Page 16 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

Sitting side by side, their bodies pressed together, Struan felt a warmth running through him that had nothing to do with the fire before them. A half-grin quirked Struan’s lip. “Where were ye goin’ when I found ye? What was yer plan once ye were away from Moy Castle?”

A flush rose to her cheeks and she gave him a sly smile in return.

“Tae be honest, I didnae have a plan. I never thought I’d ever have a chance tae escape.

Nae really. I planned fer it, dreamt of it fer years.

I even gathered supplies and made lists.

But I didnae think I’d ever really get the chance.

But then ye escaped and I saw me opportunity in the chaos.

Me mind just told me tae run… it didnae matter where.

Just run. I thought I’d figure it out once I got away. But then…”

Her voice trailed off and she smiled and flush in her cheeks deepened.

She turned to him and when their eyes met, Struan felt like he’d been punched in the heart.

His mouth grew dry, and his stomach roiled.

In that moment, he had to fight the overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss her.

It was powerful though and he fought with everything in him knowing that would most definitely be far too forward.

He cleared his throat and tried mightily to pull his mind away from those full, soft lips of hers. It was a Herculean task, but he somehow managed it.

“But then what?” he asked.

“But then… ye appeared,” she replied. “If nae fer ye, me faither’s men would have dragged me back tae the castle and I’d probably have been locked in the dark cells until he wed me off tae Dougal.”

“Have ye never wanted tae marry?”

Isolde stiffened and a frown flickered across her lips. Struan immediately regretted his words. But then her expression softened as she swallowed whatever bitter pill had risen in her throat.

“Of course I want tae marry. But nae him,” she said quietly. “I heard the chambermaids speakin’ about love and gettin’ married. It always sounded so romantic and I wanted what they had.”

“And what is it ye think they had then, eh?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Well… love, of course.”

“Oh, sure. But love is such an ambiguous word. What is it ye really wanted that ye think the chambermaids had?”

She hesitated, then turned to him, her voice low. “I suppose… I always imagined they felt like bein’ wanted. Touched like it meant somethin’.”

His gaze lowered, tracing the curve of her mouth. “That sounds less like marriage and more like temptation.”

Her eyes glittered. “Maybe I wanted both.”

He let out a low breath, his voice turning rough at the edges. “Then I hope ye dinnae go practicin’ that kind of talk too freely. Ye’ll drive a man mad, speakin’ like that.”

“Would it be so terrible tae tempt ye, Struan?”

His hand flexed at his side. “Aye. Terrible,” he said, but his voice betrayed him. It came out too soft, too wanting. “Because I’d let ye dae it.”

A slow silence settled between them, warm and thick. Her fingers brushed his arm, enough to make his breath catch. She didn’t pull away.

But then her gaze dipped, and the heat between them gave way to something more careful. Isolde turned to him, her expression growing serious.

“Tae be completely honest, I would like tae have a choice,” she said simply. “The chambermaids got tae choose who they married. They got tae marry fer love, or at least who they chose fer whatever reason, nae fer what they could bring their faither in return.”

It was such a simple statement—such a simple desire—and Struan could relate to it, of course. As laird, it was expected that he would marry and he was presented with a wide array of possible brides.

What he enjoyed, that Isolde did not, was options.

He had more women to choose from whereas she was forced to marry whom her father required her to.

He had a choice, even if it had to be a certain type of woman.

She didn’t. And although he was nowhere close to marrying himself, it made him wonder if the woman he chose to marry would feel as Isolde did.

That she had no choice either. It was such a simple statement from Isolde, and yet it was also incredibly profound to him.

“What about ye?”

Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts again and he focused on her. “What about me?”

“Is there a lass waitin’ fer ye back at Achnacarry?” she asked.

A cocky grin curled the corner of his mouth. “Are ye volunteerin’, Mrs. MacTavish?”

Her high, loud laughter rang out through the night, chasing away the lingering awkwardness and filling Struan’s soul with warmth once more. The fire gleamed in her eyes.

Why daes the lass find amusement in this? What if I wasnae joking?

“Nay. There’s naebody waitin’ fer me,” he finally said. “I havenae really thought about gettin’ married, tae be honest. There’s been a bit too much goin’ on.”

“But ye need tae have an heir.”

He nodded. “Aye, I dae. And once this conflict with yer faither draws tae an end, maybe I’ll think about it.

If I’m tae marry, I’d like tae marry fer love.

Like me parents did,” he said, his eyes fixed firmly on her.

“But if ‘tis nae in the cards fer me, I’ll dae me duty and find a bride who can produce an heir tae keep the clan stable. And I’ll raise me child as me faither raised me. ”

“I have nay doubt,” she said, her voice soft.

They were quiet a few minutes and the warm glow that had surrounded them seemed to dissipate. Isolde tried to stifle a yawn.

“We should get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll want tae be on the road at first light.”

“Aye.”

“’Tis cold out,” he said. “Ye should sleep beside me—like we did in the crofter’s hut.”

She cast a sly look at him. He chuckled and held his hands up, trying to look innocent.

“I’m only tryin’ tae keep the both of us warm,” he said.

“’Tis that so?”

“Aye.”

She studied him for a long moment then shook her head. “Fine.”

They stretched out on the ground beside each other.

As she nuzzled against him, her back to his chest, Struan laid his thick cloak over the both of them.

He shifted against her, marveling at the softness and warmth of her body.

It was all he could do to contain his arousal.

The breath was driven from his lungs with a loud “oof,” when she drove her elbow back into his stomach.

“Stop squirmin’,” she said with a laugh.

His laugh was a breathless croak, but he grinned. “Aye. Sorry.”

Isolde nuzzled against him again, pressing her body even more firmly to his.

Struan draped his arm casually around her waist and smiled to himself.

She was so soft and delicate, yet so firm and tough at the same time.

The contrast was addicting and tempting.

And as they lay together, their bodies fit so well, he thought it felt like they had been made for each other.

Struan closed his eyes and for the first time in a long time, drifted away into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.