Before he knew what he was doing, he was shedding his clothes. With trembling fingers, he pulled the cotton shirt over his shoulders, dropping it in a pile next to her dress and cloak. He felt no shame as he had thought he would when baring himself to another woman but instead felt only an intense need to be next to her as quickly as possible. His suspicions melted away into the waters of the loch as he began to wade towards her.
The water was shockingly cold, but he did not mind. Her warmth was already radiating out to greet him; he could almost see the tender aura that her body exuded. When he was waist-deep, she moved to meet him, swimming towards him a little further. She extended her hand out to him, and he pulled her forward until he could feel her bare skin against his own. She was so perfectly smooth and smiling so radiantly at him in the water that he thought that he had to still be dreaming.
"Isla, what are we doin'?" he murmured.
She shook her head. "I have no answer for that," she said. "The only thing I want right now is to feel ye against me."
She had not torn her gaze from his own; the water reflected in the blue pools of her eyes was mesmerizing, captivating. He could not look away. The feeling of her skin against his was like being drunk on the wine all over again.
When their lips met, Iain felt himself letting go once again of all of the grief and rage he had felt throughout the years. Being with her was a balm against the emotional wounds he had carried around with him for so long. When they were so close in this way, it was impossible for him to think about the stress of the Lairdship, the dangers of the moors.
And not only that, his suspicions of her were set aside completely.
It was as though his doubt was a flame that had met the cool, healing waters of the loch; it had fizzled away into nothingness.
Their kiss was long and deep, and Iain thought for a moment that it would never end, but nor did he want it to. He allowed his hands to explore her body while he tasted her sweetness on his tongue, like golden honey and heady whisky.
They both broke away only to glance at the shoreline. Isla took his hand and led him to the banks of the loch while Iain's heart thumped loudly in his chest. It was all he could do to not scoop her up in his arms and fully carry her all the way to the soft grass near the hillside. It was a temptation he could barely resist.
Iain had let go of his inner turmoil; the conflict within him about the young woman had ceased to be quite so important. The only thing that mattered to him now was this moment, this instance where they could be alone to enjoy each other for the first time. He followed her to the shore, his eyes taking in every inch of her body.
He would relish this feeling as long as he was allowed to house it within himself; for the first time in two years, Iain MacThomas allowed himself to feel happiness and hope.
Chapter Fourteen
Isla had made the decision the moment she saw the look on the Laird's face as he had watched her from the shoreline.
The memory of their intimate moment last night had followed her around everywhere, even when she had been patching up Iain's warrior. The poor man had not known it, but Isla's mind had been ever so slightly preoccupied.
She had been able to set it aside enough to do her duty and ensure the man lived, but it was there behind her eyes, and she saw and felt the sensation of his hands on her skin, burning wherever he touched, again and again.
Now, with his hand in her own, as she led him to the shoreline, she felt a sudden excitement that was unquenchable. She felt somehow powerful, with this wild beast of a man tamed as he trailed behind her. Her heartbeat madly in her chest, and her fingers trembled ever so slightly; she hoped he did not feel it and acquaint it to hesitation.
She had decided last night in his arms that this was what she wanted. If she got the opportunity to be with him in such an intimate way once again, she knew she would take it. Isla herself had come to crave the Laird's presence almost as much as she desired to know the secret of the letter and the dream. It was inexplicable, but she felt as though she was tied to him in a way.
When they finally reached the shoreline, she felt his weight shift, and suddenly she was being picked up in his arms. She laughed to feel her toes leave the ground as his arms gently held her body against his. A smile touched his face for a moment but was replaced by a look of lusty need as she saw his eyes run down the length of her body.
She was laid in the dewy grass just past the rocky bank, away from the men. They were hidden by the rolling height of the grassy hill and by the reeds themselves. Isla doubted the men would come looking for them; it had taken some convincing for them to follow her in search of Iain after he'd left for the loch.
He backed away, and Isla let herself take in his image before her. He was marvelously sculpted, his broad shoulders supporting his wide and muscled chest as his arms held himself up in front of her. He was leaning down, his hair hanging low and nearly tickling the tip of her nose. She reached up to brush it out of his face, and at her touch, the Laird's entire body seemed to light up with desire.
"I cannae understand how ye came intae my life," he whispered. "But neither can I really imagine it without ye, at this point. I'm stuck, Isla, in such a situation..."
He shook his head, but she pressed a finger to his lips and pulled his bare body down against hers. His cool body, chilled from the waters, was heating up in her arms at a rate that excited her. Their lips crashed against each other over and over, and Isla's heart soared at the level of passion he showed her. There would be no holding back, no hesitation between them. She delighted in the way he pulled her close to him, as though he would let nothing separate them again.
The Laird kissed the curve of her jawline and the tender places of her neck, his tongue trailing down to taste the gentle angles of her collarbone. Isla gasped and her back arched against him; he had not been quite so teasing and slow during their intimate moment in the forest. At this moment, it was clear the Laird had control over himself and was intent on making it known.
His tongue began to descend ever lower to the space between her breasts. He turned his head, nibbling at the pale and tender flesh there, and she yelped. Isla felt the Laird smile into her bosom at her reaction and continued to tease her. His lips moved toward the center of her breasts, towards her pink and pointed nipples, the nerves there screaming for attention. He lapped at them for but a moment, and she allowed herself a groan of need, her back bowing outward towards him, desperate for his warm mouth.
He gave her what she needed only after pulling back to take a look at his handiwork. She loved the look of satisfaction on his handsome face; it was an expression that suited him well. However, she could only take a moment to appreciate it.
"Iain, please," she asked.
He seemed more than happy to oblige her. Iain brought his mouth down to enclose the most sensitive part of her breast between his lips. Isla could only lay back in wonder over how well he knew how to treat her body; such pleasure had never been known. Her fingers trailed into his dark brown hair and gripped tightly each time his teeth grazed her nipple. He pulled away only to kiss further down her body, worshipping her hips and curves with his hands, lips, and lapping tongue.
Isla let her head fall back into the grass, the sun peeking through the gray clouds to light upon her bare body. She squinted her eyes against the clouds and allowed herself to feel only the damp trail of Iain's tongue on her skin, of his hands, so rough and calloused, gently enjoying her soft body.
"Ye cannae know how lovely ye are tae me," he said huskily. "How perfect yer pale skin, how bright and blue yer eyes..."
