Page 64 of To Winter at Wildsyde

“Do you need to ask?” she said, unable to keep her heart from her expression.

He returned a smile which was remarkably shy and pleased, before ducking his head to kiss her. The staff whistled and cheered as they caught sight of them both and, to Ruth’s delight, Gordy blushed to the tips of his ears before telling the lot of them to haud yer wheesht, which she presumed meant shut up.

He took her hand, drawing her away from the merriment and to the privacy of his study. The vicious pink was gone, replaced by a dark bottle green with blue curtains, Ruth’s gift to him for Christmas. She had removed all but one of the trophy heads, that of a large stag, who glowered down at them from the wall.

Gordy grinned at her as he closed the door on the study.

“Are you sure you like it?” she asked, gesturing to the new décor.

“It’s nae bad,” he said, pursing his lips. “Though….”

“Though?” she repeated.

“Though I cannae help but feel there is something… missing.”

Ruth frowned, staring about the room and then blushed. “Oh, do you mean Robbie Burns?” she said, mortified. “I do beg your pardon, Gordy, I ought never to have—”

He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her and then replaced it with his own lips, kissing her softly.

“’Tis nae Rabbie I’m thinking of.”

“Oh? What, then?”

Gordy snapped his fingers. “I have it.”

Ruth watched as he strode to the stag’s head and reached into his sporran. He turned his back to her and reached up, and Ruth covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a bark of laughter as he tied a gaudy pink ribbon on first one antler, then the other. He stepped back, tilting his head this way and that as he admired his handiwork.

“There,” he said, satisfied. “Now it feels like home.”

“Oh, Gordy,” she said, helpless with laughter now. “If you’d only said you liked the pink, I would have left it alone.”

He snorted and shook his head. “I think I like it this way, well enough. The whole castle knows I am in yer thrall, lassie, there’s nae need to rub it in.”

She watched him walk back to her and threw her arms about his neck. “You great daft lummox,” she said affectionately as he lifted her up as though she weighed nothing at all. It was quite the most marvellous feeling, even better as she wrapped her legs about his waist.

“Aye,” he said. “But I’m your great daft lummox.”

“Yes, you are,” she murmured, kissing a path down his neck.

He shivered, and she smiled against his skin.

“I want ye,” he said, the words heavy with promise and setting her shivering too.

“I’m yours.”

He kissed her, holding her close, and then taking her to the floor in front of the fire. Ruth laughed as he rolled onto his back, tugging her with him. She leaned over him, staring down at the face which had become the most beloved of all. She wriggled back, out of his grasp and sat over his shins, considering the impressive landscape of large male clad in kilt and shirt, his coat having been long since discarded.

“You were right,” she said, as though she’d been considering the question. “It was definitely the kilt.”

Gordy snorted, and she grinned at him before reaching down and sliding her hands up his legs, under the hem of the tartan. His breath caught as she slid her palms higher, enjoying the way the powerful muscles in his thighs twitched and flexed beneath her touch. The plaid gathered and rose as she pushed higher and higher, exposing him to her greedy gaze, until her thumbs reached the tender skin at the apex of each thigh.

He was breathing hard now, and she smiled, aching for him.

“Touch me, mo chridhe,” he begged, and it was the best Christmas present to see him desperate and helpless beneath her, better even than the pretty claddagh ring with the ruby heart clasped between two hands that he’d given her this morning.

So, she did as he asked, revelling in the heat and the weight of his arousal, caressing him as his eyes grew dark and tawny in the firelight.

“Ah, Ruth, ye are killing me,” he moaned softly.