Page 99 of Fang & Fury

And through it all, Ailsa clung on.

This was what she craved. A taste of the man she loved.

Ailsa woke before he did.

For a moment, she simply lay there, enjoying the looseness of her limbs, the weight of Darach’s arm slung across her, and the faint copper taste of his blood still on her tongue. After a night like that, she’d expected to find herself exhausted and lazy in the morning—yet here she was, wide awake, and already turning the coming day over in her mind.

Propping herself up on one elbow, she studied Darach. His jaw was rough with a night’s growth, his throat marked where she’d fed from him.

Her stomach dipped at the sight of it.

He stirred then, and his eyes opened. “You’re staring,” he murmured sleepily.

“I’m allowed.”

His mouth curved, slow and warm. “Sleep well?”

“Better than I have in a long while.” She trailed her fingers over the cut at his throat. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really.”

She hesitated. “You weren’t afraid?”

“No,” he replied, holding her gaze. “I trust you, Ailsa. In truth, it was exciting. All of it was.”

Smiling, she gave a slow and satisfied stretch, arching her arms above her head.

Darach made a sound low in his throat, and when she looked down at his face, she caught the glint in his eyes as he stared up at her bared breasts.

“No time for that,” she murmured, giving his hand a playful slap as he reached for her. “It must be almost dawn.”

Slipping out of the sleeping nook, she scooped up her clothes from the floor.

Meanwhile, Darach muttered an oath under his breath. “Surely, we don’t have to get up yet?”

“We do.” She pulled on the tunics over her head and retrieved her belt, buckling it around her waist, before meeting his eye once more. Her mood then sobered. “Remember what I said last night, Darach … I need to take this slowly.”

His gaze never wavered. “And I meant what I said. Take as long as you want.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and then warmth suffused her chest. “Thank you.” She bent then, retrieving her boots. “Now get your arse out of the furs. There’s a war to win.”

A horn vibrated through Duncrag at that moment, deep and sudden.

Darach cursed, sitting up fast. “That’s the muster call.”

“I told you it was time.” Ailsa was already hauling on her boots. Last night would stay with her forever, but she couldn’t dwell on it now.

Right now, they had to move.

Controlled chaos reigned inside the yard before the broch.

Waiting for Darach to lead Rùn from the stables, Ailsa stood in the midst of it all, taking it all in.

Sounds crashed over her—leather creaking, hooves striking earth, dozens of voices rising and falling. Her senses, so much sharper these days, caught every scent in the yard too: fresh sweat, oiled iron, the yeasty warmth of bread from the kitchens, and peat smoke curling up from somewhere behind the walls.

She let it all in, and something in her chest settled. This was life—loud, urgent, and alive—and she was part of it.

Horses, dogs, and warriors were everywhere, as were supply wagons. Servants carried out the last barrels, baskets, and wooden boxes to the wagons before covering them with sheets of hide to keep the rain out. It wasn’t raining presently, thank The Five, although the sky was leaden, foreboding, as if the weather knew what was coming.