This changes nothin',he’d said.
Liar. Everything had changed. He’d tasted her desire, felt her body respond to his touch, heard his name on her lips like a prayer. And now he’d have to pretend none of it mattered. That tomorrow they’d ride to the village as if he hadn’t nearly taken her against the wall of his study like some rutting animal.
His arousal throbbed at the memory, still hard and demanding. He needed to clear his head. Needed cold water and solitude to remind himself why this was a terrible idea.
He grabbed his cloak and left the study, his boots echoing through the quiet corridors. Most of the castle had retired for the night.
Good. He didn’t want company. Didn’t want to see the knowing looks or answer questions about why he and Lady Leona had both fled the dining hall looking thoroughly undone.
The night air hit him when he stepped outside, cool and sharp with the promise of autumn. He breathed it in deeply, letting it fill his lungs, trying to extinguish the fire still burning in his veins.
His feet carried him through the gardens, past the training yard, toward the path that led to the loch. It was a walk he’d made countless times over the years, usually when sleep proved elusive or when memories of his father became too vivid.
Tonight, he was fleeing something else entirely.
The loch stretched before him, dark and still, its surface reflecting the moon like polished silver. Trees surrounded it on three sides, providing shelter from prying eyes. Murdock had come here since he was a boy, first to escape his father’s rage, and later to find peace in the silence.
He stripped off his tunic and boots without ceremony, leaving them in a pile on the bank. His trews followed, and then he was wading into the water, hissing as the cold bit into his heated skin.
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
He dove under, letting the shock of it steal his breath, his thoughts, everything but the feel of cold water closing over his head. He stayed under until his lungs burned, then surfaced with a gasp.
Better. This was better.
He swam with powerful strokes, pushing his body hard, trying to exhaust the restless energy that thrummed through him. But even as his muscles worked, even as the cold seeped into his bones, he couldn’t stop replaying what had happened.
The way Leona had looked at him when he’d backed her against that wall. Not with fear, though she should have been afraid. He’d been rough, demanding, taking what he wanted without asking permission. But her eyes had been dark with desire, her body arching into his touch, her lips parted on breathless gasps that had driven him wild.
She’d wanted it. Wantedhim. As much as he’d wanted her.
Then stop,she’d challenged when he’d said it was wrong.
And he hadn’t been able to. Christ, he’d barely been able to keep himself from tearing off her dress and taking her right there, propriety and promises be damned.
His body still ached with unfulfilled need, every muscle tense with the desire he’d been denying himself. He dove under the water again, swimming harder this time, pushing himself with punishing strokes that made his lungs burn and his arms shake with effort.
He pictured her as she’d been against that wall. The flush in her cheeks. The way her chest had heaved with each breath, her nipples tight against the fabric of her dress. How wet she’d been when he’d touched her, the evidence of her desire soaking through her undergarments.
The images only made things worse. His arousal throbbed insistently, refusing to subside despite the cold water and his desperate attempts to exhaust himself into submission. He swam faster, more violently, cutting through the water with brutal efficiency.
He remembered the taste of her skin, the sounds she’d made, the way she’d gasped his name like a benediction.
Murdock, please…
Faster. He had to swim faster. Had to push his body until it had nothing left to give, until the desire finally burned itself out and left him in peace.
But it wasn’t working. Every stroke only seemed to heighten his awareness of what he couldn’t have. Every breath brought her scent back to him, phantom and maddening. Every movement of his body reminded him of how she’d felt pressed against him, soft and willing and perfect.
Finally, gasping and frustrated, he stopped. Let himself float on his back in the cold water, staring up at the sky as his chest heaved with exertion. His arousal had finally begun to subside, not from satisfaction, but from sheer exhaustion and the relentless chill of the water.
For a moment, he just floated there, breathing hard, his body still humming with unfulfilled need even as fatigue settled into his bones.
Pathetic. Wanting a woman so desperately that he had to swim himself into exhaustion just to make his body behave. Rutting after her like some untried boy because he couldn’t have what he wanted, what he’d foolishly let himself taste.
Except he could have her. That was the problem. She was his betrothed, even if it was a lie. No one would question it if he took her to his bed.
But that would make everything so much more complicated. This was supposed to be temporary. A year-long arrangement to solve both their problems. She wanted protection, he needed heirs. Simple.
