Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Margaret did not remember leaving the upper hall. One moment she had been struggling in the corridor, her arm wrenched in a stranger’s grip, the smell of smoke filling her lungs. And the next…
Domhnall’s voice.
Domhnall’s sword.
Domhnall’s arms pulling her behind him.
The memory still trembled inside her like the echo of thunder.
Now the castle corridors blurred past as he escorted her toward their chambers. Guards surrounded them, four ahead and two behind, moving quickly through the smoke-hazed passages as the sounds of battle slowly faded into distant shouts.
Domhnall had not let go of her. His hand remained firm around her wrist, as though he feared she might vanish if he loosened his grip.
Margaret said nothing. She could feel the tremor in her own limbs now that the danger had passed. Her heart was still racing from the fight, from the rough hands that had dragged her toward the door and away from that place.
The chamber door closed behind them with a heavy thud, and Domhnall turned to her.
“Are ye hurt?”
His voice was sharp with urgency. Margaret blinked.
“I told ye, I am nae.”
“Did they strike ye?”
“Nay.”
“Did they cut ye?”
“Nay.”
His fingers brushed lightly along her wrist where the MacGregor man had held her. Margaret winced. His jaw tightened instantly.
“I will kill every single one of them,” he vowed.
She shook her head, placing her hand on his shoulder. “It’s naething. I’m all right.”
“It is nae naething.” The anger in his voice startled her.
Margaret reached up instinctively, catching his sleeve.
“Domhnall.”
He stopped moving then. For the first time since they had entered the room, he looked directly at her. Margaret saw it clearly now, the fear he had tried so hard to hide, not the controlled fury she had seen in the corridor.
“I thought—” he began, but the words stopped.
Margaret understood the rest without hearing it. Her throat tightened.
“I am here,” she said softly.
The adrenaline that had carried her through the evacuation, through the struggle in the corridor, began to drain from her all at once. Her legs felt suddenly weak. The memory rushed back: rough hands, the service door, the certainty that she was about to be dragged out of the castle.
Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Domhnall stiffened in surprise. Margaret pressed closer, burying her face against his chest.
“Dinnae leave,” she whispered, breathing in his scent.
His arms closed around her slowly.
“I must,” he said quietly. “The castle—”
“Nae yet.” Her fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt. “Please.”
Her voice trembled despite her efforts. “I thought they were taking me away.”
Domhnall’s hold on her tightened. Margaret could feel the powerful beat of his heart beneath her cheek. Then, she lifted her face slightly. Their eyes met. Everything that had nearly happened, all the fear, the fury, the desperate relief, hung between them.
“I could nae breathe,” she said quietly. “When they dragged me toward that door.”
Domhnall’s hand rose to cradle the back of her neck. “I would nae have let them take ye.”
The words broke something open inside her. Margaret pressed closer again, her voice barely more than a breath.
“I cannae bear the thought of being anywhere but here.”
His thumb brushed lightly along her jaw. “Ye are safe, Margaret.”
“With ye,” she murmured.
The chamber felt suddenly very small. Margaret could still feel the tremor in her body, the lingering echo of fear beneath her skin. She clung to him tighter.
“Dinnae leave me alone,” she whispered.
Domhnall exhaled slowly. His forehead rested briefly against hers. And the space between them, which was already fragile after the morning by the loch and the kiss they had shared, finally broke under the weight of everything they had just survived together.
He cupped her face and brought it close, as his lips crashed against hers.
His lips were soft, yet they demanded everything of her, and she was willing to obey.
He claimed her with reverent tenderness, and his hands traveled down her body, relinquishing her of her gown. His shirt was next, then his trousers.
She pressed her open palms to his chest, feeling his heartbeat.
“Touch me, Margaret,” she heard him say through the kiss. “I want yer hands on me.”
Her fingers trembled as she felt the outlines of his muscles, while his lips moved down her jaw, to her collarbone, following an invisible line desire.
He pressed his hands over hers, leading her down his abdomen, to the deliciously masculine form she was so curious about.
How wonderful he felt under her fingertips… how hard and smooth at the same time.
When his hand led her to his manhood, she gently pulled away her fingers. He smiled against their kiss.
“Dae ye see how beautiful I think ye are?” he murmured softly, making her blush. “How mesmerizing…” His words were followed by a kiss on her neck, and then slowly, he led her to the bed.
He was staring intently at her, drinking in the sight of her, and she knew that she wanted to be his, then and forever. Without ending their kiss, he laid her on the bed. His finger trailed a line down her collar bone, all the way to her breasts, circling her nipple in a tantalizing manner.
“Dae ye like this?” he murmured softly.
“Mhm…” That was all she could say, biting her lower lip.
His fingers played with her nipple, teasing it, until he used his tongue to drive her utterly mad with desire. He took her nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting with barely enough pressure to make every single hair on her body stand on end.
“Oh…” she moaned, closing her eyes and getting lost in the moment.
While his tongue was swirling around her wet nipple, her fingers found the sacred flesh of her most intimate place, and the moment he touched her there, she felt as if her body was on fire. He knew exactly what he was doing, and his kisses only seemed to exacerbate her yearning.
“More, more…” she heard herself say, without a modicum of embarrassment. Nothing could have felt righter than melting into the arms of that man.
He slid his finger inside of her slowly and tantalizingly, without stopping his devilish tongue. When he used his thumb to press, and curled his finger, she clutched at his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin.
“Faster…” She had no idea how she knew what she wanted.
He grinned, continuing to tease her and please her, until she felt her entire body tighten, then explode into what seemed to be a million little stars that scattered throughout her field of vision. A bliss of warmth enveloped her, and her lips found his, in a kiss that she felt would last forever.
Only, it didn’t, because the moment his finger moved, her body seemed to yearn for more.
He adjusted himself between her legs, and cupped her cheek with his hand.
She knew what would happen. She had read it in books that were hidden in her father’s library.
But she could never have imagined that it would feel like that.
“I will take ye now, Margaret,” he whispered softly. “I will be gentle, but if I hurt ye, tell me.”
She gazed lovingly into his eyes, into the eyes of her husband, the man who had saved her in more ways than she could imagine.
“Ye could never hurt me,” she whispered back to me. “I… want ye…”
At that moment, she felt the gentle prodding of his manhood. Instinctively, she locked her legs around him, keeping him close. When he moved, his lips pressed to hers. And then, in one blissful, painful moment, everything changed. They became one.
She gripped at him harder, feeling the onslaught of effervescent desire. He thrust deeper with each motion, and his tongue did the same. She moaned with pleasure, feeling full and satiated, with her hands on his body and their bodies moving in unison.
This was more than mere lovemaking. This was a communion of souls and she knew now that hers would always belong to him.
He moved faster, kissing her frantically, until that same explosion seized her, but he still didn’t stop. A moment later, his own body clenched, and it was even more potent than her own euphoria.
He was still breathing heavily when he rolled to the side, and pulled her into an embrace, with her head resting on his shoulder. Margaret drew closer against him beneath the blankets, still warm from his touch and unwilling to let the moment end.
Outside the castle the Highlands waited, full of danger, but there in his arms she felt fearless.
Domhnall did not sleep, although the castle had grown quiet hours before.
The fires had been contained, the wounded tended, and the last patrols sent out across the darkened grounds to ensure no MacGregor men still lurked beyond the walls. Inveraray stood secure again.
But sleep refused to come. Domhnall sat against the carved headboard, with one arm resting across the blanket while the other remained loosely draped around Margaret’s shoulders.
She slept beside him. Her hair lay scattered across the pillow in a soft chestnut spill, still smelling of smoke and dust of the attack. One hand rested lightly against his chest, and her breathing was slow and even now that exhaustion had finally claimed her.
Domhnall stared into the dim light of the chamber. The memory would not leave him. He couldn’t stop seeing Margaret dragged across the corridor, with a MacGregor hand gripping her arm. The service door opening…
What if he had been a moment late…
His jaw tightened. The thought sat like iron in his chest.
His fingers moved unconsciously, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Margaret’s cheek. She stirred slightly beneath the touch. Domhnall stilled. He thought she would slip back into sleep. Instead, her eyes opened slowly.
The soft gray light of early dawn had begun to creep through the window as Margaret blinked up at him.
“Ye are still awake.” Her voice was rough with sleep.
“Aye.”
“Have ye slept at all?”