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“Nay,” Caelan growled.

Mabel gasped, her hands flying up to press against his chest as she glared up at him. “Let me go!”

“I said nay,” Caelan repeated, his voice vibrating with a raw, desperate fury. “Ye daenae walk away from me.”

“Why?” Mabel challenged, her voice breaking. “Is it because yer duty is incomplete? Do ye require another oath to break? Ye are the one who taught me duty must come before desire, Caelan! Ye are the one who spent weeks telling me I deserve a better life, a peaceful life, far away from a warlord covered in blood!”

Caelan’s jaw locked so tightly the thick scar across his cheek pulled white. The months of crushing restraint finally fractured, shattering beneath the weight of her words.

“I lied,” Caelan confessed, the admission tearing from the very depths of his soul.

Mabel froze, her breath catching in her throat. “What?”

“I spent every single day convincing meself that marrying ye to another man was the exact way to protect ye,” Caelan rasped, his gray eyes blazing with an intensity that burned straight through her defenses. “I told meself ye deserved a whole man. I told meself I was too dark, too violent, too broken to ever stand beside ye in the light.”

His hand released her wrist, rising to tangle roughly in the golden-blonde hair at the nape of her neck instead. He held her head firmly in place, leaning down until his forehead rested against hers.

“And then I watched Fergus Comyn stand in me hall,” Caelan whispered, his breath hot and ragged against her skin. “I watched him look at ye as though ye already belonged to him. I watched him touch yer chair, I listened to him speak of yer lands, and I realized something that very second.”

Mabel’s heart hammered a frantic, deafening rhythm against her ribs. “What did ye realize?”

“I realized I would rather burn this entire fortress to the ground, I would rather slaughter every man who ever dared to look at ye, than spend a single day watching another man claim what is mine,” Caelan growled, his voice thick with a fierce, possessive hunger. “I could nae bear it, Mabel. The thought of losing ye broke whatever control I had left.”

Unable to hold back a single second longer, Caelan crashed his mouth down onto hers.

The anger and heartache that had brought Mabel to his solar gave way to an overwhelming, consuming emotion as the distance between them finally disappeared. He kissed her as if hesitation itself no longer existed for him, desperate, starving, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweet, intoxicating heat of her surrender.

Mabel let out a soft, breathless gasp, her hands instantly sliding up to grip the broad, solid expanse of his shoulders. She pulled him closer, kissing him back with a matching, fierce abandon. She poured every ounce of her love, her fear, and her longing into the frantic collision of their lips.

Caelan groaned roughly, his hands moving from her hair down to her waist. He hauled her upward, lifting her slightly off her feet, so she had to wrap her legs securely around his hips to stay upright. He carried her away from the door, taking three rapid strides across the room until the back of her knees hit the edge of the large wooden table.

He set her down onto the scarred wood, pressing his massive body directly between her thighs.

The leather of his tunic scraped against the sensitive skin of her legs through the fabric of her gown. Mabel tangled her fingers deep into the dark waves of his hair, pulling him down, demanding more of him. She felt the erratic thud of his heart pounding wildly against her ribs, echoing her own internal chaos.

Caelan broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His dark, dilated eyes swept over her flushed face, tracking the swollen curve of her lips before his gaze dropped lower.

His large, callused hand moved deliberately down her side, resting warm and over the hip of her gown. He hooked his thumb beneath the woolen fabric, sliding his palm upward along the smooth curve of her thigh.

Mabel gasped against his mouth, a sudden, electric shiver shooting straight down to her core. The hot friction of his hand branding her skin made her hips instinctively arch upward, pressing herself closer to his heat.

Caelan growled, a dark, primitive sound vibrating deep in his chest. He dragged his mouth away from her lips, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jawline down to the sensitive skin of her throat. He sucked a tender spot just below her ear, his teeth grazing lightly over the pulse point.

Mabel arched her neck, letting out a soft, broken whimper. Her hands gripped his broad shoulders so tightly her fingernails dug into the leather of his tunic. The sexual tension that had simmered between them for weeks had finally boiled over into a consuming, reckless fire.

Caelan’s hand moved higher, sliding up her stomach, his fingers tracing the delicate line of her ribs beneath her bodice before his palm cupped the soft weight of her breast. He stroked her thumb lightly across the sensitive tip through the fabric, and Mabel cried out softly into the dark room, her entire body locking up in a spasm of pure, blinding pleasure.

He shifted his weight, pressing his frame more securely against her, letting her feel the absolute, undeniable proof of his desire.

“Mabel,” Caelan groaned, his voice rough and broken against her skin. He pulled back slightly, his gray eyes burning into hers with a raw, terrifying intensity. “Look at me.”

She opened her eyes, her vision hazy with passion. She looked at him, seeing the warlord, seeing the protector, seeing the man who had risked everything just to claim her name.

“Ye are mine,” Caelan whispered, his thumb brushing across her trembling bottom lip. “Ye ken that, do ye nae?”

“Aye,” Mabel breathed, her voice already surrendered. “I am yours.”

That single, breathless confession seemed to break something loose in him. Caelan kissed her again, slower this time, deliberate, as though he meant to memorize the shape of her mouth. His hand slid down her side, gathering the hem of her skirts in his fist and drawing the fabric upward until his palm found the bare, trembling skin of her inner thigh. The heat of her there was startling soft, and living against the rough calluses of his hand.