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It was more statement than question. “Nobody in their right mind wouldn’t.”
“Maybe you could stay,” he said.
Her eyes snapped to him at a loss of what to answer. She did not need to be a genius to understand what he meant—for her to stay as his paramour. Work together and…sleep together. And the worst was, she could not even feel offended, for she would grab the opportunity with both her hands, had she the chance. The possibility of letting herself be consumed by him and this yearning caused a ripple of heat to bloom in her middle.
“There’s always a place for a good horse trainer,” he continued.
Dark gaze flew farther than the galaxies out there. “I can’t. I need to go back to my family.”
“Go, then come back,” he insisted.
Her lips breathed a little laugh. “If it were that easy...” Under the tartan, their hands entwined without even noticing. “A woman is not so free as a man.”
“Hm,” he acknowledged. “Should you change your mind, you’ll have a place here.”
“I’ll remember that.” She would, with sorrow and more longing than when she arrived, for the man and for the land. Another sigh escaped her as she burrowed further against him.
They stayed like this for long minutes, letting the night envelop them as if they were celestial bodies, too.
“Come here,” he murmured, turning her to him.
Her shoulder met his chest as he placed her legs over one of his, a strong arm supporting her spine. Their gazes interlaced in the dim light before he kissed her. It was not a kiss of passion; he made this one a sea of tenderness, containing more unspoken words than the stars. Cradled in his arms, hers lifted to circle his neck. They clung on and on for what seemed hours, hands roaming each other’s torsos.
Coming up for air, he looked at her. “I can’t keep my hands off you, Sassenach.”
A faint smile came to her swollen lips. “Same here, Highlander.”
His brow lowered to touch hers, one of his thumbs appreciated her cheek, their eyes meshed.
Warm, soft feelings bloomed in her, spreading their light inside like a torch. Something in his expression made every pore glow with a sense of closeness so intense, she just wanted to sit there the whole night, the whole year, the entire eternity. Holding him, absorbing his heat, his scent, and all those words they did not say but swelled so clear in the narrow space between their bodies. Her heart filled with these bright emotions. So much, she ached with the need for him, his proximity, to never let go.
They had known each other for such a short time. They had strong personalities, fierce points of views, but all of it composed those emotions. Because in these short—too short—weeks, she came to admire his care for animals, his integrity, the commitment he showed for his clan, the bond with his brothers and father. Her admiration and respect for him only grew. Dangerous, so dangerous. Coupled with the sizzling attraction, these emotions announced something deep and consistent she should not acknowledge for the life of her. This awareness almost brought tears to her eyes. To hide what coursed within, she pressed her nose to the wool of his tartan and inhaled his manly essence as if to engrave it in her sensorial memory. If only she could engrave more, everything.
If she did not leave now, they would end up somewhere improper, like his bed. Or hers. Her insides gathered the utmost courage. “I’d better go.” Her voice meant anything but sensible.
His nostrils sucked in air as he took long moments to finally jerk a nod and release her.
Her voice was enough only to mumble a good night and go into the manor before she faltered, weakened, gave in, threw everything into the wind.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Fingal asked days later in the stockyard.
The memory of the night under the stars would not leave him. It lingered, and lingered. Then lingered some more, with that insidious wish to do the same countless ti
mes, have her here indefinitely. That she refused his proposal did nothing to weaken such a wish.
He would like to think he was a good man, that he would follow through with his marriage arrangement. Become a staid husband, and carry on with his life in the clan. But he realised he was not that good man, and he could not care less. He wanted her despite everything, and it grew increasingly difficult to bear in mind his duties to his clan. Because her presence here took all his energies to deflect what she provoked in him, body, mind, and soul. And he was going out of his mind. With the added exasperation that he did not have the slightest idea of what to do about it.
“Mounting him,” she said and moved to vault up Fiadhaich, who stayed put, against all expectation.
Astride, by the looks of it. He nearly burst up in flames at the images that stormed in his head of her riding him astride. Devil take his sorry hide, but there was no avoiding these thoughts when he came near her.
In these last training sessions, they had been using the bridle and the saddle, to which the stallion got progressively used. He had not displayed signs of rebellion since the day they put the saddle on him. It should be only sensible to conclude the horse was ready for a rider.
“No, you’re not,” he answered.
The mere possibility that the horse might throw and hurt her made nausea curl in him. Never mind a lass mounting a stallion that large and unsuitable for her. She had to be either too bold or too daft. Since her intelligence seemed alright, it left him with her temerity. And his own awe at her skill and single-mindedness in carrying this out without hesitation.
“I got my foot on the stirrup and he hasn’t moved.” Her coiled midnight hair evoked in him the desire to go there and loose every pin that held it. Destroy them, destroy each pin in the world so she would not keep her beautiful mane from him. “He seems to be letting me upon him.”
