Page 68 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
“Good, let me pleasure ye,” he groaned.
She threw her head back as the tremor tore through her. Everything shuddered as she moaned loudly in release.
Declan moved his hips faster, pounding against her skin. As though her moans brought him to the brink, he released with a loud echoing groan.
She felt the flood of his juices inside of her. When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, both breathless.
Isabelle smiled softly, her fingers tracing idle circles on his chest.
“Ye ken,” she whispered, “I never thought I’d find home in another person.”
He looked down at her, his eyes dark and tender. “Then I’ll spend the rest of me life provin’ that ye have.”
He drew her close again, and they lay tangled together beneath the warmth of the furs, hearts steady and slow.
Outside, the wind swept over the loch, carrying with it the faint promise of snow. Isabelle was deep in blissful thought.
I am a true wife at last.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I've lost control.
The thought of hurting Isabelle twisted in his gut, old memories clawing at his chest like ghosts he’d never truly buried. His father’s voice still echoed from the past, cruel and cold, reminding him of the monster blood that ran through his veins.
“What if I’m nae any better?” he muttered to himself, eyes fixed on the window in his study.
If she carried his child now… the thought made his heart lurch, not from fear of fatherhood but of what he might pass down—his temper, his shadow, his sins.
He stood abruptly, pushing back his chair. The air in the study felt too thick, too heavy to breathe.
He needed to clear his head. He needed space. And so, Declan left the study, striding down the stone corridors toward the barracks.
The sound of steel clashing in the training yard greeted him, the smell of sweat and leather grounding him for the first time that day.
Killian was there, barking orders at two younger guards before spotting Declan.
“Me Laird,” Killian called, straightening as he approached, a knowing grin creeping over his weathered face. “Ye look like a man who’s nae had a peaceful morn.”
Declan snorted. “Aye, ye might say that. I’ll be sleepin’ here the night.”
Killian’s brows shot up, grin widening. “Och, trouble with the missus, is it? Did Lady McCallum finally toss ye out of yer own chamber?”
Declan gave him a sharp look, though his mouth twitched despite himself.
“Watch yer tongue, Killian, or I’ll have ye cleanin’ stables ’till the next season. I simply thought to spend some time with me men, show camaraderie.”
Killian laughed, clearly unconvinced. “Aye, camaraderie. I’ve heard it called worse, me Laird . Will ye be wantin’ ale brought out then? I cannae imagine the men refusin’ such noble reason for drink.”
Declan nodded. “Bring out the caskets of ale. Have long tables set up outside. The men deserve a night to unwind. They’ve earned it.”
Killian clapped him on the shoulder, his grin softening into something more genuine.
“Aye, that they have. Ye’ve been ridin’ them hard since the bandit attacks began. A night by the fires will raise their spirits.”
As the day waned and the sun bled into the horizon, the barracks courtyard came alive with the sounds of laughter and the clatter of mugs.
Great casks of ale were rolled out, tapped, and poured until the air smelled of barley and smoke.
