Page 107 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

He might have laughed had she given him enough breath. Instead, he kissed her again. She was wet, fierce and clinging to him as though she wanted him with the same desperate force with which he wanted her.

Roy carried her down onto the soft grass beneath the pine. The ground was damp and cool beneath them. Donaldina caught his face between her hands and drew him over her before he could consider whether the place was proper.

There was nothing proper left in him, only the need to feel her closer. He lowered his hand between her thighs. His fingers slid between her velvet heat, as she opened up herself for him.

“Oh…” he heard her moan, as she bit her lower lip.

He kissed her until neither of them could breathe easily, until her hands moved restlessly over his back. He gently circled her wet bead, strumming her like the finest of instruments. And the music her lovely voice was making was beyond anything he could have imagined.

He slid one finger inside of her and pulled away as he watched her eyes widen, while pleasure washed over her. Her hands cupped his face, keeping him in place.

“Take me, Roy…” she pleaded through the moans.

The beast inside of him wanted to break free, to claim her fiercely and forevermore, but he knew he had to be gentle. When he adjusted himself between her thighs, he paused, pressing his forehead against hers. It was as if she knew that he was hesitant to start, but she grabbed his waist and gently pressed him into herself.

Wet linen tangled between them. Their bodies found one another through instinct rather than thought, each movement stripping away another layer of restraint. He entered her heat more and more with each thrust, but he did not take his eyes off of her. The thought of her enjoying this as much as he did drove him even wilder than before, but restraint was more important.

Donaldina met every touch with one of her own. She demanded more and answered his hunger with equal force. When Roy paused to search her face, she caught him by the hair and brought his mouth back to hers.

The gesture nearly undid him.

He had been wanted before. He had never been wanted like this.

He kissed her again as the darkness gathered around the loch, swallowing the hills and forest until the world contained nothing beyond Donaldina’s body beneath his, her hands upon him and the raw, consuming certainty that neither of them wished to stop.

He had no idea how long he had been moving in rhythm with her body. All he knew was that he never wanted to stop. But the sensation was overpowering. It gripped him with the force of a million tornadoes, pressing them both together, until a million little stars exploded before his field of vision, and each star had just one name: Donaldina.

They were both trembling when he rolled to the side, but his hand remained wrapped around her. Donaldina’s breathing gradually steadied. She looked at him without shyness or regret. Roy brushed one wet strand of hair from her cheek.

Neither attempted to name what had happened.

Naming it might have made it smaller. So they simply enjoyed the quiet of the moment.

Roy remained in the solar long after the castle awakened.

Reports lay open across the desk in disciplined rows, while his own notes crowded the margins in dark, decisive strokes. He read each line twice and retained scarcely half of it.

Outside, Dun Ard moved through the gray morning. Boots crossed the courtyard below. A cart rattled beneath the gatehouse, its wooden wheels protesting against the uneven stones. Somewhere in the kitchens, iron struck iron, followed by the low murmur of servants preparing bread.

Ordinarily, Roy would have been upon the walls before sunrise. He would have inspected the northern watch, questioned Malcolm himself, and sent riders toward every road Cormac might use. He would have given his body no leisure to remember the night before.

Instead, he remained seated behind the desk, holding the same report for so long that the candle beside him burned down another inch.

Donaldina was awake. He knew it without being told.

Her presence seemed to occupy the castle differently now. Every footstep upon the passage drew his attention. Every passing voice made him listen for hers. Once, when the boards outside the solar creaked, his hand tightened around the parchment before the sound continued toward the stair.

He told himself he remained at the desk because the reports required order before he returned to the walls. The falsehood was unconvincing.

Then, the door opened without a knock, and Roy’s hand stilled upon the page. Donaldina entered carrying a small wooden tray.

Her hair had been loosely bound at the nape of her neck, though several dark strands had escaped near her temples. She wore a plain morning gown, the sleeves modestly fitted and the wool softened by years of use. The pale light from the window touched the weariness beneath her eyes.

He saw no other sign of the terror that overtook her after their return. Nothing betrayed the way her strength finally failed once the doors closed behind them, or how she trembled against him as though cold had entered her bones. Only the careful manner in which she held her shoulders suggested that some part of her remained braced against a danger no longer present.

He began to rise, but she gave him a look that stopped him more effectively than any command. She crossed the room and placed the tray beside his reports. It contained oat bread, a little cheese and a cup of ale watered for the morning. Beside them sat a small dish of honey, amber and bright against the dark wood.

Roy looked at it too long.