Page 46 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

Because once the words were spoken, they could not be taken back. Once Cameron knew about Sorcha, knew she was being used as a blade pressed to Destiny’s throat, he would act. He would confront her father, tighten his grip on the prisoner, do what lairds did when challenged. And Alexander Gunn would not wait. He never had.

Sorcha’s life balanced on silence.

Destiny felt the weight of it crush her chest, the terrible knowledge that truth, in this moment, was not mercy but danger. To tell Cameron now would be to hand him a firebrand and pray he did not burn the one person she was trying to save. She could not risk righteous anger or wounded pride tipping the scales towards blood.

So she stayed quiet, though it cost her. Let the secret carve its place inside her. Let the lie stand between them a little longer. Better Cameron’s trust wounded later than Sorcha harmed now.

She leaned into him, even as guilt gnawed at her heart, knowing this much at least was true—silence was the only shield she had left.

So, she closed her eyes, her hand sliding down his arm to twine with his. “I am yours,” she whispered, though inside, guilt and desire warred with every word.

And when his lips found hers again, fiercer this time, Destiny knew with aching certainty that she had already lost the battle of truth over desire. Whatever came tomorrow, whatever choice she made about her father’s demand, tonight belonged to Cameron. And in the space of his arms, she realised with a painful clarity, her heart did too.

Cameron’s kiss deepened, no longer tentative but claiming, and Destiny answered him with a fervour that startled even herself. She had never allowed herself to want before, had never been granted desire. Yet here, in Cameron’s arms, she felt the careful walls she had built her whole life begin to crumble.

He drew her back against the pillows, his weight braced above her so as not to crush her, though the strength of him surrounded her on every side. His touch was reverent, almost uncertain, as though she were something fragile. But she was not fragile. She was fire and hunger and longing, and she let her hands move over him with a boldness born of desperation.

If this was all she would have, if tomorrow shattered everything, then tonight must be hers.

Her fingers felt for the clasp at his shoulder, and she pulled the pin free, allowing his tartan to pool at his waist. When her fingers moved on to his belt, he drew a sharp breath but allowed her to unfasten the buckle and set the carefully pleated wool free. He wore nothing beneath his tartan except his fine linen shirt, which he allowed her to push up over his shoulders, then his head, until he was naked before her, bathed only in the golden glow of the candlelight.

His hands moved to the laces at the back of her gown, unfastening them with a slowness that was nearly her undoing. If the gown had not been brand new, she might have suggested he rip it from her body. So, with her breath catching at every heated touch, he removed her gown, her stays, her underskirt, until all that remained was her chemise. Instead of freeing her from the fabric, he cupped her waist with his hands and gently stroked his fingers over the cloth and up her rib cage until he covered her breasts with his palms. Beneath the heat of his touch, her nipples peaked, hardened, and she arched up as a stirring began in the centre of her stomach, flaring out.

“Destiny,” he whispered, her name heavy with more than desire.

It was a vow, a question, a plea. She answered with her lips, her body arching towards him, her soul crying out for the belonging she had never known.

When they were both breathless, he pulled back to gaze at her. Destiny stared into the dark, stormy eyes that held hers. For the first time since they had met, she felt like she was not looking at the man known as the Butcher, or even the laird of the Munros. She gazed at a man whose hazel eyes held as much vulnerability as she felt.

He slid his hands beneath the hem of her chemise and pulled it over her head. The air in the chamber was cool, yet she felt no chill as waves of heat radiated between their bodies. She traced a path of heat down his cheek and neck, then across his shoulder, down his muscular chest. She stopped at the apex of his thighs before she reached his bold erection. She swallowed roughly, and for a moment she felt a shiver of apprehension.

He chuckled. “Never fear, my love. We were created to fit together perfectly. You will see.” Still smiling, he feathered his fingers down her arm to her hand, stroking each digit as though memorising every nuance of her body. A bolt of sensation shot through her womanhood, and she sucked in a startled breath at the intensity such a simple caress could evoke.

“I trust you, Cameron.”

“A gift I do not take lightly,” he replied, his voice ragged.

His heated gaze explored every inch of her skin, and finally when she did not think she could take the tension a moment longer, he leaned forward, allowing his body to brush against hers as his mouth closed over hers with a sweetness, a tenderness, that was devastating. Then his lips left her mouth to slide hotly down her throat.

He pressed a lingering kiss behind her ear, then nipped the tender skin, sending a shiver through her. “You taste as though the sea, the earth, and stars have all been rolled into one,” he murmured against her skin. “Heaven. You taste like heaven.”

His palms engulfed the tender fullness of her breasts, then he sought out her nipples, rolling them gently between his fingers. She gasped at the pleasure and arched against him, letting sensation take the lead as a mindless rush of sensations flooded her senses. His touch was intoxicating. Just when she thought she would die with need, he drew back, giving her a slight reprieve as he kissed a slow, sensual trail of fire across her belly until his hands came to rest on her thighs. The flames of her desire burst into full life as his thumbs stroked the dark thatch of curls between her thighs, parting her flesh, probing the sensitive nub of her womanhood.

She arched up, greeting his caress, then gasped as sharp reverberations echoed deep within her womb. In response, she pulled him to her as she feverishly explored the corded muscles of his chest, his thighs, his hips. Everywhere she touched, she followed with her tongue, greedy to know the taste and feel of him.

As they continued to explore each other, Destiny drew a deep breath of the mingled scents of heather, peat, pine, and musk, pulling them into her memory. It was something she could cling to when the night ended.

Forcing the unwanted thought away, she arched against him and was rewarded as he settled purposefully between her thighs. This moment seemed so right—their coming together as one. Her hands clutched his buttocks, encouraging him forward as he entered her. At first there was resistance, then a flash of bright pain that subsided as quickly as it had come before his warm, throbbing presence filled her fully. With slow, deliberate thrusts, he moved within, coaxing a response from her. She met his thrusts, gasping at each stroke that sent her further into a space in time where only sensation and promise existed.

That promise gathered momentum and overtook all else until an urgency born of flesh and fire and consuming desire burst within. His thrusts came harder, deeper, faster. She moved with him, their bodies mingling as they rushed headlong into the flood of sensations that surged through every fibre of her being. Wrapping her legs around him, she pulled him closer, never wanting to let go.

He plunged into her with a final thrust as deep as life and breath could take him, and the world splintered into hot arcs of pleasure as the promise was fulfilled.

They lay like that, a tangle of arms and legs, beating hearts and ragged breathing as the world drifted down around them again. A short while later, Cameron reached for her once more.

Hours slipped away, marked only by the soft cadence of whispered words and the shifting glow of the fire as it burned low. He was tender when she needed tenderness, fierce when her own need demanded fierceness, but always he was hers—entirely present, entirely aware, as if she were the only woman who had ever lived.

And for the first time in her life, Destiny felt it. Not bargained, not bartered, not bound. Cherished.