Page 117 of The Speed of Lightning
She gave him an arch smile, playful and daring. “Will you have me, my wonderful lad?”
His own heart flared as he brushed his lips to hers. “Are you certain you dinnae want to wait?”
She shook her head. “You’ve waited more than ten years. There will be no more waiting.”
His hands found the clasp of her cloak, lips following the curve of her neck as she fumbled with the door behind her.
At last it gave way, and they tumbled inside, the door slamming behind them.
Chapter 33
GARMORAN, SCOTLAND - MARCH 9, 1387
Freya was roused from sleep by a chill at her back. She turned instinctively toward Calum, only to find the bed beside her empty, the fine linen cool where he had lain. Blinking against the firelight, she sat up searching for him, still craving the closeness they had shared through the long night. Instead of him, she found traces of his care—the room had been quietly restored to order, the fire in the hearth rebuilt, their clothes gathered and folded on top of the trunk. Only one thing remained where it had landed—her chemise, still dangling like a victory banner from the bedpost where it had been catapulted the night before.
The sight stirred a small smile and she rose with a blush to fetch it.Cheeky beggar—though she could understand the sentiment. At last their marriage was whole, her heart at rest. How strange it felt to wake not with a sense of worry, but wonder. She was his wife. The ache in her body reminded her of it, his declarations of the night before still echoing in her heart.
She slid the chemise over her head, then drew his plaid around her as she sank into the deep chair beside the fire feeling reborn. It had been the most stirring night of her life. Carefullyand patiently he had left her doubtless of the love between them. Every laugh, every tear, every moment they shared were all still there, but in their closeness it was transfigured, burnished by something everlasting.
In happiness she drew her legs up, hugging herself. It was as if he had waited years to reveal this side of himself—kissing her not with the gentle affection of recent months, but with a fervor that consumed her. It was the Calum she remembered as a lad, the one who never did anything by half measure, the lad he had long tried to outgrow. The blush rose to her cheeks again and she covered her smile with her hand. She loved it. She loved him. Loved the way he could hurtle from patient to wild in the blink of an eye.
Her heart stilled—except when it put him at risk. When the speed of his will outran everything else around him. A flash of thunderbolts promising swift retribution. For a moment she was back on the beach, watching him strike down the men who had tried to take her—his blows punishing, decisive, fatal.
The gray gloom dawning outside the window pressed in, eerie and foreboding. She would tell him today. God help Papa and Rory when she did.
The door opened. Calum slipped inside, shutting it softly behind him, a tray balanced in his arms. His eyes flicked to the bedpost, then back to her, a boyish look of disappointment tugging at his mouth. “I was hoping that if I left it, you might no’ be able to reach it.”
She chuckled as he strode toward her, then placed a warm, lingering kiss upon her mouth. “Good morning, wife.”
She kissed him again. “Good morning, husband.”
He placed the tray laden with holly, an egg, and a caudle down on the table beside her.
“Did you make this yourself?”
Calum smiled. “Aileen made it. Cara and Aoife did the decorating. I believe they’re near as happy as we are this morning.”
Warmth spread over her face. “I suppose they’re wondering where I am.”
He plopped down upon the rug in front of her, passing a hand over the permanent smile he’d worn since late last night. “I can promise, they’re no’ wondering.”
Embarrassment flooded her and he laughed again, kissing her and drawing her into his lap, his tone victorious. “There’s no getting away from me now. Besides, you ought to be proud. That was?—”
She covered her eyes. “Och.”
He grinned, his finger tracing over her lips. “I was going to say that was a long time coming, mo rionnag.”
Unable to help herself she kissed him again. Cupping his bearded face she tried to imagine him as he used to look, then stilled, realizing his eyes were raking over her with adoration.
“You make me feel pretty when you look at me like that.”
His delight was unguarded. “Lass, you’re more than pretty—now I know you’re the most heart-stopping woman to ever walk the earth.”
He tilted his head toward the tray. I believe there is a gift for you.
Curious, she leaned over and found a small square note—Freya Fair written across the front. She plucked it from the holly. “What is this?”
A nervous look flickered across his face as she opened it, her eyes scanning the contents…and then slowing. Reading. She paused, unable to believe it. “You’ve written this? For me?”
