Page 73

Dun Ugadale,

Kintyre Peninsula

Two months later …

GREER SLIPPED OUT of the broch at dusk.

Supper had come and gone, and the long summer’s day had slowly faded into a golden gloaming. Most folk were readying themselves for bed. Indeed, wee Lorna was tucked up in her crib, sleeping soundly, while Greer’s maid—a local lass called Catrina—retired to the bed in her nursery.

Greer crossed the barmkin, moving quietly in soft slippers. Above her, the outlines of sentries on the wall were silhouetted against the glowing sky.

Greer’s mouth curved then as she remembered, over a year earlier now, when she’d sneaked out of the broch in the early dawn to practice dueling with dirks with Brodie.

Those days seemed a lifetime ago.

There was so much more water under the bridge.

Greer’s attention shifted to the entrance to Brodie’s forge.

Her pulse quickened then. This was the first time she’d visited him alone since her return to Dun Ugadale.

The time had passed so swiftly since Lorna’s birth.

Firstly, there had been the long trip north—once both she and Iver were well enough to travel—and then, when they’d arrived, she’d been focused on developing a routine with her daughter.

There had been no moments of intimacy for Greer and Brodie, not even a stolen kiss. Sometimes it felt as if they were getting to know each other all over again.

Heaving a deep sigh, Greer hastened her pace.

They’d been dancing around each other for weeks now.

Brodie had been so gentle with her since they’d been reunited, so considerate and caring.

And while she appreciated everything that he did for her, she longed for a little of the danger he’d once represented.

Aye, she’d been the one to request they take things slowly, but she now wished for their relationship to develop further.

Entering the forge, she found Brodie sweeping the floor. Dressed in a clean lèine and braies, his curly hair damp from bathing, he whistled to himself as he worked.

For a few moments, Greer merely watched him, drinking him in.

Her pulse went wild, and her breathing grew shallow.

She was indeed ready for things to change. It had been torture these last few days, sitting next to Brodie at mealtimes, waving to him from the window when he rode out of the broch on Brèagha.

They were like good friends these days, yet she wanted more. So much more.

When she’d gotten her fill of him, Greer cleared her throat.

Brodie glanced up, and as his gaze alighted upon her, his mouth curved. “Good evening.”

Greer grinned back. “And good eve to ye too.”

Brodie set the broom aside and approached her. “I thought ye’d be tucking yerself up into bed by now.”

Greer gave a soft snort. “And let another night pass by without ye? I think not.”

Brodie’s lips parted at her boldness, while Greer’s already fast pulse started to race. Aye, she was being bold indeed. However, she needed to make herself clear.

She stepped close, tilting her head back to hold his gaze. It was time to speak plainly. “I miss ye.”

His gaze hooded, and suddenly the air between them shivered with tension. “And I ye,” he murmured. “But I thought ye wished to wait?”

“Aye … and I have.”

He swallowed. “It’s not too soon … after the bairn?”

Greer shook her head. “Eight weeks have passed since Lorna’s birth. I’m at no risk of being harmed if ye touch me.”

Once again, her own daring thrilled her. Yet Brodie’s expression had sobered. “Ye were saddened by Malcolm’s death,” he murmured. “And sometimes” —he paused then, embarrassment flickering over his face— “I worry that ye still grieve him. Do ye?”

Greer’s breathing constricted. Is that what he thought?

“Malcolm was good to me,” she replied after a pause.

“Yet I didn’t love him.” A chill swept over her as she considered the possibility that despite his assurances to the contrary, the fact she’d been Malcolm Sutherland’s wife had tainted her in his eyes.

“Is it that ye no longer want me?” Her insides quailed at having to ask this, for what would she do if he admitted that his passion for her had died?

Over the past weeks, they hadn’t spoken of marriage. There was no official period of mourning once a woman was widowed, yet out of respect for Sutherland, Greer hadn’t brought up the topic with Brodie.

Greer started to sweat then. What if he no longer wished to wed her? She’d just put herself in a vulnerable position and risked having her hopes crushed.

“Greer,” Brodie whispered, stepping closer still. She breathed in the scent of him, her heart hammering now. “I want ye so much, it gnaws at my gut day and night. I can think of nothing else.”

Her hands went up, and she grabbed hold of his lèine in her fists. “I’m yers, Brodie. For now, and always. Take me.”

He stared down at her for a heartbeat, and then suddenly, his mouth was on hers, in a hard, claiming kiss.

Excitement spiked through Greer. Her hands gripped his lèine harder still, yanking him against her.

A groan rumbled through his chest as his tongue dueled with hers, and then he scooped her easily up into his arms. Still kissing her, he turned on his heel and carried her through the forge, kicking open the door to his chamber.

Once inside, he shoved his booted foot against the hapless door, slamming it shut behind them.

Meanwhile, Greer raked her hands through his hair before she explored his broad shoulders. Her fingers scrabbled against his lèine.

God, she wanted to feel his skin. There were too many layers of clothing between them.

Chuckling at her frustration, Brodie set her down and stepped back, shrugging off his lèine and then unlacing his braies, pushing them down.

Greer gasped at the sight of him, naked and aroused before her.

With a stifled moan, she reached for him, yet a wicked smile tugged at his mouth as he stopped her.

“No, lass … ye can use that sweet mouth on me later.” He stepped close, turned her around, and started unlacing the back of her surcote. “For it is I who shall worship ye .”

A short while later, Greer was naked too, and he picked her up once more, carrying her across to his bed.

There he spread her out upon it and crawled over her, licking, sucking, and kissing his way down her body.

Her breasts, still swollen with milk, ached for his touch, and he indeed worshipped them, causing her to moan and writhe under him.

Although when he settled between her trembling thighs, his hands slipping under her backside so he could lift her against his mouth, Greer lost her wits entirely.

She was dimly aware of the cries and whimpers that filled the room—hers—yet the only thing she could focus on was his darting, swirling tongue.

“Brodie!” she gasped. This felt so delicious she could hardly bear it.

“Aye,” he said roughly, his breath whispering against her sex. “I love hearing my name on yer lips. Scream it, if ye want.”

He continued his sweet torture then, until Greer bucked wildly against him, her head falling back as pleasure pulsed through her loins. She lay there, panting, yet had barely time to recover before he spread her legs wider still, bending one knee high.

A moment later, he entered her in one smooth, deep thrust.

“Brodie!” Her cry rang out through the stone chamber. He plowed her slowly then, thoroughly, and Greer sobbed with pleasure. After so long apart, she longed to be joined with him, for him to brand her as his. Forever.

Growling heated, wicked things, Brodie held himself up over her as he took her. Greer raked her nails down his back, angling her hips up to meet him. She then wrapped the leg he’d bent up over his hips, digging her heel into his buttock as he rode her.

Sweat slicked both their bodies now, their breathing ragged. Yet neither gave any quarter. Their coupling merely stoked the fierce longing between them.

Pleasure coiled in the cradle of Greer’s hips, and then it exploded, pulsing through her in dizzying waves. She clung to him, gasping, pleading, writhing.

The pleasure went on and on, carrying her away on a wild tide. And then Brodie cried out her name, his big body going rigid against hers. He gathered her up against him, cradling her close as the storm broke over them, leaving them both sweat-soaked and panting in its wake.

And when it passed, when their pulses slowed, and they became aware of their surroundings once more, Brodie shifted onto his back, drawing Greer on top of him. There, he wordlessly stroked her back, while she tucked her face into the crook of his neck.

For a while, they just lay like that, unspeaking, each enjoying the languorous aftermath of their coupling. A cocoon had settled over them, one that neither of them wished to break.

However, Brodie eventually spoke. “I wanted to wait before asking for yer hand again … for the sake of decency,” he murmured, his fingers tangling in her long hair. “But I don’t think I can. I love ye, Greer. I can’t see my future without ye in it. Will ye be my wife?”

Greer raised her head, meeting his gaze.

“Aye,” she whispered, emotion constricting her throat.

Brodie looked up at her, his hazel eyes green in the light of the lantern burning on the bedside table.

“I was worried what others would think,” she admitted huskily, reaching up then, her fingertips tracing the lines of his face. “But will they really care?”

His lips lifted at the edges. “Not really. Yer kin and the Sutherlands might have something to say … yet none of them will ever know.” He paused then, his smile widening. “None of my family … not even Iver … will object.”

Their gazes held, and warmth flowered deep within Greer. She desperately wanted to become Brodie’s wife, to make her, him, and Lorna a proper family.

Bonnie had spoken true of her husband. When Iver had learned of Brodie and Greer’s reconciliation, he’d been genuinely happy for them. And there had been no sign of resentment since.

“Well then,” she replied, running a fingertip down his jaw and throat, to the hollow above his collarbones. “We should ask him to marry us.” She met Brodie’s eye once more, giving him a slow smile. “Will tomorrow suit ye?”