Human.
Her heart beats a little faster staring at him.The last time she’d slept with a man was in college, before her first tour.But this feels different.Right in a way, she hadn’t anticipated.She remembers the first time she saw him, the way grief had left him stricken.
And then at the funeral, wearing a kilt.The full regalia.He’d been so damn handsome, and yet she’d been filled with anger.Anger that he had gotten to live with her father, and she never had.
But now, he is a rock, strength when she feels like giving up, comfort, and so damn sexy it’s all she could do not to pull him into her arms and make love to him once again.
Last night, they had made love way into the morning and only given up when they were both exhausted and out of condoms.And yet, she wants him again.
Staring at him, she studies him quietly, afraid to move too quickly and break whatever fragile magic has settled between them.
Last night wasn’t an escape.Last night, he’d driven the demons from her that seemed to reside in her soul.
That’s what surprises her most.Now, at least, she has some understanding of why her father never appeared.Now at least, she can begin the healing process.
She’d half-expected to wake with regret or panic or the familiar instinct to armor herself again.Instead, she feels calm.Grounded.As if something that’s been clenched inside her for years has finally loosened.
She slips carefully out of bed, pulling on a sweater and crossing to the window.Emerald grass and tall trees stretch out below, green and damp with morning dew.Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls.Life is going on.
For the first time since she arrived, the castle doesn’t feel like a battlefield.
It feels like a home.
She hears movement behind her.
Callum’s voice is rough with sleep.“You disappeared.”
“I’m right here,” she says softly.
He sits up, hair rumpled, blinking against the light.When his eyes find her, something gentle settles in his expression, relief, maybe.Or something closer to joy.
“Morning,” he says.
She smiles.“Morning.”
There’s no awkwardness.No scramble for distance or explanation.Just the quiet acknowledgment of what they shared.
Callum swings his legs over the side of the bed.“How are you?”
She considers the question honestly.“Better than I expected.”
He nods.“Me too.”
Gently, he presses his lips to hers.“You wore me out, woman.”
She giggles and realizes that’s a sound she hasn’t made in years.
“Me too,” she says gently.
They dress without ceremony, brushing past each other easily, the intimacy lingering in small, ordinary gestures.When they step into the corridor together, Isla realizes she’s humming under her breath.
Callum notices.
“Happy?”he asks.
She pauses, surprised by the word.Then nods.“Yes.”
It feels almost rebellious to admit it.
