Testing, she adjusted again, this time letting her back settle more fully against his chest. His muscles tensed beneath her, rigid as iron, and his grip on the reins seemed to tighten until his knuckles went white.
Curious now, emboldened by some reckless impulse, she let her head tip back slightly as if admiring the sky. Her hair brushed against his jaw, and she heard the sharp intake of breath near her ear.
"Ye ride well," she observed, keeping her voice steady even as awareness prickled along her spine. "Better than most men I've kent."
His response came a beat too slow, his voice rougher than before. "I've been ridin' since I could walk. Me faither put me on a horse before I could properly talk."
"That sounds dangerous."
"It was." She felt rather than saw his smile. Felt it in the way his chest expanded against her shoulders, in the subtle shift of his jaw near her temple. "Me maither told me she nearly had an apoplexy the first time. But me faither insisted. Said a Highland laird needed tae be one with his horse."
"And are ye? One with yer horse?"
"Ask him." Tòrr patted the stallion's neck, and Liliane noticed his other hand had shifted lower on her waist, his thumb restingjust above her hip bone. Whether he realized it or not, she couldn't tell, but one thing was clear. She was struggling to keep her racing heart steady.
They rode higher into the hills, following a narrow path that wound through stands of pine and birch. Liliane found herself hyperaware of every place their bodies touched, of the warmth radiating from him, of the careful control in his breathing that suggested he was fighting the same awareness.
When the path narrowed further and the horse stumbled slightly over loose stones, Tòrr pulled her closer, steadying her. This time there was no mistaking the deliberateness of it, or the way his fingers flexed against her ribs before he loosened his hold.
I should pull away, should put distance between us.
Instead, she found herself relaxing into him despite her intentions, lulled by the steady rhythm and the warmth of Tòrr's body at her back—and by the knowledge that whatever that pull was between them, she wasn't the only one feeling it.
"There," he said finally, his voice still carrying that rough edge as he guided the horse around a final bend.
Liliane's breath caught.
They'd emerged onto a cliff edge that overlooked a massive loch, its surface gleaming like hammered silver in the morning sun. Beyond it, mountains rose in layers of blue and purple,their peaks still touched with snow. Forest stretched in every direction, broken only by the occasional croft or village.
"It's bonnie," she whispered.
"Aye." Tòrr dismounted and reached up to help her down. "This is MacDonald land. All of it, as far as ye can see tae the west and north."
She turned slowly, taking it all in. "I never kenned the Highlands could look like this."
"Like what?"
"Like somethin’ worth fightin’ fer."
His hand had remained around her waist, she realized. They stood close enough that she could see the flecks of darker green in his eyes.
"It is worth fightin’ fer," he said quietly. "Every inch of it. Fer every person who calls it home."
"Is that why ye bid fer me? Tae protect this?"
"Partly. Aye." He released her and moved to the cliff edge, staring out over the loch. "Ross bid fer ye, and if he had won, yer faither would have had access tae his trade routes,thereby strangling our own. That would have given the Pact and Campbell too much control over the western approaches."
"So I was a strategic acquisition."
"Ye were a necessity." He turned to face her. "But that daesnae mean I'm nae tryin’ tae make it more than that."
"More than what?"
"More than just politics and duty." He gestured to the landscape. "This is what I'm offerin’ ye, Liliane. A place in somethin’ larger than either of us. A chance tae be part of protectin’ somethin’ that matters."
"By marryin a man I dinnae love? By givin’ up everythin’ I wanted?"
"What did ye want?" The question was genuine, not mocking. "Before all this. What did ye dream about?"
