Page 68 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
Her climax slowly started to ebb when Struan groaned, low and deep. She felt his muscles stiffen and felt him swelling inside of her, making her tighten even more around his shaft.
“Bleedin’ hell,” he said through gritted teeth.
The words had barely cleared his lips when she felt his staff twitch and a moment later, he erupted. She felt him throbbing and pulsing as he emptied himself into her. They clung together, enveloped in a thick, warm bubble of pleasure and bliss and for a long moment, the only sound in the chamber was the crackle and pop of the fire.
Struan stared down at her, holding her gaze as he slipped out of her. He rolled off Isolde and flopped onto his back, pulling her closer to him. She laid her head on his bare chest, biting her bottom lip, unable to keep the smile from her lips and the lightness from her heart, she traced circles on his flat, rippled belly with the tip of her finger.
She had never thought she’d feel so good. Had never thought giving herself to somebody would be so… beautiful. And she had never dared imagine that being with a man could make her feel lighter than air. And yet, Struan had made her feel all that and so much more.
“I love ye, Isolde. And there is nay force in this world that can take me away from ye.”
Struan ran his fingers through her hair as she nestled against him. Isolde placed a soft kiss on his chest and felt her heart beating wildly.
“I love ye too, Struan,” Isolde answered, her decision made.
And I will never dae anything stupid again that could separate us.
CHAPTER 29
Murdoch Mackintosh sat behind the desk in his study reading reports from his men, frowning. As usual, there was no good news to be had. He shuffled through the parchments on his desk, searching for a response to his offer from the Camerons but was disappointed yet again to see one had not arrived.
With a growl of frustration, he swept the parchments off his desk and sat back. He drank deeply from his cup of wine and tried to figure out his next move when the door to his study flew open, crashing hard into the door behind it. Murdoch leapt to his feet as Dougal stormed in, his face twisted in fury.
“What the hell are ye playin’ at, Mackintosh?”
Murdoch stared at him blankly as the enraged man came around his desk and grabbed him by the front of his tunic. Dougal shook him like a rag doll, his face red and spittle glistening on his lips and chin. Murdoch’s mind raced, trying to understand the man’sanger. But he knew the one thing he could not do was allow this man to manhandle him that way.
Grabbing Dougal by the wrists, he bent them back at an awkward angle, trying to break his grip. But he only tightened it and pushed him back, slamming Murdoch into the stone wall behind him. The back of Murdoch’s head rapped off the stone, making him bite the inside of his cheek painfully and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.
His own rage building, he drove his fist into Dougal’s stomach. The man had not been expecting it, and the breath left his lungs with a loud “oomph.” As he doubled over, his grasp on Murdoch’s loosened. He seized Dougal’s wrists again and quickly bent them backward, drawing a pained yelp from the man. When he let go of his tunic, Murdoch gave him a two-handed shove in the chest that drove him backward.
He briefly considered grabbing the dagger from his desk and ending the volatile man right then and there. But he stayed his hand. He needed him for the moment. Instead, he stood his ground and waited for Dougal to catch his breath. When the man stopped wheezing, he stood up and glared at Murdoch, his eyes narrowed.
“Now, what are ye goin’ on about?” Murdoch demanded. “Why are ye stormin’ in here like this?”
“Ye’re playin’ a very dangerous game with me,” Dougal hissed.
“I’ve got nay idea what ye’re talkin’ about.”
“Ye dinnae want tae make a fool of me, Murdoch,” Dougal growled low. “I promise ye that the consequences will be dire.”
Murdoch’s anger ebbed slightly, replaced by a curiosity that was growing faster than a wildfire. Something had happened to set Dougal on this enraged path, and he wanted to know what it was. He motioned to the chair that sat before his desk.
“Have a seat,” he said.
“I dinnae want?—”
“Sit down, Dougal.”
Murdoch’s voice was colder than the glare he leveled at Dougal. The man muttered darkly under his breath but he sat down heavily in the chair. Murdoch walked to the small table in the corner and poured a cup of wine and brought it back. Dougal glared at him but didn’t take the cup.
“I didnae come here tae drink,” he hissed.
“Drink it.”
He finally snatched the cup from Murodch’s hand and took a drink. Shaking his head to himself, Murdoch made his way back to his chair and sat down behind his desk. He picked up his own cup and took a long swallow.
“Now,” he said. “What is this all about?”
