He wasted no time before he pushed himself in, finally taking her the way she craved. Isabeau moaned loudly, the sound echoing off the walls, but Michael was quick to clamp a hand over her mouth and silence her. The mere act was enough to have her eyes rolling back with pleasure, the steady, demanding rhythm of his hips causing wave after wave of need through her.
“Believe me… I want naethin’ more than tae hear ye moan fer me,” he said as he thrusted into her, the force of it shaking the entire bed. Isabeau could only half-hear what he was telling her, so overwhelmed was she by pleasure that she could focus on nothing more than the steady pulse of her core, the way her body parted for him. “But we have tae keep ye quiet, aye? Maybe… maybe I’ll take ye out tae the woods again just tae hear ye scream me name.”
She would have screamed it now if she could have, but as it were, she only held onto his shoulders as Michael took her, his thrusts becoming faster and faster, reckless, uncontrolled. Isabeau loved to watch him like that—his inhibitions lowered, his body guided not by logic, but by desire. Her own body responded in kind, the pleasure mounting until one particularly pleasurablethrust had her falling apart around him, her walls tightening, her body releasing the pressure.
With a groan, Michael draped himself over Isabeau, holding her close to his body, as though he wanted them to meld together. Thrusting frantically, he soon reached his own climax, and this time, he didn’t pull back; he spilled inside her, his hips working still after his release, pushing them both through the aftershocks of their orgasms.
And then, in a quiet, barely-there voice, he said, “I love ye, Isabeau. I… I love ye an’—”
She never learned what else he wanted to say, as he fell quiet once more. But she held onto him, holding him against his chest, and whispered, “I love ye too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The fire had burned low, leaving the chamber steeped in amber light and shadow. Outside, rain tapped faintly against the shutters, a soft, steady rhythm that seemed to echo the slow beat of Isabeau’s heart under Michael’s hand.
They lay together atop the tangled sheets, her head resting against his shoulder, her breath warm against his skin. The scent of her—wildflowers and lavender and more—lingered in the air. Michael traced idle circles along the curve of her back, basking in the fragile peace of the moment.
He knew it could not last.
“Ye’ll have watchers still,” she said against his chest, her voice soft but steady. “If we mean tae move, it must be soon.”
Michael tilted his head to look down at her. “Aye. But every gate is guarded, every corridor watched. If I stir too soon, yer faither will see through me pretense.”
Isabeau raised herself slightly, her hair falling loose across her shoulders. Her eyes gleamed in the firelight—bright, determined, far older than her years.
“Then let me dae what ye cannae,” she said. “The guards at the dungeon drink together at sundown, afore they take their posts. I ken where they keep their ale. I can slip herbs intae it… a poison mild enough nae tae kill, only tae make them weak an’ slow. When the time comes, they’ll pose nay threat.”
Michael stilled. His fingers tightened slightly around her arm, his heart thumping behind his ribs. “Ye’d risk yer neck fer that?”
“Fer Alyson’s freedom,” she answered simply. “An’ fer mine.”
Michael searched her face—the fine tremor of her lip, the fierce steadiness in her gaze, and he knew she meant it.
“Isabeau,” he said quietly, “if ye’re caught?—”
“Then I’ll pay the price.” Her voice didn’t waver. “Ye said yerself the time is short. If we wait, yer cover will fail, an’ Alyson will rot in those cells until she’s nay more than a ghost. This way, we both stand a chance.”
He wanted to argue. God help him, he wanted to lock her away from every danger, to keep her untouched by all of it, but she would not be ordered like a child.
He exhaled slowly, trying to come to terms with her plan. Isabeau was right; the more he stalled, the more danger they would all be in.
“Soon then.”
She nodded, her hand finding his. “Soon.”
They lay in silence for a time, listening to the storm gather beyond the walls. Each drop of rain sounded like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable. Michael turned onto his side, drawing her closer until their faces were but a breath apart, and his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.
“When it’s done,” he said softly, “I’ll take Alyson and ye tae me braithers.
Michael brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. “Ye should rest,” he said.
“I cannae. Nae yet.” Her voice trembled, the first sign of fear breaking through her calm. “Tell me it will work.”
Michael cupped her face in his hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. “It will work because I’ll make it so. An’ because now…” Hepaused, his voice roughening as he drew her closer still. “Now that I’ve made ye mine, nay man will take ye from me.”
Her breath caught, and she whispered his name softly.
“I’ll cherish ye, keep ye, fight fer ye,” he said, “an’ if ye think ye’ll walk away from me when this is done, ye’re sorely mistaken.”
