The world tilted, the horizon vanishing as he claimed her. She felt the searing, damp heat of his lips—firm and demanding—as they molded against her own with a force that stole her breath.
The tension that had pulled them together finally snapped. Enya’s fingers curled into the thick wool of his tunic, her knuckles white as she hauled him closer, her breath hitching in a small, broken moan that was swallowed by the fire in his mouth.
The chapel, the king’s men, the staring villagers—they all vanished. There was only the slide of his lips against hers, the possessive weight of his hands framing her face, and the terrifying, beautiful certainty that she had finally come home.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with a promise that made her knees buckle. He didn't let go; his thumb traced the line of her bottom lip, his gaze dropping to the reddened, swollen curve of it with a look that was purely predatory.
“Now,” he rasped, the vibration of his voice for her ears alone. “Ye are mine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The celebration in the hall was still a dull roar of pipes and laughter below, but the air changed the moment they hit the spiral stairs.
Harald didn't let her walk. He swept her up, his arm a solid iron band beneath her knees, the other supporting her back.
"Ye’re in an awful hurry, me laird," Enya teased, her voice a low, melodic vibration near his ear. She reached up, her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm. "The feast isnae even over. People will talk."
Harald didn't slow his pace. He climbed the stone steps with a graceful rush, his dark eyes fixed on the door of their chambers. "Let them talk until their tongues rot. I’ve spent so long wanting ye, Enya.”
"And now ye have me," she whispered, her humor softening into something much more dangerous. "So ye’ve decided tae kidnap me from me own wedding feast?"
Harald reached the landing and paused, his chest heaving with a sudden, jagged breath. He looked down at her, his gaze so intense it felt like a brand against her skin.
"The priest said we are united in blood, bone, and name," he rumbled, his voice dropping an octave, turning thick and gravelly. "But I think it’s high time we became united in... every other way imaginable."
Enya felt a flush of heat race from her toes to her cheeks. "Always so thorough."
He didn't reply with words. He kicked the heavy oak door open with a single, decisive strike of his boot. He stepped inside and, without breaking eye contact, swung his leg back to catch the door, slamming it shut with a finality that made the latch click like a lock on a treasure chest. The world died away.
He moved to the wide, fur-draped bed and lowered her with agonizing gentleness.
Enya felt a sudden, sharp spike of awkwardness. There, in the dim glow of the peat fire, she felt too exposed. Her pulse was screaming, a frantic drumming in her ears that made her breath come in short, shallow gasps. She shifted, her silk dress rustling against the furs, her skin prickling with a heat she could no longer hide.
"Harald," she breathed, her voice cracking.
Harald dropped to his knees at the edge of the mattress. He reached out, his large, calloused hand trembling as he hovered it over her cheek.
"I have dreamt o' this," he whispered, his voice thick with a vulnerability that made her chest ache.
He began to work the row of pearl buttons along her spine. His fingers, usually so steady, fumbled with the delicate silk. Each touch was a shock of fire against her skin. Enya arched her back instinctively, her hands finding the heavy wool of his tunic, her fingers desperate to find the heat of him beneath.
"Dinnae make me wait," she rasped, her stubbornness melting into a desperate, honest plea.
He let out a low, guttural sound—a pained, joyful growl—and the silk finally gave way, sliding down her arms like water, leaving Enya bared to the amber firelight.
Harald’s eyes traveled over every curve, every inch of her skin, with a hunger that made her feel like a holy thing.
She was trembling from the sheer, overwhelming weight of being seen. Under Harald’s gaze, the shame she usually carried melted away, replaced by a fierce, pulsing heat that gathered between her thighs.
He stripped his own clothes with a frantic, focused energy, his massive frame a map of silver scars and hard-pressed muscle. The sight sent a jolt through Enya’s entire body, a primal recognition that made her blood hum.
He moved over her, and the heat radiating from his skin felt like a sun, obliterating the years of winter she had carried in her bones.
They collided in a frantic, desperate kiss, their tongues tangling as Enya’s hands scrambled to help him shed the last of his layers. When they were both finally bare, skin to skin, the friction was a shock of electricity.
He worshiped her with his mouth. His tongue moved everywhere—grazing her jaw, licking the hollow of her throat, and then moving down to her breasts. Enya let out a jagged, broken moan, her head tossing back against the furs as he took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking and swirling until she was arching her back, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
The sensation sent sharp, jagged bolts of electricity through her entire body, a relentless hum of desire that made her skin feel too tight for her bones. He teased her with a slow, agonizing precision until she was gasping, her head swimming, unable to bear the mounting pressure of his touch a second longer.
