There was an old blanket in the corner, which had seen better days, but Margaret knew that the floor would be colder and more unforgiving. She removed her gloves, her hands still cold despite the ride, and moved toward what remained of a hearth, though there was little to be done with it.
“We will remain here until it passes,” Domhnall said, looking around.
He crouched before the cold hearth and, with the quiet certainty of habit, drew flint and steel from his belt, striking them together until sparks fell into the small bundle of dry tinder he had gathered. He bent close, shielding it from the draft, and breathed steadily until the ember caught and deepened into flame. Only then did he feed it with kindling and broken wood, building the fire with measured care until warmth began to take hold.
The guards remained outside, leaving the interior of the structure theirs alone. Margaret turned slightly, intending to return, perhaps, to the matter that had brought them there, but the words did not come. Instead, she became aware of him, of his presence in the space, closer now than it had been all day.
“Ye are cold,” he said, with his eyes drinking in the sight of her.
Margaret drew a breath, though it did little to warm her.
“A wee bit.”
He stepped closer. The distance between them narrowed without effort, without need for invitation. His hand came to her arm and drew her nearer. The warmth of him was immediate, and the fire helped, too.
She lifted her gaze to his. There was no need for words. All she needed was the warmth of his touch, and his soft breath on her body, reminding her that she washis.
It was as if he was able to read her mind, gently leaning over to her. He had one arm around her, keeping her close, while he gently caressed her cheek with the other hand. His kiss was soft, and even though thunder roared outside, she felt safe and cherished inside. His kiss became hungrier, and all she could was return the favor.
She turned to him more fully, climbing into his lap and settled there. She had forgotten all about her wet clothes and the cold that reigned outside. The kiss was warming her up, and already, her insides were on fire, yearning for him.
“I want ye,” she murmured against his lips.
He didn’t say anything to that. She felt his response underneath her, pressing against her, throbbing and demanding to be taken. She didn’t want to wait a single moment. She wanted him inside of her, stretching her, filling her all the way.
She adjusted herself, her fingers frantically searching for his manhood. He was so hard and big she could barely wrap her fingers around it. The thought of feeling him inside of her sent a million little goosebumps down her back.
The moment he slid inside of her, sensation bloomed. Her mind exploded into a million colors, all blending one into the other. Pleasure filled every inch of her body and she started undulating in his lap, moving forward then backward, feeling his hands on his buttocks, gripping her tightly.
The fact that she was the one dictating the rhythm this time made her ravenous with desire. She moaned against his lips, biting him, tasting him, licking him. She sunk he fingers into his dark curls, holding his head as she kissed him.
She couldn’t think of a single thing other than the pleasure that was seizing her. She never wanted to stop. She kept thrusting, grinding against him, hitting that perfect spot that made her see a million little stars the moment she closed her eyes.
When the tidal wave of ecstasy hit her, she felt her deep inside of her channel, filling her with his seed, making her his, now and forever more.
When the last ripples of pleasure subsided, he kissed her softly, and she felt his lips smiling through the kiss.
“Are ye still cold?” he teased when she pulled away.
She laughed melodiously, resting her forehead against his. She knew that with him by her side, she would never be cold again.
Morning did not arrive with gentleness, but with clarity.
The storm had spent itself in the night, leaving the land washed and quiet. Margaret stepped from the shelter of the ruined structure and paused, drawing in a steady breath as she looked out across the softened hills.
Everything appeared calmer. But she knew better.
“Ready?” Domhnall asked.
Margaret turned to him, with a smile. “Aye.”
They did not delay. The escort gathered quickly and the mounts were readied with efficient silence. The road, though still damp, was passable, and they pressed forward at once, leaving behind the remnants of the night as though it had no claim upon them.
The land rose gradually as they traveled, narrowing into paths Margaret recognized now not from memory, but from anticipation. Each turn, each stretch of ground brought them closer to Eleanor.
She had not allowed herself to consider what they might find if they were too late. She would not begin now.
The croft appeared at last, small and unassuming, tucked into the fold of the land as though it sought not to be seen. Smoke rose faintly from its chimney, a sign of life that struck Margaret with such force she did not immediately realize she had drawn her horse to a halt.
