Isla felt as though she could not deny the sensation any longer. It had built itself up to a throbbing pulse, and she opened her mouth to cry out, but Iain clamped his hand around her lips, stifling her cry and allowing her to be as loud as she wished without the men outside hearing. Her black brows tilted down, and she groaned deeply into the palm of his hand.
Isla's eyes closed all on their own, and she felt as if the room was spinning. She lay quivering in his arms, trembling at every touch, at every movement of his hips. His lips came down to kiss her neck, and she felt as though she would be lifted up into the air. She trembled, unable to take any more of his gentle touches and sweet, teasing kisses. A wave of pleasure came crashing over her, and she gasped as it edged away ever so slowly.
Iain took in the sight of her hungrily, his lips parted, and his breath came out in harsh gasps. His hips made one sharp movement, and then he dropped forward, his face in her hair. She heard him whisper her name, the sound rising up into the air to hang above them. One hand reached up to grip her shoulder tightly, and she felt his soothing warmth fill her completely. His chest heaved against hers, his breath slowing until finally, he was resting gently above her.
They lay together, still as one, for a long moment. When he finally pulled away, Isla found that she immediately missed the feeling of his skin against hers, of his weight and the protection and love he offered her. He turned back, an easy smile gracing his face, and he pulled the quilts up and around them. She rested back against his chest, feeling him press his lips into her halo of black hair. Isla loved how he seemed to drink in every aspect of her; Iain seemed enthralled by simply being in her presence.
Isla smiled to herself in the moonlight, committing this moment to memory. She wanted to savor the feeling of new love, to delight in how wonderful it felt to know that this man would protect her at all costs. She could trust him completely and entirely, and she did without question.
"Iain, I want ye tae know I will never hide anythin' from ye again," she said, turning her head to look up at him. "I... I know tha' we have a lot tae think abou' come tomorrow, but I want tae be with ye. I cannae think o' a day without ye by my side and nothin', but the truth will come from my lips from this day forth."
"Dinnae think about anythin' but tonight, Isla," he said. Her name on his tongue was sweeter than the most delectable honey. "Just enjoy this moment, here with me now. I'm sure we'll have many more memories tae make, but for now... Let's just be in peace."
The words coming from him, the Laird who had suffered through years of self-torment and rage, were spoken softly, gently, with the hint of a smile. Isla felt herself nearly crumble in his arms at the sound. It was a side of him that was completely vulnerable, so much so that Isla wondered if this was the man he had been before the trauma had shaken him.
"When did ye know tha' ye loved me?" she asked, tilting her face up to look at him.
She watched the surprise flutter over his expression for a moment, and then a playful smile spread across his face. He looked up through the window at the stars, thinking. Isla waited patiently, hoping that her silence told him that she did indeed expect an answer.
He glanced down, the smile widening, and then looked back up at her.
"I'm no' sure,' he said."It didnae happen all at once, mind. I knew tha' ye were special when I first saw ye in... in the—"
"In the dungeon?" she finished, her eyes glinting as she teased him. "Aye, ye were such a fearsome Laird."
He laughed, but she caught his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. It seemed he was still embarrassed about his reaction to her presence in his keep. She knew he had only been watching over his clan and his mother, that he had only done what he thought had been right. Now, though, she could feel the remorse flooding out of him.
"I'm sorry about tha'," he said. "Truly. Ye have made me a different person, Isla. A better person. I hope tae be someone tha' ye can be proud of. I could have jus' as easily ended up as monstrous as Duncan Robertson. I have ye tae thank fer sparin' me tha' fate."
She shook her head, her black hair hanging loose around her bare shoulders. His hand stroked her arm idly, and she leaned into his touch.
"No," she said. "I cannae see ye ever turning out as horrible a man as him. Iain, ye dinnae see yerself as everyone else does. Yer men respect ye; yer mother loves ye. An' so do I."
Isla hoped she could sense how truly she did love him through her words. When she looked over her shoulder into his eyes, she could tell by the serenity of his expression that he did. He said nothing, but he did not need to. In the silence between them, there was an unspoken affection, an adoration between the two of them that mirrored what they both felt.
She sighed, wishing the night would last a lifetime but knowing that morning would be approaching swiftly. She felt Iain stiffen and knew that his thoughts too were on the following day and on what they would do after leaving the village. He’d said that surely they would return to MacThomas Castle, and it sounded to Isla like a good idea, but she knew what would happen eventually.
Her father—no, heruncle—would come looking for her, and his enemy's keep would be the first place he looked. He would surely demand her return, and she was certain she knew what Iain's reply would be.
Isla turned, allowing her head to rest on Iain's shoulder. His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her closer. She felt anxiety building up inside of her as thoughts of Duncan Robertson returned. Isla hid herself in the safety of Iain's arms, surrounding herself with the adoration that he showed her every moment they were together.
Isla would not let thoughts of the Robertson Laird ruin this perfect, tender moment. She did not know how many more they would have.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Duncan Robertson slowed his horse to a brisk walk, his mind tallying up the villages he knew were nearby.
There were only so many, a handful at most, and each one lay on the outskirts of a keep. The old man had to have fled to a nearby village all those years ago, and he certainly could not have gone much farther. The ancient healer had already looked as though he had few years left when Duncan banished him from the castle. In fact, Duncan had assumed that he died years ago and had barely passed another thought about him.
Until that damned letter.
Duncan cursed inwardly, his lip curling savagely. Behind him rode a dozen of his best men, each one giving him a wide berth. Duncan knew why; whenever he was in a rage, no one would approach him. The only man who dared would be Fingal if he had something to report, and even then, Duncan knew it was because the man was aware he was irreplaceable. He was a very effective and respected General amongst his men and could easily lead them to victory no matter the enemy they faced.
Today, he hoped that the enemy would be Iain MacThomas. There was no guarantee the first village they razed would be the one hiding the Laird and that traitorous healer, but Duncan kept his spirits up. He would find them no matter where they hid, and he would drag Isla back home on the back of his horse. She would learn her lesson after being shut in the keep for the rest of her days.
He huffed.
Of course, my brother's daughter would be stubborn and useless to speak to.
