His breath deepened. His hands tightened, just slightly, as if he had been holding himself in check and now allowed the truth of his want to surface. He kissed her again, deeper thistime, hunger threading through the tenderness until she felt it everywhere.
He lowered her carefully onto the bed, never breaking contact. His mouth followed her down, kissing her throat, her collarbone, the soft swell of her chest. She arched into him instinctively, a quiet sound slipping from her lips that made his hands tremble.
“Ariella,” he said, voice rough now.
Her fingers slid into his hair, holding him there. “Daenae stop.”
He did not.
He took his time with her, learning every sound she made, every subtle shift of her body. His hands were everywhere and nowhere all at once, steady and reverent, driving her slowly toward something that made her breath come short and uneven.
When his fingers finally slipped lower, she gasped.
He paused instantly.
“Tell me,” he said quietly. “Tell me what ye want.”
Her face warmed, but she did not look away. “Ye. All of ye.”
The answer seemed to shatter whatever restraint he had left. He kissed her again, fiercely now, his body fitting against hers withundeniable intent. She felt his need, unmistakable and thrilling, and her own desire answered it without hesitation.
When he joined them at last, it was slow. Careful. He watched her face the entire time, reading every flicker of sensation, every catch of breath. She wrapped her legs around him instinctively, drawing him closer, needing the connection as much as the pleasure.
They moved together, finding a rhythm that felt natural, inevitable. The sounds they made filled the room softly, breath and murmured words and the quiet creak of the bed beneath them.
He whispered her name like a vow.
She answered with his.
The pleasure built steadily, not sharp or frantic but deep and consuming. Ariella clung to him, nails pressing into his shoulders as the world narrowed to the space between their bodies. When release finally came, it took her by surprise, rolling through her in waves that left her breathless and trembling.
Maxwell followed moments later, holding her close as if afraid she might disappear if he let go.
Afterward, they stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, breathing in sync.
“I love ye,” he said again, quieter now, as if the words were a truth he would never tire of speaking.
She smiled, eyes heavy, heart full. “I ken.”
And for the first time, she truly believed that nothing stood between them anymore.
EPILOGUE
The year had changed the land.
Not the bones of it. Not the ridge line or the river’s stubborn path, not the wind that still came down from the hills like it owned the world. But the feel of it had shifted. The air around McNeill Castle carried something softer now, threaded through the familiar scents of peat smoke and iron.
Laughter.
Maxwell stood at the edge of the courtyard, arms folded, watching the keep move like a living thing built for joy instead of war.
The banner above the gate snapped in the breeze. Below it, tables had been hauled out and covered with linens. Pots steamed near the kitchens, and someone had already spilled ale on the stones. Children darted between legs like quick birds,chased by older boys who pretended they were warriors and, for once, meant it as play.
“Laird,” a guard called from the far end, lifting a hand in greeting. “We’ve enough barrels to float the whole loch.”
Maxwell’s mouth twitched. “If ye’ve enough barrels, then ye’ve enough men to carry them. Keep it orderly.”
The man grinned. “Orderly. Aye.”
