself. "I didnae ken it would take this long."
"Aye, well. The direct route would've had us there by now, but it also would've announced our arrival tae every patrol Munro's got watchin' the roads.
" His horse moved closer until they rode nearly side by side in a wider section of path.
"We'll stop soon. There's a village about an hour ahead where we can rest fer the night. "
"We're stoppin'?" Surprise made her turn to look at him. "I thought we'd ride through."
"And arrive at Foulis exhausted? That's how mistakes get made." His expression was hard to read in the dim light filtering through the trees. "The men need rest. Ye need rest. And we need tae be sharp when we reach Munro's territory."
She wanted to argue, wanted to push forward despite the ache in her muscles and the fog of exhaustion clouding her mind. But he was right, arriving too tired to think clearly would only endanger Nessa more.
"Alright," she conceded. "But just a few hours."
"We'll see what dawn brings." He reached across the space between their horses, his hand finding hers where it gripped the reins. "Ye're daein' well, lass. Better than I expected."
The praise shouldn't have warmed her as much as it did. "Better than ye expected? That's hardly a compliment."
"Isn't it? I expected ye tae last maybe three hours before demandin' we stop. Instead, ye've ridden all day without complaint." His thumb brushed across her knuckles. "That takes strength."
She looked away, uncomfortable with the pride in his voice. She wasn't strong, she was desperate. There was a difference.
The forest finally began to thin as they descended into a shallow valley. Lights flickered in the distance, warm and welcoming against the darkness.
"There," Michael called from the head of their small column. "The Stag and Crown. We'll bed down there fer the night."
The inn was modest but well-kept, its thatched roof thick and its windows glowing with firelight. As they dismounted in the courtyard, Liliane's legs nearly gave out beneath her. Only Tòrr's steadying hand on her elbow kept her upright.
"Easy," he murmured. "Give yerself a moment tae adjust."
She stood there, gripping his arm, waiting for the trembling in her muscles to ease. Around them, the other men were seeing to their horses with practiced efficiency, their movements economical despite their own exhaustion.
"Right then." Michael appeared at Tòrr's shoulder. "I'll get us rooms."
Michael disappeared into the inn, and Tòrr guided Liliane toward the entrance.
The common room was warm and thick with the scent of roasting meat and ale. A handful of patrons looked up as they entered, their gazes curious but not hostile. Tòrr positioned himself slightly in front of Liliane, his body language protective without being obvious.
"Evenin'." The innkeeper appeared from behind the bar, a portly man with shrewd eyes that took in their travel-stained clothes and weapons. "Rooms fer the night?"
"Aye. Me man's already arrangin' it." Tòrr's voice carried easy authority. "We'll need dinner as well. Whatever ye have ready."
"Stew's on. Fresh bread. Ale or wine as ye prefer." The innkeeper's gaze lingered on Liliane for a moment before sliding away. "Ye're a ways from home, by the look of ye."
"Business in the north," Tòrr said shortly. "We'll keep tae ourselves, cause nay trouble."
"See that ye dae." But the innkeeper's tone was more cautious than threatening. "Supper'll be ready shortly. Take any table ye like."
They claimed a corner table, backs to the wall, with clear views of both doors. The other men filtered in gradually, some heading straight upstairs with their saddlebags while others joined them at the table.
Liliane sat beside Tòrr, acutely aware of how every muscle in her body protested the simple act of sitting. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the cup of ale a serving girl placed before her.
"Drink slow," Tòrr said quietly. "Ye'll make yerself sick if ye gulp it down."
She obeyed, taking small sips despite her thirst. Around them, conversation flowed in low murmurs—men discussing the road ahead, sharing observations about patrol patterns, speculating about what tomorrow would bring.
The stew arrived in wooden bowls, thick with vegetables and chunks of meat. Liliane hadn't realized how hungry she was until the first bite touched her tongue. Then she had to force herself to eat slowly, to not shovel food into her mouth like a starving animal.
"Better?" Tòrr asked after she'd made it halfway through her bowl.
"Aye. Thank ye." She set down her spoon, suddenly self-conscious about how ravenously she'd been eating. "How much farther tomorrow?"
"If we leave at first light? We should reach the border by midday. Then another few hours tae get intae position near Foulis." His voice dropped lower. "That's when things get dangerous. Munro's men will be watchin' the approaches. We'll need tae move carefully."
Michael returned with a set of keys. "Rooms are sorted. Top of the stairs, last three doors on the right. The innkeeper's wife is preparin' baths if anyone wants them."
A bath. The thought was almost unbearably tempting. To wash away the dust and sweat of the road, to soak her aching muscles in hot water...
"Go," Tòrr said, apparently reading her expression. "I'll finish up here and join ye shortly."
She didn't argue, just stood—carefully, so her protesting legs didn't betray her—and made her way upstairs. The chamber Michael had secured was small but clean, with a narrow bed and a washstand. A copper tub sat near the hearth, already half-filled with steaming water.
Liliane closed the door and leaned against it, finally allowing herself to feel the full weight of her exhaustion. Her hands shook as she began unlacing her riding clothes, fingers clumsy with fatigue.
The water was still hot when she finally sank into the tub, and the relief was so intense it nearly brought tears to her eyes. She let herself sink down until the water covered her shoulders, the heat working into muscles she hadn't known were tense.
The following day, they would reach Munro lands, everything would become real—the danger, the risk, the possibility of failure. Tomorrow, she might see her sister again. Or she might lose everything.
But that night, for those few hours, she could rest.
The door opened quietly. Tòrr entered, securing the latch behind him. His eyes found her in the tub, and something in his expression softened.
"The water's still warm," she said. "If ye want tae join me."
He crossed the room, stripping off his shirt as he moved. She watched the play of muscles beneath his skin, the way firelight caught in his dark hair.
"Scoot forward," he said, unlacing his trousers.
She obeyed, making room. He settled behind her, his long legs bracketing hers, his chest warm against her back.
The water rose nearly to the tub's rim as he displaced it, sloshing gently.
For a long moment, neither spoke. His arms came around her waist, pulling her more firmly against him, and she let her head fall back against his shoulder.
"Tomorrow," she whispered.
"Aye. Tomorrow." His lips brushed her temple. "But nae taenight. Taenight, we're just us."
His hands moved over her body with gentle purpose, washing away the dust and tension of the road. She turned in his arms, water spilling over the edge of the tub, and kissed him with a hunger born of fear and need.
"Make me forget," she breathed against his mouth. "Just fer taenight. Help me ferget everything except this."
"Aye, lass." His voice was rough with desire and something deeper. "I can dae that."
He lifted her from the tub, water streaming from their bodies, and carried her to the bed. The sheets were cool against her heated skin as he laid her down, covering her body with his own.
The inn’s fire crackled low, its flickering flames casting restless shadows across the rough stone walls of the chamber. The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the faint tang of ale, a reminder of the evening’s meager comforts.
The others were elsewhere, their voices muffled in distant corners of the inn, leaving the two of them alone in the dimly lit space. The silence between them hummed with unspoken need, a current that pulled them closer with every passing moment.
His thumb brushed her lower lip, a gesture both tender and commanding, and she leaned into his touch, her breath quickening. His other hand slid down her back, pulling her against him, and she felt the hard line of his body, a stark contrast to the softness of her own.
He pressed her back against the bed, his lips crashing down on hers in a kiss that was both fierce and desperate. His mouth was a storm, his tongue demanding, and she met him with equal urgency, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
His hands roamed over her, tracing the lines of her body, his touch both gentle and ravenous. She arched into him, her skin alive with the sensation of his fingers brushing her waist, her hips, the curve of her thighs.
He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that sent shivers down her spine.
His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples, and she gasped, her head falling back as pleasure bloomed low in her belly.
He teased her, his touch slow and deliberate, his mouth murmuring filthy promises against her skin.
“Tòrr,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, and he looked up, his eyes burning with need.
She reached for his manhood, her fingers wrapping around him, and he groaned, his head falling back as she stroked him, slow and deliberate. But he pulled away, his hands gripping her hips, positioning her at the edge of the bed.
“On yer knees,” he commanded, his voice low and rough, and she obeyed without question, her heart pounding.
He stepped closer, his hands tangling in her hair, and she opened her mouth, taking him in, her tongue swirling around him. He groaned, his hips thrusting forward, and she deepened the rhythm, her lips sliding up and down his length, her hands gripping his thighs.
“Liliane,” he called her name, his voice tight, and he pulled her up, his lips crashing down on hers again, his taste sharp and salty.
He pushed her back onto the bed, his hands roaming over her, his touch urgent.
He spread her legs, his fingers tracing the wetness between her thighs, and she moaned, her hips lifting to meet him.
He didn’t make her wait. He positioned himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers, and then he thrust, filling her completely.
She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, as he began to move, slow and deep, his hips rolling into hers. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through her, building, building, until she was on the edge, teetering, ready to fall.
He quickened his pace, his hands gripping her hips, his thrusts relentless. She met him with every movement, her body arching, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
“Tòrr,” she cried out, her voice breaking, and he growled, his lips finding hers again, his kiss fierce and hungry.
And then, just as she was about to shatter, he pulled back, his eyes searching hers, his breath ragged. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice thick with need. “Not like this.”
He rolled them, positioning her on top of him, his hands guiding her as she straddled him, his manhood still buried deep inside her.
She moved, slow and deliberate, her hips rocking, her breasts brushing his chest. He watched her, his eyes dark and hungry, his hands roaming over her body, his touch possessive.
She gave him everything, her body moving in rhythm with his, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison. The tension, the fear, the uncertainty—it all faded away, leaving only that moment, that connection, this raw, desperate need.
The pleasure built, and she felt the orgasm coiling tight, ready to explode. He was cumming too, she could see it. And almost immediately, they orgasmed together, and she felt his seed pouring inside her.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, her head on his chest, his fingers trailing patterns on her bare shoulder. The fire had burned low, casting the room in shadow.
Dawn would come soon enough. And with it, the reckoning they'd been racing toward since the moment Tòrr had bid for her at that auction.