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Sorcha’s spine arched up as she gave a low cry of wild satisfaction. He pushed into her heat again, and she moved against him, taking him even deeper. He rocked against her, and she felt every stroking glide of his body. Again and again, he claimed her, his body entering and retreating in a fast and furious rhythm that stole her breath and her thoughts.

She scraped her hands up and down his back, along his buttocks, and up the muscular ripples of his chest, feeling his muscles tense with each caress.

Their gazes locked, not in challenge but in mutual satisfaction as he propelled them towards that ultimate release. When the first stirrings of her climax tingled to life and were enveloped in a firestorm of sensation, she closed her eyes, savouring every sensation, every sound.

His breath hitched, and the groans that were low in his throat intensified as he, too, soared towards that peak.

She shuddered, fractured, and climaxed around him in wave after wave of sensation that plunged them over the edge into bliss.

His hips slowed their rocking, then halted, but neither of them had the desire to move, to break the moment. Instead, his arms came around her. He pulled her closer until her forehead rested against his. The thundering of their hearts echoed in her ears.

When their breathing finally slowed, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips before pulling back to gaze into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Aye.” The sound was part word, part exhalation of breath. “That was even more devastating than I imagined it would be.”

He chuckled. “It was everything I had imagined and more.” He gathered her into him, not in possession, but in acceptance, and an answering need that felt less like hunger and more like finally being understood.

The world beyond them faded, leaving only the warmth of his hands, the rhythm of breath shared between them, and the quiet certainty that whatever waited beyond this moment, they were choosing this together.

Chapter Twenty-One

Lemlair had not slept as it usually did. Though the battle was behind them, its presence lingered in the slower rhythm of movement, in the quiet voices that carried through the corridors as men rose, checked in with one another, and set themselves again to the ordinary work of living. The great Yule log, lit the night before, still burned in the hall, its deep, steady heat filling the space with warmth that had not dimmed with the passing of night.

Sorcha felt the difference the moment she stepped into the hall—the quiet strength that had settled into the house. It was no longer braced against what might come. It simply stood.

The household gathered not for celebration, but for breaking their fast together. Bread was passed, along with broth and what remained of the previous evening’s fare. There was little noise at first, only the soft exchange of words and the occasional murmur of acknowledgment as eyes met across the table that they had stood against Calder’s attack.

Sorcha moved among them without hesitation, no longer uncertain of her place. She felt the shift in how she was seen, not as a presence to be measured, but as someone who belonged within the rhythm of the house.

When she turned, Gavan stood near the hearth, his attention on her.

There was something different in his gaze. Not the quiet regard she had come to understand, nor the measured restraint he had once held between them. This was something clearer. Sharper. As though whatever distance remained had been set aside entirely.

Her breath caught.

He did not look away. Instead, he crossed the room. The movement drew little notice at first, the quiet of the morning holding steady, but Sorcha felt the shift in him with each step he took towards her. There was no hesitation in it. No pause to consider or reconsider. Only intent.

“Sorcha,” he said, his voice low, though it carried enough that she could not mistake the weight of it.

She stepped towards him without thinking, drawn as surely as if he had taken her hand.

“Walk with me,” he said.

It was not a command. It was something closer to a need. She nodded, her pulse quickening as he guided her towards the far side of the hall, away from the table, towards a quieter corner where the warmth of the fire still reached, but the voices softened.

Only when they had stepped just beyond the centre of the room did she realise that Colin had gone silent behind them, and Mrs Jacoby arrived with hot Tattie scones, drawing everyone’s attention and allowing the moment to pass without interruption.

Gavan did not seem to notice, or if he did, it did not matter. When they stopped, he did not immediately speak. He simply looked at her, and in that look, she felt something shift so completely that it left no room for doubt.

Her breath stilled.

“I thought to wait,” he continued, his gaze steady on hers. “To give this moment the space it might deserve. To stand before all and speak what should be spoken properly.” His jaw tightened slightly. “But I will not risk another hour of silence.”

Her heart began to pound. “What has changed?” she asked, though she already felt the answer forming between them.

He did not hesitate. “I have.”

The words settled into her, quiet but unshakable.