When the kiss ended, when he’d swept the inside of her mouth with his tongue, chasing every hint of sweetness, when her bones had dissolved so she hung limp against him, they gazed again into one another’s eyes.
“This day was an eternity wi’out ye,” he told her.
“I ken. I want ye inside me.”
“I ken.”
He shook again before they reached the bed, with need this time. Physical need, that was, for did he not need her presence with every breath?
He barely noticed the shedding of their clothes. Her slipping beneath him on the bed, her legs spread wide. The need, pure and strong, outshone all else.
“Look at me,” he begged just before he slid inside her. “I want to watch your face when I make ye mine.”
Her gaze clung to his. He felt her surrender, equal to her demand.
They flew with their wings on fire. He did not know if she caught fire from him or the other way around, only that they burned up together. After, she folded her legs around him, keeping him where he was.
He wanted to weep with the beauty of it. But a man, especially a warrior, did not weep over making love to a woman.
The room had grown dark and dusky; the fire was out. A bonny night, it was, and sweet air came in through the narrow window. Leith lay knowing he wanted for nothing. There was naught more to want, besides this.
“Leith. My love.” Her lips slid across his cheek to his ear. “I maun tell ye somewhat.”
Whatever it was, he did not want to know. He wanted nothing to ruin this moment.
And yet she might need to tell him they’d decided to execute him, his captors. For, make no mistake, that was what they were, even though he lay here in her bed, in this fine chamber.
If they meant to slaughter him, if they intended to haul him out onto the stones before all their clan and slit his throat, at least he’d had this first.
“Wait. Let me hold ye.” For this moment was intimate. Unbearably so.
She made a soft sound that denoted agreement. She trailed her lips across his before urging his face down to her breast. He sucked her and felt her pleasure spike, felt her tighten around him where he lay at the entrance to her womb.
He grew hard again inside her. Made for her, he was. And she for him. How had he lived so long without her?
He came to himself an unmeasured amount of time later to find the room pitch dark. He lay still inside Rhian. She slept.
He knew because he could feel her deep, even breaths and the slumber in her mind. She slept the sleep of exhaustion. Of trust.
She had not shared with him whatever she had to tell.
A ball of dread formed in his gut. Such perfection as this could not endure. They meant either to kill him or send him back to MacLeod.
Away from her.
Suddenly, he understood what Farlan had felt. What had made him give up everything and go to live among strangers. For Moira’s sake.
Leith did not think he would have that choice. Having suffered such an insult once, Rory would never let him go. Besides, as had been pointed out, he was, for the time, at least Rory’s heir.
“Leith.” Rhian spoke his name in her sleep. She dreamed, and all at once he was there in the dream with her.
They walked together in a meadow, through bright sunlight. Leith knew this place, the high mead back at MacLeod. He, Farlan, and Rory had played here a thousand times as lads, secure in the knowledge that their world belonged to them.
That, if Rory could be believed, one day, the whole glen would.
Now Rhian stepped beside him, holding his hand. He barely noticed in his rush of joy that it was his right hand she gripped. That his fingers were able to clutch hers. Healed. For she had that power, to heal him.
She turned and looked at him. He could see himself in her gaze, in the joy and contentment there. For she looked carefree, confident. Full of bliss. This he brought to her.
