Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
GREGG
Tuesday
Strathwyn Castle
Lochaven, Scotland
There are so few places for me that demand I slow down.
London certainly never entertains the idea.
Like New York, in fact, it expects me to keep to its pace.
Eyes are always forward, shoulders squared, my heart hidden behind my ribs.
But here, it doesn’t matter. The Scottish Highlands don’t care who you have to be in a bustling city.
They don’t care what my surname means to the world.
They don’t care about what I was raised and trained to be.
The highlands simply exist. Vast and wild and indifferent with spectacular clarity.
The indifference feels like mercy.
When I asked the staff to open the house a couple days ago, I also asked them to stock the pantry and kitchen lightly, just enough for a few days.
So this morning, after a small breakfast of eggs and sausage, I gave Cameron a formal tour of the house.
He listened to the lore I had to share, the history and the memories.
“I’ve always found the Tapestry Gallery to be absolutely frigid, even in the summer.
” I push open the door and reveal a soaring ceiling that’s supported by thick carved wooden buttresses.
The stone walls always hold a chill, and long narrow windows let in the gray light.
“But since it can also be used as a ballroom, I guess the chill is nice when it’s filled with people. ”
“Wow,” Cameron replies as he walks beside me, his hand brushing mine every few steps.
The enormous tapestries hang from ceiling to floor in heavy drapes of color. Deep greens mixed with stormy blues, gold thread stitched into shapes that shimmer when you move past, as if they are alive and waiting for someone to notice them.
Cameron slows in front of one that depicts a man in hunting leathers, his bow slung across his back, his face turned toward a woman standing at the edge of the forest. Her dress flows behind like smoke, and between them, a stag with an impressive crown of antlers watches.
“She looks like she’s going to ruin his life.” His gaze narrows.
“A talent for spotting tragedy.” I laugh.
“It’s in the eyes,” he continues, pointing at her. “She’s not asking. She’s claiming.”
I step close and lower my voice like the sewn figures would hear. “This one has a story.”
His head turns toward me, interest brimming. “Of course it does.”
“The legend calls her Elspeth of the Glen.” I nod toward the woman. “A laird’s daughter promised to someone else, someone safe. Someone approved.”
Cameron’s expression seems to soften.
“The hunter was meant to be nothing,” I continue. “Just a man hired to track wolves. No titles and certainly not suitable.”
“Hmm, the worst kind of man,” he assumes.
“The kind you can’t afford to want.” My voice is quiet.
Cameron’s eyes hold mine. “And did she want him?”
“She did.” I swallow. “And legend has it, she met him here, in this very room. Late one night while the castle slept.”
Cameron glances around, as if looking for the ghosts of Elspeth and the hunter. “That’s… incredibly dramatic.”
I put my hand to his cheek and lean toward him. “This place encouraged it. She kissed him right over there, by the fireplace.” He bit his lip achingly. “And promised him something she couldn’t give.”
Cameron’s voice drops. “What did she promise?”
I exhale slowly against his neck, feeling the words settle into my chest before I let them go. “She promised him that she’d choose him anyway.”
The silence that follows is loaded, heavy with meaning that neither of us were keen to say out loud.
Cameron pulls me against him, his back to the wall. I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“And?” he inquires. “Is that the end of the story?”
“It depends on who you ask,” I answer cleverly. “Some say she ran away with him. Others say she stayed, married who she was supposed to, and spent the rest of her life staring out these windows like she’d been imprisoned.”
Cameron’s jaw tightens, and an unreadable emotion flashes briefly across his beautiful face. Then he looks up at me, his eyes sharp and hungry.
“And what do you think?”
My throat goes dry. I open my mouth, but whatever answer I had dissolved the moment his hand slid into the front of my shirt. With his other hand he pulls me into him with decisiveness that steals my breath. I brace a hand to the cold wall. “Cam—” I begin, it comes like a warning and a plea.
He tilts his head and locks his eyes to mine. “You talk about her like you understand her.”
My other hand finds his waist without thinking. “I do,” I admit, voice low.
His mouth curves into a wicked smile. “Good. So what do you choose?”
Then he kisses me.
It isn’t gentle, and I don’t hesitate. It is a kiss that feels like being chosen.
His lips move against mine with intent, and I feel myself give in instantly. My fingers tighten at his side and I pull myself closer, my tongue parting his lips. He moans into my mouth, and I break the kiss only to whisper, “I choose you,” and drop to my knees.
“You’re very good at telling stories,” he murmurs as I unfasten his belt and pull down his jeans.
I laugh shakily. “And you’re good at interrupting them.”
He’s rock hard under his briefs, and he lets out a feral moan as I place my mouth to him, only a thin layer of fabric between my lips and his throbbing dick.
I pull at the waistband lightly, revealing his head, and I place a kiss to it while looking up at him.
He’s panting with wanting as I slide a hand up his body and pull down the waistband fully and free him.
I kiss his shaft from the base to the tip, and in a soft and fluid motion swirl my tongue around his head.
“Maybe… I don’t… want the ending yet.” He gasps, threading his fingers through my hair.
I pull back and look up at him again. “Believe me, babe. You’ll love the ending.”
Later that afternoon, we’d left Strathwyn behind us, and I guide Cameron along a narrow trail I know that disappears into the towering trees, my fingers laced through his naturally.
The air is sharp and smells of pine and damp earth.
It feels like a type of clean that makes you feel as if your lungs have never worked quite properly.
A ribbon of water babbles and churns over stones alongside our path bordered by mossy rocks.
Cameron walks beside me, his stride easy despite the uneven ground, and his hair keeps catching the breeze, pushing back again and again.
God, he is so beautiful.
He seems so light, like the world doesn’t have any kind of grip.
I make no attempt to hide my smiles and glances, and he catches me, not causally either. But he watches me as if trying to memorize something.
“What?” I ask, unable to hide the smile pulling at my mouth.
“Nothing, nothing.” He shrugs, his eyes narrowing in quiet amusement. “Just, you’re different here.”
“Oh yeah?” I chuckle softly, nudging him gently. “How so?”
“Like,” he searches for the right words, “I think I understand why you like it here so much. It makes sense. It’s so free.”
The trail guides us into a small clearing where the stream widens and curls around a fallen log. The crystal clear water reflects pale sunlight off the polished stones along its bed.
“I suppose I am,” I admit, smiling. I exhale and spin slowly, looking up into the trees. “You know I used to come out here as a boy and think, if I just ran far enough into the woods, I could become someone else. Someone that no one had already decided.”
“And did it work?”
I look back at him and smile widely. “Not until now.”
His expression turns tender. “Gregg…”
“Come on,” I interrupt brightly. “There’s a spot up ahead. You’ll love it.”
“And how do you know I’ll like it?” he asks, voice playful.
“Because I’m getting frighteningly good at reading you.”
He laughs, the sound echoing through the trees. “That’s dangerous information.”
We continue on, the trail narrowing again as it curves deeper into the forest. The ground is soft underfoot, carpeted with moss and pine needles. Every so often the stream leaps over stones in a rush, like it can’t contain itself, and I feel the same way.
It was startling, this lightness. This ease. I’d forgotten what it was like to simply exist beside someone without performing. Without calculating, and without wondering how many steps ahead the ground may collapse.
Cameron is quiet for a while, and when I glance over, I find him smiling faintly to himself.
“What now?” I ask.
He blinks, as if I’d pulled him out of a thought. “Nothing.”
“That’s never true with you, darling,” I say, amused. “You’re always thinking.”
He gives me a look. “And you’re always deflecting.”
Touché.
He hesitates, then says softly, “I like you like this.”
The words land with more force than any grand declaration ever could.
I swallow, suddenly aware of how the cool air sharpens every sensation, every breath, and every truth.
“I like me like this too,” I admit.
Cameron’s smile grows, slow and radiant. “Good.”
We reach our destination, a small rise where the trees thin and the view opens like a curtain being drawn back. Beyond the trees, the land drops away into rolling hills, mist clinging to the peaks. The sky above is pale and endless and makes me feel small, in the best way.
Cameron stops beside me and takes it in.
“Oh,” he breathes.
“Yes,” I agree quietly, watching him rather than the view.
He turns to me, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, hair tousled by the wind. And for the first time in my life, standing in the wild stillness of Scotland with a man’s hand in mine, I don’t feel like I am waiting for something to go wrong. I feel ridiculously, impossibly…
Happy.
Cameron steps closer, his shoulder brushes against mine. “You seem… free.”