She reached up to stroke his face softly. She could see a furrow in his brow. All at once, he looked older than he had before, the weight of all of this pressing on him.
“That’s very kind of you,” she murmured, and he managed a small smile.
“Aye, and I managed to do it without slaughtering every Englishman in the country,” he chuckled. “No matter what Effie might have told ye.”
She managed a slightly shaky laugh as well.
“And you still keep her portrait outside your study?”
“I want to remember her like that,” he explained softly. “As my mother. The woman who cared for me, who raised me. The woman who taught me so many of the stories that I keep in there.”
She smiled.
“I hope we’ll be able to pass them on to our children, one day,” she remarked, a little shyly. Though the two of them had not much discussed the possibility of having children, it was only a matter of time, especially now they were back together.
“Bairns, aye?” he mused out loud, a grin spreading wider across his face as he pulled her closer. “You think we’ll be having bairns soon?”
“I think we should set about trying,” she flirted back, a little playful. He chuckled, as he lowered his mouth to hers. As she snuggled against him, losing herself to the sweetness of hisembrace, she knew that this was where she belonged; at his side, in his arms. With the man she loved.
He pulled her against him, her back to his stomach, and pressed his hips against her. Even now, he was thick with desire for her, and the warmth of his touch shuddered pleasure all the way through her body. She gasped, reaching back to run her fingers over his neck, as he planted a kiss against her shoulder, pulling down her dress to expose an inch or two of bare skin.
The feel of his mouth against her flesh was alchemic, sending a throb of want through her whole body. His hands slid down to her skirts, pulling them up over her hip, and reaching beneath to draw down her underthings. His hand groped hungrily for those parts of her body that had been hidden, the parts of her that existed for only him. As his hand moved with a practiced ease between her legs, she found her thighs parting, her body warming and softening at his touch.
“Please…” she murmured to him. She didn’t need to tell him what it was she wanted from him, no, he knew that already, and, as he slowly slipped his kilt off and drew his manhood into his hand. Her sex tingled with anticipation.
He did not make her wait long for the satisfaction she so craved. A moment later, he planted himself at her warm, willing entrance, and eased himself into her with one, smooth stroke. Her fingers clenched at the covers before her as his hand slid to her belly, pulling her back against him, their bodies flush against one another.
She could hear his hungry breath in her ear as he began to move inside of her, his tongue tracing briefly over her lobe and down the side of her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut, drinking in every moment of sensation, every second of this closeness that they shared, the very same closeness she had been terrified that she would lose and never get a chance to experience again.
But she would. She had. She would have him as often as she wanted, this man who pleased her in ways no other had, in ways no other could. His mouth pressed to the throbbing vein in her neck as he grasped her hip and moved into her in long, deep strokes, filling her to the point where there was no room for anything else but how good he felt, the pleasure that was swelling in her breast and moving through her to consume every part of her…
And it was like that, in his arms, that she reached her release at last. Her body pressed to his, her hips nestled against him as the pleasure tried to find some way to express itself. He grazed his teeth against her neck, a reminder of the wild man that hid beneath his loving exterior, and, with one more thrust, she felt him crest inside of her, stilling himself there as he savored the moment.
He made no move to pull back as the two of them panted to catch their breath. He reached around to draw her lips to his, and she kissed him, almost frantic, but, as she felt his tongue slip into her mouth, she began to soften and relax.
Because she was safe here with him. She was where she belonged. In the arms of the man who loved her.
With her husband. Once and for all.
20
Amelia drew in a deep breath as she stood outside the cell that held the woman who had betrayed her. Arran, at her side, slid his hand to hers, and gave it a tight squeeze.
“You dinnae have to talk to her,” he reminded her, for what had to be the dozenth time since she had told him about her plan.
“I know,” she replied. “But I want to. Can you unlock the door?”
Arran stepped forward, and, at last, unlocked the door to the cell that held Effie inside. It had been nearly a week since she had betrayed Amelia the way she had, and, ever since, Amelia had been pondering on how to deal with what she had done.
Arran, for his part, had been ready to deal with her in a rather brutal fashion; he had wanted to see her punished for what she had done, to pay for the harm she had nearly dealt against them. Though Donald had not been able to see through any of the threats he had levied against her, she had come perilously close to being… no, she couldn’t even think it. Even now, the notion of another man laying a hand on her in that way, any man otherthan Arran, was enough to send a sick, twisted horror coursing through her.
But, despite it all, she wanted Effie to be treated with some kind of mercy. After all, had she not done what she had done in order to try and find her own freedom? Amelia could only imagine how desperate she must have been, to have made a choice like that. She knew Effie, or, at least, she felt like she did. She was certain that the woman she had come to know in her time here would not have made such a choice if she felt like there were other options available to her, and that was what Amelia hoped to find out when she visited her today.
The door swung open, and Amelia stepped inside; Arran, for his part, did not move from beside the door, clearly still not trusting Effie entirely. She could not blame him, not after what she had done. In some ways, she wasn’t even sure if she should have been giving her this grace, but she did not have it in her to condemn the girl to whatever fate she might have deserved.
Effie was huddled under a blanket, beside a small slit of a window that was letting in a thin beam of light, and she lifted her head when Amelia entered. Her eyes widened, a look of pure horror crossing her features, and she scrambled up, lifting her chin.
“Amelia, I… I’m so sorry…”
