His large, calloused fingers slid quietly through hers beneath the heavy wool of the plaid, his grip tight and warm. "Come with me."
Margaret blinked, her pulse fluttering. "Where are ye takin' me, Fergus? The feast is barely underway."
Fergus rose from the bench without answering, a slow, wicked curve lifting his lips.
Lilly had already been gently, skillfully transferred into Maisie's delighted, knowing arms moments earlier. Margaret followed him through the dark edge of the courtyard, her slippers whispering against the stone as she softly laughed to herself to avoid drawing attention from the elders.
"Ye are distractin' me from me wifely duties, Fergus. I should be pourin' the ale."
Fergus glanced back over his broad shoulder, his dark hair catching the torchlight. "Is this how it's goin' to be now, wife? Constant defiance?"
"Aye." She smiled up at him, her hazel eyes bright. "I believe it is."
The thick pine trees swallowed them quickly, stepping beyond the golden edge of the lantern's glow. The cool night air drifted through the heavy branches, carrying the sharp scent of damp earth, pine needles, and the distant, fading smell of ash.
Fergus kept a firm hold of her hand, his fingers laced tightly with hers as they moved deeper through the shadows of the woods along a narrow, winding path barely visible beneath the silver moonlight.
Margaret's playful laughter gradually softened into a breathless anticipation by the time the trees finally opened up before them.
A hidden, pristine meadow stretched out between tall hills, untouched by the destruction of the previous night. The wild grass was long and silver under the full moon, gently swaying in the evening breeze. Thousands of small white flowers were scattered across the deep field like fallen stars.
Margaret stopped dead in her tracks, her breath catching. "Oh, Fergus. It's beautiful."
Fergus didn't look at the meadow. He watched her instead, his eyes tracing the line of her throat in the moonlight. "I found it while scoutin' the southern ridge for stray cattle weeks ago."
"And ye kept it a secret from me?"
"Aye."
"Why?"
His hand tightened gently around hers, pulling her an inch closer. "Because I think, deep down, I was waitin' for the right time to bring ye here."
The quiet, raw honesty of the admission hit her hard, sinking deep into her soul. Margaret turned toward him slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. The soft moonlight gently illuminated his face now, casting silver across the sharp features and the small scar on his jaw—the face she now knew by heart.
He stepped closer, invading her space until the warmth of his bare chest moved between them despite the chill of the night air. Margaret's pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. The dark look in his eyes deepened, full of a heavy, lingering emotion.
He leaned down and kissed her.
It was slow at first. Tender. Almost reverently sweet, as if he were handling a fragile piece of glass.
Margaret melted into his embrace instantly, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling in his thick hair. The meadow dissolved around them. The fire, the fear, the long months of loneliness—everything disappeared into the dark except for the electric sensation of his mouth moving possessively against hers and his strong hands gently sliding around her waist, pulling her hips close to his.
When the kiss deepened and his long-held restraint finally broke completely under the moonlight and open Scottish sky, Margaret felt every hidden piece of his soul in it.
His large hands moved into her loose curls, tilting her head back while she laughed softly, a breathless, desperate sound against his mouth, caught up in the sudden, wild urgency growing between them.
The thick, wild grass bent beneath their weight as he lowered her carefully down onto the silvered earth of the meadow, his massive body hovering over hers to shield her from the wind.
The cool night air hit her flushed skin as Fergus unclasped her cloak, his mouth leaving hers to trace a slow, burning path along the sensitive line of her throat. His rough, calloused hands startled her with their gentle touch as they explored the curves of her waist and hips.
Margaret curled against him willingly, her hips lifting instinctively to meet his weight.
He moved in a steady rhythm. In a comfortable rhythm. Thrusting into her back and forth constantly. He slid his hands to her folds and teased her as he kept moving inside her.
She gave herself over to him completely, without reservation.
Margaret felt her orgasm building, and she didn't hold back. She released it almost right away and felt Fergus filling her, his warm release making her feel the heat of him.
