“Ye dinnae need tae hide from me,” she whispered, her own voice trembling in the salty air. “Nae anymore.”
And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t soft, not at first. It was the feeling of a dam breaking after years of drought. His mouth found hers with a desperate, claiming force that stole her balance, one powerful arm banding around her waist, crushing her to him as if he feared she’d dissolve into mist. The taste of salt and storm was everywhere—on his lips, on her skin, on the very air they breathed—and when he drew her closer still, she let the world and all its sorrows fall away.
The sea crashed against the rocks below, spraying a cold mist that clung to her hair, but she barely felt it. All she could feel was Aidan. Her hands, acting of their own accord, tangled in the thick, damp silk of his hair, pulling him closer. Her pulse raced beneath his touch.
His mouth left hers to trail a path of fire along her jaw, to the sensitive hollow beneath her ear. He breathed her name against her skin, a rough prayer. "Catherine."
He moved to her neck, slow and almost reverent now, and she felt herself tremble at the aching gentleness that followed the hunger. He was discovering her, and she was discovering him for the first time. The rough wool of his kilt scratched against her skirts, a grounding, real sensation in the midst of the magic.
When he looked at her again, his eyes were dark, the grey of the sea just before a storm, and they were searching hers for a truth she hadn't known how to speak.
“Tell me tae stop,” he murmured, his voice thick and breathless. “If this is nae what ye want, lass, tell me now.”
She met his gaze, seeing the years of silence, the wall he had kept between them, now in rubble at their feet. “I willnae,” she whispered back, the words a vow. “I’d rather the sea take me than ask ye tae stop.”
That was all it took.
With a groan that seemed torn from his very soul, he laid her down on the sand. He was gentle, unfastening his own plaid and spreading the thick wool beneath her, shielding her from the cold, damp earth. The world narrowed to the rhythmic crash of the waves, the scent of him, and the solid, living warmth of his body as he came down over hers, bracing his weight on his elbows.
His hands moved over her as if memorizing her by touch. They traced her collarbone through the fabric of her dress, spanned the curve of her waist, settled on her hips. Every breath she took,every small sound she made, every curve he hadn’t known he was allowed to touch—he worshipped with his fingertips.
Catherine felt his heartbeat through his chest, a frantic drum against her own. He was rough and desperate and beautiful in his honesty. He leaned over her, his hair falling forward to curtain them from the world.
"Ye are so beautiful, Catherine," he breathed, the romantic words sounding almost like a curse, a confession of pain.
He kissed her again, slower this time, a deep, knowing kiss that spoke of promises. She answered his kiss with her own, a silent language of need.
She felt him fumbling with the laces at the back of her gown, his fingers clumsy with haste. She helped him, her own hands trembling as they worked the fastenings of his shirt, pushing the linen aside to finally feel the hard, warm skin of his chest. The cold air hit her skin as he drew the dress down, but it was banished a second later by the heat of his mouth, his touch.
"Just ye," he muttered against her skin. "Only ever ye."
He moved between her legs, settling his weight there, and she gasped, her hips instinctively lifting to meet him. His forehead fell against hers, their breaths tangling, their gazes locked. Everything that had been separate between them melted into one impossible, undeniable truth. This was meant to be. This was their shore, their moment.
When he entered her, she cried out, the sound stolen by the wind. It was a sharp, stretching fullness, a feeling of being claimed so completely that it bordered on pain, but it dissolved instantly into a pleasure so profound it made her weep. He stilled, his body rigid above hers, his eyes squeezed shut.
"Aidan," she breathed, her hands clutching his shoulders, anchoring him, anchoring herself.
He opened his eyes, and the raw emotion she saw there took her breath away. He moved, just once, a slow slide that had her arching against him.
"Ye are mine," he whispered, his voice ragged.
He began to move, and they found their rhythm with the tide, slow and certain. He moved within her, the friction building a fire deep inside her. She clung to him, her world reduced to the sight of his face, the corded muscles in his neck, the bunch and release of his shoulders as he drove into her. Each wave of sensation built higher than the last, coiling tighter and tighter inside her until she thought she would shatter.
"Let go, lass," he commanded softly, his voice a rough caress. "Come wi' me."
He thrust deeper, touching a place inside her she hadn't known existed, and the world went white. The tension broke, bursting from her in a wave of light and feeling, a cry torn from her lips as her body convulsed around him. She felt his own release follow a moment later, a guttural groan against her hair as he poured hiswarmth and his relief into her, collapsing against her, his name a broken prayer on her lips.
The sea went quiet for a while after, or maybe it only felt that way. He lay beside her, his weight a comforting presence, the wool of the plaid beneath them a scratchy reality. The sky above was turning from a deep, bruised grey to a pale, pearlescent blue. The air was thick with salt, silence, and the scent of their joining.
For once, there were no words, no tension, only the soft rhythm of their breathing, in and out, in and out. He gathered her close, tucking her head under his chin, and she felt a peace settle into her bones, a quiet joy that was more profound than any passion. He was there. He was hers. And the silence was finally, truly, broken.
Catherine turned her head toward him. He was watching the horizon again, his expression unreadable. She studied him quietly—the curve of his mouth, the faint lines at his eyes, the strength still coiled beneath his calm.
He must have felt her gaze because he looked at her then, and what she saw there made her heart ache. The quiet reverence of it, the way he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as though afraid to disturb the moment.
She smiled faintly. “Ye look like ye’re thinkin’ too much.”
