"I swear it. On me life, on me clan, on everythin' I hold sacred." His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. "I'd never dae tae her what was done tae ye. Never."
She felt tears prick her eyes—relief, gratitude, something deeper she wasn't ready to name. "Thank ye."
"Ye dinnae need tae thank me fer keepin' me word." He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. "She's yer sister. That makes her me responsibility too."
Liliane leaned into his chest, letting herself draw comfort from his solid warmth. For the first time since learning about the plan, she felt like she could breathe properly.
"When will ye go fer her?"
"Soon. We need tae plan it carefully. Foulis is well-guarded and yer faither will be expectin' retaliation after what happened at the festival." His voice rumbled against her ear. "But we'll get her out. I promise ye that too."
His hands found her waist, pulling her against him with an urgency that stole her breath. His lips crashed down on hers before she could even gasp, his kiss a storm of need—desperate, yet threaded with a tenderness that made her heart ache.
"I'll never break me word tae ye, Liliane. Never. And if that means defyin' theCouncil, defyin' tradition, defyin' every political calculation that says I should use Nessa as leverage... then so be it. Yer trust matters more than any of that."
She melted into him, her fingers curling into the strands of his hair. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her with a hunger that left no room for doubt. This was no gentle seduction. This was possession.
His hands roamed over her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the dip of her spine. Every touch was fire, branding her, marking her as his. She arched into him, her breasts pressing against the hard plane of his chest, her nipples tightening under the friction of his skin.
"Tòrr," She moaned, the sound spilling from her lips into his mouth, swallowed by his growl of approval. His manhood, thick and heavy, pressed against her thigh, the heat of it searing through the fabric of her shift. She rocked her hips instinctively, seeking more, needing more, and he groaned, his grip tightening on her buttocks as if he could already imagine sinking into her.
He broke the kiss only to drag his lips down the column of her throat, his breath hot against her skin. She shivered, not from the chill of the night, but from the promise of what was to come. His teeth grazed her pulse point, a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips, and she gasped, her head falling back to give him better access.
“Ye’re mine,”he murmured against her skin, his voice rough, his accent thick with the brogue of the Highlands. The words sent a thrill through her, settling low in her belly, where a familiar ache had begun to build. She wanted to argue, to tease, to tell him she belonged to no one—but the way his hands gripped her, made it impossible to deny the truth. In this moment, she was his.
His hands slid under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist on instinct.
With a growl, he shifted her slightly, his free hand tearing at the fabric between them until it gave way with a rip. The cool air hit her exposed folds, but the chill was short-lived. His fingers found her first, thick and calloused, sliding through her folds with a possessive stroke.
She moaned, her hips jerking against his hand, her body begging for more.
"Look at me," he commanded softly. "I need ye tae see me. Tae ken who's lovin' ye."
She met his eyes, saw the desire there mixed with tenderness, with care she'd never expected. "I see ye."
"Good." He kissed her again as he began to press forward, his entry slow and careful despite the trembling in his arms. "Tell me if it hurts. Tell me if it's too much."
It did hurt at first, a burning stretch that made her tense despite her determination. But he felt it immediately, stopping, his hand sliding between them to touch her the way he had before. The pleasure that sparked at his touch distracted her from the discomfort, and when he pressed forward again, she was able to take more of him.
"That's it," he murmured against her lips. "Just breathe. Let yer body adjust."
She did, focusing on the feel of him filling her, the way their bodies fit together like they'd been made for this. And then he was fully seated, his forehead pressed against hers as they both struggled to adjust to the sensation.
She gasped, her back arching as he filled her completely, every sensation more intense. Then he began to move, slow at first, giving her time to adjust to the rhythm. The initial discomfort faded quickly, replaced by building pleasure as he angled his hips to hit places inside her that made her gasp and arch.
His manhood dragged against her inner walls, hitting a spot deep inside that made her see stars. She clung to him, her nails digging crescents into his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Gods, ye feel like heaven,”he groaned, his voice rough, his thrusts growing harder, deeper. The sounds of their passion filled the air.
His lips found her ear, his breath hot as he whispered filthy promises, his words as wild as the land around them.
She whimpered, her folds clenching around him, her orgasm building like a storm on the horizon. He felt it, his grip on her hips tightening as he angled his thrusts, hitting that perfect spot over and over.
“Come fer me,”he demanded, his voice a rough command, his body coiling like a spring.
The words sent her crashing over the edge. Her orgasm hit her like a wave, her body tightening around him as pleasure ripped through her. She cried out, her voice echoing across the water, her nails raking down his back as she trembled in his arms.
He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, his thrusts growing erratic as his own release approached. With a final, deep stroke, he buried himself to the hilt, his manhood pulsing inside her as he came, his seed spilling into her with a heat that matched the fire in his kiss.
