Darragh watched the stars, his arms crossed behind his head. “I have nay need for them; the night shall be me clothes.”
“Darragh, ye cannae do that!” she cried and propped herself up. “It’s nae even that dark.”
The moon had risen in its entirety, setting its silver eye on the indomitable fortress that was the keep. Torches were lit at the parapet, chasing the shadows all the way into the woods.
“Once we reach the castle, ye shall go ahead and snuff out the lights until I make it safely to me chambers.”
He stroked her forearm as if to coax her, but she wrenched it away, holding it to her chest. She feared he could get her to do anything she was opposed to at the moment. His smile was boyish, mischievous and alluring. She was already lying naked under the stars when she was usually shy about her body.
“I shall like nay part in yer madness.”
“As me wife, ye have to help me, especially in me madness.”
She liked that. His possessiveness was attractive, and when he claimed her, it felt as though she were floating on a bed of clouds.
She could not help the smile pulling at her lips, so she rose. “Good thing I am nae yer wife yet.”
His eyes followed her, from when she left his side to when she bent over, retrieving her frock from where he had dropped it. “Look at how ye disclaim me in me time of need.”
“Ye’re being irrational.”
His clothes were no longer drenched, but smelled strongly of earth, and the white shirt had turned a shade of green and brown.
Their predicament now was how to get to the castle. As expected, she was sore, but not so sore that she could not manage a trek. The problem was the stream.
She gave it another thought. It would be absolutely embarrassing to have Darragh watch her wiggle into her little boat and struggle against the flow crosswise. And with her palms scarred by the bark of the tree he had held her against, it would be almost impossible to hold onto the oars. A bridge would have made matters so much easier.
He seemed to read her plight in the forlorn look she gave the still water. “I can build ye a bridge.”
She looked to him just as she fastened the hooks of her skirt. “I daenae need one,” she said modestly.
She knew Darragh had plans for the clan, grand plans that required the better part of his inheritance. He had confessed them to her one evening when they were cooped up in her chambers during a storm. He had told her about the investments he wanted to make, the projects he would start to transform the village. Then he told her about the surgery he wanted to build on the keep grounds.
She watched him transform from a man who shouldered a weight that was too heavy for him to a free man. He smiled as he spoke with an unrestrained passion. She believed that the man she had never gotten to meet, the one who had been happy before his father ruined him, was in her bed, sharing his deepest desires with her, and she fell in love with him all over again.
His dreams were big, and Jonathan’s bequest was generous, but until he accomplished everything he wanted to, until she wassure he had found the stability he had always desired, she would not be a bother.
“Why? It would make comin’ out here easier, would it nae?” Oh, she was becoming a permanence in his life that he made preparations for. “And have ye ever had a picnic on a bridge? Ye can feed the swans bread crumbs after ye’re done.”
“But there are nay swans.”
“If ye like them, I can buy some.” Another preparation.
She was at a loss for words. She stared at him, her fingers working over the buttons on her blouse. One could not think when they were ambushed by an awakening that defied the ethos of one’s existence.
Here he was, wanting to buy her swans just because he wanted her to have a good view. Who would have imagined her life could take such a romantic turn?
“Would ye like that?” He came to her and cupped her face in his palms, staring at her intently.
Moonlight haloed his dark hair, casting a white light over the planes of his face. Still, she could not decipher his expression. It was pleasant and gentle, as if he weren’t such a large man who shouldn’t be capable of such tenderness. It seemed needy and servile, as if he wanted nothing more than to please her.
She was even more nonplussed when she saw a glint in his eyes that was sharp and coarse against the softness of his countenance.
Perhaps it was love. Perhaps when he looked at her, he saw his soulmate. She could not presume his feelings.
But her feelings were…
“I love ye, Darragh Boyd.”
