Chapter Fourteen – Murieall
I stared into Munro’s eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation. His palm lay warm against my cheek, his calloused thumb tracing my lower lip with a gentleness that belied the strength in his warrior’s hands. My heart hammered so fiercely I was certain he must hear it echoing off the stone walls. Two paths stretched before me in this moment. One was the safe, planned future with Liam that I’d clung to for so long, or this wild, uncertain thing that bloomed between Munro and me.
“I do nae want ye to stop,” I whispered, the words barely audible even in the quiet chamber.
Something flickered in his eyes, relief, perhaps, or hunger, or some emotion I couldn’t name. My carefully constructed plan to make him feel, to break my curse, to return to Liam crumbled, and the truth rushed in to fill the spaces left behind. Liam had never made me feel like this, like my skin was aflame, like each breath was insufficient to fill my lungs.
Liam was safety. Munro was life itself.
My pulse raced, my breathing shallow and quick as I reached for him with trembling hands. My fingers tangled in his dark hair, pulling him down to me. Our lips met, and the last of my resistance melted away.
“I want ye,” I breathed against his mouth, even as a truth bloomed within me. I more than wanted him. I loved this man, with his walls and his wounds and his careful distance. I loved him even knowing he might never break through his grief to love me in return.
He pulled back just enough to look at me; his expression a mixture of wonder and desire that made my breath catch. Then his mouth claimed mine once more, no longer questioning butcertain. His kiss was at once demanding and achingly tender, as if he’d forgotten how to be gentle but was remembering for my sake.
My hands moved to the ties of his tunic, fingers clumsy with eagerness. He helped me, tugging the garment over his head to reveal the broad expanse of his chest, marked with the scars of old battles. I traced the longest one with my fingertip, the ridge of healed flesh rough beneath my touch. “Ye’re beautiful,” I whispered, meaning it.
He made a sound low in his throat, half laugh, half groan.
“Ye’re the one who’s beautiful,” he said, his voice rough with desire as he reached for my shift.
I felt no shame as he pulled the garment away, because in his gaze that traveled over me, there was intense hunger that heated me. He made quick work of ridding himself of his braies, and all I could do was stare in admiration. I’d never seen a man naked, and the power of his body, everywhere, made my heart stutter. He seemed to sense my trepidation, and coming over me on the bed, he traced a finger between the valley of my breasts as he claimed my mouth for a ravishing kiss. “We were made to fit together,” he whispered in my ear.
I nodded as he trailed his finger down the path his finger had just taken. The night air was cool against the places he wasn’t touching, making each brush of his fingers, each press of his lips, against my skin like fire against my flesh. He kissed a path down, down to between my thighs, as heat pooled low to a place that throbbed there. His hands came to my knees, and he gently spread my legs apart, then ever so softly, he parted my flesh as I hissed in surprise.
I looked down toward him just as he looked up, and a wicked grin tugged at his lips. “Trust me,” he said, his voice husky, “ye’ll thank me that I pleasure ye this way first.”
“I trust ye,” I whispered above the hammering of my heart, and no sooner had the words left my mouth than his fingers brushed against my sensitive woman’s flesh, and then he slid his tongue along some magical spot that made me buck upward in an arch and moan.
His tongue found the pulsing spot once more, and he circled over and over, until my blood rushed through my veins and pounded in my ears. I curled my fingers into fistfuls of cover as he teased and sucked. My breast grew heavy and my loins tight, and I grew taut as a bow string, the pressure to be released building and building. When I thought I could take no more, I threaded my hands into his hair to beg him for some unnamed need, but suddenly, heat exploded within me, surging from my center to every part of my body, and wave after wave of pleasure claimed me.
When the final grip of pleasure released me, he hovered over me, jaw clenched with perspiration on his brow, and I could see how he held himself back for me. Desire stirred again as he leaned down to flick his tongue over my nipple while he entered me slowly. His iron control was evident in the tension of his muscles beneath my hands. I gasped at the fullness as we joined, the slight pain that quickly gave way to pleasure, and then he began to move, building an almost unbearable heat within me. Each thrust was deliberate and measured, his eyes never leaving my face as if searching for any sign of discomfort. The care he took with me, this man who had been so careless with himself for so long, brought tears to my eyes. I blinked them away, unwilling to let him misunderstand their meaning. I ran my hands over the hard planes of his back, feeling the shift of muscle beneath skin as he moved within me.
His calloused palms caught against my softer skin, the contrast heightening my awareness of his strength, his masculinity. Yet those warriors’ hands touched me withexquisite gentleness, as if he feared breaking me. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t so fragile, that I could bear the full force of his passion, but words escaped me as sensation built within my core.
As our rhythm quickened, I grew bolder, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. I slid my hands down to grasp his hips, urging him on. A groan tore from his throat, his control slipping as I arched beneath him, taking him deeper still.
“Murieall,” he breathed, his tone almost reverent. “God’s blood, ye undo me.”
The sound of my name in that moment, spoken with such raw need, pushed me toward the edge of something vast and unknown, greater even, I suspected, than my release of moments ago. I clung to him, fingernails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure crested and broke over me. I cried out, the sound muffled against his neck as my body shuddered around him.
He followed moments later, his rhythm faltering as he buried his face against my hair, his breathing harsh and ragged. His weight pressed me into the furs as we both struggled to catch our breath, hearts pounding in tandem. Eventually, he shifted to his side, drawing me against him, one arm curled protectively around my waist.
In the firelight, with our limbs entwined and the heat of him seeping into me, the peace that had escaped me for years settled over me. The voices of the dead were silent, as if even they respected this moment of connection. I knew it couldn’t last, and that dawn would bring questions and consequences, but for now I let myself sink into his embrace.
His fingers traced idle patterns on my bare shoulder as his breathing deepened, edging toward sleep. I stayed awake, memorizing the feel of his powerful arms holding me, the smoky scent of his skin, the way the firelight caught in his dark hair. Myheart ached with my newly discovered love for him, and I held him tighter as if the strength of my grip on him could ward off ever losing him.
“Sleep,” he murmured against my temple, pressing his lips to my skin. “I’ll be here when ye wake.”
Dawn light crept through the narrow window of the bedchamber, painting pale stripes across the rumpled furs where we lay entwined. I had dozed, but never fully surrendered to sleep, too aware of the miracle of his arms around me, the steady rhythm of his breathing against my hair. Now, in the gentle light of early morning, I lay quietly staring at him. His full lips and thick, dark brows. The little line between them that was present during the day was temporarily smoothed away. The thick lock of his dark hair fell over his forehead to make him look almost carefree. I wanted to preserve this moment, to lock it away in my memory like a precious jewel, for I feared what I told him would shatter this temporary peace. I prayed that it would not be destroyed beyond repair.
My finger paused on a thin white line just above his heart. How many times had this man faced death? How many blades had come close to ending him before I’d ever had the chance to know him? The thought made my chest tighten painfully. I leaned down and pressed my lips to the scar, thankful for this moment now, despite the pain that had brought us together.
His eyes opened, grey-blue and still heavy with sleep. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his hand came up to tangle in my hair, drawing me down for a kiss that was gentle yet spoke of the night we’d shared.
“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” I replied, my heart already aching with what I knew must come. The truth could not be held back. I couldnot put it off. I could not lie with him another hour, another day, pretending that what had grown between us was untainted by secrets and bargains. I loved him. The thought made me warm and grateful and scared. The weight of my deception pressed upon me like a physical thing, growing heavier with each moment I remained silent. And there was Isabella’s voice to consider. She had spoken to me. She had told me, I fully believed, to tell him of the liars around him. Was it about her death? Something else? I didn’t know, but I did know he deserved the truth.
