Page 51 of Bound to Her Highland Lord
“And I ken that ye only made the deal with Dudley because ye did nae have any other option if ye wanted to save me.”
“Aye,” he told her again, still gruff with restrained emotion.
“I need ye to ken,” she said more firmly, stepping away just enough for him to pick up his head, so their eyes could meet once more. “I trust ye. Completely.”
His shoulders sagged, as if she had removed a heavy burden from his back, giving him relief, he so desperately needed.
“I dinnae think ye a spy,” she continued. “I dinnae think ye are colluding with the Baron. I think ye would give every last thing ye have to stop this war. Ye have proven it in coming here. Ye sharing with us all ye ken could verra well cost ye everything, but ye did it anyway. The others will come around. They simply need the chance to get to ken ye as I have. Regardless of what they think, I trust ye.”
Oliver nearly staggered under the weight of her words. It wasn’t until she had spoken that he realized just how badly he needed her to trust him, needed her to know that he wasn’t the kind of man the others thought he was. He couldn’t find the words to explain to her how much her trust meant, how muchshemeant to him. So he did the only thing he could think of—he kissed her.
There was a slowness, a sweetness to this kiss that he hadn’t yet known from Sorcha. His lips lingered on hers as his hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her firmly into him. Her fingers moved from gripping the front of his jacket to weaving into his hair, as if she couldn’t get close enough, as if she never wanted to let him go.
He urged his body to say all the things he hadn’t been able to get out, to whisper how much she meant to him; to convince her that they had a chance at a future together, this impending war be damned.
His thoughts froze.
It wasn’t until now, when she was wrapped in his arms, kissing him farewell, that Oliver realized the true depth of his feelings.
I love her.
The words slid into place, a key fitting into its lock.
His grip tightened on her, afraid that she had been able to hear his mind, that his realization would send her running for the hills. But she met his pace, fervor for fervor. Not once did she pull away or try to untangle herself from him. She merely tightened her own grip and rose to the tips of her toes, seeking out more closeness. He gave it to her.
Keeping their bodies close, Oliver spun her around, easing her backwards until her spine rested on the stable wall. He crowded her in, blocking out all light, all sound, all sign of anything and anyone else from penetrating their world. He didn’t know how long they stood there like that, embracing the other like their lives depended on it. He was completely and utterly lost in the essence of her, kissing her with all the love he had only just discovered he had for her.
“Sorcha,” he all but moaned.
His breath came in rasps, her flushed cheeks and swollen lips nearly driving him to kiss her again. But before he could lose himself in her arms once more, he needed her to know how he felt.
She kept her arms hanging loosely around his neck, her eyes drifting shut with ease. Oliver dropped his forehead to hers. Their breaths, their heartbeats synchronized as they stood there and Oliver knew there was no other choice for him.
“I am not going anywhere,” he murmured.
Her eyes fluttered open, her surprise clearly marked.
“But, Oliver?—”
Any protest she might have issued was cut off, the sound of a horn interrupting her.
He spun on his heel, looking at the door for the first time since he walked into the stable.
“What was that?”
It blasted again, then a third time. Long, low notes that bellowed across the courtyard. He was sure the entire clan would have been able to hear such a noise.
“Sorcha, what was that?”
When he looked back at her, that delectable flush from her cheeks had vanished. Her face was ashen, her eyes wide and unblinking.
“Intruders,” she whispered.
Oliver swore fluently. Had his mother been there, he would have been sure to get a boxing on the ears. He could only say a prayer of thanks that she was not, if only because it meant she wasn’t in danger.
“They are here,” Sorcha said in horror. “Ye have to go. Ye must leave now if ye are going to make it back to yer mother, yer people.”
He grabbed her hand, already pulling his sword out with the other.
