Page 93 of The Laird who Craved her

Claire searched his face as though seeing him for the first time. The man who had crossed the Highlands believing he was toolate. The man who had just placed his heart into her hands without asking for anything in return.

Her own heart answered before her mind could. She closed the small distance between them, slowly, carefully, until she could hear the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Her hands came to rest against his chest, warm beneath the linen of his shirt. She felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms.

Finn didn't move. He simply watched her. Claire smiled through the tears still clinging to her lashes. "I've wanted to do this since the day ye sent me away."

Before courage could fail her, she rose onto her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

Finn drew a slow breath. For one suspended heartbeat, he remained perfectly still, as though afraid that returning the kiss too quickly might frighten her away. Then one hand settled carefully against the curve of her waist. The other lifted to cradle her cheek with infinite tenderness.

He kissed her back. Unhurried. Every bit as gentle as the first snowfall settling over the Highlands.

Claire leaned into him with a soft sigh. The weeks of fear, longing, and uncertainty seemed to melt away with every passing moment. She no longer had to wonder if he cared. She no longer had to guess what lay hidden behind his quiet glances. He was here, and he loved her.

When they finally drew apart, neither of them moved very far. Their foreheads rested together.

Claire smiled. "I think ye've become rather good at kissing me."

A quiet laugh escaped Finn. "I've had an excellent teacher."

She laughed, the sound warm and light, and he realized he hadn't heard that laughter since before she'd left Rosewood. He hadn't realized how desperately he'd missed it. His thumb brushed gently across her cheek, avoiding the fading bruise.

"I've dreamt of hearing that laugh again."

Her smile softened. "So have I."

"Come with me."

Claire looked into his eyes. There was no urgency there. No demand. Only quiet hope. She answered by intertwining her fingers with his.

Together, they left the study. The corridors of Rosewood were unusually still. Most of the household had already retired for the evening; Finn's hand remained steady around hers. Neither of them hurried. Outside, twilight had settled over the Highlands, bathing the hills beyond the windows in shades of deep blue and silver.

Claire stopped beside one of the windows. The glen stretched peacefully below. "So much happened," she whispered.

Finn stepped beside her. "Aye."

"I scarcely recognize the woman who first rode through those gates."

He smiled gently. "I do." She looked at him in surprise, and he brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "She's still there. She's simply found the courage she'd carried all along."

Emotion tightened her throat. "I was frightened. I still am."

His expression softened. "So am I."

She searched his face. "Ye?"

He nodded. "Loving someone means there's suddenly something precious enough to lose." He took a slow breath. "But I'd rather live with that fear than another day pretending I daenae love ye."

Claire leaned her head against his shoulder. For a while they simply stood together, watching the last light disappear beyond the mountains. No words were needed.

When they finally turned away from the window, the quiet peace of the corridor gave way to a deeper, more urgentcurrent pulsing between them. Finn didn’t just take her hand; he gathered her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly against his broad chest. Claire gasped, a thrill of anticipation shooting through her veins as he carried her down the hall toward his own bedchamber.

He kicked the heavy oak door shut behind them, plunging the room into the soft, flickering glow of the hearth fire. Letting her slide slowly down his body, Finn’s gaze darkened with a raw, primal hunger that stole the breath from her lungs. "I have spent a week terrified I would never touch ye again," he rasped, his large hands coming up to cradle her face.

"I am here," Claire whispered, her trembling fingers eagerly working the laces of his linen shirt. "I am entirely yours."

The words hung between them like a held breath, and then Finn moved.

Not with the frantic hunger of their first kiss against the wall. Not with the desperate heat of the morning he'd pressed her into the furs. This was different, slower, reverent, as if she were something sacred.