She opened her mouth to speak but then closed it again.
"I believe that ye are tellin' the truth," she said. Iain felt himself let out a quiet sigh of relief; he had not even realized he had been holding his breath.
"I do believe ye," she said. "I just... It sounds so... so —"
"Outrageous, I know," he said. "You must understand, I've exhausted every scenario. I cannae think tha' the woman can be anyone else."
He moved close to her now. The cold highland nights had made her warmth feel impossibly addictive. He wanted to press himself up against her, feel her hot breath on his neck, perhaps allow his hands to explore beneath her soft cotton dress.
The drink had done its work on him; he was beginning to feel bleary, as though he had less of a handle on his emotions and on his feelings. It was all too easy to imagine himself pulling her closer, his hands in her hair, breathing in her scent...
The space between them was shrinking fast; the young woman's knee on the ground brushed his leg, and he felt pleasure burst through him like a lightning bolt. When she glanced up at him through her dark lashes, he felt like he could burn up right there and blow away in the cold breeze. Her hand grazed his leg, and he realized she was moving even closer.
"Isla..." he started to say, but his voice was thick with desire. She was too alluring, too comforting. Just being near her seemed to give him the same feeling as the dream woman did, that same gentle relief that had been such a balm to him during the worst years of his life.
What had felt as though it might be an accident looked now to be deliberate. Her fingers were trailing up his leg now, to his chest, pressing her palms against his shoulders. Her grip tightened, and he realized then that their lips were locking in a passionate, needy kiss full of drunken desire.
Iain at first thought that he was dreaming again, but when he felt her hands against his back, one drifting up to touch his hair, he was brought back down to earth. He let his own hands wrap around her waist, then explore the dips in her shoulder blades. She was sinuous and slender all at once, a wonder of duality he could not believe he was allowed to enjoy.
She uttered a small sound into his lips; it nearly drove Iain completely wild. The young woman was beautiful, of course, but there was something about her that called to him, bound him to her. If he could hide her away from the world, keeping her all to himself, he would not have minded. There was a trait about her that made him want to keep her away from all who would harm her.
As her lips opened up for him, allowing him to slip inside, he tasted the wine upon her tongue. If he let himself, he could slip under the waves of desire and allow her calming presence to take him to another world of peace. It was tempting, almost too easy of a choice to make. He breathed her in and shivered only once as her nails trailed against his back. She knew exactly where to touch him to set him ablaze with need.
It was as though she was already one with him, as though she could see deep into his thoughts and his soul. Iain could think of no one that could understand him better than a woman who had previously lived in his mind.
Chapter Twelve
Isla had let the drink overcome her, she knew.
The Laird's story had affected her so strongly, shocked her into a stillness that had been difficult to break herself out of. It had been unbelievable, certainly, but he had spoken with such conviction she had been convinced he was telling the truth. The Laird had looked at her as though he expected her to laugh at him, to jeer and call him foolish, a dreamer, a madman, but she had not felt that way at all.
And in his arms, she felt so safe and secure. It was strange to feel comforted in the arms of a man whom her father had deemed his enemy, but the emotion he had invoked in her was undeniable.
She allowed the kiss to deepen, opening herself up to him fully. He made a gruff and passionate sound that stemmed from somewhere in the back of his throat. It brought about a warmth inside of her that she had never felt before, and she twisted in his arms, the cotton of her dress feeling all of a sudden too constricting.
This was an emotion that was all new to her; she had never felt such a strong attraction and connection to anyone before, but neither had she truly been looking. Isla had been much more interested in the moors and the lochs in riding in the chilly wind on Brigida, but this man made her feel almost as if she were free on the moors. It was a strange sensation, one that felt both comforting and frightening all at once.
She sighed into him, feeling him pulling at the ribbons of the corset of her maid's dress. The drink caused him to struggle for a moment, but she reached around to place her hands on his and allowed him to loosen it. Isla was not fully aware of what she was doing; she felt as though she were watching herself from far away, as though she were just a witness, invisible and silent. She felt none of the insecurity that she thought she might feel as his hands slipped up and under her dress; it was not so tight now as to be impossible for him to snake his fingers through.
His rough fingertips grazed the skin on her outer leg first, moving slowly inward towards her thighs. She felt her entire body stiffen, and the Laird halted right where he was.
"Do ye want me tae stop?" he asked her. His breath had the scent of wine clinging to it; she inhaled lustily and shook her head as much as she could manage.
"Are ye certain?" he asked again.
There it was again, that little bolt of concern in his voice. He had taken on that protective aura once again, and she felt as though she would melt into a heap in his arms.
"I'm fine, Iain," she said. "Ye dinnae need tae worry."
When she said his name, the word left a tingling on her tongue. She longed for his kiss again.
He looked just as affected as she was by the sound. His eyes had glazed over in a heavy desire that left her gasping.
"If yer sure..." he whispered, his breath bringing about a host of goosebumps.
His calloused fingers went to work again, sliding up her thighs along the curves of her body. The corset was loose enough now that he could trail his hands up to the arch of her back, letting his fingertips dig ever so slightly in. The feeling was like a blaze of fire melting a bank of snow; she felt as though her muscles would give out completely, and she would sink into the ground to be absorbed by the roots of the great oak behind them. In her reckless abandon, she leaned forward again to kiss him, which only spurred him on further.
His hands pulled forward, finally giving the bow of her back a moment of respite from his teasing, but it was only to begin his worship of her breasts. He was gentle and yet somehow still a rough man, two sides of the same coin. He was fire and ice together in one being, and she delighted in the sensation of his hands cradling the ample swell of her breasts.
