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Whatever it is feels heavy enough to leave a crack in his composure. I shift closer, my shoulder brushing his arm, offering silent reassurance. We’ve always found strength in each other, and I hope he feels it now.
He exhales softly, the sound almost lost to the wind, but I catch it. When he finally turns to me, his dark eyes meet mine. There’s so much there—so much love, fear, and unspoken promise that it steals the air from my lungs. Without a word, he leans in, resting his forehead gently against mine, the world narrowing to just the two of us.
When he pulls back, his hand remains firmly in mine, and he turns his gaze forward, toward the endless expanse of sea stretching into the unknown. The shadows on his face are still there, but so is the fire—the quiet resolve that burns stronger because we’re together.
The toughened sailor from before returns. “Come now. Mistress Curran made it so each of you would have a proper cabin to your name, far better than you might have expected when you first boarded. She’s got her charms where it matters.”
Finn and I exchange uncertain glances before stepping cautiously below deck. The dimly lit corridor leads us to the cabins, and I push open the door to inspect the space. Relief washes over me as I take in the surprisingly tidy quarters. The bed looks sturdy, the bedding clean, and a faint scent of lavender lingers in the air, as if someone had taken care to make the rooms welcoming. There’s even a wooden tub for washing; a rare indulgence aboard the confines of a ship.
“Well, this is a sight better than expected,” Callan mutters, his tension easing as he peaks into my living space before moving ahead to his own. Finn’s guarded expression softens as he steps into my assigned room, his eyes scanning the surroundings.
He leans lazily against the bedframe, though there’s nothing idle about the way his gaze darkens as it drags over me. A wicked smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “You know I’m not sleepin’ alone, aye?”
“Why, Mr MacGregor,” I purr, stepping through the door, each movement slow, deliberate. “Are you inviting yourself into a ladies’ quarters? How very shameless of you!”
Without a word, I reach back, grasping the door and easing it shut, the soft click echoing in the quiet cabin. I bite my lip, my eyes glinting with mischief as I slowly unlatch my cloak, letting it slide from my shoulders.
He makes a low, rough sound in his throat—a sound that speaks of hunger, of want. He does not move away from the bedframe. He waits for me to come to him.
Then his voice dips, husky and unrepentant, meant for my ears alone. “Two weeks at sea. Two weeks of you all to myself in this cabin. And I mean to make every damned second count.”
My lips curve into a slow, seductive smile. I saunter forward, letting my hips sway, watching the way his eyes flick down, how his breath deepens just slightly, how his hands clench at his sides as if he’s already holding himself back.
His eyes darken, and I catch the faint blush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks as I lean up on my toes, my lips brushing his ear. In a voice low and sultry, I whisper, “After I’ve had a bath, I want to find myself on top as you savour me…”
He exhales sharply, spurring me further. “And then…” I let my fingers graze down his chest, featherlight, like a whisper of what’s to come. “I want to see how far down my throat your cock will go.”
Finn’s composure cracks as he grips the edge of the bed frame so hard that the wood creaks. “Gods help me, Triona,” he rasps, his voice rough, trembling with need.
But restraint is not what I want from him tonight. What either of us needs.
His hands are on me before I can draw another breath, his grip firm as he hoists me up with an ease that makes my stomach flip.
His strength is effortless. In a single stride, he moves us to the bed, falling back onto it with me cradled against him. The motion is seamless, his hold unrelenting, and when I find myself straddling his lap, on instinct, the need to press the most intimate part of me to him cannot be ignored.
The hardness beneath me is unmistakable, and when I shift, when I roll my hips against him just slightly, Finn swears low and filthy, his grip tightening at my waist.
“Ye’re a wicked, wicked woman,” he mutters, voice thick with desire.
“Aye, but I’m your wicked woman.”
His chest rises and falls beneath me, his gaze near feral as he reaches up, tangling his fingers in my hair, drawing me down until our foreheads nearly touch.
“Tonight,” he breathes, “I will worship every inch of you, until you cannae remember where you end and I begin.”
And I will let him. I will give myself to him completely—
To lose myself entirely in him; in the cadence of his breath, in the strength of his arms that feel more like home than any place ever could, and in the way his gaze claims me as though I am the sole light in his world.
I ache to claim and be claimed, to leave a mark so indelible that even the stars themselves will sing of it for ages to come. Finnis MacGregor is not merely my love; he is the air I breathe, the pulse in my veins, and the light that pierces shadow.
It is here, entangled in his warmth, that I acknowledge my soul is no longer mine alone but bound irrevocably to his, as if the stars themselves conspired to make us whole.
Part 8 – A Heavy Toll
34
Matron of Secrets
