Page 54 of The Outlaw's Bride
“I think so,” Adaira mumbled sleepily. Truthfully, her body had never felt so alive. The dull ache between her legs reminded her of what they’d just shared, of the pleasure he’d given her.
She wanted to ask him if what they’d shared together was usual. She had no prior experience, but he would know. Yet she suddenly felt shy in his presence. Her cheeks flushed when she remembered how bold she’d been with him, how lustily she’d responded to his touch.
She’d done it—she’d coupled with Lachlann. There was no undoing it.
She wondered what he thought of her now.
Tomorrow, in the cold light of day, she might end up regretting tonight’s abandon, but right at that moment, wrapped in her lover’s arms, Adaira could not.
Gradually, fatigue pulled her down into its embrace. Then she felt her eyelids droop and knew she was lost.
Lachlann held Adaira in his arms and listened to her breathing change. It grew deeper, and her body fully relaxed against his.
The feel of her pressed up against him, the tickle of her soft, heather-scented hair against his face, was both a balmanda torture.
Despite that exhaustion now dug its claws into him, he still ached for her. He’d wanted to take her again, this time on the leaf-strewn ground, but Adaira looked ready to collapse. He had to show the poor lass some mercy.
Lachlann loosed a deep breath and let his head fall back against the rough bark of the trunk.
This time tomorrow they’d be in Duntulm—and when they reached the fortress, things would change.
Adaira wasn’t his wife, or even his betrothed. Indeed, she was promised totwoother men: Aonghus Budge and his own father. Lachlann had no claim on her.
Once she was safe with her sister, Adaira might change in her attitude toward him. She might remember all the reasons she distrusted him—that she’d once hated him.
Lady Caitrin would hear the tale of how he’d made Adaira a promise and then broken it. Adaira’s sister wasn’t likely to want him to remain at Duntulm once she knew the truth.
Lachlann gently stroked Adaira’s hair. She gave a soft sigh and snuggled deeper into his chest.
Swallowing hard, Lachlann stared up at the night sky through the spreading branches of the sheltering oak. There wasn’t much he was sure of these days. His decision to help Adaira flee Talasgair had thrown his world into chaos. All the things he’d once set so much store in no longer mattered.
One thing he knew though was that he wanted to protect Adaira, to keep her safe.
He had to find a way to ensure he stayed at her side.
Adaira gazed up at the giant thumb of dark rock, silhouetted against the morning sky. The land rose steeply to the north, and the familiar jagged outline of rocky pinnacles reared overhead. One in particular stood out.
She smiled before tapping Lachlann on the shoulder and pointing up to it. “Look … Bodach an Stòrr.”
The Old Man of Storr was one of the isle’s most distinctive landmarks, although it had been a few years since Adaira had seen it last.
“Aye, it does indeed look like a giant’s thumb buried in the earth,” Lachlann replied. “We’re headed in the right direction at least.”
They had left the woodland north of Kiltaraglen as the first glow of dawn lit the eastern sky, and pushed onward. It was a day’s journey north along the coast to Duntulm.
The morning was tranquil, the loch’s waters as still as a polished iron disc. However, it was cold enough that their breaths steamed. The frosty morning air bit into Adaira’s face, and she found herself huddling against Lachlann’s back for warmth.
Despite that they’d slept sitting up on the hard, root-strewn ground, Adaira had rested better than she had in a long while.
She’d slept the whole night through and only woke up when Lachlann stirred.
“Time to go, Aingeal,” he’d murmured in her ear.
She’d awoken to find his arms around her, to find her face pressed up against the hard wall of his chest.
Their gazes had met, and he’d given her a lopsided smile that made her breathing catch. “Did ye sleep well?”
“Aye … thank ye.”
