Page 68 of Bound to Her Highland Lord
Breath ragged and heavy, Sorcha fought for control of herself. It was a battle she stood no chance of winning when Oliver trailed his lips down her neck, behind her ear, and to her mouth once more.
“I love ye,” she sighed against him. “I love ye so verra much, Oliver.”
He kissed her in between every word, punctuating them rather effectively. When he titled his head away, letting his forehead rest on hers, she could focus on nothing but him. Herblood soared through her body, her heart pounding in her ears. Her lips swollen and limbs heavy, leaning on him for support.
They had time now. To learn the rest of each other slowly. To finish this kiss a hundred different ways. But for now, this was enough. When he spoke, it was so quiet, so low, so gravely that she would’ve missed it entirely had his words not been pressed to her lips.
“I love you too.”
25
THE GATHERING LIGHT
“It is all right. Ye can let out that breath ye have been holding,” Aila said with a chuckle. “If I dinnae ken better, I would have thought ye were the one getting the stitches, nae me.”
Lachlan bent his head over her hand where he had sat, on her bedside, holding it while the healer worked to clean and stitch and bandage Aila’s wounds. He pressed a kiss to her fingertips, letting his eyes slide closed with relief. As instructed, Lachlan blew out the air that had been trapped in his lungs from the moment he watched the Englishman’s sword come down on his wife.
“Are ye all right? Truly?” he questioned, scanning her face for any lingering signs of pain.
As predicted, she hadn’t made so much as a sound while her torn and ragged skin was sewn back together. Whether her efforts of silence were for his sake or her own, he didn’t know. But he was grateful all the same that it was over with.
“Aye, my love. I am well. Just a wee bit tender, but nothing to make a fuss over. Dinnae fash. Everything is well.”
Her words hung in the space between them, and he realized for the first time, picking his head up to scan the Great Hall,that she spoke the truth. There were no raiding redcoats, men hunting down the women and children hidden within the castle walls. Sounds of battle echoing from the courtyard had ceased. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had heard Oliver’s voice carrying over the grounds, but he hadn’t been paying enough attention to know all that was said.
“He is a traitor,” Lachlan said in a mixture of resignation and relief. “His claims against me, against us, cannae stand.”
“He is dead,” Mary, the old healer Lachlan and Aila had brought into the Kincaid Clan for Arran, what felt like a lifetime ago, said dryly.
Aila’s eyes shot to Lachlan, wide open with shock.
“Did ye nae hear them cry it out just a bit ago?” the wrinkled woman questioned with a faint smile on her thin lips.
“Er— I was a bit preoccupied,” Lachlan admitted, feeling feeble under the weight of the old healer’s stare. “My thoughts were only on Aila.”
“The children,” Aila said at once. “We must see to the children.”
Pushing up from the table, Aila quickly tugged on a clean shirt, not wanting to frighten anyone with a blood-soaked tunic. She wrapped her fingers in Lachlan’s hand, and they left the healer’s surgery, a small and crowded room just off the Great Hall.
“Och, what a mess,” Aila remarked, seeing the rushes coated with spilled blood, the tables and chairs knocked over. “And after we had just finished making everything so nice.”
The Kincaid tapestry, boasting their insignia—a hand armed with a claymore stretching out over the three turrets of Kincaid castle—had been ripped from the wall behind the dais. Lachlan walked to it, the green wool checkered with thick black and thin red lines, in his hands. Already servants and villagers were bustling around the grand room, setting things to rights,cleaning what they could and creating a pile for the things they would have to burn.
“We will hang it again. We will clean it all again,” he told her. “We will rebuild with the hope that this is the last time, for the rest of our lives and the lives of our children and our children’s children, that this castle is ever invaded.”
Rising on the tops of her toes, Aila pressed a kiss to his cheek. Lachlan turned to smile at his lady when movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Sprinting into the hall, proud grins plastered on their faces, were Arran and Christopher. Little Elsie and Edith trailed behind the boys, just as excited.
“Uncle Loch!”
Arran flung himself into his godfather’s arms, squeezing so tight that Lachlan huffed out a wheeze. Christopher piled on behind Arran while Elsie raced into Aila’s arms.
“Och, my loves,” she gushed. “Are ye well? Are ye unharmed? Did ye stay hidden as we asked ye do?”
She pulled Elsie back, examining her top to bottom. Satisfied that the girl was uninjured, she then wrenched Christopher off Lachlan, wrapping him in a tight embrace before checking him as well. By the time she had Arran in her arms, Lachlan had swallowed the lump of emotion in his chest at seeing their family together again.
“Nanny Edith fainted! And Arran jumped on a man’s back. Christopher and I were verra brave. I threw a bear at him, and he passed clean out!”
Elsie’s ramblings, so excitedly put that the words ran together, hardly made any sense.
