Page 34 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

F ifteen days had passed since the flood, and while Ruaridh was occupied with rebuilding efforts and clan business, she had been slipping away to the forgotten corner of the castle grounds—the children's garden she'd discovered weeks before, overgrown and abandoned.

Just a little more

She knelt in the soft earth, her hands working to clear the last of the brambles from around the old stone fountain.

The work was harder than she'd expected, but deeply satisfying in a way that surprised her.

Each recovered flower bed, each cleared pathway, felt like reclaiming a piece of the joy she'd known there as a child.

"There," she murmured, sitting back on her heels to survey her handiwork.

The transformation was remarkable—what had been a tangle of weeds and neglect was now a small but thriving garden space.

She'd managed to coax late-blooming roses back to life, had cleared the pathways of debris, and even restored the little fountain so that water trickled gently over the carved stone.

It wasn't grand by any means, but it was beautiful in its simplicity. More importantly, it felt like hope made manifest—proof that abandoned things could bloom again with patient care.

Alba appeared at the garden's entrance, carrying a basket that held the last elements of Iona's surprise.

"The wine and food, me lady," Alba said with a conspiratorial smile. "And may I say, what ye've done here is lovely. Like something from a fairy tale."

"Thank ye fer keeping me secret," Iona replied, accepting the basket. "Is Ruaridh still in his study?"

"Aye, me lady. Shall I send word that ye wish tae see him?"

"Please. Tell him I have something tae show him, and that he should meet me by the old oak grove."

After Alba left, Iona arranged the simple meal she'd requested—bread, cheese, fresh fruit, and a bottle of wine from the castle's stores.

Nothing elaborate, but perfect for what she had in mind.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees just as she'd hoped, casting everything in golden light that made the restored garden look almost magical.

She heard his footsteps on the stone path before she saw him, and her heart gave a little flutter of nervousness. Would he understand what she'd been trying to do? Would he see the gesture for what it was—not just the restoration of a garden, but an offering of hope for their future together?

"Iona?" His voice carried a note of confusion as he rounded the corner and stopped short. "What is this place? I thought?—"

His words died as he took in the transformation before him. The cleared pathways, the blooming roses, the gentle sound of water from the restored fountain. His expression shifted from confusion to wonder, and then to something deeper that made Iona's chest tight.

"Dae ye remember it?" she asked softly, moving to stand beside him. "The children's garden? We used tae play here when I would visit."

"I remember." His voice was rough with emotion as his eyes moved over every detail. "But it was abandoned years ago. How did ye—when did ye?—"

"I've been working on it for the past few days, while ye were busy with the village rebuilding." She gestured toward the small, cleared area where she'd spread a blanket near the fountain. "I wanted tae give ye something. Something that was just ours."

He turned to look at her then, his green eyes holding an intensity that made her breath catch. "Iona, this is... I dinnae ken what tae say."

"Ye dinnae need tae say anything." She took his hand, leading him toward the blanket. "Just sit with me. Let me show ye what I see when I look at this place."

They settled together on the soft wool, surrounded by the gentle sounds of water and the sweet scent of late roses. The golden afternoon light filtered through the leaves above them, creating shifting patterns on the ground that seemed to dance with each breath of wind.

"When I found this place again," Iona said quietly, her fingers tracing patterns on the blanket between them, "it was like discovering a lost piece of meself. All overgrown and forgotten, but still beautiful underneath if someone took the time tae clear away what didn't belong."

Ruaridh was quiet, but she could see understanding beginning to dawn in his eyes.

"That's how I feel about us," she continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. "Like we're both recovering something that was always there, just buried under years of pain and caution and fear."

"Iona..." His voice was barely above a whisper.

Iona turned to face him fully, needing him to see the truth in her eyes. "Ye were never lost, Ruaridh. Ye were just waiting fer the right person tae help ye bloom again."

The silence that followed was filled with the soft sounds of water trickling over stone, leaves rustling in the breeze, and the distant call of birds settling in for the evening. When Ruaridh finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotions he no longer tried to hide.

"I never thought I'd feel at home anywhere again," he said, his eyes moving from the garden to her face. "Nae after what I experienced, what I became. I thought that sense of belonging, of peace... I thought I'd lost it ferever."

"And now?"

"Now..." He reached out to touch her cheek, his fingers gentle against her skin. "Now I think home isn't a place at all. It's a person. And I never felt more at home than I dae right here, with ye."

The words settled between them like a benediction, full of truth and hope and the kind of love that grew slowly but rooted deep. When he leaned closer, she met him halfway, their lips finding each other with the natural ease of two people who belonged together.

The kiss was soft at first, tender and full of gratitude for what they'd found in each other. But as the golden light deepened around them and the privacy of their secret garden wrapped them in its embrace, tenderness gave way to something more urgent.

"Iona," he murmured against her lips, her name a prayer and a question all at once.

"Aye," she whispered back, understanding exactly what he was asking. "Here, in our garden. Where everything blooms again."

His hands moved to frame her face, his thumbs tracing the line of her cheekbones as if memorizing her features in the dappled light. "Are ye certain? Anyone could?—"

"Nay one comes here," she assured him, her own hands finding the laces of his shirt. "It's been forgotten by everyone except us. And I want... I want tae make new memories here. Beautiful ones."

The urgency that had been building between them found its release in the privacy of their restored sanctuary.

Clothes were shed with gentle haste, every revealed inch of skin touched and treasured in the golden afternoon light.

The soft blanket beneath them was warmed by sun and desire, creating a cocoon of intimacy in their secret place.

When he moved over her, his body strong and sure above hers, Iona felt the last walls between them crumble completely. This wasn't just physical joining—it was the final sealing of hearts that had found their way to each other through darkness and uncertainty.

" Mo chridhe ," he whispered against her throat as they moved together, the Gaelic endearment rough with passion and tenderness. Me heart.

"Aye," she gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders as waves of sensation built between them. "Yers. Always yers."

“Ye haunt me thoughts,” he growled against her lips.

She moaned, gripping his shoulders. “Then take me.”

“Nay,” he said, voice low, rough. “Nae yet. I’ll have ye screaming first. Then I’ll take ye.”

He shifted until he was on his knees before her, and the sight of such a powerful man bowing there made her legs tremble.

He lifted her skirts, eyes never leaving hers. “Spread fer me, mo gràidh .”

She obeyed, breath shuddering as cool air kissed the heat between her thighs. He leaned in and pressed a slow, reverent kiss to her inner knee.

Then his mouth was on her.

The first lick was slow and deliberate, the flat of his tongue dragging from bottom to top, and she cried out, fists gripping the edge of the blanket. He held her open, his thumbs spreading her folds, and began to feast like a man starved.

His tongue lapped at her soft folds, soft at first, then firmer, then with maddening rhythm until she could hardly breathe. His nose brushed against her with every stroke. His groans rumbled into her core.

“Ruaridh—”

“Aye,” he muttered against her. “Say me name when ye come. Again.”

He plunged two fingers inside her, curling them to stroke that place that made her toes curl. Her head fell back, mouth open, moaning as he worked her with expert precision—tongue circling, fingers pumping, his body wedged tight between her thighs.

Her legs trembled. Her thighs tried to close around his head, but he shoved them apart with a growl.

“I said I’d have ye screaming,” he rasped.

Then he sucked her hard—just once—and her body exploded.

She sobbed his name as her climax crashed over her like a storm, her muscles locking, her vision blacking at the edges. She could feel herself pulsing around his fingers, the aftershocks rolling in waves as he licked her through it, slower now, gentler.

By the time he pulled back, her chest was heaving and her legs were jelly.

He stood, his mouth slick with her, and kissed her fiercely. She could taste herself on his lips, and she didn’t care. She wanted more.

She gave him a wicked smile. “I want ye tae dae that again, Ruaridh MacCraith. But slower.”

“Aye, mo leannan ,” he growled and swept her into his arms, laying her down like a prize he’d fought for. “Then I hope ye like the sound of yer own voice. Because I’m nae going tae stop.”

And he didn’t.

The world narrowed to that moment, that place, that man who had become everything to her. The gentle sound of the fountain provided a musical backdrop to their whispered words and soft cries, while afternoon light painted everything in shades of gold and rose.

When he finally slipped into her, it was with an intensity that left them trembling in each other's arms, hearts racing and breath mingling in the warm air. They lay entwined on the blanket, skin cooling in the gentle breeze, utterly content in their private paradise.

"Thank ye," Ruaridh said eventually, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "Fer this place, fer what ye've given me. Fer showing me that beautiful things can grow again, even after they've been damaged."

"We both needed somewhere tae bloom again," she replied, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "Somewhere that was just ours."