Page 20 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)

T he longer he held Emily, the more Gryffe realized what a damned fool he had been. His one , the woman of his vision, had been in front of him all along, and he had allowed his dislike and distrust of his mother to blind him.

“Forgive me, my precious one,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

“I am most definitely not needed here,” Nicnevin announced. “I shall be in the kitchens inspecting the maids I sent over from the kingdom.”

Gryffe buried his face in the soft curve of Emily’s neck and filled his lungs with the deliciousness of her scent. “Ye have consumed me like a raging fire. I shouldha known ye were my heart’s wish.”

“Bedelia insisted I had a fated mate. I didn’t believe her,” Emily murmured as she held him tighter.

“Now, I know what Jessa meant. All the powerful feelings she described.” Her delicate laugh, like the calming sound of a bubbling stream, shifted her in his arms. “Jessa told me the first realization was so intense it was almost painful. She was right.”

He grazed kisses along her sweet skin. “Aye, ’tis almost painful—the wanting. The need to be whole again.”

She loosened her embrace and leaned back; her smile soft, almost shy.

“Mairwen says fated mates’ souls are sometimes separated by those wishing to harm the Highland Veil.

They think that if they can keep us apart long enough and make sure we don’t find each other in successive lives, that will cause the Veil to weaken even faster.

Maybe that’s how your soul ended up in this reality—or how my soul ended up in mine. ”

He cupped her cheek and allowed himself to sink into her gaze. “We found each other now. ’Tis all that matters.”

“You’re no longer afraid to love me?”

The hesitancy in her eyes pulled at his heart.

He leaned in and whispered, “I no longer fear anything other than losing ye. I shall love ye through eternity—maybe even longer if I discover a way to do so.” He sealed the vow with the kiss he had longed for ever since the first taste of her lips.

The urge to complete their bond, reunite their souls, crackled through him like wildfire.

She clung to him, holding tighter as she hungrily kissed him in return, just as eager to meld their connection, make their union complete.

He lowered her back among the pillows and stretched over her, eager to worship her as she deserved, but everywhere he touched, he felt clothing rather than the perfect silkiness of her skin. “How many feckin’ layers did Inalfi dress ye in?”

She treated him to a sultry, almost purring laugh while fumbling with the belt that wrapped around her waist twice. With a maddening wiggle that nearly undid him, she fought to kick off her boots. “You told her to dress me warmly.”

“Aye, I did at that.” He debated on drawing his dagger and cutting her out of her clothes. Lore, he needed this woman like he had never needed a woman before. He reached down to help her with the straps on her fur lined footwear and came up short. “Ye’re wearing trews under yer skirts?”

She gave him a look that made him want her even more.

“You told Inalfi the weather was going to be bad.” She pushed him away and scooted off the bed.

“I know this isn’t romantic, but I am about to burst into flames.

We need to speed to nakedness and enjoy slow romance later.

” Tossing her belt to the floor, she backed up to him while tugging on the laces of the decorative wristlets Inalfi had seen fit to have her wear.

“Undo me in the back while I work on the front.”

“Gladly, m’lady.” It was time for the dagger.

He drew it from his boot, sliced the lacing, then shoved the heavy velvet gown off her shoulders.

“I can bear this no longer.” He tossed the knife aside, ripped off her layers of petticoats, tore away her corset, then rent her chemise in two, and tossed the tatters aside.

She slowly turned, wearing nothing but those damn leather trews. “You are very hard on clothes, you know?”

“Aye, verra hard.” Her breasts were just as perfect as he had known they would be. “The trews, lass. Off with them as I rid myself of these clothes that separate us.”

Eyes smoldering, she kept her gaze locked with his as she unbuttoned the waist, let the trews drop, then kicked them away.

He almost fell to his knees.

“You are still dressed,” she said, the sultry throatiness of her voice as exciting as a caress. She smiled and reached for his belt. “Let me help you.”

Layer by layer, they tore off his coat, kilt, trews, and tunic until he stood before her as bare as the day he was born. When the tip of her tongue raced across the fullness of her lips, he groaned and pulled her against him, hissing as their flesh finally touched, nothing but skin to skin.

“Take me,” she said, with breathless urgency. “Take me now.”

“But—” He didn’t want her to think him a rutting beast. He wanted to worship her and make her know how he adored her beyond all reasoning, and there was her injury to consider. “Yer bruised arse, m’lady.”

“Let me worry about my arse. I need you with an unexplainable—unbelievable—ache. Please—we can go slow next time.” She wrapped her fingers around his length and stroked. “Please—now.”

He’d heard of the excruciating need in a fated mates’ first burn but had passed it off as exaggeration until now. This was no exaggeration. If he didn’t bury himself inside her, he would die. He tossed her onto the bed and plunged into her. “Sons a bitches!” ’Twas like being immersed in fire.

“Yes!” She arched and met his every thrust, raking her nails down his back to urge him faster. Squeezing his buttocks, she pulled him in while calling out, “Harder!”

And so he did, pounding with a fury. The inexplicable sensations made him growl. For every sound, every delighted moan Emily released, he roared and drummed into her even faster.

When she dug her nails in and screamed, her ecstasy shot through him like powerful lightning, driving him to the precipice of his own release. He buried himself completely and stayed, pouring into her, reuniting their souls, and melding their bond for the remainder of this lifetime.

After a series of violent shudders, he collapsed, bracing himself on his forearms, as he pressed his forehead to hers, and whispered,

“ Heart of my heart,

Soul of my soul,

We reunite,

To never let go.

Blood of my blood,

Bone of my bone,

We two are now one,

Our halves are now whole.

For the good of all,

With harm to none,

So let it be spoken,

So let it be done,

So mote it be.”

She laced her fingers in his hair and whispered back, “I love you. So mote it be.”

The fire in the hearth roared with fury, crackling and popping as if doused with a bucket of pitch.

Gryffe smiled down at her. “Thank the goddesses, the fire stayed in the hearth.”

Her mouth fell open, and she stared at him as if she had never seen him before. Then ever so gently, she touched his lips.

“What, my own? What is it?” He lifted himself a bit, in case he was crushing her.

Tears welled in her eyes and overflowed. “You smiled.”

Idly stroking her cheek with his thumb, he almost laughed. “I suppose I did. Is that so shocking?”

“You never smile.”

Scooping her up and ensuring he remained buried in her delectable heat, he moved them to his favorite chair in front of the hearth and settled into it with her perfectly astraddle him.

He slid his hands along her hips, up her waist, and cupped her perfect breasts.

“I never had a reason to smile before. Ye gave me one when we joined our souls.”

“I rather like this chair.” She adjusted her seating and teased him with a wiggle that hurried him even faster to battle ready hardness.

Leaning forward to kiss her nipples, he slipped his hand downward and stroked the nubbin of her sex with his thumb while arching to encourage her to grind her hips. “There is much furniture in this keep that we must christen.”

“What about the servants?” she asked with a groan as she moved with more urgency and leaned into his massaging thumb.

“I shall send them away afore I lift yer skirts and bend ye over the bannister.”

She rocked faster. “Sounds delightful. What about the bathtub? We’ll need to christen that as well.”

He sucked each of her nipples with a deep, slow pull, then teased a trail around them with the tip of his tongue. “Most definitely. And the head table in the main hall.”

“The head table in the main hall?”

Her breathlessness fueled his plans for her even more. “Aye, I intend to spread ye out before me and feast on ye till yer cries of delight echo off the rafters.”

She rode faster, panting and bucking. “Won’t everyone know what we’re doing?”

“Everyone will be delighted that their chieftain is pleasuring his lovely wife as much as she pleasures him.”

“Pleasuring him,” she repeated with a long, low groan, then wet her lips. “Would it please you if I knelt between your knees and tasted you while you sat on your throne? Or do you have a throne?”

“For that, I shall get one.”

“Indeed.” She caught hold of the back of the chair and ground into him harder, pounding and squeezing with relentless fury, driving him onward to oblivion with her hot wetness. “Oh my,” she gasped. “Now!” Her groaning shriek filled the room.

“Aye—now!” He roared and lifted while holding her hips, steadying her and keeping her astraddle as he emptied into her.

She tensed and arched, going still as a breathtaking sculpture while fully giving herself to her shuddering bliss.

Then she went limp and melted over him, nuzzling his throat while draped atop his chest. She lay there, barely shifting as her breathing returned to normal. “I never knew it could be like this.”