He mounted Arkan at last, the destrier snorting softly beneath him while Callum swung into his own saddle.
“A good day’s work?” Callum asked as they turned toward the castle road.
“I’m satisfied. Fer now,” Kenneth replied, his thoughts snagged by the reminder of Aidan’s unholy ability to wreak havoc. “But make sure the patrols circle the village morning and night.”
They rode uphill at an easy pace, the castle rising above them once more, a part of the rocks and the headland, dark against the winter sky. Kenneth’s body ached fiercely, yet his heart was fuller than it been for as long as he could remember.
Selene would be waiting.
The thought sent a lick of flame through him, spreading warmth beneath the cold air and his own steely vigilance. Whatever dangers or troubles lay ahead – Aidan, the harshness of winter – this,this life, was worth defending.
He urged Arkan forward, eager now, no longer merely the laird returning home, but a lad riding toward his future and the lass he loved.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The gates already stood open as they approached the castle entrance, iron-bound timbers raised high against the deep blue velvet of the evening sky. Torches flared along the walls, their smoke curling upward, and the sound of hoofbeats echoed sharply off the cobblestones before fading into the courtyard as they rode in
Kenneth felt the events of the day settle into his bones the moment he swung down from his horse – the long hours in the saddle, the tension of vigilance, the lingering edge of violence that never quite left him after men rode out with flintlock and steel.
Then he caught sight of her.
Selene stood on the steps, framed by lamplight, Maureen at one side, Elsie at the other. She was still, hands clasped before her, her gaze fixed on him as if she had been willing him into sight. Something tight and knotted in his chest loosened all at once, leaving behind a warmth so sudden it all but robbed his breath.
Home, a traitorous part of him thought, was no longer the keep, not the land, but her above them all.
The men around him smelled as hard-ridden as they looked – sweat, leather, wet wool and the sharp, unmistakable tang of cattle that clung to them all. Kenneth barely registered passing his reins to a groom. Selene was already dashing down the stairs, her skirts floating over the stone, her face alight.
He didn’t pause to think about the state he was in or the mud on his boots, neither did he give a thought for who might be a witness to the impropriety of taking her in his arms for all to see.
He crossed the space between them in three strides as she descended to meet him.
“Me love,” was all he said before he wrapped her in his arms and lifted her clean off the ground as if she was no weight at all. She gasped, then laughed, the sound bright and unguarded as he turned once, twice, three times, the courtyard spinning around them.
“Kenneth,” she protested breathlessly, though her hands were already gripping his shoulders as if she intended to anchor herself there.
He kissed her anyway – a hard, unrepentant, plundering kiss born of the sheer relief of having her beneath his hands and the certainty that she belonged to him. Exactly as he was hers.
He well knew he was filthy, that he smelled of horse and sweat and cattle, but so lost was he in her, the thought barely flickered through his head. If she noticed, she gave no sign. She merely sighed a tiny moan in her throat, wound her arms around him, tangling her fingers in his hair, and returned his passion without a moment’s hesitation. Clearly, she was every bit as unconcerned about whoever might click their tongues in disapproval as he was.
That, more than anything, convinced him he had chosen right.
Behind them, Maureen made a sharp sound that might have been scandal or might have been delight. Elsie’s grin was unmistakable.
Reluctantly, Kenneth set Selene back on her feet, though his hands lingered at her waist. He rested his forehead briefly against hers, breathing in her scent of clean linen, a drift of lavender, and something softer beneath it that was Selene’s own fragrance. Holding her, feeling her softness and warmth, steadied him in a way nothing else ever had.
“I’ll wash,” he said at last, regret threading his voice. “Before Maureen decides I’m a danger tae her floors.”
Maureen snorted. “Ye are.”
Kenneth huffed a quiet laugh and brushed his thumb along Selene’s cheek, committing the warmth of her skin to memory. “Let us meet in the solar,” he murmured. “I’ll nae be long.”
He turned away, barking orders to the men as they dispersed, though his attention remained on the steps behind him. He felt her eyes on his back as he strode up the stairs and entered the keep.
When he went to the solar later, washed and changed, the keep had settled into evening. The room glowed with lamplight and candles and hearth fire, the air was warm and scented with broth and fresh bread. Selene sat between Maureen and Elsie at the center table, her posture relaxed now, color in her cheeks. When she looked up and met his gaze, something quiet and certain settled in him, easing the last remnants of the day’s strain.
They ate together, the scrape of spoons and low conversation filling the room. Callum joined them partway through, nodding to Kenneth, listening more than he spoke. Kenneth’s hand found Selene’s beneath the table almost without thought, her fingers fitting into his as though they belonged there.
Maureen noticed, of course. She noticed everything.
