Then, a noise caught her attention and she turned to find Alan there before her. So lost in her thoughts had she been that she had not heard him enter.
He looked exhausted and haunted. He looked angry and determined. He looked...wonderful to her. His boots and breeches were muddied from travelling and his long hair was pulled back away from his face, exposing the masculine lines and angles. A short growth of beard covered his jaw and gave him a dangerous appeal. She began to reach out to stroke his cheek, but stopped herself. Surely he would not welcome her touch until he’d said what he came here to say.
‘Sorcha,’ he whispered into the space between them. Hearing her own name spoken by his deep voice sent chills through her. ‘Sorcha MacMillan.’
A strange tension grew within her, making her skin prickle and her heart race. Part of her wanted to deny it, to say he was wrong, but the dark expression in his eyes told her he kenned the whole truth of her and denying it would do her no good. Part of her wanted to finally embrace her identity to someone, to him.
‘Aye.’
That one word freed her. Freed her from the guilt of needing to lie to him. Freed her to be herself. He took three long strides and stood before her, staring at her mouth, her eyes and her hair.
‘I never noticed the similarities in your eyes and his,’ he said. ‘Oh, not the colour exactly, but the shape of them. Or your height. He’d even pointed out that you were only this tall...’ Alan pointed to the place on his chest where her head reached when she stood close to him. ‘I just never put it together, thinking you, Sorcha, were dead.’
It was he who reached out and touched her then, sliding his hand along her cheek and then into her hair that lay unbound around her shoulders. He lifted several strands and let them curl around his fingers.
‘Anna said your colouring is your mother’s mark.’
‘You spoke to Anna?’ she asked, her spirits rose. ‘Is she well?’
‘Once she recovered from fainting at the news, aye, she is well.’
She took a deep breath and met his gaze then. Now, instead of the anger and exhaustion, she felt only desire and a need she could not identify there.
‘Alan,’ she whispered. ‘I lied about so many things to you.’
‘Did you lie when you told me you wanted me?’ He lifted her chin up and kissed her lips quickly. ‘Did you lie about that, Sorcha MacMillan?’ She could feel the heat of his breath on her face and his fingers tangled more in her hair, holding her close.
‘Nay, Alan Cameron. I spoke the truth about wanting you.’ She could not move or breathe then. Her body ached and felt as though she would die if he did not touch her soon.
‘And I spoke the truth about loving you, Sorcha.’
Tears gathered at his declaration. It made her leaving so much harder, but his words could not make her stay. They changed nothing for them, but it made one thing very clear to her.
‘I must leave in the morn, but I want to spend this night in your arms, Alan. Give me this night, I pray you.’
He stilled and searched her face, a glimmer of hope in his gaze then. She did not tell him otherwise, for she wanted this night with him so she had it to remember for ever. Alan looked as though he would argue for a moment before nodding his answer.
‘Aye, Sorcha. I want this night,’ he whispered against her mouth before he took it.
In spite of the calm and quiet manner in which he’d entered the cottage, all of that disappeared as he tasted her then. His tongue sought entrance and she opened to him. His hands slid up behind her head and he held her tightly to him, slanting his face and kissing her over and over again. She grabbed on to his arms to keep herself standing and felt the blanket slip off her shoulders.
The bedgown she wore was thin and provided little cover. The chill air made her shiver. Or mayhap it was his kisses that did that? Soon his hands released her hair and moved down over her shoulders, along her back until he cupped her bottom and pulled her up and to him. Sorcha gasped as their bodies touched, her soft curves against his hard, muscled thighs and chest.
With little effort, he carried her so across the cottage to the pallet in the corner. Kneeling, he let her down on to the bed and followed her, pushing himself into the cradle of her thighs, against the place that ached the most for his touch. She watched as he leaned back, releasing his hold on her and tugging the belt that held his plaid in place free, then tossing it away. His plaid and then his shirt were next and she watched as every inch of his sculpted chest was exposed to her.
Her body heated and, without hesitation this time, she reached up and outlined the edges of those muscles. He shivered then and she felt powerful when she realised she’d caused that reaction in him. She flattened her palms against his hot skin and caressed him, from his chest down towards his waist, watching his eyes close and hearing the shallow breaths he exhaled. She hadn’t known she’d laughed aloud until he opened his eyes and spoke.
‘Enjoy your power now, for you will soon be under my touch.’
The passionate words promised something that she did not fear. Indeed she wanted to feel the rush of desire and wanting race through her as it had before at his intimate touch. But, she took his words as an invitation to do as she would. And she did.
Sitting up, she reached out and loosened the laces at his waist. He inhaled sharply and held his breath as she slipped her hands inside the border of his breeches and tugged them down. Every inch of his body was more beautiful than the last. Her fingers touched the curly hair below his waist, but that did not stop her.
Bolder now and ready to claim what she wanted, Sorcha moved her hand deeper until she felt his hard flesh against her palm. Encircling the thick rod of him with her fingers, she watched as he gasped at every movement of her fingers over him. He aided her access by shoving his breeches down further and she watched as his erect flesh sprang free of the clothing.
Sorcha stopped then and stared at it, at him. This part of him would be inside of her soon, deep in a private place and changing her for ever. How it would happen, she could only guess.
‘Do not lose courage now, lass,’ he whispered. ‘Learn me.’ He leaned closer and kissed her, plunging his tongue inside her mouth. As he would his flesh into hers soon. ‘Touch me, Sorcha. Touch me.’
