“Yer hand,” he said.
She blinked. “Me?—?”
He reached gently for her wrist before she finished the sentence and Margaret let him take it. His fingers were warm and firm around her hand, the rough calluses of a swordsman brushing lightly against her skin. The touch sent a sharp shiver racing through her.
Domhnall turned her palm upward.
“There,” he murmured.
Margaret followed his gaze. The splinter-thin scratch across her skin seemed absurdly small now.
“It truly is naething,” she whispered.
He opened the jar anyway. A faint scent of herbs rose into the air as he dipped two fingers into the salve. Margaret’s attention had drifted away from the scratch entirely. She was watchinghim. She was unable to take her eyes off of the dark bend of his head, as he held her hand with surprising care.
When his fingers touched her palm again, this time spreading the cool salve across the scratch, Margaret inhaled sharply.
Domhnall glanced up immediately.
“Did that hurt?”
“Nay.”
Margaret tried to focus on anything other than the man kneeling between her knees. The position was entirely improper. Dangerous, even. His shoulders filled her vision when she looked down. The linen of his shirt pulled slightly across his back as he moved, revealing the powerful shape beneath.
Her body reacted to that awareness with alarming speed. Warmth spread through her.
Margaret watched him as he finished smoothing the salve across the scratch. The longer he remained kneeling there, the more she became aware of how close he truly was, close enough thatshe could feel the heat of him, close enough that if she leaned forward…
Her breath caught again. Domhnall looked up once more. Their eyes met. Margaret felt as though the air itself had thickened between them. His hand still held hers, warm and steady, his thumb resting lightly against the inside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered uncontrollably.
He was close enough that she could see the darker ring around his grey irises and the faint crease between his brows that appeared when he was trying to control something. Margaret realized suddenly that he was trembling, too. The discovery sent a sharp wave of heat through her.
“Domhnall,” she whispered his name like a prayer.
He moved before she could say anything else. The distance between them vanished in an instant. His hand slid from her wrist to her waist as he rose from his kneeling position just enough to lean forward and claim her mouth.
The kiss was not gentle. It was fierce, sudden, and filled with a hunger that made Margaret gasp against his lips.
For a single stunned heartbeat she froze, then she kissed him back. Domhnall made a low sound in his throat, something between relief and surrender, as though the moment had been waiting far too long to happen.
His arms wrapped around her and pulled her toward him as he shifted his weight backward, sitting down onto the floor beside the bed. Margaret followed without resistance.
And then, she was in his lap. The world tilted.
His hands were everywhere, at her waist, her back, her shoulders, holding her close as he kissed her again and again, each kiss deeper than the last. Margaret barely had time to breathe. Her fingers slid into his hair instinctively, gripping the thick strands as she pulled him closer.
He kissed her like a man who had been starving, like a man who had tried very hard not to do it and had finally given up. Margaret felt the same wild urgency rising inside her.
Her hands moved over him without hesitation, across the strong line of his shoulders, down the warmth of his arms, tracing the solid strength of him as though confirming he was real. Domhnall’s breath grew rougher as she touched him.
His hands slid along her back, pulling her closer against him until there was no space left between their bodies. Every touch sent a new shiver racing through her. Her fingers tightened in his hair, as she bit his lower lip, unable to contain the pent-up energy that threatened to tear her apart.
The room felt suddenly too small for what was happening between them. Margaret had never felt anything like it. Nothing could have prepared her for that wild, breathless closeness. Domhnall’s arms held her firmly against him, his mouth stillbrushing hers in slow, heated kisses that made her entire body feel as though it had forgotten how to remain still.
And then, a sharp knock sounded at the door. Both of them froze. Margaret’s forehead rested against his, their breaths mingling in the small space between them as they stared at one another.
The knock came again, louder this time.
