“Even with me face in need of scrubbin’ and me nose red as a cherry?” She asked, looking up into his face.
He gently place one finger under her chin, tipping it up a little more. “Especially now, with yer cheeks flushed and yer eyes bright with passion. Do ye nae see, though I’d court ye gentle and slow, this is the only way we’ll get a chance to see if love will grow.”
“And if it does nae?” Skye asked, a little hitch in her voice.
“Then we will feed it with kisses until it cannae help but happen,” he said.
Arran leaned down, his eyes never leaving hers. She met him halfway, her breath catching in her throat as their lips touched.
His kiss was gentle at first, and he tenderly explored her mouth and nipped her lower lip a few times. But Skye pressed closer to him, her hands trailing over the rough fabric of his tunic. She tasted his mouth with sweet touches of her tongue and lips.
Encouraged, Arran deepened the kiss. His hand cupped the back of her neck, and he threaded his fingers through her hair and angled her head, breaking the kiss. His lips then trailed down her neck, past the hollow of her throat, down to the valley between her breasts, licking and tasting.
Skye sighed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. “Ye drive me mad, Arran.”
Breathless, she reached up and grabbed his head, pulled him away from her heaving bosom. Her lips once again found his, and her hands worked their way into his tunic and found his own heaving chest. His arousal and excitement emboldened her.
She tasted whiskey, and heat, and desire, and she wondered if she’d finally found her place, her destiny in this world. She knew she needed to stop but wasn’t sure she could.
Arran grabbed her hands and slowly broke their kiss. He rested his forehead against hers, both breathing heavily.
“Aye, I will marry ye, Arran.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Arran stepped back and offered her his hand. She placed her small hand in his, and together they walked down the four flights of stairs back to the Great Hall.
Surprisingly, everyone was still at the table, riveted by a story Fionn was telling them—except for Elsie, who had fallen asleep.
Skye was still in shock, but Arran’s honesty had reassured her.
“Fionn, ye are still here. Tell yer faither that circumstances have changed and I must see him. Go now and see if he is on the road back.”
Fionn nodded. “I’ll finish the story later,” he informed his audience, before turning around and walking toward the door. But then he stopped and turned back. “Ye are the most beautiful lass I’ve ever seen,” he said sincerely, looking at Skye. “When I get older, I will marry ye!”
“Too late, Fionn! Ye should have made yer intentions clear earlier. She’s mine now.”
Disappointed, but only for a second, the young rascal asked, “Do ye have a younger sister by chance, then?”
Arran laughed and tousled his hair, and then pushed him toward the door.
They heard the patter of running feet and then a servant yelling about manners and respect in the castle.
Skye laughed—the boy kept everyone on their toes.
The men rose and offered Arran their congratulations, shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulders. Then they bowed to Skye and told her she was too beautiful for the likes of their Laird.
Skye was touched by the relationship these men had with Arran and also Fionn. There was a sense of family here that she never felt within Clan MacKeith.
Arran walked over to his aunt and gave her shoulder a gentle shake. She woke up with a start.
“Auntie, Skye has agreed to marry me,” he informed her.
“Marry? But ye cannae marry again. Ye have a wife already! That lovely girl who was here earlier. What’s wrong with ye, lad?”
Arran explained that he wasn’t taking another wife, but that he and Skye were getting married for the first time. Skye wasn’t sure the old woman fully understood.
After Elsie left the hall, Skye felt anxious. She’d never planned any wedding, and now she was a bride-to-be.
