Chapter 14 #2
“Lass,” he breathed. “What happened?”
She shook her head. He didn’t really need to ask. They both knew.
“Take me away from here,” she asked, not knowing that it was what she needed until the words hung between them. “I ken it isnae wise, but… Please, Arran. Just for a little while.”
He looked somber but she knew he would agree even before he nodded.
“Aye,” he agreed. “Aye, let’s go. Come with me.”
He held her hand as gently as he might cradle a baby bird as he led her to the stables, keeping to obscure places where they would not be observed.
His care made fresh tears spring to her eyes.
For once, Kenna let them pour out of her.
She’d spent so long holding them back. Freeing herself to cry felt like a cleansing, like she was washing away filth that had clung to her for far too long.
Arran did not let her far out of his reach as he saddled his horse.
He paused his motions every few seconds to gently touch her shoulder or her arm, as if to reassure her that he was still there—or perhaps to reassure himself that she was still present.
It didn’t escape Kenna that he was offering similar soothing gestures to his mount…
but she didn’t mind. It just felt like another sign that Arran cared for everything that mattered to him with the same persistence and patience.
It made her feel good. Valued. It made her feel a little stupid that she was jealous of a horse—who would, after all, get to stay with Arran long after she’d returned to her life of misery—but she pushed that aside in favor of soaking up Arran’s tender affection.
This time, he didn’t saddle another horse for her.
She had spent so long feeling as though she was entirely on her own; that she could never lean on anyone, no matter how frightened or small she was feeling.
Leaning against Arran after he swung them both into the same saddle felt like the greatest relief.
That relief only increased as they rode away from the Keep, plunging into the cool shade of the trees, no sound around them except for the pounding of Torrin’s hooves on the packed earth and the occasional bird calling out overhead.
As the miles fell behind them, she felt her body grow calmer and calmer. This would have been enough. Kenna might have taken this ride, these few hours where she felt safe for once, and clung to them for the rest of her days.
But the moment she saw the small cabin appear through the trees, she felt a new hunger awaken inside her, so fierce that her spine went straight with a jolt.
What would it mean to be truly alone with Arran? To have a place that was actually private, even if only for a little while.
She knew what she would want it to mean, and the desire thrilled her as much as it terrified her. She was not in the business of wanting things. It was too dangerous.
“What is this place?” she asked. Her voice felt scratchy; neither of them had spoken for the past two or so hours.
She felt Arran’s shrug behind her in the instant before he dismounted.
“It’s a cabin for hunters, mostly for winters.” He reached up to help her down from the horse. Her whole body scraped against his as she descended, and it lit her up like a flame. “It willnae be occupied now.”
He didn’t let go of her hand as he led her inside, and Kenna felt breathless with how ordinary and entirely unprecedented that was.
Ashbourne would rather cut his hand off at the wrist before he held hers so gently.
Inside, there was a small bed, with a blanket and thin pillow, a single chair at a round table, and a shelf that contained some basic foodstuffs that wouldn’t spoil, a flint, and steel.
There had been a woodpile outside, stacked high.
Empty, but not abandoned.
They sat side by side on the bed and Kenna felt another spasm of thrill shoot through her.
It wasn’t only the rush of the forbidden that made it so exciting to be there with him, but she felt a little bit powerful, knowing that this was something that she could take back for herself.
A stolen afternoon with someone who actually seemed to like her.
She felt a small smile spreading, but Arran’s face was all seriousness as he reached up to touch her face again, his fingers grazing what she knew would be a rising bruise.
“What happened, lass?” he asked quietly, his gaze burning into hers.
She sighed. She supposed she couldn’t avoid it forever.
“My father wants to divide the Lennox lands formally,” she said, and Arran stiffened, evidently as if offended by this show of disloyalty to their fallen comrades as she was.
“He means to take the most for himself, of course, and wanted me to support his position. When I failed to do so, Ashbourne… reacted.”
There was a wry twist to her words. She didn’t want to think about her husband right now, and it was essential to her sanity that she sometimes pretend that he didn’t matter to her at all.
Something strange was happening behind Arran’s eyes.
“Why did ye oppose it?”
She blinked, surprised by this question.
“Because… because it’s bloody ghoulish,” she exclaimed.
“They are fighting over lands that dinnae belong to them like scavengers over a battlefield. Those lands belong to the Lennox Clan. And even if the Laird’s family died in the explosion…
they must have some kin somewhere out there.
That is who should decide what to do with the lands.
Not another laird whose only claim is proximity. ”
She shook her head, her fury from earlier sparking anew.
“I am ashamed to call that man my father,” she said intently. “I’ve been angry at him for years for selling me, but this… He shames me. He shames us all. And if the rest of that cursed council doesn’t see it, well. They are all monsters, then.”
Arran had been clenching his jaw so tightly that she worried he was going to break a damned tooth. At this pronouncement, though, something new came into his expression, as though he was seeing something wondrous for the very first time.
“Ye mean that,” he said, not a question, but an observation.
“Anyone who wasnae blinded by their own greed would,” she insisted. “It’s nae—”
But whatever she’d been about to say next was lost in the kiss that he pressed swiftly upon her mouth.
He pulled back just as swiftly, then pressed his brow against hers.
“Thank ye,” he said. “For believing that.”
This again surprised Kenna, but maybe Arran had still needed convincing that she didn’t align with her husband or father in matters such as these.
It stung to think that he might still think so little of her, but she brushed it off.
That hurt was so tiny compared to the others she’d felt in the past few years.
“It’s the right thing,” she said firmly.
“And ye were punished for saying it,” he said, spitting the bitter words. “Christ, I hate him—hate them both.”
She shrugged like it didn’t matter, because here, today, she didn’t want it to.
“I want to forget them,” she said after a moment. “Just today, just for now. I want to feel… For once, I want to pretend. To feel loved. Just for once.”
Every word of the admission made her feel increasingly fragile, until she was certain that she was as delicate as spun glass. It was a mortifying thing to ask for, because it wasn’t love between her and Arran. It couldn’t be.
But there was affection, she was certain. And she was starved enough for both those things that she could pretend they meant more than they did.
“I will give ye anything ye ask for, lass,” he said… and then kissed her before either of them could remember that it was a lie, that their circumstances would not let it be true.
She let herself drown in that kiss—in him. In the smell of him, like soap and man with just a hint of hay and horses from their ride. It was nothing like the polished primping of England. He smelled of Scotland. He smelled of home.
He sounded like home, too, when he groaned into her mouth as they tipped back on the firm mattress. The sound rumbled through her chest deliciously, and she felt an odd awareness of her breasts where they rubbed against him, even through their layers of clothing.
She’d never felt anything quite like it, but she’d never felt anything quite like him before. She’d never felt this heat, the wanting, the certainty that if she didn’t get closer to him, even though they were touching everywhere, that she would die from it.
“Kenna, lass,” he groaned again when she rucked up the back of his shirt high enough that her hands could explore the muscles of his back. “Ye are making it very hard for me to remain gentlemanly, ye ken.”
“To hell with gentlemanly,” she mumbled against his lips. She couldn’t bear even an instant of separation between them. “I want ye as ye are. No pretense.”
He let out another tortured sound, this one punctuated by a thrust of his hips, one that seemed entirely out of his control. Their position meant that he pressed against the side of her thigh, rather than any of the more interesting possibilities, much to Kenna’s regret.
He was still holding back, she could tell, so she wound her fingers in his hair and tugged lightly until he opened those amber eyes. She swore they could see right into her soul.
“Please,” she said. “Show me how good it can feel.”
It was as though he was a wild thing that had finally snapped its tether. He sat upright, ignored Kenna’s protest at the temporary separation, and attacked the laces of her gown with a ferocity that made her breaths come fast and shallow.
“Ye have gotten under my skin, Makenna,” he said, his eyes worshipful as they looked down at each exposed inch of her own skin. “Ye cannae imagine how ye torment me, lass.”