Page 31 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)

Around them, the village square had emptied except for the occasional figure dashing between buildings.

The rain was picking up intensity, drumming against the tent canvas and splashing in growing puddles on the cobblestones.

In the distance, Morag could hear laughter and voices from inside the cottages where people had taken shelter.

Colin looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, rain already beginning to darken his hair and dampen his shirt. But there was something in her expression that made him nod. "Ye want tae stay out in the rain?"

"Just fer a moment," she said, stepping away from the shelter of the tent's overhang. "When I was little, me faither used tae say that Highland rain was a blessing from the gods. That it washed away troubles and brought new beginnings."

Colin watched her turn her face to the sky, raindrops catching on her lashes and running down her cheeks like tears of joy. There was something almost magical about the moment—his practical, determined wife standing in the village square, arms outstretched to embrace the storm.

Their clothes were soaked within minutes. Morag laughed, spinning around with her arms outstretched, and Colin found himself grinning at her obvious joy.

"I love the water," Morag said as they swayed together, rain streaming down their faces.

"Tell me more," Colin said, drawing her closer as they moved in their makeshift dance. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

"Me faither taught me tae swim before I could properly walk," Morag continued, her eyes bright with memory. "He used tae say I was half selkie, the way I took tae the water."

"Sounds like a good childhood," Colin said softly.

"Aye, it was. Even when times were hard, we had each other. Me faither used tae say that family was the only wealth that truly mattered." She looked up at Colin through the rain. "I think he will like ye."

Colin's hands tightened on her waist. "He may nae be very happy about the state of things at Armstrong at the moment."

Morag smiled. "He always said the bravest thing a person could dae was choose love over hate."

"So, are ye choosing love now, lass?"

"We shall see, Iron Laird."

They stood there in the rain, swaying gently, and Colin felt something shift in his chest. This woman—this brave, compassionate, beautiful woman—was his wife. And for the first time since their marriage had begun, that felt like the greatest blessing rather than the heaviest burden.

The rain continued to fall around them, but neither seemed inclined to seek shelter just yet.

Morag grasped Colin's arm, pulling him to a halt.

"What is it?" Colin asked, concern flickering in his eyes as he searched her face.

Instead of answering with words, Morag rose up on her toes and kissed him. It was soft but deliberate, full of the new intimacy they'd discovered the night before. When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed but her gaze was steady.

"I'm ready," she said simply, her voice quiet but certain.

Colin's brow furrowed slightly. "Ready fer what, lass?"

"Fer all of this. Fer being yer wife, truly.

Fer whatever comes next." Morag's hands went up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms. "Last night changed everything fer me, Colin.

I'm nae the frightened girl who was brought here.

I'm ready tae stand beside ye, tae face whatever Fraser or anyone else might throw at us. I dinnae want tae wait any longer."

Colin's hands covered hers, his thumb tracing gentle circles over her knuckles. "Ye're certain? There's nay going back from this path we're on."

"I dinnae want tae go back," Morag said firmly. "I want tae go forward. With ye."

The smile that spread across Colin's face was like the sun breaking through storm clouds. He leaned down to kiss her again, deeper this time, pouring all his relief and gratitude into the gesture.

"Then we face it taegether," he murmured against her lips. "Whatever comes, we face it taegether."

"Taegether," Morag agreed, and the word felt like a promise, a vow more binding than any they'd spoken at their wedding ceremony.

"Let’s go inside."

Morag nodded gently, her gaze never leaving his face even as words failed her.

Colin pulled Morag into their tent, where they stood facing each other. He pulled off his clothing, and Morag gasped. “Ye’re beautiful,” she whispered, her eyes taking in the way his manhood throbbed full length.

“Nay. Ye are beautiful,” Colin said softly, his hands cupping her face. “Are ye sure about this, lass? Once we cross this line… we will be husband and wife in every way.”

“Nay holding back.” She echoed his earlier words, her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart. “I want all of ye, Colin. Everything we’ve been holding back. I dinnae want tae wait any more.”

Something fierce and hungry took over his expression. He looked at her like a predator who’d finally been unleashed to hunt. His voice was rougher when he spoke her name. “Morag…”

“I want tae be yers completely. Taenight,” she said fiercely, her hands resting on his bare chest.

“Then ye’ll have all of me,” he said roughly. “Body and soul, lass. Everything.”

His hands moved to the laces at the back of her dress, pausing for one last moment of confirmation. At her nod, he began to untie them, his fingers reverent and gentle.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing. “Of being with ye, of knowing what it feels like tae belong tae someone completely.”

“Ye already belong tae me,” he murmured against her ear as her dress pooled at her feet. “And I belong tae ye. This just makes it… official.”

Her soft laugh turned into a gasp as his lips found the sensitive spot below her ear. “Colin …”

“Tell me what ye want,” he said, his voice rough with need yet tender.

“Just… dinnae hold back” she whispered, her arms wrapping around his neck.

“Never again,” he promised, gathering her close. “Never again, mo chridhe .”

Her bare skin flushed under the firelight, every curve exposed to his hungry eyes.

“Ye’re bonny,” he breathed, “and burnin’ fer me. I can see it plain as day.”

He pressed his mouth to hers again, slow and deep, claiming her with a hunger that stole her breath. His hands slid down to cup her breasts, his thumbs tracing lazy circles over the taut peaks until a sharp ache bloomed beneath his touch.

She trembled, her lips parting as his mouth left hers to trail hot kisses down her neck.

When he pulled back, his breath hot on her skin, Morag gasped with desire.

He spread their clothes on the ground, guiding her to sit on the small pile.

His strong hands parted her thighs gently but firmly, lifting her legs so that her feet rested on his shoulders, exposing her slick, waiting flesh.

Kneeling before her, his breath ghosted over her heated folds, heavy with promise.

“Tell me, Morag.” His voice was low, rough with desire. “Would ye rather I take ye slow, or dae ye want me tae take ye hard? Would ye like me tae tease ye like I did the other night?”

A shiver ran through her as her hips bucked slightly, craving his touch. Her voice came out as a whisper, heavy with need. “Hard… slow… just everything, Colin. All of ye.”

He chuckled deep and warm, his tongue darting over her tender nub with teasing precision, coaxing soft moans from her lips. His fingers slipped inside, curling expertly, coaxing her closer to the edge. Her back arched, her breath catching as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her.

“Colin …” she gasped, lost to the exquisite torment of his touch.

He pulled back, his voice low and husky. “Ye’re mine, Morag. Me Highland flower.” His hand traced her side, firm and possessive. “Say ye want me deep inside ye. Say it loud, and I’ll give ye everything ye desire.”

Her eyes met his, but she could not focus. “I want ye. Deep,” she breathed.

He lifted her gently, his hands firmly cupping her buttocks, holding her steady. With a low growl of satisfaction, he eased his manhood inside her, slow and deliberate, each inch filling her completely.

The stretch was deep and thrilling, a delicious ache that tightened around him as he paused, letting her adjust to his size.

Then, he settled into long, steady thrusts—measured and sure—sending heat spiraling through her with every movement.

His hands gripped her hips tightly, guiding her as their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, the world narrowing down to the press and pull of skin and muscle, breath and desire entwined.

“Ye feel so tight, so warm,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Ye make me want tae bury meself in ye forever.”

His hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him as his pace quickened. Their breaths mingled, ragged and desperate.

“Would ye like me to go faster, Morag? Would ye like me tae show ye what passion truly means?” he asked between thrusts.

She nodded, her voice trembling. “Yes… faster… please, Colin.”

He unleashed himself then, wild and fierce, driving deep with each movement. Her cries filled the room, echoing off the stone walls and mingling with his low growls.

His fingers threaded through her hair, pulling her closer as his breathing quickened. “God, Morag, ye’ll be the death of me.”

Her cheeks flushed, proud and shy all at once. “Am I daein’ it right?” she asked quietly.

His laughter rumbled like distant thunder. “Aye, I’ve never wanted it more.”

His hands moved on her, strong and sure, sliding up her torso to cup the heavy swell of her breasts. His fingers kneaded them with rough tenderness, his thumbs circling her taut nipples until they peaked sharply, aching beneath his touch.

“Ye’re mine, Morag,” he growled. “Nay one else will have ye.”

Slow and deliberate, he pushed inside her from behind, every inch sliding deep with a sweet, reverent stretch that stole her breath away. A low moan escaped her lips as her walls wrapped tight around him, nerves igniting where he filled her.

His hips rolled slowly at first, building a steady rhythm that sent waves of heat deep within her. She gasped softly, her back arching, her fingers curling into the sheets, her body rising to meet each thrust with growing hunger.

“Ah, Colin …” she breathed, her voice trembling, “mo-more…”

He growled low in response, his voice thick with need. “Ye’re close, bonny lass. Let it come.”

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening on her hips as his thrusts grew harder, faster. Their moans rose and fell in a fierce, urgent harmony.

As the fire built, his hands slid around her waist, flipping her over with practiced ease until she was on her back, her eyes wide and dark, her lips parted in a breathless plea.

Without hesitation, he slid inside her again, deeper, harder, driving into her slick heat with raw, desperate power. Their bodies moved as one, a frantic rhythm pulsing between them, hands clutching, nails digging, breathing ragged.

“Come fer me, Morag!” he growled, his voice cracking with need.

A trembling cry tore from her lips, every muscle clenching, waves of release crashing through her as she shuddered beneath him.

His body tensed, a guttural roar escaping as he spilled deep inside her, pulsating and shuddering with the force of his climax.

They collapsed together, breathless and trembling, wrapped tight in the fierce, tender aftermath of their union.