On the last day of the first month, when he was not waiting for her after she awoke, she set out looking for him because she longed to see him. He had given her a sense of safety with his presence, and she had come to rely upon the fact that he was always there. But would he always be there? If she could never conquer her fear, would he not tire of her?
This worry gnawed at her, stayed with her, and compelled her to demand to practice the sword with Dermid in an effort to prove to herself she was not weak and was growing stronger every day. She did much better than she had hoped, countering several forceful blows, and when the match was over, and she handed Lachlan back his sword, his fingers brushed her hand as he grasped the sword and then sheathed it.
A shiver rippled through her from his touch, but it was one of pleasure. The shock of the feeling made her gasp. Lachlan’s gaze held hers as he reached out slowly, gently took her hand with his, and intertwined their fingers. She did not speak. She doubted she could, as all her emotions seemed to be lodged in her throat. She watched him, wondering if he would say something, feeling the heat of his hand searing hers. He swallowed audibly, and she understood then that he was as overwhelmed by their touching as she was.
His fingers curled around hers just a bit tighter, and he silently led her away from the house and into the woods, where he found a spot for them to sit. They sunk to the ground together, twined hands lying between them, and her heart hammering with hope and anticipation of what could possibly be.
“I love ye,” he said breaking the silence, his voice rough with emotion.
“I love ye, too,” she whispered, feeling the simple joy of uttering the words.
His body burned for her, a physical gnawing need, but he’d cut off his hands before ever touching her before she was ready. The moment his fingers accidentally brushed hers when he took his sword from her and she did not flinch or pull away, his body had cried in triumph. The hours of simply holding her hand gave him pleasure like he had never known. To be able to do something he had worried might be lost to him was a gift.
Lachlan could not keep his eyes off Bridgette that night. It was as if the simple act of touching her hand had weakened the control he had maintained since arriving at Culdrich. After dinner, when she suggested they walk and he placed his plaid over her shoulders to guard her from the cold, he forced himself to pull away, but as he did, her hand came to his arm and stilled him.
“Dunnae,” she whispered shyly. “I want to feel yer arm around me.”
He wanted that, too, but God’s teeth, he was afraid his desire would overcome him if he touched her again. “My hold on myself is nae strong presently. Give me a moment,” he said, walking ahead of her into the moonlit night and down to the loch. Near the water, the breeze blew but failed to cool the heat of his yearning for her.
She came up to him and stood facing him. She was very close, closer than she had willingly come to him since she had been seized. “What about now?” she whispered. “How is yer control?”
“A wee weak thing,” he admitted.
A grin he had feared he would never see again flashed on her face. “Let go of yer control. I’ll be yer strength as ye have been mine.”
He arched his eyebrows, and she nodded. Strands of her fiery hair swept across her face, and slowly, with a trembling hand, he reached up, brushed the strands away, and then carefully tucked them behind her ear. He glanced at her to see if she’d flinched, but she had not. She watched him with wide eyes. Her teeth had caught her lower lip between them, and he wondered briefly if it would be too much for her to trail his fingers to her lips and simply touch them.
As if she read his thoughts, she said, “I will tell ye nay if I wish ye to stop.”
He nodded before brushing his fingers across her warm lips, need tightening his loins, and he could not hold back any longer. “Bridgette,” he whispered hoarsely, his heart thundering. “May I kiss ye?”
“I’m scairt,” she whispered. But she did not pull away.
“Aye, m’eudail, so am I.”
She raised her fingertips to his mouth. “Give me a new memory, Lachlan. As ye did that day so long ago in the woods.”
He drew her gently to him, slid his hands into her hair, and cupped her head. For a moment, he simply reveled in the heat of her closeness, the silkiness of her hair between his fingers, her scent of heather encircling him, and the trust she was once more offering him. He brought his lips to hers and brushed them ever so gently across her mouth.
When she moaned and moved nearer, the desire to once again taste her, claim her, remind her of what was between them, rushed through him in hot waves. He forced himself to go slow and let her reaction lead him. Every touch of her lips to his was a treasure. He pressed his lips once more to hers, then gently covered her mouth with his.
Bridgette’s heart pounded, at first with fear and then desire. Lachlan’s kisses sang through her veins and beat back the darkness, shedding new light with each caress, each nip. He kissed her gently, like a breeze in the summer, and his care allowed her to abandon her worries and simply melt into him.
When his tongue gently slid across her upper lip and then lower lip, and then tentatively touched the crease between, she opened her mouth to allow him entry. The joining of his mouth fully to hers gave strength to her weary soul and awoke the desire she had thought was forever gone. A ragged moan ripped from deep within her, and when it did, Lachlan’s lips became more demanding, more urgent, more passionate.
With every slide of his tongue into her mouth, he claimed her back bit by bit, and the horrors she had lived through receded to a shadowy corner in her memory. His hands roamed her back and down over her bottom, and in turn, she explored his chest, his arms, and his face, burning the feel of him once more into her brain.
When his hands moved to cup her breasts, her body froze, unaccustomed as it was to allow such intimacy anymore, and he immediately pulled back. She caught his hands and pressed them to her breasts. It was the moment for her to decide. She could choose fear or faith, and God’s teeth, Lachlan gave her faith. He always had.
“I want ye to destroy the memory of his hands on me with the memory of yers. I’m ready. I’m weary of being afraid of myself and of ye. I dunnae need to fear ye. I ken this.”
She felt his body tremble at her words, and that she could affect this man, who was so strong, made her feel strong. With every word he said, every touch, he gave her back the power Colin had stolen from her, and Lachlan instilled in her the belief that, together, they could face anything.
His fingers gently glided over her breasts as he spoke. “If at any moment ye wish me to stop simply say the words.”
She nodded, and then she reached down and pulled off her gown and léine and bared herself to him, body and soul. He quickly undressed, laid his plaid on the grass, and gently lowered her to it. “What if one of the men comes?” she asked, only just then thinking upon it.
He shook his head. “I threatened them with death if they simply thought of coming outside.”
Bridgette chuckled as she ran her hand down his chest and over the hard muscles of his stomach. Sweet desire quickened her heartbeat and her breathing. His body twitched beneath her fingertips as she trailed them lower over his hip bones, then down to the juncture between his thighs. He was very ready for her by the feel of him—painfully so.
Heat pooled in her belly as need slowly warmed her body, made her breasts grow heavy, and tightened her core. “I will nae be afraid anymore,” she said aloud, both for him and for her.
“Nay,” he agreed. “Give yer fear over to me now and let me destroy it.”
A cry of relief wrenched from her lips as she crushed her body to his and let the thundering beat of his heart become one with hers. His hands came to her slowly, roaming with tentative care over her arms, shoulders, neck, belly, and chest. He splayed his large hands over her heart and stared into her eyes.
“What are ye doing?” she whispered.
“I’m tha
nking God for bringing ye back to me,” he said before he brought his mouth to hers in a slow, thoughtful kiss. She knew he was restraining himself, so she opened her mouth and invited him to take what belonged to him.
He growled as their tongues met, tangled, and met again. Hunger filled his kiss, and the caress of his lips on her mouth set her body to flames. His kisses became more demanding, and her body cried out with the wish to meet his need. He seared a hot path down her neck with his lips as her hands clutched at the bulging muscles of his thighs. His mouth grazed over one breast and then the other, and when he pulled up, she would have screamed out a protest but he captured her mouth once more, and without words he branded her as his.
She felt her knees weaken as he moved to her breasts and suckled hungrily as if she were all he needed to live. Each time he drew her into his mouth, her desire built until she was arched toward him, gripping his head to her breast, nearly sobbing. His tongue circled her nipples teasingly, and when she thought she could take no more, he lay her back on the plaid and parted her thighs, then immediately disappeared between them.
The first gentle slide of his tongue to her tender, swollen flesh made her scream with pleasure. As he gave to her with abandon and tender care, she relinquished herself as he’d asked. All her fear was left in the wake of her love for him. He took her first to the heights of pleasure with his tongue, and then when she begged for him to do so, he entered her with care.
Holding himself perfectly still above her, he looked into her eyes. “Ye are mine.”
“I’m yers,” she gasped as he slid out slowly to his tip, only to come back in with sweet ease and fill her completely.
“Ye will always be mine,” he said, repeating the delicious, torturous movement.
“Aye,” she agreed on a ragged breath while pressing her palms to his muscular back.
“Nay matter what occurs, nothing can part us. Do ye ken me? We will always overcome. Together we are strong.”
“Together,” she agreed. “Now stop this teasing and take me.”
It seemed to be all the invitation he needed. His hands delved under her and hoisted her body up, and he moved deep within her. They came together in explosive passion, two lovers almost lost but now reunited again, and together they found the tempo that bound them for eternity. Their bodies moved in exquisite harmony until they both cried out, finding release as one.
He melted against her, heavy and hot, and her world was filled with him. She lay with him atop her, utterly secure and nearly drowned in a flood of freedom from the past. Slowly, she succumbed to the numbed sleep of one who had been through a great ordeal and survived.
When she awoke, early-morning light greeted her. Lachlan’s plaid was tucked around her body. He had wrapped her in it but left her arms out. She turned her head and found him lying on his side staring at her arm, which was tilted up to show the cauterized scar. She moved quickly to flip it over, but he reached out and stilled her.
“Let me hide it,” she insisted.
“Nay,” he replied in a stern but loving tone.
“That was given to mark me as his,” she said, as if Lachlan needed reminding.
“Aye, it was. But it marks ye as braw. And it serves to help us keep in our hearts and heads that there is nae a thing we kinnae face and conquer together.”
Love surged within her as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. “I love ye, Lachlan MacLeod. I have since the day ye kissed me in the forest.”
“And I love ye, and have since the day ye let me kiss ye in the forest. Now ye must let me do another thing…”
She quirked an eyebrow in question.
He brushed a hand down her cheek. “Let me be yer husband. Marry me.”
“Och, aye. To be sure, I’ll marry ye.” She patted her belly. “I may well be carrying yer bairn after last night.”
He leaned down and kissed her stomach. “I hope so, m’eudail.”
Epilogue
A fortnight later, Bridgette and Lachlan stood to be married before Father Ferguson in the forest where they had shared their first kiss. They were alone except for the priest, Dermid, and another of her brother’s guardsmen, as her brother and Lachlan’s family were still at Dunvegan Castle. It weighed on her heart that their families were not here. News that the attack upon Dunvegan Castle by Lachlan’s uncle and the Campbells had been repelled had reached her and Lachlan last night. She had hoped that the letter they had received would also include news that Lachlan’s family, as well as her brother, were traveling to Duart to see them married, but since it had not said as much in the letter, Bridgette and Lachlan had decided not to wait.
Lachlan took her hands in his as they faced each other. The wind whistled in the air and blew strands of hair around her face, and when she shivered a bit, Lachlan drew her toward him and encircled her waist as he said his vows. Bridgette had to bite the inside of her cheek to stifle a giggle at the disapproving look Father Ferguson gave Lachlan. But she could tell from Lachlan’s unaffected tone that he was not the least concerned about what Father Ferguson thought.
Once their vows were said, he turned her toward him, only a hairsbreadth of space between them. He cupped her face in his large hands and lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss that was undeniably possessive and carnal. Her cheeks burned as her heart thundered and her body stirred with desire for her husband.
My husband!
The thought made her breath catch as she stole a sideways glance at him and found him staring at her. Their eyes locked and held, and it was as if the world no longer existed, save the two of them. She touched her fingertips to Lachlan’s cheek, and the prick of whiskers tickled her skin. “We are as one now.”
“Nay, lass.” He brushed his thumb over her lips. “We were as one the day our lips first touched. We’ve simply now accepted that without each other we are weak.”
“And together we are strong.”
He grinned. “Together we are invincible.”
Father Ferguson cleared his throat, reminding Bridgette that he was there. She turned to him and smiled. “I’m sorry, Father.” She was about to thank him for marrying them, but a thundering sound trickled into the air and a vibration of horses approaching tingled her feet through her delicate slippers. She unsheathed the sword that Lachlan had given her as a wedding gift as he unsheathed his. They raised them in unison, two blades forged of steel glinting in the sunlight.
She widened her stance as Lachlan had taught her, and her muscles bunched in readiness. But when the riders came into view, she grinned at the sight of her brother, Marion, and Iain and lowered her sword as Lachlan lowered his.
“Did we miss the exchange of vows?” Marion asked breathlessly.
Bridgette nodded, and Marion looked crestfallen. Uneasiness settled over Bridgette as she noted that not Graham nor Cameron nor Lena—who Bridgette still found it hard to believe was actually alive—was not here. She stole a glance at Lachlan and saw that his jaw had set in anger.
“Did Graham and Cameron nae wish to come?” he asked, wariness edging his voice.
Bridgette sheathed her sword and then moved close to Lachlan as Marion, Alex, and Iain dismounted. “He and Cameron had already departed before yer letter arrived.”
Bridgette felt her own tension drain out at the exact moment Lachlan’s seemed to disperse. “Where have they gone?” she asked. She noted that Marion was ringing her hands, and Iain and Alex exchanged a strained look.
Finally, Iain spoke. “To seek revenge upon the Campbells for their part in helping our uncle steal Lena from us so many years ago.”
Bridgette’s heart skipped with worry, but when Lachlan slid his arm around her, she leaned into him and knew in that moment that whatever was coming, they would face it together.
Lachlan let out a long sigh. “Where is Lena?”
“At Dunvegan. The boy, Ross, feared leaving, and she did nae wish to part with him,” Iain said, shrugging.
Lachlan nodded. “What sort of revenge
do we seek, brother?” he asked, returning to the issue of the Campbells.
A dark, menacing look settled over Iain’s face. “An eye for an eye, brother. Nothing less will suffice. We need ye to travel back to Dunvegan. More battles are likely.”
Lachlan turned and caught Bridgette’s eye, and he smiled at her before answering Iain. “We will come, Bridgette and I, and fight with ye always for Dunvegan.”
“Aye,” she agreed, the strength Lachlan gave her and she had found within herself making her voice steady. “My sword is yers, as is my husband’s.”
Lachlan squeezed her hand, and a contentment unlike any she had ever known settled over her and infused her with peace and happiness.
Also Available
Scottish Medieval Romance Books:
When a Laird Loves a Lady, Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts, Book 1
A need to belong drives her. A longing to forget compels him. Fate may send them into each other’s arms, but only love can mend their hearts.
An Outlander
Raised by a tyrannical father, Marion de Lacy yearns for the comfort of belonging to a loving family. So when her father announces her betrothal to an evil knight in exchange for his help to overthrow the king, she concocts a desperate scheme to avoid the marriage: feigning her own death and then fleeing England. But when her plan goes terribly awry and she’s captured by the knight, not even her careful preparations could ready her for the Scottish barbarian who rescues her and then informs her that he’s to marry her by edict of her king. Certain her father will defy the king’s orders and wed her to the knight if she refuses the Highlander’s hand, Marion agrees to marry the strangely compelling but obstinate laird of the MacLeod clan.
Wicked Highland Wishes (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 2) Page 29
