Disappointment flickered through him.
Her words made sense. He’d been warned since boyhood about the perils of meddling with any of the lasses who served their family. His father would never tolerate it. For Rae Maclean, it wasn’t merely a matter of rank, but of propriety and respect. A man of Ailean’s class was never going to marry a woman like Fiona, so he shouldn’t take advantage of her.
His belly tightened.
Guilt? Self-recrimination? No. He was immune to such things.
And yet—this woman had gotten under his skin. Her spirit, her pride, her sensuality blended into a heady potion. The thought of living within the walls of Dounarwyse with her nearby, never touching her again, sat poorly with him.
Still, she was right. Tonight couldn’t be repeated.
“I understand,” he said quietly.
His hand slid along her jaw and down her neck, fingers grazing the lush swell of her breast once more. His lips curved. “Although … that being the case,” he murmured, “we should enjoy this short time given to us.”
Fiona’s legs wobbled slightly beneath her as she followed Ailean through the trees.
The tender skin between her thighs throbbed faintly in the aftermath of their second coupling. There was a slight sting of discomfort—she’d be sore come morning—but she couldn’t bring herself to worry about that.
Not after such pleasure.
She felt drunk on it, as if she’d downed a horn of the strongest mead.
The man had completely addled her wits.
This time, he’d taken her on her hands and knees, plowing into her from behind while his hand slid between her thighs, circling that aching nub of flesh. She’d bitten hard into her lip to keep from screaming her pleasure.
It had been even better than their first coupling.
There’d been no pain at all, and the position had rubbed him against places inside her she hadn’t known existed. There was something animalistic about being taken that way. Primal. And devil take her, she’d loved every lewd moment of it.
As before, he’d withdrawn before the final moment, spilling onto the ground and wiping himself with moss afterward. She’d felt an odd, irrational, disappointment that he hadn’t spent himself inside her, yet was relieved too.
They’d dozed together for a while beside the bubbling burn, listening to the distant sounds of revelry around the Bealtunn fire.
Some folk would remain outdoors until sunrise.
But that wasn’t safe for them. They had to return to the castle … carefully.
At the edge of the thicket, Ailean halted and turned to face her. “Ye lost yer crown of hawthorn blossom.”
Fiona gave a rueful huff. “I lost far more than that.”
His expression sobered. “Ye don’t regret it, do ye?” He stepped closer, his nearness overwhelming.
She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart. “Not yet … although in the cold light of day, I might,” she admitted. “We shall see.”
“I shall never be sorry for it,” he said, his voice husky now. He leaned in, brushing her lips with a soft, lingering kiss that left her aching for more.
That’s because ye’re a man,she thought with a sting of bitterness.Ye have far less to lose than I do.
Ailean had been heady company, yet she noted that he seemed unconcerned about her position at Dounarwyse, or just how great a risk she’d taken tonight.
He handed her the lantern. The oil within was nearly spent, but it still cast a gentle glow. “Take this and go ahead. I’ll wait before following.”
She nodded, grateful for his caution. Though part of her wondered how practiced it was. How many other women had he led into these woods? How many lasses had he taken the same way?
Stop it,she told herself firmly. That path led only to suffering. Ye knew what ye were doing. Ye made yer choice.
