Euphemia
The early morning light began to peer through the window, brighter than usual with the snow. Since Thaddeus had left to fetch food, I allowed myself to look outside.
To my surprise, the snow had piled higher than before. My thoughts drifted to Uncle Callum—he would not be pleased to know I was snowbound away from home. I could already hear the lecture forming.
A new cramp stirred low in my belly. Subtle, but that was how they always began.
The cottage was finer than the tavern and even the croft we lived in. Simple, but clean. Whoever owned it had taken good care of the place.
The door opened and Thaddeus stepped inside, stopping short when he saw me.
“Why are you out of bed?” he asked, nostrils flaring.
I rolled my eyes at the accusatory tone—I wasn’t even a foot away from it.
He paused, sniffed the air, and a knowing, condescending smirk tugged at his mouth as he shut the door and carried the tray back to the bed.
He sat on the edge of the bed and poured me a cup of tea while I watched. I wore his shirt, the hem drowning me, brushing my knees. The scent of him wrapped around me, warm and comforting.
He added milk and sugar, stirring it in before lifting the cup to me.
“Thank ye,” I murmured.
He spread a thick layer of butter over a scone and handed it to me.
I took a bite and sighed at the soft, sweet dough, sipping my tea as though nothing extraordinary had happened—nothing like discovering I was part wolf, and so was the Sassunnach Laird sitting beside me.
“How long hud ye been plannin’this?” I asked, waving my scone around the room.
Colour crept into his cheeks, and I nearly laughed outright.
He took a long sip of his tea, buying himself time—but it was hard to take him seriously while he sat bare-chested beside me, looking far too pleased with himself.
“A few days,” he said at last, clearing his throat.
I arched a brow.“And how were ye plannin’tae get me here if no’fur the snowstorm?” I asked, unable to resist making him squirm.
His eyes flicked up. I held my breath. They were as blue as a clear, sunny-day sky. A slow smile appeared.
“I was going to whisk you away over my shoulder, kicking and screaming, so I could have my wicked way with you,” he said like a shameless cad.
His eyes lingered on my bare legs as he raised his teacup to his lips, which only drew my attention to the flex of muscle in his arm—and that delicious trail of hair leading to his—
“I can scent your hunger, little wolf,” he drawled.“I can feel it in my bones.”
The bond.
“Is that right?” I said taking the last bite of my scone.
“Aye, it is.”
I took the final sip of my tea, bracing myself for the inevitable collapse of all rhyme and reason.
His gaze sharpened—predatory, knowing—and we both understood what came next.
“Are you done?” he asked, his voice low, roughened with promise.
I nodded and handed him the teacup.
