Page 26

Mal

“Are you sure this is all right, lass?”

Lydia tugged on his hand, guiding him into her bedchamber.

His eyes roamed the towering ceilings, easily twice his height, with intricate white wood molding adorning the walls.

Then his gaze landed on the massive bed, shrouded in pale moss green curtains, dominating the space between two large arched windows.

A bed that could fit an entire clan of Scotsmen—perhaps a slight exaggeration, but it was enormous .

Malcolm was out of place here. He was terrified he’d break something more valuable than his annual wage. And he felt almost…clumsy, unrefined, surrounded by such elegance and luxury.

“I didn’t hear you complaining when you were in the bath.” Lydia winged a thin, blonde brow.

A groan vibrated in his chest like a happy cat.

That bath had been glorious. He’d never washed in a tub he could actually fit in.

If he wanted to fit in a bath…he bathed in the pond on the estate.

And that water, even during the warmest months, was never steaming hot.

His eyes slid shut. He hadn’t wanted to get out.

That was until Lydia started touching him.

Then it wasn’t just the water that was scalding.

“Come. Let’s get you in bed, love. You need to rest. To heal,” Lydia murmured, leading him to what was sure to be the softest bed he’d ever lain in.

A smile pulled at his lips. She was determined in her care of him—just as she had been during his bath.

Washing his hair, especially gentle around his head wound, delicately washing over his bruised ribs—which had a lovely hoof print adorning the right side.

She’d blushed profusely and handed him a cloth to wash the other areas.

She was bloody adorable. But to be cared for so tenderly?

It turned his insides lighter than air, his heart floating around like a happy cloud in his chest.

She’d insisted he needed a proper bath, his wounds cleaned thoroughly, that the soak in heated water would ease his aches. And, aye, they had, though they’d started up another ache that now needed tending to.

Malcolm couldn’t believe the Earl had granted such an allowance.

Had insisted upon it. And that was even in the face of the man’s ire.

Lydia hadn’t been lying at Devonford Castle—Lord Bentley had been highly displeased about Malcolm’s activities .

The Earldom of Bentley’s reputation was everything to the Earl, and that extended down to his servants.

And now that Malcolm would be family, an essential piece of Lydia’s happiness, it was evermore important.

Family.

That statement had stunned Malcolm so thoroughly his vocal cords had refused to cooperate, and the flood of feelings had been too much.

He’d completely fallen apart and wept in front of the man in the most mortifying of fashions.

What could he say? Scotsmen were built so big and broad because their bodies needed to house their large hearts.

And then Lord Bentley demanded Malcolm use the master chamber’s bathing room and stay the night in Lydia’s suite of rooms. He had set up forts of blankets in the library and arranged for games and treats for the children, ensuring Lydia and Malcolm would be safe from prying eyes.

It was clear that Lydia’s happiness was as important to the Earl as it was to Malcolm. And Malcolm made Lydia happy, so the Earl would do everything he could to ease their way.

What was this life? Near twelve years of loving her from afar, resigned in his fate that he’d only be allowed small innocent moments, a laugh, a conversation, a glance—and that would have been enough.

To feed the need he had for her deep in his soul.

He’d never imagined he would’ve ever ended up here.

And he was determined to show her just how grateful he was, just how much this meant to him. She snuggled up next to him in bed, she in just a silk nightdress and he in just a pair of coarse wool trousers. That wouldn’t do.

“I believe they say skin-to-skin contact aids in healing,” he said, tilting her chin up so he could press a kiss to her nose and then her mouth.

Her lips curved against his. “Do they now? And since when did you obtain such extensive medical knowledge?”

He kissed her again. “‘Tis an old Scottish remedy.”

“Mmmm. I’m sure.” But her lips were twitching with mirth, her eyes glowing. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Malcolm.” Her fingers fluffed his chest hair, and a shiver stole over his skin at the tickling sensation.

“I think what you meant to say, lass, is it’s a most excellent idea.”

She let out a soft snort, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “We both know where it’ll lead if we’re both naked.” Her smile faded, her expression turning serious. “You’ll hurt yourself, injure yourself further. I’m sure the doctor would not approve.”

“I’m sure most people wouldnae approve of the things I want to do to ye,” he said, his words falling rough and heated. Then he rolled on top of her, kissing down her neck to the soft skin of her shoulder.

A sharp pain rattled through his ribs from the effort of holding himself above her, and when he tried to lower himself and rest some of his weight on her, a burning throb flew through the bruise on his side. He fell back to his side with an ooof .

“See! I told you so,” she chided, but her words were slightly breathless.

“It’ll take a lot more than a wee scratch to stop me from loving you, mo chridhe.” He began pulling up the fabric of her dress, nudging at her hips to lift. The look she shot him was pure chastisement, but she complied, shimmying out of the thin garment.

He grinned at her, and her lips flattened. She was trying so endearingly hard to be cross with him. “There is one thing I can’t do myself. At least not without hurting myself…”

She blinked at him. A saucy, you are insufferable blink. He loved it.

“By chance, love, would ye help me remove my trousers?”

She snorted, loud and inelegant, ending with a scoff. “Oh, of course. Woe is me. I am so grievously wounded that I cannot possibly disrobe myself. Pray, fair maiden, ease my suffering and assist me in this dreadful plight.”

A rumbling laugh burst from him, quickly turning into a wheeze as he tried to contain the laughter, causing pain to ripple through his frame. This woman. He darted forward and pressed a hard kiss to her lips.

Her brows pinched, and she hesitated, stilled. “Malcolm, I think this is a horrible idea. You cannot even laugh without causing yourself pain.”

He smoothed the small furrow between her light brows. “Trust me, mo chridhe. Take off my bloody trousers and let me love you.”

Her mouth twisted, and she shot him a last skeptical glance before she divested him of his trousers.

“Aye, that’s a good lass. Now get that sweet bottom of yers nestled up against me.”

Pink dotted her high cheekbones, and she tucked her chin in. Bloody hell, he’d never tire of her blushes.

He chuckled—as softly as he was able—and pulled her into him, back flush against his chest, bottom tucked against his hips, legs tangling with his. He let out a soft moan and buried his head in her rose-gold tresses. She smelled as sweet as a field of heather. Her skin as soft as wildflower petals.

Malcolm nuzzled her neck, encouraging her to stretch away from him, and painted open-mouthed kisses up and down her neck.

He flattened his hand over her stomach, spreading his fingers, reveling in how he nearly spanned her hip to hip.

His tongue flicked out to trail over the column of her neck, and her breath caught.

He moved to cup her breast, his thumb coasting over the gentle slope.

He leisurely rolled her nipple in his palm—knowing how the roughness of his callouses would affect her.

Her breath hitched, and he continued his torturous assault on her skin with his lips and tongue.

He’d feast on her forever if she’d allow it.

He didn’t need anything but her skin for sustenance, her pleasure for survival.

She began squirming under his touch, grinding her bottom back into him. His teeth grazed over her and nipped at the shell of her ear.

“Ye like that, lass?” he whispered. “Can ye feel it? Deep in your core. When I do this?” He pinched her nipples lightly, and a whimpered cry burst from her, her entire body shuddering against him.

“Mmmm,” he hummed. “Such sweet sounds ye make for me. Those soft whimpers of want.”

He ran his nose down her neck, inhaling deep, drawing in the delicious scent of heated skin and soft florals and something that was uniquely her.

All the while, his fingers played her, rolling and pinching and teasing.

Faint cries pulled from her throat, more frequent now, her hips more frenzied.

Lord, if she kept rocking against him like that, he’d be in danger of coming all over that perfect arse.

His hips bucked of their own accord. Because by God, was that an image. One he’d be making happen tonight.

Och, he couldn’t tease any longer. The desire was building too fast, too dangerous. He gripped her thigh and pulled it up and over his leg, opening her to him.

Malcolm peered down her body over her shoulder, laid out like a banquet for him. Him nearly on his back, her back pressed against his, the gentle mounds of her breasts topped with pebbled peaked pink nipples looking so very edible. And so very out of his reach.

And farther down, legs spread wide. Open for him. He slid his hand over the inside of her thigh, her muscles trembling beneath his touch. In this position, he could feel everything. Every catch of her breath, the vibration of every moan, every delicious shiver.

He lightly brushed his fingers through her curls, teasing for a moment, before dipping between her legs. Her entire body went whipcord tight, and a moan that was music to his ears fled her lips.

“Mo chridhe,” he groaned. “Ye’re so wet for me.” He glided through where she was drenched, slipping easily over her. Och, he needed to taste her. Or else he’d expire here and now. He couldn’t lie between her legs. Not with his ribs so tender. But…

He pulled away from her and rolled onto his back. “On your knees, lass. Up here.” He patted the mattress between them by his chest.

Blue irises unfocused, she knelt before him, her gaze coasting over every inch of him, settling at his cock. Her breath hitched.

Fook me.

“Straddle my face, love.”

She blinked at him, gaze clearing. Her mouth opened and closed dumbly. “I beg your pardon.”

He grinned and pulled at her thigh. “Straddle me, Lydia. I promise ye’ll like it.”

Her cheeks blazed crimson. “Oh gosh, I couldn’t.” Her eyes looked close to popping off her bonnie face, and she shook her head. She glanced down her body. “I-I’d be so exposed. So—”

“Mo chridhe,” he interrupted gently. “We don’t have to do anything ye’re not comfortable with. But believe me when I say this, I love every part of ye, and that part in particular is especially delicious.”

She wavered. He could tell she wanted it. He saw the curiosity flare in her eyes, her hips cant nearly imperceptibly toward him.

“Ye’d be bringing a fantasy to life,” he said huskily. “If ye’d sit on my face.”

Lydia drew in a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. ”

She straddled his head.

And Malcom was inches from heaven. “Hold on to the headboard, lass. Because I’m going to make ye go boneless.” And then he gripped her hips, pulled her to him, and finally got a taste of what he was starving for.