Page 54 of Promised to the Wicked Laird

"Then ye stood up in that hall," he whispered, his fingers coming up to tangle softly into the damp, dark waves of her hair. "And ye looked at me in the dark when the blood was still wet on the floor, and ye made me want tae live again."

Nandag felt a wave of liquid heat blossom deep in her chest, sweeping away the last lingering chill of the storm. She let the blanket slip slightly from her shoulders, moving closer until there was no space between them.

"Then stop fighting the ghost of yesterday, Fearchar," she murmured, her voice thick with sudden, rising heat. "I am here."

She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his.

The kiss was slow and deep, tasting of salt and mountain rain. Fearchar let out a low, rough groan against her lips, his heavy arms wrapping tightly around her waist, pulling her off the bench and down onto the thick bed of old wool blankets laid out before the hearth.

He shifted above her, his broad chest blocking out the cold drafts of the room, his warm hands tracing the curves of her ribs through the thin, damp linen of her shift. Every touch was electric, sending sharp shivers of heat darting down her spine. He kissed her cheeks, the line of her throat, and the delicate hollow above her collarbone, his breathing harsh and ragged in the quiet hut.

Nandag arched into his touch, her hands sliding up his back, her nails digging gently into the firm muscle of his shoulders. She pulled his head down, her dark eyes wide and heavy with desire.

Fearchar shifted lower down her body. His hands slid beneath the hem of her linen shift, his rough palms tracing up her smooth thighs, gathering the fabric until it rested above her hips. He parted her knees gently, kneeling between them in the soft firelight.

Nandag gasped as his hands smoothed over her inner thighs, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there until she trembled under his weight. He looked up at her, his grey eyes dark with an unyielding intensity, before lowering his head between her thighs.

When his hot, wet mouth made contact with her skin, Nandag’s breath hitched sharply in her throat. She gripped the wool blanket beneath her head as a wave of intense, liquid heat crashed over her. His tongue was deliberate, warm and slow, pressing against her intimate core with an exquisite, rhythmic pressure that made her hips lift unbidden from the blankets.

"Fearchar..." she breathed, her voice a breathless, desperate plea that echoed softly in the small stone room.

He didn't pull away. His hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her steady as he increased the tempo, his tongue sliding over her with expert, relentless strokes. The heat inside her coiled tighter and tighter, a mounting storm that eclipsed the rain hammering on the sod roof outside. Every flick of his tongue sent electric shocks through her veins, building a tight, throbbing ache deep in her abdomen.

Nandag’s fingers tangled wildly into his thick, damp hair, anchoring him to her as the sensation spiraled out of control. Her head fell back, her chest heaving, her inner muscles tightening around the intense focal point of his mouth.

With a final, deep flick of his tongue and the warm pressure of his lips, the coil snapped.

A sharp, breathless cry tore from Nandag’s lips as a powerful orgasm rippled through her, her body shuddering violently beneath his hands.

Waves of intense pleasure washed over her in quick, rhythmic pulses, her hips arching up into his face as she surrendered entirely to the sensation. Fearchar held her firmly, tasting her sweetness, staying with her through every lingering shudder until her hips slowly settled back into the blankets and her ragged breathing began to slow.

Fearchar slid back up her body, his eyes burning with quiet triumph as he looked down at her flushed, radiant face. He pulled her up against his chest, wrapping the heavy wool blankets securely around them both.

Nandag rested her head in the hollow of his neck, her body soft, warm, and entirely relaxed against his solid frame. Outside, the storm continued to rage against the ancient stone walls, but inside, wrapped in the warmth of the fire and each other, there was only peace.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The pale, cool grey of early dawn filtered through the small high window of the shieling, brushing away the shadows of the night.

Nandag woke slowly, cocooned in a heavy, suffocating warmth. For a floating second, the steady thrum against the stone walls felt like the echo of rain, but as her senses cleared, she realized it was the soft, rhythmic rise and fall of Fearchar’s chest beneath her cheek. One of his thick arms was draped heavily over her waist, his broad hand resting against the curve of her hip, anchoring her to him.

Then, the memory of the previous night came rushing back in a sudden, blinding flash.

The firelight. The raw honesty of his voice. The heat of his hands moving over her skin, and the overwhelming, shattering intensity of his mouth between her thighs.

A fierce, burning blush erupted across her face, scorching her cheeks and neck. Her pulse gave a nervous, fluttering leap in her chest. She shifted carefully, trying to slip out from under his heavy arm without waking him, her eyes darting instantly toward the stone hearth.

The fire had died down to a bed of glowing, cherry-red embers, casting a soft orange light over the floor. Hanging on the crude wooden rack beside the chimney, their heavy plaid skirts and shirts hung completely dry, smelling faintly of sweet woodsmoke and oak ashes.

She stared intently at the dry wool, willing her cheeks to cool, her hands clutching the rough wool blanket tightly over her bare chest.

A low, gravelly rasp sounded right beside her ear. "If ye stare at those skirts any harder, lass, they're going to catch fire all over again."

Her head snapped around.

Fearchar was looking at her, his grey eyes heavy with lingering sleep, a slow, wicked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He hadn't moved his arm an inch. The amber embers reflected in his gaze, bright with an unmistakable, amused spark.

"I was nae staring," Nandag muttered, her voice coming out smaller and far more breathless than she intended. She tried to pull the blanket higher, but her awkward movement only made the fabric slip, exposing the bare curve of her uninjured shoulder.