Page 81 of The Scot's Perfect Match
The world fell away again. No castles or estates, no whispers, no careful facades. Just them, tangled together in a sunlit bed, bodies and hearts unguarded.
Afterwards, they stayed wrapped in each other, limbs entwined, his hand tracing idle patterns over her back, her cheek pressed to his chest.
“Do ye regret any of it?” he asked after a while, his voice quiet but edged with something vulnerable.
Ava tilted her head to look at him. “Only that it took us so long to figure out we were meant to be.”
The muscle in Gavan’s jaw flexed, like he was contemplating what to say, or maybe overwhelmed, but when he spoke again, his words were simple. “Good. Because I dinna intend to stop proving that ye were right to choose me.”
Emotion welled in her chest, and Ava was afraid to speak for several breaths. But finally, her throat loosened, and she smiled. “Ye need no’. I know I was right. I’m always right,” she teased, leaning up to kiss him again.
Gavan chuckled as he leapt from the bed and tossed her over his shoulder, twirling in a circle until they both fell back to the bed laughing and dizzy.
The days that followed blurred into something out of a dream. A life Ava had never dared imagine for herself, unfurling like the pages of a story she’d only just begun to read.
On their second morning at the castle, Gavan took her riding across the moors, reminiscent of the wild sort they’d once stolen as reckless adolescents. The landscape stretched endlessly around them, the tall grasses bowing in the wind, the sky so wide it felt like they were riding straight into forever.
“Keep up,” she called over her shoulder, deliberately goading him.
His laugh was low and unrestrained. Seconds later, Gavan was at her side, his stallion matching her mare’s pace with infuriating ease, this calf brushing against hers. “Ye always did like to think ye could outrun me,” he teased.
“I nearly did,” she retorted, grinning despite herself.
“Ye nearly did a lot of things.” He shot her a sidelong look, sending warmth rushing through her that even the chill morning air couldn’t cool.
When they stopped on a bluff overlooking the loch, Ava felt free, like she’d left behind more than just the eyes of society. She’d discarded that part of herself that always watched from a distance.
They rode down into the little village. Ava insisted on stopping for ices, even though the wind off the hills made the idea entirely ridiculous.
Gavan watched her lick the strawberry ice from her spoon, his eyes widening with a hunger she’d come to recognize. “I think we need to get ye home, before we scandalize the other patrons.”
“Aye,” she said, taking a bite with exaggerated delight, with an extra lick.
Evenings in the castle became their sanctuary. They’d curl up by the hearth in their bedchamber, the firelight flickering over Gavan’s broad shoulders as he read aloud to her. Sometimes it was poetry or a novel. Sometimes, whatever dull estate papers needed urgent attention.
One night, she dozed against him while he read, only to wake with a blanket tucked snugly around her and his lips pressed softly to her hair.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispered, as though the world beyond their little cocoon didn’t exist.
After nearly a fortnight of bliss, Gavan gave her a gift. Nothing ostentatious, nothing for show. Just a small, leather-bound journal. A gift that she would treasure forever.
“I thought ye might like a place to put all your plans,” he said, half-teasing. “Or to write about how often I frustrate ye.”
Ava traced the embossed letters on the cover, too moved to speak for a moment. No one had ever given her something so meaningful.
“I love it,” she managed, her throat tight.
“Good,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Because I want ye to fill it with everything. Every thought. Every dream. Even the ones that scare ye.”
And, of course, there was the loch. They returned to it more than once, sometimes just to sit and watch the sunlight ripple over the surface, sometimes to brave trying to boat again.
This time, when the boat wobbled and she shrieked dramatically, Gavan only laughed and reeled her in until she was tucked into his lap, which she was pretty sure was his plan all along.
“Menace,” she muttered, though she didn’t exactly try to move away.
“Wife,” he countered, and the word sent her heart soaring.
The castle was silent, save the soft hiss of the dying fire. Ava lay curled against Gavan, his arm a solid, comforting weight around her, their skin still warm from where they had pressed tightly together from an evening of lovemaking.
