“I’m close,” she cried out, her body tightening around him.
“Aye, come for me, lass,” he growled, driving into her with a new, devastating intensity. “Let me feel ye.”
His words, his touch, the feel of him moving deep inside her, it was all too much. Her second climax shattered her, even more powerful than the first. A raw, screaming cry was torn from her as she convulsed around him, her inner muscles milking his length.
The sensation was his end. With a final, powerful thrust and a hoarse shout of her name, he poured himself into her, his own release a violent, shuddering wave that seemed to go on forever. He collapsed against her, his full weight a welcome anchor, his face buried in her hair as they both struggled for breath.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the crackle of the fire. The storm inside them had passed, leaving a profound, trembling peace in its wake.
Slowly, carefully, he shifted his weight to the side, gathering her against him, so her head rested on his shoulder. His heart still hammered against her ear, a wild, steady rhythm that slowly began to calm.
He pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. “Are ye all right?” he asked, his voice rough with spent passion and concern.
Scarlett nodded, her body humming with a deep, sated warmth. She traced the line of a scar across his chest. “Aye,” she whispered. “More than all right.”
She spoke softly. “What happens now?”
Robert’s fingers traced idle circles on her shoulder. “Now,” he said, “I do what I should’ve done from the start, protect what’s mine. Ye. Our home. Our life.”
Her heart swelled. “So ye’re saying rule number one might already be broken,” she teased. “If a bairn comes from tonight…”
He caught her hand, kissed her knuckles. “Then the council will live with it. I’ll face them all, Scarlett. But I’ll never let anyone touch what’s ours again.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Ours,” she repeated, smiling through them.
He brushed a damp curl from her forehead, his thumb lingering against her skin. “Aye. So do I.”
“Sleep,” he murmured, pulling her close. “Ye’re safe now.”
Scarlett nestled against him, her fingers resting where his heartbeat steady beneath her touch. “I daenae think I’ll ever get used to this,” she whispered. “The sound of ye breathing beside me.”
He smiled against her hair. “Then I’ll just have to keep doing it, so ye can try.”
Her laugh came faint and drowsy. “Daenae stop, then.” “I won’t,” he promised.
As the last of the candlelight faded, she drifted into sleep against him. Outside, dawn touched the castle walls with pale light. The rules were gone. There was only this. His heartbeat under her hand, steady and real, and the quiet that finally, after everything, felt like home.
EPILOGUE
The sunlight poured soft and golden through the tall windows of the solar, spilling over parchment and brushes. Scarlett sat curled by the hearth, her sketchbook balanced on her lap. The fire was low, and the quiet hum of the castle felt different now—calm, lived-in, and hers.
Their chambers.
The thought made her smile before she caught herself. Two weeks, and she still hadn’t grown used to the sound of that. Her gowns now hung beside his coats, her ribbons lay tangled with his cravats, and her brushes stood in a neat cup beside his shaving blade.
She had never expected to feel at home in Gundor Castle. Yet here she was, sketching while her husband read over estate ledgers across the room, the steady scratch of his quill a sound she’d come to love.
Robert looked far too serious for a man who’d spent the morning stealing kisses from her before breakfast. His dark hair fell slightly forward as he bent over his desk, the light from the window catching the scar that curved along his jaw. The sight of him, so focused and quietly handsome, made her fingers itch for charcoal again.
She was halfway through shading the line of his shoulder when he spoke without looking up.
“Ye’re staring again.”
Scarlett nearly dropped the brush. “I am nae.”
“Aye, ye are.” His voice held that teasing edge she’d learned to recognise, the one that meant he knew she was flustered. “Ye’ve been drawing me again, haven’t ye?”
“I’ve drawn worse things,” she said, feigning innocence.
