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“Ye decided I deserved a peaceful life, away from Blackthorn Keep.”

“I did.”

Mabel moved closer, closing the physical distance between them on the mattress. She reached out, her small, warm hands gripping his bare, scarred shoulders.

“Ye never let me decide,” Mabel said softly.

The words struck him directly in the center of his chest, carrying the absolute, undeniable truth. He had taken her agency away. In his desperate, misguided attempt to protect her from his own darkness, he had stripped her of her right to choose her own path. He had treated her heart as a tactical problem to be solved, rather than a gift to be cherished.

Caelan looked at her small hands resting against his skin. He felt the profound, electric heat radiating from her touch.

“I ken,” Caelan admitted, his voice dropping into a harsh, vibrating whisper. He brought his hands up, wrapping them securely around her waist to anchor her against him. “And it is the greatest mistake I have ever made. I was a coward, Mabel. I was terrified of ruining ye, and in doing so, I nearly lost ye to a snake like Fergus Comyn. I will spend the rest of me life making up for the tears I caused ye.”

Mabel smiled. It was a soft, brilliant expression that illuminated the gloomy, gray light of the stone chamber.

“Do ye ken what I keep thinking?” Mabel asked quietly, her thumbs gently tracing the heavy muscles of his shoulders.

“Tell me,” Caelan murmured, mesmerized by the warmth in her eyes.

“I keep thinking about me father,” Mabel said, her voice filled with a profound, quiet reverence. “He was a brilliant tactician. He knew exactly how the surrounding clans operated.”

Caelan listened intently, the mention of William Crawford bringing a solemn respect to the conversation.

“Maybe Papa knew better than either of us,” Mabel continued softly, tilting her head slightly. “He knew exactly who ye were, Caelan. He knew the stories. He knew the blood on yer hands. He knew ye were older, and he knew ye lived in a fortress built for war. But he sent me to ye anyway.”

Caelan frowned slightly, processing the thought. “He sent ye to me because he knew me sword was the only one fierce enough to keep ye breathing.”

“Maybe,” Mabel agreed, her smile widening just a fraction of an inch. “But maybe.… when he placed me in yer hands, he wasnae only asking ye to protect me. Maybe this was what he hoped would happen all along.”

The sheer magnitude of the thought was something Caelan could not comprehend.

William Crawford had been a wise man. Perhaps he had sent his daughter here to save her life, but perhaps he had also meant something more.

Caelan stared at Mabel, overwhelmed by the sheer depth of his affection for her.

If that is true,” Caelan said quietly, “then I owe William Crawford far more than me life.”

Mabel laughed, soft and unsteady, and wound her arms around his neck.

“Ye owe him nothing,” Mabel corrected fiercely, leaning her forehead against his. “Because I am choosing ye. I am choosing the Black Laird. I am choosing the scars, the fortress, and the man underneath it all. I daenae want a gentle man, Caelan. I want ye.”

A rough, ragged sound tore its way out of Caelan’s chest.

He did not hesitate for a single second longer. He moved his hands from her waist, sliding them forcefully up her spine, his long fingers tangling deep into the messy, golden-blonde waves at the back of her head. He pulled her flush against his bare chest, eliminating the space between them.

He captured her lips with his own.

The kiss was incredibly sweet, lacking the desperate, violent panic that had fueled their embrace in the solar the night before. This was a kiss of absolute, profound surrender. It was a promise forged in the quiet light of the morning.

Caelan moved his mouth slowly against hers, tasting the warm, sleepy sweetness of her breath. He slanted his head, deepening the kiss with a gentle, reverent pressure, demanding nothing but offering everything he had. He swept his tongue across her lower lip, coaxing her to open for him.

Mabel yielded instantly. She parted her lips with a soft, involuntary sigh, pressing her soft body closer to the hard, unyielding muscle of his chest. Her fingers tightened in the dark hair at the nape of his neck, holding him exactly where she wanted him.

He kissed her deeply, exploring the soft heat of her mouth with a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent a wild, electric fire shooting straight through his veins. He tasted the absolute certainty of her choice. He felt the fierce, unyielding MacAllister loyalty pouring from her into him, filling the cold, hollow spaces he had carried inside his chest for ten years.

Caelan shifted his weight, pulling her fully across his lap. He wrapped his massive arms around her, cradling her securely against his body as if she were the most precious, fragile treasure in the entire world.

He trailed his lips away from her mouth, pressing hot, lingering kisses to the corner of her lips, her jawline, and the soft, sensitive skin just beneath her ear. He inhaled the sweet scent of her lavender soap, letting it overwrite the smell of blood and rain that usually haunted his mornings.