Chapter 23 #2
She wept for the hand over her mouth and the ropes around her wrists.
She wept for the horse running through darkness, for Cormac’s certainty that she could be imprisoned until her will became irrelevant, and for the terrible moment she realized he expected Roy’s rescue and meant to use it against him.
Roy held her through all of it. He said nothing foolish. He did not tell her the fear had passed or that she ought not to feel it. One hand moved slowly over her back while the other cradled the base of her skull, keeping her close when each sob seemed determined to tear her apart.
At last, the violence of her weeping eased. Donaldina remained against him, exhausted and ashamed, listening to his heartbeat beneath her cheek. It was faster than she expected.
“Ye were afraid,” she whispered.
Roy’s hand stopped upon her back. “Aye.”
The admission was rough. Donaldina lifted her head. His face was close. Near enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath upon her damp skin. The guarded calm had left his eyes. What remained within them was darker and more vulnerable than fear alone.
“I thought I wouldnae reach ye in time,” he confessed.
“But ye did.”
She lifted one bandaged hand and touched the cut upon his temple. Roy became still.
“Does it hurt?”
“Nae.”
Her fingers traced carefully beside the wound. Roy caught her wrist, though he did not pull her hand away. His thumb rested against her pulse above the bandage.
“Donaldina…”
She heard the warning in her name. She also heard the question.
The air within the room changed. Fear had left her hollow, but Roy’s nearness filled every abandoned place with something warmer and no less dangerous.
She became aware of the bed beneath them, the closed door, and his arm still curved around her waist.
“Tell me nae tae touch ye,” she whispered, “and I will stop.”
Roy’s hand settled against the side of her neck. “I have never wished ye tae stop.”
He kissed her. The first touch of his mouth was restrained, almost reverent. It held none of the violence of his fight at the lodge and none of the desperate strength with which he had carried her through the smoke. She leaned into him.
Roy drew back scarcely an inch. “Are ye certain?”
She answered by kissing him again. Restraint survived for one heartbeat more.
Then his hand slid into her hair, angling her face as his mouth deepened over hers.
Donaldina caught his shoulders, feeling hard muscle beneath damp linen and the slight tremor he could not entirely conceal.
Roy MacIver, who stood steady beneath swords, trembled while kissing her.
The knowledge sent warmth unfolding through her. She shifted closer until her knee pressed against his thigh. Roy’s arm tightened around her waist, drawing her onto his lap with a care that did nothing to diminish the hunger in the movement.
Roy kissed his way upward with an unhurried tenderness that made every place his lips touched seem newly awakened.
When his hand settled over her breast, she trembled beneath the gentle weight of his palm.
The thin fabric of her gown stood between his hand and her skin, yet she could still feel him.
She had known her own body in solitude, beneath bathwater or blankets, when curiosity could be indulged without witness. Yet nothing she had ever discovered alone resembled the sensation of Roy touching her.
His hand was rough from war, but his caress was careful. Every slow movement seemed to ask whether he might continue, and every answering arch of her body granted him permission.
Pleasure gathered within her, unfamiliar and bright.
Her skin felt too sensitive for the cool room, her breathing too loud in the quiet.
She was conscious of everything at once: the warmth of him beside her, the faint scent of leather and smoke upon his skin, the softness of his mouth and the strength he held so carefully in restraint.
Roy lowered his head, and the touch of his lips made her gasp.
Donaldina lifted her fingers into his dark hair and drew him nearer.
Roy’s caresses moved slowly over her, learning rather than claiming.
Each touch sent another wave of warmth through her, until she could no longer distinguish where one sensation ended and the next began.
She could feel his hand caressing her body, then finding her velvet heat unfurled for him. She felt his fingers against her burning skin, but all he did was caress her throbbing pearl, circling around it with languid movements, until she could barely think.
Pleasure rose more quickly than she understood. It gathered with every kiss, every quiet breath against her skin and every deliberate stroke of his hand. Donaldina felt herself approaching something she could neither name nor resist.
“Roy,” she whispered.
He lifted his head, his eyes searching hers.
“I have ye,” he murmured.
The words undid her. The sensation broke through her suddenly, warm, powerful and overwhelming, with his fingers moving over her throbbing flower. Donaldina’s body trembled as pleasure swept through her, leaving her breathless and clinging to him.
For one startled instant, she feared the intensity of it. Then Roy’s arms closed securely around her. He held her through every shiver, his mouth resting against her temple while her heart struck wildly beneath her ribs.
She had heard women speak in guarded whispers of passion, but their careful words had never suggested anything like this: the helpless sweetness of it, the trust, or the astonishing comfort of discovering that she could surrender without being made powerless.
Roy kissed her hair. Donaldina slowly opened her eyes.
For the first time since Cormac had taken her, her body felt entirely her own again.