Page 53 of A Tartan Love (The Earls of Cairnfell #1)

I love him.

Oh, how I love him.

Those were the only words swinging round in Isla’s brain, the only longing in her veins.

She hadn’t intended to seduce Tavish. No. She well understood his warning from last night.

Her thought had been to join him in bathing and . . .

Bah! Why lie to herself?!

All rational thought had fled when she saw him treading water in the pool.

It had been untenable. Listening to his labored breathing as she had bathed. And then shamelessly watching him rise from the pool, water pouring off his broad shoulders and chasing his spine.

A truly refined lady would have looked away. Perhaps more of her mother remained than Isla would have liked, because she had tracked every motion of his body with ravenous greed.

It felt imperative—required, even—to show him with her body all the adoration brimming in her heart. To let her hands and lips declare the words her mouth still hesitated to utter.

And now she had that glorious maleness in her arms, the taste of him filling her senses. His skin had the give of silk-covered steel under her palms, warm and smooth and deliciously firm.

Husband.

The word hummed in the very air.

His mouth painted fire down the side of her neck. Isla clung to his shoulders, spine arching in an attempt to get closer. To somehow merge her essence into his.

He obliged, his strong arms banding her to him. She could feel the faint tremor in his muscles, as if his skeleton were wracked with small earthquakes. A battering ram crashing into the wall of their self-restraint and, quite frankly, any iota of wisdom.

His eager lips left her throat and returned to her mouth, plundering with punishing force.

Isla had just started to wonder why they were both still standing upright while a perfectly soft bed of green grass stretched out behind her . . .

. . . when Tavish abruptly dropped his hands from her body. Just as he had during their waltz.

The sudden loss caused her to sag. She braced her palms on his chest for support and peered up at him, a crease between her brows.

He regarded her with the same untamed hunger, but a hint of wariness had crept in. His lungs were a bellows, expanding and contracting.

“Tavish?” she gasped.

Gently, so gently, he pulled her palms from his chest and set them at her side.

He took a step back.

And then another.

Frowning, Isla stepped forward, only to have him stop her with a slice of his head.

“Isla.” His voice dragged like chains over gravel.

She blinked up at him, at the sun haloing his head. She wrapped her arms around her waist, terrified of what he would say next.

“I can’t . . .” He paused, eyes fluttering closed as if in pain.

“I can’t kiss ye and not . . .” Opening his eyes, he gave her a beseeching look.

“As I’ve said before, we play with fire, lass.

We both know that kisses such as these lead to more intimate activities.

I won’t have ye trifle with my affections.

I meant my words from last night—if we share our bodies, I will never let ye go. ”

His spine straightened. Captain Balfour flickered into his expression, the iron control of a soldier .

He licked his lips.

“I love ye, Isla.” The words were torn from him, ripped from the foundation of his being. “I loved ye as a lass. I love the woman ye have grown to be. I’m certain I will love every iteration of ye between now and the end of my days. Ye are woven into the very fabric of my soul.”

Bending down, he picked up his shirt and the wet towels.

“I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life proving how much I love ye. But . . .”

Silence.

She hated that string of words . . .

I love ye. But . . .

“But?” she whispered.

He sucked in a breath. “But the only thing worse than letting ye go, would be to tether ye to myself unwillingly. To watch the affection between us shrivel and decay. My lack of funds has not changed, and the prospects for my future are as they have always been. I cannot give ye Malton Hill. I cannot offer ye anything more substantial than my beating heart.”

Isla couldn’t move. She could scarcely breathe.

His words battered her senses.

Because she wanted to claim his magnificent heart as her own. But the fear of reaching for it turned her limbs numb.

“I want ye to be intentional about this decision, Isla,” he continued. “Take all the time ye need—days or weeks or months. I will wait until ye know your own mind.”

As ever, he was making her choose. Refusing to permit lust and animal attraction to cement their fates.

Isla was quite certain that thirty years from now, she would be able to call up this moment .

Tavish standing tall before her—chest bare, hair damp and disheveled from her fingers, sunlight skimming his face and turning his gray eyes to liquid silver. The rustle of trees and the burble of the river at her back. The lone call of a hawk soaring high overhead.

Her reply stuck in her throat. I love you, Tavish. I do! But . . .

. . . will it be enough?

As if hearing her unspoken thoughts, he shot her a sad smile.

“Ponder this choice carefully, my love,” he said. “Ye know where to find me when ye wish to continue this conversation.”

Leaning forward, he pressed one last kiss to her cheek—night whiskers brushing her skin and the smell of warm male skin engulfing her.

And then Tavish pivoted and disappeared up the path to the castle.

Isla stared at the place where Tavish had vanished for far too long.

I love ye. But . . .

Those spare words could caption their entire relationship.

She felt the echo of them in her chest.

Ye are woven into the very fabric of my soul.

Isla loved him. Of that that she was certain. She ached for a consummation of that love.

Yet as he had said, love and lifelong commitment, particularly in the face of penury and poverty, were rather two different things.

I will never let ye go.

Just like last night, he said those words as a threat. A warning intended to control the blazing passion between them before it burned down her hopes for the future.

His actions underscored why she loved this man as she did. Even in the midst of untamed lust, Tavish still put her needs and wants above his own .

Isla pondered all this as she sat down on the grassy bank and brushed out her hair, letting it dry in the sun.

The enormity of the decision loomed large.

Once, she had committed herself to a life with him without carefully considering the ramifications.

This time . . . she would be intentional. Careful. Deliberate. Clearly understanding the repercussions. She would not toy with Tavish’s affections, as he said.

Even if part of her screamed in frustration over this need for logic.

When her hair was no longer dripping, Isla braided it with quick motions and tied it off with a ribbon from her pocket.

She stared at the rippling water of the pool, hoping it would bring her some clarity.

None arrived.

On a sigh, she gathered her things and trudged back up to Cairnfell Castle.

Tavish was making their lunch when she entered the great hall. Back to her, he stood at the sideboard, slicing ham and cheese.

Unfortunately, he had donned a shirt and waistcoat overtop his kilt. Or was it fortunately? She could scarcely say.

The stiffening of his shoulders indicated he had heard her arrival.

He didn’t turn around.

Isla said nothing, mostly because she didn’t know what to say.

I love you and I want us to be together , hovered on her tongue. And though irrevocably true, she wouldn’t declare such feelings until she was ready to commit to a lifetime of them.

“I’ll have lunch ready shortly,” he finally said.

“Thank you.”

“The post arrived.” He nudged a chin toward a small table inside the door. “Grayburn forwarded several letters to Castle Balfour for yourself.”

“Ah. I suppose that is a good sign.”

“He may thaw yet.”

After so much tumult, Isla nearly laughed at the banality of their exchange.

She sifted through her letters—two from Mr. Cranston at Malton Hill, one from Mrs. Sumsion. If Isla remained married to Tavish, would she ever see her estate again?

Tavish’s own post remained on the side table, too. A couple of letters that appeared dreadfully official. One lay partially open, as if he had begun reading it and then tossed it aside.

Isla didn’t mean to snoop, but the scrawling signature Archer caught her off guard.

Tavish was corresponding with Colonel Archer?

Unable to stop herself, she put a hand on the letter, smoothing the paper just enough to read a line or two.

. . . your nobility is as annoying as ever. That, even now, you would profess your love for your wife in one sentence and then propose I continue my suit in the next because, as you say, “I want her to have her heart’s desire,” is the very definition of madness. I shall have to ponder . . .

“Isla?”

Tavish’s voice caused her to jump.

She whirled to look at him, color climbing her cheeks.

“Enjoying Fletch’s letter?” There was no anger or irritation in his tone. Only resignation. “Ye can read the whole if ye would like. I have no secrets from yourself.”

“You wrote Colonel Archer?”

“Aye. Ye want Malton Hill. I’m doing what I can to help ye reach that goal. Ye said yourself that ye like Edward Archer. I know the man better than almost anyone; he would make ye a fine husband. Isn’t that what ye want?”

It was.

A fine husband and Malton Hill.

It was what she wanted. Had wanted, rather.

But now . . .

Now, Isla knew she only wanted the fine husband she already possessed.

A man who loved her with breathtaking force. Who loved her enough to give her the future she wanted, even at the cost of his own happiness.

I will love every iteration of ye between now and the end of my days .

A man who stated his deepest desires and then left the choice to her.

Emotion pricked her eyes.

“I see.” She turned for the bedroom. “Thank you.”

She all but ran through the door, shutting it behind her and leaning back against the wood.

A tear fell.

And then two.

It was simply . . . too much.