“I weigh at least nine stone more than ye. I will crush ye.” In these intimate moments, Magnus realized just how much larger he was than Saoirse. She was always precious to him, but he never considered her fragile. He simply didn’t want to ruin the moment. At her earnest expression and nod, he settled more of his weight onto her. She pulled until he relented, but only for a moment.
“All, Magnus.”
He exhaled and relaxed. At least his body. But the moment he did, she sighed. He watched her and realized she was content. Her fingers trailed lazy paths along his back, the light touch arousing him further. Somehow, she tilted her hips toward his rod, despite the weight bearing down on her. He rocked his hips, the tip of his cock sliding between her netherlips.
“I want to be inside ye like I want ma next breath.”
“Dinna wait. I want to feel ye.” She bent her legs and used her heels to leverage upward. His cock slid into her. She grasped his buttocks and pressed hard, encouraging him to sheath himself completely.
“This is where I belong. Inside ye. One with ye. I love ye, Saoirse.”
“The feel of ye is pure pleasure. But kenning there is naught between us satisfies something I dinna understand, but I feel it in ma bones. I love ye, Magnus.”
They moved together, their pace alternating between languid and frantic. Each time they drew close to the precipice, they slowed, drawing out their time united. What felt like mere minutes soon passed into an hour. Magnus shocked himself with his endurance, but he didn’t want any of it to end. And the slower pace reassured him he wasn’t hurting Saoirse. But when they finally could wait no longer, when their bodies demanded satisfaction, they clung to one another as Magnus’s seed filled her. He remained buried inside her until his body no longer cooperated.
They climbed under the covers, pressing their bodies back together as they shared tender kisses and talked more about Eilean Donan, and what Saoirse could expect. The sun moved outside their window; the shadows growing longer. Hunger for one another led them to couple over and over. They ignored the summons for the evening meal, and they refused the offer of a tray. They dozed, chatted, and made love throughout the night. In true Sinclair fashion, they didn’t emerge for four days. Magnus swore they would have the full week after their church wedding. He insisted the older generation of Sinclair men wouldn’t outdo him when they welcomed their brides. Saoirse happily agreed, unwilling to be shortchanged what her mother and aunts enjoyed. When they finally emerged on the fifth day after their handfast, they wished they’d remained hidden.
* * *
“Óg!”
Magnus turned as Alex approached him in the lists. He’d missed breaking his fast because neither he nor Saoirse rushed to leave their bed. He shifted nervously since he hadn’t seen Alex since he’d returned to the keep after seeking the mystery figure in the forest. Alex was now his father-by-marriage, and no one could misunderstand what Magnus had been locked away and doing with the man’s daughter for half a sennight.
“I just returned from patrol,” Alex said, as he caught up with Magnus at the entrance to the lists.
He ran away from home rather than be here and ken I was bedding his daughter. Wise mon.
“Aye?”
“We came across fresh ashes yesterday morning on our way back, so we fanned out to search the area. I found the trail, and it led back here. There’s someone ye should see in the dungeon. He willna say aught, but we caught him only a league from the keep. He didna hear us coming, but he was watching the road to the keep.”
Magnus didn’t appreciate learning a stranger lurked only three miles from the keep. Whoever this man was, he was an enemy if Alex took him directly to the dungeon. Who was it? And why did this man refuse to say anything?
“I ken ye just said he wouldnae talk, but do ye have any idea why he was so close? Which clan is he?”
“Dinna ken any of it. He wasna wearing a plaid.”
“Breeks? A Lowlander?”
“I dinna think so, even though he was wearing them. Naught aboot him makes me think he’s from the Lowlands. If he isnae a Highlander, then he’s a Hebridean. But ma guess is the former.”
Magnus and Alex entered the keep. Both men swept their gazes over the Great Hall, but neither spied his wife. Alex glanced at Magnus and smirked as he shook his head.
“Mayhap ye were made to be a husband, after all.”
“Because I’m wondering where ma wife is?”
“Aye. But ye’re also ensuring it’s safe in here. We both ken there’s nay reason to suspect a threat, but we both canna keep from reassuring ourselves.”
“True. Alex, I love Saoirse. I hope ye ken I dinna exaggerate.”
“I ken. I may nae enjoy thinking aboot ma lass being any mon’s wife, but since she is, I count ma blessings that it’s ye.”
“Thank ye.” Magnus felt better for the brief exchange. They reached the door to the dungeons, and a guard stepped aside. They didn’t have regular tenants, so there was only a guard posted when they locked someone away. They made their way down the stairs to the keep’s dank bowels. The sound of skin hitting skin rang in the air.
“I am nae a forgiving mon with those who roam ma land and willna tell me why.” Liam’s voice floated toward the two new arrivals. Magnus knew it was Liam’s fist that meted out whatever damage was being done to the prisoner. They arrived at an open cell and found Liam stripped to the waist with his hand wrapped around the stranger’s throat. He squeezed enough to make the man splutter, then released him. He did it twice more while Tavish, Callum, and Mòr stood behind their father. He could have easily been mistaken for the brothers, despite being in his sixth decade. He was as fit as any man a third of his age. Magnus didn’t want to imagine the pain Liam’s fists delivered.
“Who’s this?” Óg asked.
