Page 18 of Forge of the Highlander’s Destiny

C ohen practically sprinted to the library, not wanting to waste a second away from Arya. He was choosing to do something with her that he hadn’t done in years, and that he hadn’t thought about in years because it brought him too much pain.

But he felt safe enough to show it to her. Arya was the one person he wanted to share this moment with that he’d shared with his mother. In the library, he pulled the familiar worn book off the shelf.

But when he returned, he breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw her still sitting by the fireplace and turning back to look at him with a pretty smile.

“That was very fast,” she said, and he closed his mouth, trying not to make it too obvious that he was panting, after having run as fast as he could through the halls until he reached the library.

“I ken exactly where the book is,” he said and sat down in the seat next to her.

The chairs were pulled close, and he felt her knee against his, and he didn’t move it.

While he was gone, Arya had moved their glasses from the table to the small table by the fire.

His heart warmed at the beautiful domesticity of the scene.

It was snowing outside, and it seemed like they were the only two people in the world.

Who would have known that only days before, the two of them had been in cells side by side, unsure of their fates?

Opening the book, he cleared his throat, and began to read the first poem his eyes fell upon.

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,

Until I labor, I in labor lie.

The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,

Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.

Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,

But a far fairer world encompassing.

Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,

That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.

Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,

Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.

Off with that happy busk, which I envy,

That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.

Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,

As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.

Off with that wiry Coronet and shew

The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:

Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread

In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.

Licence my roving hands, and let them go,

Before, behind, between, above, below.

As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew

Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,

There is no penance due to innocence.

To teach thee, I am naked first; why then

What needst thou have more covering than a man.

At the end, Cohen’s whole body was on fire.

He had recognized the poem when he first started reading it, and yet he hadn’t stopped, knowing what it contained.

Talk of undressing, unlacing, lovemaking, and a man covering a woman’s body.

When he lifted his eyes from the book, Arya was staring at him.

Her chest was moving quickly, and it drew his eyes to the swell of her breasts.

Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were fiery. She looked so very kissable.

“Forgive my choice of poem,” he said in a low voice, knowing that if he wasn’t hard after the poem, he was now after looking at her. “But it was the first one I opened to. That was always a tradition of me maither and me. Ye had to read the first poem ye set yer eyes upon.”

It was a lie but a good one, he supposed. Or rather, he hoped.

“Nay,” she said, turning away, trying to clear her throat. “It was beautiful. Thank ye.” She rose to her feet, tipping her wine glass to her mouth so that she could finish what was left.

Cohen rose. “Are ye leavin’, Lass?”

She nodded, a bloom rushing into her cheeks. “It is late,” she replied. “And the fire dies down. The chill is growing.”

Cohen noticed the fire was getting lower. “I will put more logs onto the fire—”

Arya stepped forward and pressed a finger to his lips. “Nay, ye daenae seem to understand me meanin’, Lad. Must I make it so clear to ye?”

He frowned, trying to understand what she meant when she leaned up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth. Quickly, she pulled away, blushing even more.

“I daenae ken the way of things, but I also daenae recognize this Cohen. The Cohen I first met was unpleasant and full of scowls and arguments. This one is now so eager to please, yet he doesnae see when I am askin’ him to please me? And ye are the only one I wish to dae so.”

She said the last words in a voice barely above a whisper. Cohen needed no more direction, and he threw the book on the chair and lifted her up into his arms, eliciting a shriek of delight.

“What are ye—?”

“Just what ye want, Arya. And just what I want. Takin’ ye somewhere to please ye to yer heart’s content. For ye are the woman who I want to please most of all.”

Arya was emboldened by the wine in her veins. Never in all her life would she think of speaking to a man as she had just now, but now she had gotten what she wanted: Cohen to stop being so nice and to take her away and please her until her limbs were shuddering again around him.

And she also wanted to learn a way to please him too, to make him feel as limp and lovely as she felt in his arms. Right then, she was still trying to keep pace with what was happening.

He was carrying her up the stairs, and her arms were looped about his neck.

He smelled like wine and pine smoke, and she couldn’t wait to pull him closer.

Pushing aside fears and thoughts of what this moment might mean, or why she was so willing to go with him, she held tighter to him.

It was at her chamber that he stopped, leaning down to open her door and kicking it closed behind him as they stepped inside.

The fire was already in the hearth, and Arya’s nightgown was laid out on the bed.

“Sara, the maid, has been kind to me since I arrived,” Arya said as he put her down on the floor. Cohen’s eyes were dark as he pulled her close, his hands firm on her waist.

“I daenae want to discuss Sara.” He leaned down and again tentatively, touched his lips to hers, waiting for her to respond. Letting the scent of him fill her nose, Arya pulled him close.

She breathed against his mouth, “I dae want ye to dae that lovely thing again. But I want more.”

Cohen responded with a kiss, his tongue moving inside of her mouth, and her body filled with heat and longing, a great, wild longing that tugged on her heart. Now that there was no chance of being caught down in the great hall, her boldness grow even more.

His hands moved at the back of her gown, trying to work the buttons there. She pulled away from him, and turned around, so that he could focus on undoing them. He paused and leaned down to kiss the back of her neck, just below where the ribbon was tied.

“I want more too, Lass, but I will only do what I did earlier. Nothin’ more.”

Finally, he began to unbutton her gown. She didn’t want the chance to think any longer.

She just wanted to feel him against her, and maybe she could try to convince him to do more.

When he pulled the gown off, he had the stays to untie, and then she was standing in her shift.

Touching her shoulders, he turned her around, and he paused, his eyes moving down her body.

“Ye take me breath away, Lass. Ye have right since the beginnin’. Since the light first fell on yer face in the dungeon.”

His eyes returned to hers, and Arya’s heart melted. She was dangerously close to falling in love, but she didn’t care about what that meant. He brought his hands to touch her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands.

She let out a gasp at the feel of his thumbs stroking across her nipples which had turned into hard peaks. Placing her hands on his chest, she said, “You must show me how to please ye too, Cohen. I want that.”

He took her hands and brought them to his lips. He leaned down to her mouth but didn’t kiss her. “Ye first.”

He picked her up again and brought her to her bed, laying her down on it. She kept his gaze as he moved his hands along her thighs, lifting her shift up to her hips but stopping there.

“So bonnie,” he said in a rough breath, moving down closer, but Arya stopped him. She used her hands to pull her shift off the rest of the way, baring herself before him.

It was another bold move, but it was one she wanted to make. After leaving his castle, she might never again have the chance to be with a man like Cohen. This was now her chance to feel truly a woman, and to let herself go. She watched as Cohen paused above her, his mouth slightly open.

“Ye didnae have to do that,” he said in a soft voice.

“I wanted to. Will ye nae show me ye?”

He swallowed. “I daenae think it would be wise, Lass.”

“Why?” she asked, moving her hands to his shoulders, amazed that she was so bare before a man while he was still clothed. But it didn’t feel strange or awkward. It was oddly freeing.

“Trust me, Lass,” he said thickly. “But let me touch ye .”

“Aye,” she said, closing her eyes as he leaned down to take one of her pert nipples in his mouth. She bucked upward, surprised at the pleasure that ran through her.

She couldn’t keep quiet as his hand kneaded her other breast, and then his mouth moved there too to kiss, suckle, and nibble. His lips eventually moved down her belly, and he lifted her legs over his shoulders again as his mouth settled between her thighs.

She could feel the slickness there that had come as soon as he read that poem to her in his deep voice, a poem which discussed undressing and bedsport, and she had nearly burned with desire until she felt his warm mouth on hers.

“Aye,” she breathed. “Cohen,” she said again, reaching her hand out to touch his brown curls as his tongue slid across her seam. When his finger slid inside, parting her, she arched her back against him, her hands moving to clutch the bedclothes.

The pleasure was growing, building, expanding, and it was going to burst soon. She bucked her hips against his mouth, feeling the pressure of his soft lips and beard against her. And then she cried out, letting the ecstasy rack through her every vessel, making her muscles weak and liquid.

“By God,” she said, breathing hard. Cohen moved up to lay beside her, also breathless. She turned to face him.

“Ye certainly ken what to dae, Cohen,” she said, smiling at his profile.

Her hand reached out to trace the strong line of his hair-covered jaw, down his strong neck to his chest which was annoyingly still clothed. She was rewarded with a shiver.

“I thank ye for the compliment, Lass. But ye are beautiful. Perfect.”

He put a hand over hers, stopping its movement. “I should leave ye be. Leave ye to rest.” He rose to his feet, and Arya felt panicked. Why did he want to go? Why was he avoiding doing more and getting unclothed? Had she done something wrong with her boldness?

She sat up, unashamed of her nakedness now. “But where are ye goin’? Ye can stay,” she said. “It is nae as if we have nae slept in the same bed before.” She grinned, but it faltered when Cohen shook his head.

He leaned down and kissed her briefly on the lips. “Nay, Lass. Trust me. Rest. We will talk tomorrow.”

Arya could think of no other arguments, but her heart fell as she watched him leave, wondering why the man did not want to share her bed when she’d so generously offered.

Why has he left?

She slid under the covers, trying to keep her heart from falling in love with the Laird of Sinclair.

Too late.