Page 73 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
It did not take long for him to rediscover what she liked most, flicking his tongue in quicker strokes, teasing her swollen bud toward her explosive conclusion with the pulse of his fingers.
Within a matter of minutes, her body seized as if it had been possessed by the very entity of pleasure. One hand gripped a fistful of his cloak while the other grabbed his arm, her neck arching and her eyes closing as the wave overtook her, cresting through her entire being with such force that he could almost see the ripples.
His tongue rolled in slower strokes, his fingertips slowing with them as she chased her conclusion to its end. Only then did he pull away, kissing his way back up her relaxed and trembling body until he found her lips, and then kissed her leisurely.
Her arms looped around his neck, pulling him to her. With a smile that he could not seem to get rid of, he wrapped his arms around her in return and rolled onto his back, pulling her to his side and allowing himself the privilege of holding her. Even if it was just for a moment.
“If it’s of any comfort,” she said quietly, once she had caught her breath, “I dinnae think I’m goin’ to catch me death of cold anymore. Ye’re surprisingly warm for someone so cold.”
He let out a soft, sleepy laugh. “Dinnae tell anyone. Ye’ll ruin me reputation.”
“I promise,” she whispered, resting her head on his chest.
He closed his eyes. “I’m glad ye’re feelin’ warmer after yer reckless swim.”
She chuckled and draped her arm over his stomach, clinging to him in a way he rather liked—though he would never admit it.
“Doughall?” she said a few moments later.
He grunted in reply.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about that letter that was lost,” she continued hesitantly. “With the threat Lewis left and everythin’ after, I had… sort of put it out of me mind. But… I keep wonderin’ where it went, where it ended up… and, I suppose, who wrote it.”
Doughall cracked open one eye, staring down at her. “That’swhat ye’re thinkin’ about?”
“I cannae help it.” She shrugged, her expression shy. “It was… such a strange letter, and I dinnae care for unsolved mysteries. It’ll bother me ‘til the day I die, I imagine.”
“Strange in what way?”
She peered up at him. “Well… it said, ‘If I cannae have ye, neither can he.’ That’sallit said, and I still cannae tell if it was some kind of jest or the words of a jealous suitor or… some kind of threat.”
An uneasy feeling wriggled in Doughall’s stomach, his sleepiness swept out of the way. He doubted he could have felt more alert if he had dunked himself in the loch. To him, the note sounded unmistakably like a threat, but he found it difficult to believe that someone could have written something like that to his mother without repercussions.
The men on the shore… The men who killed them both. What if the note came from one of them?
He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, for even if the note had come from one of those men, it was gone. If all it had contained were those seven words, it was as good as having no clues at all, leaving him where he had started. And he would not get his hopes up for vengeance again, running off on a wild goose chase that led nowhere. Not when he had someone else to protect now, someone who was becoming dearer to him by the moment, someone who would not like being left behind.
“What doyethink it means?” Freya asked.
He sat up slowly, brushing a stray dusting of grass seeds from her hair. “I dinnae think it means anythin’ to us,” he said calmly. “The books in that library came from all over. It probably belonged to someone far from here. Dinnae trouble yerself over it.”
“But—”
“Come,” he interrupted, reaching for his plaid. “Ye need to sleep. Ye’ve got a weddin’ to worry about instead.”
He belted the dyed wool quickly and pulled his shirt back over his head, before helping Freya to her feet. He helped her back into her clothes, noticing as he did so that the moon had gone behind a cloud and the fireflies had vanished.
As he fastened her cloak at her throat, she looked up at him with a pensive expression and asked in a quiet voice, “About the weddin’.” She paused. “Do ye think ye’ll ever change yer mind about bairns?”
He tied the cord in a knot. “Why do ye ask? Will ye run if I say I willnae?”
“Nay, but… what happened before,” she replied, dropping her chin, her eyes downcast, “I liked the way it… felt, though it was just… um… for a moment. I like the way… ye make me feel when ye… touch me. And since ye already broke yer promise to me braither, I wondered if… maybe ye’d be willin’ to break yer promise to yerself, too. Break it fully, I mean, nae just… a bit.”
She blushed furiously, looking anywhere but at him. Despite the words of the note that had been circling in his head, he smiled and admired her courageous embarrassment. It had clearly taken a lot for her to say that, and as he replayed her words in his mind, the strangest thing happened.
A laugh, a real laugh, bubbled up from the depths of him, escaping his lips.
Freya gasped softly, her attention snapping back to him. “I did it,” she whispered, seemingly to herself.
