But it was a harder man who stood before her now. He even appeared rougher on the surface, his stubbled jaw and shadowed eyes speaking of weeks on the road. His clothes had changed too. He’d snuck to her room, his head and feet bare, and Magda let her eyes roam along the deep green and blue plaid of his tartan and the solid lines and slopes of his muscular calves.
She looked up to face him, and the want that smoldered in his black eyes sent tremors of anticipation and fear and excitement through her.
James wore a shirt of coarse linen, and though it was belted loosely at his waist, Magda could still discern the outline of his chest and arms in the darkness. Her gaze lingered on the flex of his lean muscles as he took her hand and pulled her close to him.
His skin was warm, and her pulse skittered at the feel of his strong, callused fingers enveloping hers.
James had unleashed something dark in himself. Magda sensed it now and felt an untapped well stir in answer, the sudden force of her desire, feral and raw, shocking her with its intensity.
The energy crackling between them became almost unbearable, and Magda heard herself speak. “You came back.”
“It seems you’ve become a habit with me.” His voice was low, and tight with desire.
James gently pulled her back to stand close to the bed. His touch grazed up her arms, and he slowly began to walk around Magda, trailing his fingers along her breastbone, across her shoulder, down her spine. “Safe,” he murmured. “You’re safe.” Pausing at her back, he slowly lifted thick handfuls of her hair and traced light kisses up her neck and along the curve of her ear. Magda felt his tongue flick along her earlobe, and a steady pulse thrummed to life between her legs.
James continued his walk around her, poring over every inch of her, his touch light, as if awed by the sight of her.
“I was terrified I’d lost you,” he whispered.
He stood once again in front of Magda and gently pushed her hair away from her neck and off of her face. James drew his fingers around the outline of her cheeks and, taking her chin, leaned in to brush a kiss against her mouth.
“Och, Magda, my love,” he said with sudden tenderness. He raised her face to his. “How can you not know it? You’re my compass. Leaving you was the greatest error of my life. I’ll not make it again.”
His eyes glittered in the dark, steely and sure. “And, on this, Magdalen, I am dangerously serious.” He spoke her name like an oath, and the sound of it on his lips sent a shiver through her.
“Be with me.” His strong fingers twined around hers, his hands warm and dry in the chill of the room, and she longed to feel those hands holding her, knowing her.
She nodded mutely, not trusting her voice to speak, and pulled her body taller, drawing close as if for a kiss.
“No, lass. Not just like this.” He cupped her chin. “Truly be with me. When I thought harm had come to you . . .” James touched his forehead to hers. “It’s not just my country I serve now.” He pulled away sharply, intensity honing his voice. “Let me serveyounow.” He took her hands in his and pulled them to his chest. “When I thought you’d come to some harm, I was a man undone. Be with me. We will be handfast. Brother Lonan will bless our union, and when this madness ends—and I pray it will end soon—I shall take you to Montrose and marry you properly, making you my bride in front of all and sundry.”
She looked at him, looked at this man who not too long ago had been a stranger, as foreign to her as the cruel and savage time he lived in. And Magda thought then that she’d never felt so treasured. So understood. So loved.
“Okay.” Her voice cracked. Suddenly nervous, she fought the trembling of her hands in his.
He stared at her, eyes grave in the darkness. “Is that aye or nay, hen?” The moonlight caught the edge of his strong jaw, set in a determined line that made her body flush with nervous anticipation.
She matched the somberness of his gaze. Magda hesitated. She knew what this meant. What it would mean especially to James, the implications for his time. And she took those rational concerns and set them aside. The moment felt right. He felt right. And for once in her life, she would take a risk. She would take what she wanted and follow her heart. “It’s aye.”
His mouth plunged to hers then, taking her with a ferocious kiss. Magda gasped with need, fumbling her hands over him, desperate to know him, to feel every inch.
He pulled away, and his hands went to his belt. His eyes didn’t waver from hers as he unbuckled, and leather and sporran clattered to the ground. With a swift flick of his wrist, a cloud of wool followed, cascading heavily to their feet.
Magda glanced down and her heart pounded to see his shirt straining tight as he grew hard before her.
He kissed her again before tugging the coarse linen over his head and then stood before her gloriously naked. She ran her palms over the iron ropes of muscle at his biceps and back, and felt his erection heavy against her belly. Magda raked her nails down his back as something deep and primal stirred to life. He moaned in response and clutched her close, then she felt cool air pebble her skin as he stripped her bedgown from her.
James grew still. Surfacing from a haze of blind lust, Magda opened her eyes to the sight of him poring over her. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, swooping her into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. She felt his erection insistent against her bottom and groaned.
"Handfasting”—he cleared his throat, gathering himself— “handfasting is a Lowland ceremony.” He eased her down to sit at the edge of the bed then knelt on the floor in front of her. “Not a proper wedding, aye?” She felt suddenly shy, exposed, sitting naked before him. Eager to close the distance, to end his frank scrutiny, Magda extended her hands to him, but James gently put them aside.
“And though I may be versed in the world of the court, it’s a Highland tattoo sounded by my heart. And Highlanders have a tradition . . .” he began, then stopped to trace his hands down the length of her legs.
She could hear his wanting of her in the tight rasp of his voice and, shyness forgotten, reached for him again. James smiled, not meeting her eyes, intent only on her body. He cleared his throat and began again, “’Tis called theglanadh nan cas. The washing of a bride’s feet on the eve of her pledge.” He wrapped his hand around her foot, pale against his ruddy skin in the moonlight. He stroked it and, with a quiet inhale, froze, feeling the thin web of scars from the injury Lonan had tended what felt like so long ago. James carefully kissed along the old wound, and then rested her foot atop his thigh, the muscles of his leg solid and reassuring under her.
“Generally it’s one of the bride’s maids who attends her.” There was a small pan of water at her bedside. James took it, dipped his hands, and brought a small puddle of cool water to her other foot. His thumbs kneaded leisurely down its length, water beading slow tracks along her skin. He reached her heel then moved higher, the calluses of his palms coarse against the thin skin below her ankle, and Magda shivered, her body piqued from the many sensations.
“But as there were no maids at hand, I didn’t expect you’d mind a break from tradition. Considering the circumstances, aye?” His eyes finally met hers, a slow smile spreading across his face, and Magda swayed with the force of it. Hunger and intent sharpened his gaze. She was desperate now to hold him, to be held by him.
