Lydia looked around slowly.
The room was exactly as she remembered it, as if Kieran hadn’t even slept in there while she was gone—the heavy covers on the bed, her gown tossed over a chair, a book she had left there half-finished. This was where she had lain awake her first night as his wife, frightened and unsure, where she had felt unwanted., where she had wondered if she would die.
Now, standing here again, she felt none of that.
She felt as if she was finally home.
Everything rushed back to her at once—running from her first wedding, hiding in that monastery, the guilt that had eaten her alive when she learned the truth about Iris. Being sold like a bargaining chip. The terror of the attacks. Being sent away while carrying his child, her heart breaking with every mile that separated them.
And then Kieran, riding through storms, fighting for her, collapsing because he refused to let her die.
But now, it was over. Sebastian was gone. The fear no longer hunted her steps. Her sister was safe, and she was back here with the man who loved her fiercely enough to be foolish.
Her eyes burned with unshed tears.
Kieran’s grip finally loosened, his thumb brushing over her wrist as if only now realizing how tightly he had been holding on. “I’m sorry,” he said roughly. “I just?—”
She stepped into him before he could finish, wrapping her arms around his waist as carefully as she could, mindful of his injuries.
He froze for a moment in her arms then exhaled, sagging slightly into her embrace, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head.
“I’m happy,” Lydia whispered, her voice thick. “I dinnae ken if I ever would be again, but I am.”
Kieran rested his forehead against hers. “So am I.”
Lydia smiled through tears, pressing herself closer, breathing him in—stone and leather and a scent that was uniquely his. This castle no longer felt like a place where she was trapped.
“I cannae wait anymore,” Kieran said, pulling back from her just enough to look her in the eye, his own filled with heat and want. The sight of him like this was enough to stoke the fires of Lydia’s own desire, to remind her how much she craved him, how much she wanted his touch, his kisses, his body against her own.
Kieran hadn’t even taken the time to meet with his council or greet anyone before he had dragged Lydia to their chambers, and the thought sent a shiver up her spine, the urgency of it all thrilling her.
The candlelight in the room softened the sharp lines of him, making him look less like a laird and more like the man who had held her while she cried, who had ridden through a storm for her, who had chosen love even when fear told him not to.
“Ye’re thinkin’ too hard,” he said gently.
She smiled. “I was just… rememberin’.”
“Good memories this time, I hope.”
“Aye,” she said without hesitation. “All of them.”
He reached out at last, brushing his thumb along her cheek, and the tenderness of the gesture made her breath hitch more than any grand declaration could have. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes.
“I’m glad ye’re here,” she whispered. “That we’re here.”
“So am I,” he said. “Every night I was in this room without ye, it felt wrong. Empty.”
Kieran took her hand and led her to the bed. The fire burned low, casting a gentle warmth, and the heavy curtains were half drawn, letting the afternoon sunlight mix with the glow of the hearth. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and Lydia stood before him, slowly undoing the laces of her dress. She slipped out of her gown slowly, deliberately, her hands working to free her from all the layers she wore, until she was finally standing nude before him. Kieran watched her with quiet reverence and a hunger that had her cheeks blushing a bright red.
When he finally reached for her, it was as though he was afraid she might disappear if he moved too quickly. His hands rested on the dip of her waist where she fancied he could see the tiniest bit of swelling—though it couldn’t have been anything but her imagination. She was still too early to show, and yet, she thought she could tell.
Then, Kieran let his hands trail upwards, cupping her breasts in his large, warm hands. His palms were roughened by years of practice with a sword, the feel of them on her soft, sensitive skin making her flesh erupt in goosebumps. His gaze never leaving hers, he pinched her nipples between thumb and forefinger, drawing a gasp out of her, her body bending to his will as he teased her.
Lydia’s blood was like fire in her veins. Her own hands came to rest on top of Kieran, keeping them on her breasts, urging him to give her more of that mind-numbing pleasure. When he pulled her closer, urging her to sit on his clothed thigh, Lydia straddled his leg, the sensation tearing a gasp out of her.
“Ye’re the bonniest thing,” Kieran whispered against her lips. His hands came to rest on her hips, urging her to move, to roll them, and Lydia could feel herself getting slicker with each movement, dripping over Kieran’s thigh. The sensation sent the blood to her face, a blush creeping over her cheeks and chest, but he looked at her as if in a trance, as if the sight of her was enough to bring him pleasure. “Look at ye…”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he stood abruptly, pulling Lydia along with him. Before she knew it, she found herself standing in front of the looking glass in the corner of the room, the sight of their reflection cutting her breath short.
