Chapter Twenty-One

Fear and anger ripped at Grant’s insides as he ran through the castle looking for Isobel. Surely she wouldn’t have gone out looking for Torsten. He hadn’t even had a chance to tell her how close the menace was.

He finally found a lad in the kitchen shooing Daracha from a chair as he mixed something in a bowl.

“Have ye seen my wife?”

“Aye, she went out that way just a few minutes ago.” The lad pointed to the door with a long wooden spoon.

He rushed through the open door, cold wet droplets assailing him as he dashed toward the nearest people who had taken cover beneath the overhang of the healer’s cottage roof.

Someone nodded that they’d seen her. His heart stopped beating when the man pointed to the beach—the same stretch of land Torsten Campbell was probably watching. He had to get to her before she exposed herself to the arse on the other side.

Running, he paid little heed to the rain pelting his eyes, only brushed his hair back to see the stones that formed a path down the steep embankment to the shore below.

She’d only made it down a few steps when he reached her. He snaked his arm across her waist and pulled her back into his chest. She struggled and he realized she hadn’t seen him coming. “’Tis me, wife.”

Still, she tried to pull away but he couldn’t let her go any farther. He spied a patch of bushes a few steps away and said a quick prayer they were enough to shield her from anyone watching. Loosening his grip, he freed her, took her hand, and urged her back upward, careful to watch over his shoulder at the other shore for movement.

Once they’d cleared the top, he inhaled. While towing her across the muddy yard, he felt her stumble. Guilt at his haste niggled him, but it didn’t replace the relief he felt for getting to her in time or the fear he’d felt at the thought of Torsten Campbell delivering her to the Earl of Argyll.

As soon as they entered the castle and the rain was no longer beating down on them, his wife dug in her heels. “What are ye doing?”

He rounded on her, anger taking place of the fear. “What the hell do ye think ye were doing?”

She flinched, her eyes growing larger. Right now, he didn’t mind her trepidation, in fact she needed a healthy dose if he was to keep her safe until this mess was over.

“Yer mother was called to the hall to have an audience with a woman from the village, so I was just going to go for a walk.”

“In the rain?”

“Aye. It clears my head.”

“I told ye no’ to leave the castle.”

“So now that we are home, I’m relegated to prisoner again?” She pushed past him, starting for the great hall.

“Halt!” He grabbed her hand and lugged her toward the stairs. “We arenae done.”

He trudged up the stairs and hauled her into their chamber, her skirts swirling as he twirled her into the space and slammed the door behind them.

She looked sad, disappointed. He could take her anger, but not this. He didn’t like it.

“I just need time to think. ’Tis my fault he’s out there.”

“The clan and I have a plan, but if he finds ye first, it willnae work.” He took her hand, his tone pinning her with conviction, hoping to show her he had the situation well in hand.

“I promise once ’tis dealt with, I’ll no’ go back to the Resistance.” Her eyes pleaded and he moved closer, the exotic scent she wore washing over him, reassuring him that she was still here. “Does that mean that ye can be happy here?”

“Aye, it does. I will stay here to keep our clan safe, to keep watch over ye and Annis.”

He took her fingers in his, and his heart burst with pride and joy.

“And ye have to see why I cannae stand back and let ye be hurt for my mistake. I have to be the one to do it.” Her gaze hardened.

“Do ye think I would let ye risk confronting Torsten on yer own?

“I have to ken ye are safe and our babe will be safe.”

Every muscle in his body went numb as everything in the room but Isobel blurred. “Isobel.” Her name came out hoarse, like the time he’d lost it for several days.

She pulled free and moved as if she would head for the door.

“Look at me.” He had a clear view of her face from the light trickling in from the window. “’Tis another reason ye cannae go down to that beach now.”

He drew her in, holding her close as the smell that was his wife, some kind of flower mixed with the fresh rain, assaulted his senses and threatened to drive him mad. He felt a strange urge to hold on, like his arms were the only thing keeping her moored to him, and she might sail away and never be seen again if he let go.

“I dinnae understand.” Her soft voice was muffled by his shoulder as he nuzzled into her.

He didn’t, either. He only knew that the whole world was right here in his arms. She was his everything and he didn’t know how it had happened. Isobel MacLean MacDonald, wanted member of the Royalist Rebels, had become the most important person in his life. And now, they were going to bring a wee little bairn into the world.

“Ye cannae go down there because Torsten Campbell is just on the other side of the water.”

She blinked then put her hands on his chest and pushed, but he didn’t let go. “Why did ye nae tell me?”

“Because I didnae want ye doing something foolish like going down there to face him on yer own.”

“And ye would let me believe ye knew nothing of his whereabouts?”

“Ye cannae go out there, because I cannae lose ye.”

She stilled in his arms and he wondered if he’d revealed too much.

But once he started, he couldn’t stop. “I’ve lost too many people I care about and if something happened to ye, I dinnae ken what I would do.” His throat hurt as he choked out the words, afraid voicing them might make her vanish into a cloud of smoke or the mist that rolled out with the dawning of the sun.

He was kissing her cheeks, inhaling her fresh scent, and he knew he’d never look at the rain the same way. Storms were turbulent and dangerous, but were also fresh and cleared the mind, just like his Isobel.

His mouth fell to her ear and he whispered words he’d thought until now were a curse, the one thing he had to say before it burned a hole in his chest and consumed him. “I love ye.”

When he pulled back, he thought he saw a mist in her eyes, but he wasn’t certain. She didn’t return his words, but she rose up on her toes, pulled him down, and pressed her lips to his.

If she didn’t feel the same, it would crush him, but right now, he would revel in the knowledge that he’d been lucky enough to be forced to marry the one woman in all of Scotland who had been able to find her way into his heart.

…

Grant’s words washed over her in waves. She’d thought she misunderstood, but as he stilled and waited for her to reply, they crashed into her senses.

He loved her.

How was that possible?

But his warm breath stole across her and shivers ran through her body, making her feel as if she were engulfed in a whirlwind of leaves that tickled her skin. He nibbled her ear and her hands clenched onto him for balance. He’d thrown everything she knew into imbalance and she was terrified, no, she was exhilarated.

She held on, trembling, needing balance, but also needing the clarity that only his touch gave. They were in their room, but she could have been anywhere. He did that to her, made her lose herself, but at the same time it was like she knew everything when she was in his arms.

Their positions shifted as he backed her toward their bed. And she went willingly, with glee.

She’d not known Torsten was near, but her husband was right—had she been aware, she would have gone straight for him, sword drawn.

Her breath became shallow. She’d let this man before her find his way into a place in her heart she’d never given to anyone.

The realization left her feeling vulnerable and scared, weak and unsure, but his words made her heart beat faster. She’d done the one thing she’d promised herself she’d never let happen—she had let him in, wholly, completely. How had this happened?

Pushing away, she walked to the window to take in air that wouldn’t ease the crushing pressure on her chest. The Resistance had been forgotten, and she’d become immersed in her new life with her husband. He had become her world.

Arms encircled her waist, drawing her into the solid frame of her husband. She breathed him in—the scent of rain and a male musk that was his alone—relishing the feel of being in Grant’s arms. Still wrapped in his embrace, she turned, and her hands rose to his cheeks.

She loved him, too. Loved him so hard that it would destroy her if he walked away from her.

She felt the words, but she couldn’t say them. It had been a shock to discover them written on her heart, so instead she said, “Kiss me, husband.” A possessive, almost primitive joy washed over her as she acknowledged he belonged to her as much as she belonged to him.

Blue eyes dilated as desire blazed at her in his gaze. She licked her lips, letting them part as his mouth met hers. With the first stroke of his tongue, she teared at the emotions sweeping through her as, for the first time, she opened to him completely, finally allowing her heart to admit he owned her soul.

She could feel the raw need contained in his caress. How did she deserve such a boon? She would guard this man with everything she possessed. She would not lose him.

Her core tightened and moisture pooled at the juncture of her legs, waiting for the thick bulge that pressed into her hip. She shimmied back and forth, enjoying the pressure of his desire for her.

Groaning into her mouth, his kiss deepened as his grip around her middle tightened. Sparks ignited on her back as his fingers worked at the ribbons holding her gown to her heated skin. After fumbling for a few moments with no success, he drew back, his gaze pinning her with hunger. Her mouth curved up at the knowledge Grant MacDonald wanted her above all others.

“Turn around.” His hoarse command signaled he was on the frenzied edge of needing to possess her. She did as he ordered, pulling her unbound hair over her shoulder to give him better access to the bindings of her gown.

As the garment loosened, he raised her arms and held them aloft while he pulled the material over her head. A tremble wracked her shoulders once he again engulfed her, his lips closing in on the part of her neck that sent tingles through her body and gooseflesh erupting on her skin. As he caressed her skin, she unfastened her skirt, her desire to be naked beneath him so intense that she couldn’t wait. The material fell to the floor.

She kicked out of her slippers, relieved to be free of the wet shoes. Grant released her and unbelted his plaid, then tossed it onto the nearby chair. She bent to roll down her stockings, not removing her gaze from the sinewy form of her husband.

How lucky she had been when her family had forced her into this marriage. They could have easily foisted her off on someone less attractive or a man she didn’t respect. Grant had proven he was a leader who would do what it took to keep his people happy and safe. And she saw now that his desire to seek the most peaceful resolution to a conflict made him noble and brave.

He bent to unlace his boots, rewarding her with a glimpse of the golden muscles that stretched across his broad shoulders. After kicking them to the side, he removed his stockings and straightened.

She took a step toward him.

Warm hands rested on her thighs, grasped the material of her shift and slowly drew it up to leave her bare before him, her body on display for his perusal. The garment slipped from his hand and he moved in to recapture her, his warm hard body melding with hers, his skin heating her flesh as her engorged nipples pushed into his chest, sending deafening waves of need crashing down on her, just as his mouth met hers.

There was only Grant and her. Everything else fell away.

He scooped her off her feet. His gaze never left hers, the fevered need she saw there enthralling and mesmerizing her. She leaned into him, enjoying the sensation of being cherished, like a treasure he coveted, like he would never mistake her for a boy. She felt like a woman.

After laying her down on the plush blankets, he climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs and bracing his solid form above her. His sapphire gaze bared his soul—she could see the emotion in their mesmerizing depths. When the head of his erection penetrated her folds, she rose up to meet him, seeking out the connection, the completion of belonging to each other.

Her hands rose and pulled his hips closer and held on, grounding her as waves of bliss and complete abandonment took root. Grant moved in and out slowly at a measured pace, one that had her yearning for him to plunge harder but also feeling this deliberate torture was right and meant something more. Her eyes teared at the overwhelming connection that had formed between them.

Then she was gasping.

Tension built within her so quickly she called out, “Grant,” in surprise. But then tremors took over as rational thought fled and she was locked in on him. Her soul mingled with his as she gave in and let the pleasure take over, drowning her in a tidal wave of sensation and ultimate trust. Just as she came to her senses, her husband stiffened above her, his rhythm faltering, and he spilled his seed inside her.

A few moments later, he slid from her, rolling onto his back. He drew her into the spot between his shoulder and chest, cradling her in his embrace. It seemed like only seconds before the rise and fall of his chest slowed. Sighing, she snuggled in closer and thought about his confession. She tried to whisper she loved him, too, but her mouth remained sealed tight. She felt the words, knew them to be true, but something held them back, as if the last part of her that didn’t trust wouldn’t let her.