Page 62 of In the Highlander's Bed

She could feel the life force leaving him. It filled her, a molten bonding of two souls.

Ever so slowly, the tension left his body. His weight felt good on her. She hugged her arms around his neck, cradling his head close. Smiling.She stroked his hair, drinking in the warm masculine scent of him mingled with the fragrance of pine needles.

“That wasn’t just a coupling,” she whispered. “It was a miracle. A complete and wondrous miracle.”

He lifted his head to look down at her. “We will pay for it—” he started.

Constance kissed the end of his nose to keep him quiet. “Whatever the price, it’s worth it.”

A fierce pride filled his face. “Aye, it’s worth it,” he agreed, and made love to her again.

Constance’s legs could barely hold her by the time he’d finished loving her. So Gordon carried her back to the tent, where Tad waited, his tail wagging.

Gordon helped Constance undress, hanging her wet petticoats on the chair. She put on her dancing gown as a night dress and helped him pull off his boots…which led to his breeches…and his shirt…then her dancing gown—and they were making love again.

It seemed they couldn’t leave each other alone. And each experience was better than the last.

Drifting asleep in his arms, their naked bodies entwined, Constance murmured, “I don’t know how we can ever stop doing this.”

He laughed, the sound throaty and masculine. “I don’t want to stop,” he assured her, and she sighed her agreement.

But just before she drifted to sleep, she whispered the words of her heart, “I love you.”

Was it her imagination, or did he hesitate and then quietly answer, “I love you, too?”

Gordon held the sleeping Constance in his arms. He told himself he should consider the problems this night’s work had created.

He couldn’t.

It was all too precious to him right now. Tomorrow, he’d worry.

Tonight, he just wanted to hold her, to pretend they had no fears.

What had she said earlier—about their making love being like a miracle?

It was. The anger that had driven him for so long, that had been renewed by Laird MacKenna’s betrayal, that led him to kidnap her was evaporating. Slowly, steadily, Constance Cameron was changing him. Her courage, her willingness to make the best of her circumstances, to embrace love, chipped away at the hardness surrounding his heart.

He didn’t want to die the author of a rebellion.He longed for peace in his life, for a wife and children.

That was the reason he’d avoided Constance. He’d feared exactly what had happened this evening.

But now he didn’t regret it.

Gordon pressed a kiss against her temple. “I love you,” he said again, the words stronger than before. They were dangerous words. They could bind her to him, and he’d not do that. He had to protect her. Love demanded no less.

The next morning, Constance woke to Gordon making love to her. He’d entered her with her sleepy consent and once again took her to the very peak of pleasure.

Lying together afterward, Constance caught the scent of the cook fires. Everyone would be up and about by this hour—and wondering where they were.

She pulled the tartan up to her nose and slid down next to him. Laughing, he drew her back up. “You’re afraid to face them,” he accused.

Constance nodded. “I don’t know what they’ll think.”

“They believe we already are lovers,” Gordon told her.

“Not everyone. Fiona asked yesterday.” She told him of the conversation she’d had with his sister. “Now I shall have to confess differently.”

Gordon kissed her shoulder. “Let’s not say anything. It’s none of their affair.”