Page 12

12: DANGEROUS WATERS

BONNIE’S HEART KICKED against her breastbone.

If only he knew.

To hide her discomfort, she gave a light laugh and stepped back, creating a much-needed gulf between them.

His nearness was heady, distracting—as were his observations.

“My mother often complains of my lack of refinement,” she replied, focusing on the ‘earthy’ comment.

It was easier to answer than the others.

Her response wasn’t a complete falsehood either.

Her aunt Lorna, who’d brought her up in lieu of a mother, had told Bonnie numerous times over the years that she was ‘common’ and ‘graceless’—an unfortunate consequence of being born a bastard.

Mackay snorted. “I like how natural ye are. It puts me at ease. I feel as if I can be myself with ye.”

Their gazes held, and warmth curled in the pit of Bonnie’s stomach.

Her breathing quickened, and she cleared her throat.

It was time to speak of other, safer, subjects.

“Have ye seen ‘the King’s Knot?” she asked huskily.

He inclined his head.

“No … although I’ve heard of it. Isn’t it where the king goes hawking and hunting … and holds jousting tournaments at midsummer?”

“Aye.” Bonnie gestured to the wall that edged the north of the garden.

“There is a fine view over the Knot from up there … it should be visible in the moonlight.”

Bonnie had climbed up to the wall once as a bairn, after one of the stable lads had dared her, and marveled at the view over the grounds that spread out to the north of the castle.

Mackay flashed her a grin.

“I should like to see it.” He held out his arm for her to take hold of once more.

“Lead the way.”

Bonnie did.

They circled the kelpie statue, their feet crunching on the fine pebbles underfoot, navigating the twisting paths of the garden until they reached the steps leading up to the high wall.

Wordlessly, they scaled them, side by side, and walked along the top of the wall, edged in high merlons.

They then climbed another set of stone steps to a narrow terrace.

Encircled by walls on all sides, it was a secluded space.

However, the parapet that faced north was low enough to give them an uninterrupted view.

Halting at the edge of it, Bonnie and Iver looked down upon a vast grassy space, illuminated by the starlight.

At its center was a large octagonal mound.

“That’s quite a view,” Iver said after a lengthy pause.

“Aye,” Bonnie replied softly, as entranced as he was.

It looked as if a heavy frost lay upon the ground, yet it was just the moonlight.

She remembered then what Ainslie had once told her about the grounds.

“Folk say that the mound is an ancient one … and that King Arthur’s round table lies beneath the Knot.”

“Aye, I’d believe it.” Iver leaned against the wall then, turning to her.

“I’m fond of the old tales … my grandmother used to tell me a few.”

Bonnie smiled.

“Such as?”

He scratched his jaw.

“Aye, well, there were many I loved … but as a bairn, I especially enjoyed listening to the legend of Dunadd fort in Kilmartin Glen.”

“The birthplace of Scotland … isn’t that where the first kings were crowned?”

“Aye, so ye have heard of it then?”

Bonnie shook her head.

“The place … but not the stories behind it.”

His mouth curved.

“Well, at the top of the fort, there’s a rock with an impression of a footprint … where kings would place their foot when they were crowned. There are plenty of theories on how it got there, but my grandmother always insisted it was made by Oisín, son of the giant Fingal. He was hunting on the hills above Loch Fyne when he was attacked by a great wolf. To get away, he took a big leap to Rhudle Hill, and then landed heavily on Dunadd Hill, creating the indent.”

Bonnie’s smile widened.

“I like that story too.” Indeed, listening to him talk delighted her.

She’d never had a conversation like this.

Most of the men she’d known over the years weren’t eloquent, and the talk around the table in the Great Kitchens at mealtimes was mostly gossip and complaining—not folk tales.

Silence fell between them then, and Bonnie leaned up against the wall beside him, her gaze traveling north.

It was such a clear night that she could see the outlines of the snow-capped mountains in the distance.

Moments passed, and then she became aware of Iver’s gaze upon her.

Iver . She’d started thinking of him in familiar terms rather than by his clan-name.

They’d only known each other one evening, and yet she felt so comfortable with him that she didn’t want to think of him as ‘Mackay’ any longer.

Even so, the weight of his gaze made her breathing grow shallow, awareness prickling her skin.

She’d brought him to this spot, for it gave the best view of the King’s Knot—and yet they were now shielded from prying eyes.

He knew it, and so did she.

Turning from the view, she raised her chin and met his eye.

He’d been smiling just moments earlier, yet he wasn’t now.

Instead, he was staring down at her with an intensity that made Bonnie’s breathing quicken.

The moment drew out, and neither of them spoke.

Bonnie didn’t move. To do so would break the enchantment that wreathed around them.

Instead, Iver stepped close and raised a hand to cup her cheek.

And then, without another word, he lowered his mouth to hers.

His kiss was gentle—yet there was a question in it.

He wanted to know if she would welcome his embrace, if he was going too far.

Bonnie stilled, breathing in his scent as his lips brushed across hers once more.

Step back , the voice of common sense whispered in her ear then.

Ye are straying into dangerous waters, lass.

But Bonnie didn’t move.

Instead, she leaned forward slightly, her lips parting as his mouth found hers once more.

With a groan low in his throat, Iver placed his hands upon her shoulders and deepened the kiss.

His tongue slid into her mouth, caressing her own, and Bonnie’s belly tightened, heat igniting in the cradle of her hips.

Lord, she liked that.

She wanted more of it.

A sigh escaped her then, and she leaned into him further, kissing him back.

He tasted of wine, with a hint of spice that made hunger spike through her.

Raising a hand, she caressed the strong line of his jaw, her fingertips running over rough stubble.

Iver’s grip on her shoulders tightened, and he stepped in closer still as his mouth mated with hers.

He was both gentle and passionate, a combination that made something inside her catch fire.

Bonnie’s heart started to pound.

Eyes fluttering shut, she yielded completely to the kiss, to the taste and feel of his mouth.

She’d never been kissed like this—didn’t know it could transport her so.

She sighed once more, her fingers trailing down his throat to the hollow between his collar bones.

There, she felt his pulse fluttering against her fingertips.

Need arched up inside her, and her own heart started to hammer.

Despite the languorous way he was kissing her, Iver was holding himself in check.

Lord help her, she wanted to know what would happen if he lost control—if they both did.

Not questioning the impulse, she entwined her arms around his neck and stepped into him.

Her teeth then grazed his bottom lip.

Another groan rumbled across his chest, and suddenly, he was kissing her wildly.

An instant later, Bonnie found her back up against the wall, while his body pressed hard along the length of hers.

She answered his fierce hunger with her own as their tongues tangled and dueled.

Iver tore his mouth from hers then and trailed kisses down her jaw to her throat.

Bonnie’s head fell back.

Heat pulsed in her lower belly at the feel of his lips sliding down her throat to where her breasts strained against the tight bodice of her gown.

His tongue slid into her cleavage, tasting her there, and then his hands were on her, pushing down the already daring neckline.

The cool, silky night air whispered against her naked breasts—and then Iver’s hot, hungry mouth was on them.

He’d cupped her breasts in his hands, lifting them to him wantonly.

Eyes flickering open, Bonnie lowered her gaze, watching as he feasted on one nipple and then the other.

Her breasts, which gleamed in the moonlight, felt heavy, aching for his touch.

He suckled her softly at first, yet quickly worked himself up into a frenzy, his teeth grazing the sensitive tips until she writhed against him.

Bonnie bit her lip, her fingers tunneling through his hair as he suckled her.

Sensation arrowed straight down from her breasts to her womb with each hard suck—and the sensitive flesh between her thighs had started to pulse in time with her heartbeat.

When Iver finally tore his mouth from them, her nipples were swollen and glistening.

His gaze kicked up then, fusing with hers once more.

“Do ye want more of this, lass?” he murmured.

His voice was husky, breathtakingly sensual.

“I can stop now. The choice is yers.”

Breasts heaving, Bonnie stared up at him.

Framed by the dark-grey mask he wore, his eyes gleamed.

In this light, they didn’t look blue but inky black.

Her mind was muddled, her body trembling, desire pulsing through her, and he was asking her if she wished for more.

Harris hadn’t ever checked that she was willing.

The first time he’d taken her, she’d been a maid and he’d been eager.

It had hurt.

But Iver was an altogether different man than the only other one she could compare him to—and despite the intimacy of what they’d already done, and the naked hunger on his face, he wanted this to be her decision.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered back, thrilling at her own boldness.

“I want more … I want everything .”