Page 42 of The Laird’s Dangerous Prize (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

" M e laird, come on. I want tae show ye something," Isolde said.

Ciaran looked up from where he'd been giving commands to Finlay, raising an eyebrow at her sudden appearance in the doorway. "Now, lass?"

"Aye, now." Isolde's eyes held a spark of mischief mixed with something deeper. "Unless ye're too busy fer me."

He turned to Finlay without hesitation. "Ye know what tae dae. Keep the men ready." He waited for his lieutenant to walk away, then turned to Isolde. "Lead the way."

They rode out from the castle courtyard, Isolde guiding them toward a narrow path that wound through the heather-covered hills. The air carried the scent of wild thyme and bracken.

"Where are we going?" Ciaran asked as they climbed higher into the moorland.

"Somewhere peaceful," she replied, her voice soft with memory. "Somewhere we can... talk."

The path grew fainter as they rode, until it seemed they were following nothing more than deer tracks through the gorse. Finally, Isolde reined in her mare at what appeared to be an impasse—a wall of rock and bramble blocking their way.

Isolde did not wait for Ciaran to dismount and help her down.

She dismounted and led her horse around a massive boulder, revealing a hidden gap barely wide enough for a single rider.

Beyond it lay a small glen, perfectly concealed from the outside world, with a burn trickling through its center and rowan trees creating a natural bower.

"How did ye find this place?" Ciaran asked, his voice hushed with wonder.

"Me maither brought me here when I was small," Isolde said, tethering her mare to a low branch. "She said every woman needed a place where she could think without the world pressing in on her." Her smile was bittersweet. "I havenae been here since she died."

Ciaran dismounted and moved to stand beside her, studying her face. "And why bring me here now?"

She turned to face him fully, her blue eyes bright with unshed tears. "Because everything's changing, and I needed... I needed somewhere that felt safe tae tell ye—" Her voice broke slightly.

"Tell me what, mo chridhe ?"

The endearment, spoken so naturally, seemed to break something open inside her. "That I love ye," she whispered. "That I've loved ye since the first sight I had of ye. And I loved ye even more after that first dance, and I cannae bear the thought of losing ye when this war comes tae our door."

He reached for her then, his hands framing her face with infinite tenderness. "Ye willnae lose me, lass. I promise ye that."

"Ye cannae promise such a thing. Nae with Wallace?—"

"Hush." He silenced her with a gentle kiss, then pressed his forehead against hers. "I love ye too, Isolde MacAlpin. Whatever comes, we'll face it taegether."

The words hung between them like a vow, and suddenly the careful distance they'd maintained seemed not just foolish but impossible. When she reached up to pull him down to her, he went willingly, their mouths meeting in a kiss that held all the desperation and longing of the past weeks.

They sank down onto the soft grass beside the burn, the sound of running water mixing with their whispered endearments.

"Isolde..." Her name on his lips was rough with exhaustion and something deeper, more primal. His eyes never left hers, and she saw her own desperate need reflected in his gaze.

"Kiss me," she breathed, lifting her face to his. And he did.

The first touch of his lips was gentle, almost reverent, as if she were something precious that might break.

But she didn't want reverence—not now, not when this battle might steal away every chance they'd ever have.

She pressed closer, her fingers tangling in his hair, and he responded with a hunger that matched her own.

His arms came around her, pulling her against him until there was no space between them, until she could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her chest. The kiss deepened, became something desperate and claiming, and she felt herself melting into him as if they could somehow become one person, one soul that could face whatever came together.

"Ye want this now? Are ye certain, Isolde?" he whispered against her lips, his voice hoarse with restraint she could feel trembling through his entire body.

Instead of answering with words, she began unlacing his plaid with fingers that shook only slightly. His breath caught as her hands spread across his chest.

"I've never been more certain of anything," she said, looking up into his eyes. "If now is all we have, then I want all of it. All of ye."

Something broke in his expression then, the careful control he'd been maintaining throughout this endless day finally cracking. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, his mouth finding hers again as he carried her the few steps to the bed.

They sank down together onto the soft grass, hands exploring with the urgency of lovers who knew time was their enemy. Each touch was both discovery and recognition, as if they were remembering something they'd always known but had never been allowed to claim.

When he pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper, she felt beautiful in a way she never had before. Not because of her face or form, but because of how he saw her—as if she were the answer to every prayer he'd ever whispered in the dark.

"I love ye," he said, his voice breaking on the words. "Whatever happens, I need ye tae ken that."

"And I love ye," she replied, pulling him down to her. "More than breath, more than life itself."

His weight settled above Isolde, strong and sure, his body shielding hers, commanding yet reverent.

The breadth of him fit between her thighs as if he had always belonged there.

Isolde arched into him, restless for more, desperate to feel every inch of him against her, inside her, marking her once again as his.

His lips found her throat, then lower, trailing heat across the delicate skin of her collarbone, then down to her breasts.

His tongue ran over first one nipple, then the second.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there, trembling as his mouth mapped her with a hunger that bordered on reverence.

He didn’t rush. He made her feel—made her burn. "Please," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I want all of ye. Dinnae hold back. Nae now."

He lifted his head, eyes like dark flame. “I never would. Not with ye.”

And then his lips were on hers again, fierce and consuming, his hand sliding between them to guide himself to her center. She gasped when she felt the hard press of his manhood. Her thighs tightened around his hips, pulling him even closer as her body opened for him, ready and aching.

When he entered her, it was slow and deep, a deliberate, powerful motion that made her eyes flutter shut. He filled her in a way that stretched her body and her soul, made her feel claimed and cherished all at once.

“Ciaran!” She cried out his name, clutching his shoulders as he began to move—strong, rhythmic, unrelenting.

He held nothing back. And she didn’t want him to.

If this was their last time, she wanted to remember the way he had lost himself in her.

She wanted to burn with him, to be undone and remade by the fire between them.

Each powerful thrust made her body tighten and rise, as if he was driving her to a place she hadn’t known existed. She gripped his shoulders, her thighs bracketing his hips, her body moving to meet his rhythm with a hunger she couldn’t contain.

Her breath came in sharp gasps, her chest heaving as his manhood filled her again and again, deeper each time, hitting places inside her that made her cry out without shame. She rode the waves of sensation—clutching him closer, lifting her hips to take more of him, demanding every ounce of him.

“Dinnae stop,” she whispered, her voice broken, eyes wild with want. “Give me everything.”

A low groan escaped him. He cursed softly under his breath, his pace unrelenting. “God, Isolde…”

Their bodies fell together in perfect rhythm, her cries swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her through the storm they were creating.

She could feel it building—tight, unstoppable, sacred.

“Right there,” she gasped, eyes locked on his. “Dinnae stop. Please, dinnae stop.”

“Look at me,” he said thickly, his forehead pressed to hers. “I want tae see ye when ye come apart.”

Her eyes flew open, locking with his. What she saw there—love, possession, longing—brought her to the edge. The pressure built, overwhelming, exquisite.

“I cannae—” she gasped.

“Yes, ye can,” he growled, and his hand slid between them, finding that sensitive spot and stroking just as he thrust deep again, losing control. “Let go fer me.”

She clung to him through the aftershocks, legs wrapped around him, her heart slamming against his chest. She felt full—not just in body, but in spirit. And as his hands cradled her, rough and reverent, she knew she would carry this moment into whatever battle tomorrow brought.

For a long time, neither moved. She laid with him, fingers tracing the muscles of his back, his shoulders. He nuzzled into her neck, pressing a kiss to her damp skin.

It was only when their breaths finally slowed that he rolled to his side, gathering her close so their limbs remained tangled, their connection unbroken.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered. “Of this battle. Of losing ye.”

He cupped her cheek. “Dinnae let it steal this moment from us.”

She turned into his touch, lips brushing his palm. “Then I’ll remember this. Every moment. Every part of ye in me.”

His hand drifted down her body again, possessive and gentle. “Ye have all of me, Isolde. Always.”

Afterward, they lay entwined beneath his plaid, her head on his chest as she traced lazy patterns on his skin. The peace of the moment wrapped around them like a blessing, and for a few precious moments, the outside world ceased to exist.

Then the bells began to ring.