Page 42 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

The words sank inside her, warmed her. Before she had time to adjust to that flowering sensation, he trailed his fingers along the lean muscle of her thighs, to her inner thigh, and deep inside her core, bringing her passion to new heights of rapture. She gave a soft cry.

He responded with a single savage groan as he rolled her onto her back, eased his hard thighs between her legs and filled her body with promise and heat.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat at the pain that came as quickly as it eased. Only then did Orrick begin to move, slowly at first, then deeper, filling her more fully with each thrust of his hips. The fire that had smouldered like embers in her belly burst into flame. The heat of it filled her, consumed her, as she sought whatever it was he tried to give her. Helplessly, she moved her hips against his.

Isolde felt as if she teetered on the edge of an abyss, filled with sensations too intense to bear in silence. She could hear breathless cries of pleasure she knew must be hers, but she could no more control them than the mounting waves of honeyed fire that tightened her muscles and arched her back.

Heat spiralled inside her, growing stronger and stronger, until all sensation shattered around her, propelling her into oblivion. A groan escaped Orrick. She held on to him, pulling him with her over the edge of forever.

Every inch of her body, every fibre of her being filled with a warmth and pleasure she had never dreamed possible. In his arms she felt not only safe and protected, but also cherished and consumed. Nothing had ever seemed more natural than having Orrick within her, having his hands caress her body, having his lips upon her own.

He collapsed on top of her, his big body not heavy, only comforting as he nestled his head in the crook of her neck. He lay against her, still intimately entwined, his flesh hot, his breathing heavy.

A shudder ran through her. What had just happened between them? She had never experienced anything so powerful, so all-consuming in her life.

Orrick’s breathing gradually steadied, slowed. The tension in his face slowly eased until a look of contentment settled over him. He rolled to his side, ending their intimate contact. His hand moved to her breast, cupping it gently as though he weren’t ready to release her altogether.

She wasn’t ready for the magic of the night to end either. She’d come to the cave expecting to exile herself forever. And then Orrick had arrived, offering her not only protection, but also a lifetime of bliss. ’Twas a dream come true.

At the thought, a heaviness invaded her chest. Past experience had taught her that dreams ended eventually. She forced the heaviness away, nestling closer to Orrick. The dream was hers for the moment and she would hold on as long as she could. She curled against Orrick’s side and let sleep take her where it would.

As the first light of dawn crept in through the opening of the cave, Isolde woke to the sensation that someone was watching her again. Easing off the bed, so as not to wake Orrick, she found her clothing and put it on before she found her bow and quiver, then moved towards the opening.

Drawing an arrow from her quiver and setting it to her bow, Isolde stepped outside. Staying hidden behind the trees and the shelter she’d built, she scrutinised the open moorlands. She saw the tents Graeme and his men had set up, but no one yet stirred. When nothing else appeared, she relaxed her hand on the string of her bow. Why did it always feel as if someone or something was close by, yet she was unable to see anything?

She pressed her lips into a thin line as she headed back inside the cave. At least she could be certain the English had not found her. From what she’d learned about them as their captive, they would not hide their presence. Nay, they would strike her down the moment she showed herself.

Inside the cave, she paused, waiting for the silence to fill her mind as it always did when she entered her home. This morning that silence eluded her. Instead she heard the soft sound of Orrick’s breathing. A smile came to her lips before it faltered. Would her brother forgive her? If he did, would he disapprove of her marrying a MacLeod? Their clans were allies, and a tightening of that bond could only help the Nicolson clan. Or, would her brother’s heart have hardened against her permanently? Would he take his revenge on her and ruin her only chance at happiness?

At the thought, Isolde realised that her hands were suddenly trembling. She tightened her grip on her bow, then drew a slow, deep breath until she felt the tension in her body ease and her inner turmoil fade.

If her brother did not give them his blessing, then Orrick would most likely marry her anyway. On that thought she crept back to the bed and, setting her bow and quiver beside her, slipped beneath the pelt and curled against Orrick’s side, intending to sleep some more. As the cool morning air acted as a balm to her thoughts, she closed her eyes.

Orrick’s arms came around her, warm and sheltering. With him she felt safe, cared for, even . . .

Isolde refused to let the sentiment form. It was too soon for such thoughts. Too many things remained unsettled between them. She knew her purpose. “I defend Scotland as a warrior,” she whispered into the silence. She would go to war and fight for what she believed in. Even wounded warriors went on, as she’d discovered at Dunvegan. She had to keep fighting because it was her duty to do so.

But what about Orrick? The man who held her in his arms had left permanent fingerprints on her soul. If he chose not to pick up his sword again, would she be strong enough to fight for both of them when the English came for her?

She knew without a shadow of doubt they would come. And soon. Her time upon this earth might be short. Even so, she would not go out without a fight.

The question was, would Orrick stand with her?

*

Alastair and Tormod placed torches against two burial pyres that held the remaining bodies of the Englishmen. Night had fallen, and the sky filled with a million stars. Alastair hoped those stars would guide these men to their eternal reward. After reciting an ancient Celtic blessing, Alastair and Tormod returned to the waiting arms of their wives along the shores of Loch Dunvegan as together they watched the flames devour the men’s remains. Rowena, Callum, Becks, and Mrs Morgan were there as well. They stood in silence as a light breeze teased the flames to burn hotter and brighter.

They remained on the shore until the flames began to die down. Alastair pulled Gwendolyn closer, grateful that today had a different ending than the one the dead men had expected.

As though sensing the direction of his thoughts, Gwendolyn turned in his arms. “Do you think Orrick found Izzy?”

“He’s the best tracker of us all. I’m certain he did,” he said, trying to comfort his wife.

“Then why haven’t he and Graeme returned? It’s been hours.”

“Orrick and Graeme are both wise. They know ’tis safer to travel by daylight.”

“We should send out a contingent of men in the morning to make certain no one is watching the castle,” Tormod suggested.