The boat rocked gently beneath them, and for a moment, the world felt suspended in the quiet between waves. Then, as if to prove Lydia right, a fish jumped out of the water, the splash breaking the silence so suddenly and scaring her so terribly that she screamed and flinched away from it.
And promptly fell into the water as her movement rocked the boat.
The cold struck her like a fist, knocking the breath from her lungs. Darkness swallowed her, bubbles roaring past her ears. She kicked upward, disoriented, reaching blindly for air, but her clothes were already soaked in lake water, the already heavy fabric turning into an anchor that pulled her farther and farther down.
Instinctively, she tried to scream, Kieran’s name stuck in her throat. Bubbles floated upward from her lips, along with the precious air that kept her alive. The water around her was clear but dark, the night making it impossible for her to tell where the surface was. And just as her panic threatened to overcome her, something else plunged into the water.
Strong hands caught her wrists.
Kieran hauled her up, dragging her over the boat’s rim with a grunt. Lydia landed against him in a collapsed heap, shivering violently as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.
“Saints preserve us, lass! Are ye hurt?” His voice was raw, frantic. His hands slid over her arms, checking for wounds she didn’t have.
“N-nay,” Lydia stammered, her teeth chattering. “A fish… just a f-fish?—”
“Startled by a mere fish?” he asked, his tone teasing, but still, he gathered her closer, as though he could warm her through sheer force of will. “We must get ye dry before the cold sets its claws in.”
He seized the oars, rowing with fierce urgency. The boat skimmed across the lake, each stroke more powerful than the last. Lydia lay against his chest, the steady thunder of his heart anchoring her as the wind whipped at her wet hair.
With every breath she took, she couldn’t help but shiver. The cold seeped into her bones, her entire body trembling in Kieran’s arms, but he was quick to reassure her.
“There’s a cottage right over there,” he said. “Daenae fash, we’ll reach it before long.”
Soon, the small stone cottage came into view on the eastern shore. A lakeside bothy—used by hunters and fishermen, rarely occupied. A place of shelter for the hunters, a place of privacy for her and Kieran.
Before long, Kieran beached the boat and lifted her into his arms as though she weighed nothing. Lydia suddenly found herself in the air, a yelp drawn out of her when her feet were no longer touching solid ground, but Kieran strode resolutely toward the cottage.
“Kieran, ye daenae have to carry?—”
“Hush.” Though quiet, his command was not one to ignore. “I am nae lettin’ ye take another step until ye’re warm.”
He shouldered the door open. Inside was a single room with a hearth, a rough-hewn table, and a narrow bed. He set her near the hearth and dropped to one knee, grabbing some longs that were stacked next to it and working on lighting a fire.
Heat slowly bloomed. The flames grew as Kieran fanned them, their warmth beckoning Lydia closer. Everywhere she went, she left a trail of dripping water behind her, wetting the stone floor.
Kieran turned to her, his gaze tracing the water-soaked fabric clinging to her skin. Heat rushed to her cheeks—a heat that had little to do with the fire.
“We must get ye out of these clothes, Lydia. Ye’ll freeze.”
She met his eyes, her pulse fluttering like a trapped sparrow. Kieran was right, of course. She had to take those clothes off, or she would never get warm, and they would never dry. Butlooking around her, she saw no screen of any kind, nor any change of clothes she could wear.
They didn’t even have cloaks with them. Only the blankets on the bed which she could use as a makeshift cover in the meantime.
But the thought of Kieran watching her as she undressed sent a thrill down her spine. She wondered if he would stare, if he would take in her body in the light of the fire—if he would like it. And so, with a trembling exhale, she walked to the other end of the room and turned around, as if to retain some of her dignity, and began to undress.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Good Lord… She’ll undress right here!
Kieran watched, helpless, as Lydia walked over to the other side of the room and slowly began to remove her clothes. First the petticoat, then her gown, then her stays, which she unlaced with quick, practiced fingers. She tossed them all in a pile on the floor, uncaring of the dust that had gathered there after months of the bothy being empty. Finally, she was down to her chemise, the thin, linen fabric clinging to her body with all the water it had absorbed.
In the light of the fire, it was almost translucent. The fabric clung to the curve of her rear. Kieran’s gaze was drawn there, to the ample flesh of her hips, to the gentle bounce of her body as she moved.
His trews instantly turned uncomfortable, tightening as his manhood hardened. He had little choice but to press a palm over himself, a soft sigh escaping him as he tried to control his urges.He wanted nothing more than to march up to Lydia and grab her, kiss her, worship that body he so craved until she shook with pleasure. He wanted nothing more than to sink himself inside her, to feel the warmth of her around him, that wet heat he knew he would find between her thighs.
And then came his undoing. Lydia grabbed the hem of her chemise and pulled it over her head, standing entirely nude before him.
There was only that much patience Kieran could exercise. There was only that much restraint, and in that moment, he lost it completely.
