The Laird’s Runaway Bride (Charmed by the Sassenachs #1)

Chapter 15

15

Arran splayed his fingertips against his forehead, letting out a long breath as he stared out of the window and to his drenched lands beyond.

It had rained all night, long after he and Amelia had gotten back to the Keep together. And he had slept with her. Sharing a bed with her all night long had been the most exquisite form of torture, the temptation to simply take her as any husband would almost more than he could bear. But, she was new to this world of lust and want. He would not rush her through it. What they had shared last night had been a promise of more to come, a promise he could hardly wait to get more.

But being near her like that, it made him… vulnerable. He wasn’t used to feeling vulnerable, not with her, not with anyone. For so long, he had built these sturdy walls around himself, making sure nobody knew anything about him. He didn’t want them to, and though he knew it had given rise to some rumors, he let them swirl around him. Better to let people think what they wanted than to open his mouth and remove all doubt.

And their physical connection, no matter how intense it seemed, would not cover for whatever closeness she truly desired from him. When they came together like that, he knew that she drew closer and closer to seeing what lay beneath the surface, the surface that he had worked so hard to present to the world for so long.

He had slipped out of bed early that morning, before she’d woken. He had been ready to spin stories to her about what he was doing, sneaking away from her before she had so much as opened her eyes, but the need for them had never come to pass. He had arrived in his chambers early, before the sun had so much as risen, and he knew some of the servants had seen him emerging from her bedchambers. He’d heard whispering about the two of them, about the possibility of an heir, but he knew there was no rush for that yet. He wanted to explore every part of her, inch by inch, before he took her and claimed her once and for all; when that time came, he wanted her to be sure of herself, of the pleasure her body could bring her, especially when she entrusted it to him.

Rising to his feet, he moved towards the door, planning to find Gregory to ride out on a hunt. The rain would have brought out the small foraging animals, making easy pickings for the kitchen.

When he opened the door, though, he was surprised to find Amelia standing on the other side; bright-eyed, her hair pulled back from her face, the light catching her delicate features. As soon as she met his gaze, her cheeks flushed slightly, as though she was recalling all that they had done the night before.

“Good morning,” he greeted her stiffly, his words coming out more formal than he had intended them to. She nodded to him, a small smile on her face, and he prayed she would not confront him about the way he had left her slumbering alone.

“Good morning, my Laird.”

“Arran. Call me Arran.”

She flicked her tongue over her lips before she responded.

“Arran.”

The sound of his name on her tongue did something to him, stirred the same desire he’d felt the night before, when she had lain in his arms, her chest rising and falling softly as he had listened to her slumbering breath. Though her body was womanly, there was something vulnerable about it that drew him in; the soft curve of her breasts, the dip of her hip, the way she twisted her legs around one another as she slept. Every inch of her unexplored territory, begging to be discovered.

“What do ye want?” he asked her bluntly, and she raised her eyebrows at him, chuckling slightly.

“Can a wife not seek out her husband of a morning?” she asked him, her voice sweet.

He scanned her face, trying to make sense of this sudden intrusion. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her presence, he did, but after what they had shared the other night, he felt as though he could not take it at face value.

“Aye, but what for?”

Her teeth rested on her bottom lip for a moment. She didn’t seem to have an answer prepared, as though she had not been ready for him to interrogate her in such a fashion. He lowered his gaze to the ground for a moment, reminding himself that he was the one who had brought her here. He was the one who had made her his wife, and now, it was up to him to prove to her that he wasn’t going to be some tyrant of a husband. How could he lay with her all night, and then turn against her like this, without so much as a word of explanation as to what he was doing?

“Have ye seen much of the Keep yet?” he offered, and she shook her head.

“Almost nothing, apart from my quarters.”

“Then let me show ye around,” he suggested. Her face brightened at once.

“Yes, I suppose if I’m going to be living here, it would be good to get a feel for the place,” she agreed at once and, to his surprise, she took his arm, resting her elbow against him lightly. Even after what had happened the night before, it still seemed foreign to him to have her so close, as though he might be exposed at any moment for the person he really was.

He cleared his throat, and moved to the door, leading her along the corridor that led to the main dining hall. She had been taking her meals in her room, for the most part, choosing to hide out in there rather than meet with the other people who lived in the Keep. He supposed he could not blame her; she was still trying to navigate her place as his wife, and being thrown into the veritable lion’s pit that was a dinner with his closest cohorts would have proved more than she could take.

“I can imagine how much fun you have here,” she remarked wistfully, as she glanced around the place. He grunted.

“Aye, I suppose they do.”

“They? Do you not enjoy yourself here, Arran?”

He was still getting used to hearing his name on her lips. He shrugged.

“It’s not the place for me to relax.”

“Whyever not?”

She sounded genuinely confused.

“I’m making sure that everyone is rubbing along well enough,” he remarked. “I find more peace when I’m alone.”

“And where do you go to be alone, then?” she asked him. “Your bedchambers?”

He shook his head.

“I have a study,” he replied, gesturing down another corridor.

“Will you show me?”

He hesitated. There was something about the thought of letting her in there, about the thought of allowing her to see one of the few places in the world he could truly switch off and relax, that made him feel… vulnerable. Exposed.

But, if she were to make this place her home, he supposed that she deserved to see every part of it. She’d get there anyway, eventually; better to do it when he was there to guide her, than to let her go wandering and allow her to find God only knew what.

She hung on to his arm as he guided her towards the corridor that led to his study. In truth, this place was a sanctuary to him, somewhere he could come when the pressures of real people became too much; though he had far from an impressive library, he had gathered a fair collection of books, most of them covering folk tales from the time he had grown up. He had thought, distantly, that he might read the same stories to his own children one day, though now she was by his side, he supposed that was more real than it had ever been.

As they drew closer, the various portraits that lined the corridor loomed in the corner of his eye. Most of them depictions of the Lairds that had come before him, some of them so faded it looked like they had come from another age entirely. But, closest to the door, there was the image of a woman. Though her pose was demure, her hands folded on her lap, the portrait captured a twinkle in her eye, and he could almost see a small smile at the corners of her mouth.

He realized, all at once, that he had come to a halt in front of the picture. He was staring. He cleared his throat and pushed open the door, before she had a chance to ask him what he was looking at with such intensity.

“Oh, goodness!” she exclaimed, as she glanced around. “Look at all the books…”

She dropped his arm and made her way into the room, and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched her peer through the tomes that he had collected over the years. She skimmed her fingers with an almost reverent touch across the spines, pulling one out from time to time to examine the cover, and then to flick through the illuminated pages. She paused at a picture, in one of the books, a selkie, a beautiful woman shedding her seal form to emerge from the water. It struck him that it wasn’t entirely unlike the way that they had come across each other, when she had climbed from the river, naked before him.

“Do you enjoy reading?” she asked him, and he nodded.

“Aye. And I like keeping these old stories alive.”

“Did you grow up hearing this kind of tales?”

He nodded. Though he still felt a little unsure at her presence in such an intimate part of his life, she was treating it with the utmost respect.

“My mother used to tell my sisters and me stories, when we were growing up,” she murmured, as she carefully replaced one of the books onto the shelf. A soft wind blew outside, humming at the windows.

“Did she, aye?”

He took a step towards her. A strand of hair was grazing her neck, where it had escaped from the braid she was wearing. He longed for nothing more than to reach out and brush it back into place, but he feared his touch might scare her. Even now, after all they had shared, there was still a part of him that felt as though he might harm her if he laid a hand on her, as though she were a relic, so delicate she could shatter under the barest caress.

She turned to face him. She seemed slightly surprised that he was standing so near to her, but she nodded.

“She was an amazing storyteller,” she remarked, a little wistful. “She would make out the shapes of the characters on the walls with her hands, cast these shadows and make it seem as though they were talking to each other.”

The wistful tone to her voice made his chest ache. It was clear that she struggled with being so far from her family. No matter how long she was here, he got the feeling that some part of her would always miss them, in the same way that he missed his mother, though he’d never have admitted that to anyone.

“Where do you read?” she asked, changing the subject swiftly. Glancing around the room, her eyes landed on a large bench that was propped against one of the far walls.

“Here,” he replied, as she made her way over to it. She ran her hand along the top of the velvet that lined the bench, a smile curling up her lips. His eyes were drawn to the soft outline of her fingers on the fabric, and he could still remember how perfect they had felt against his skin; how, even now, there was a part of him that craved her touch again.

But her brow furrowed as she cast her eye over the blanket and pillow that had been neatly folded at one end of the bench. She glanced up at him, tipping her head to the side in confusion.

“Do these not belong in your bedchamber?”

He paused. He did not want to admit to her that he often slept in this study. He’d read all night, and doze off in the early hours of the morning, when the first rays of the sun were creeping through the window. There were times when his mind galloped too fast to allow him to rest, and on those nights, he’d come down here and bury himself inside a book, reading until he could no longer keep his eyes open.

But it didn’t take long for her to put the pieces together. When she turned to him, her brows were knitted with obvious concern.

“You sleep here, don’t you?”

He nodded. No point in denying it. There was no shame to it, but even still, the way she looked at him when he told her, it was almost as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Oh, Arran,” she murmured. “Why?”

He turned his head away from her. The way she looked at him, it was as though she could see right through him, into his soul. He had never been this exposed in front of someone before, and it made him… uneasy, to say the least.

And yet, as she moved before him, lifting her hand to his cheek, he felt that he could not pull away. There was a part of him that wanted her to see him. A part of him that wanted to finally allow someone in. For so long, he had done all he could to keep everyone away from him, to protect his mind and his heart from everyone who came close. It was simply safer that way. But now, here, as he stood before the woman he had taken his wedding vows to? Whatever walls he had put up, they were beginning to crumble.

He tilted his head into her hand, closing his eyes, allowing the warmth of her touch to course through his body. Slowly, carefully, she reached out her thumb to brush it along the hollow of his cheek, down to his jaw. The first time they had come this close, he had been the one in control, but now, he let her touch him, as she wanted to.

“You don’t have to sleep here, alone,” she told him, and he opened his eyes once more. Her gaze was fixed on his, burning into her.

“And where else would ye have me sleep?” he asked her. He needed to hear her say it. No matter how hard it might have been to put it into words, he longed to hear her say the thing that he needed her to; she wanted him, longed for him, craved him as much as he craved her. He’d not take an unwilling woman, and he wanted to make certain that she was sure of her need for him before he laid another hand on her.

“With me,” she breathed, and he could feel her hand trembling against his face. “With… with me. Please, Arran. I want you to sleep with me every night. And I don’t want to wake up and find you gone. When I wake in the morning, I want you to be there beside me, where you belong. My husband. Not down here in the study, surrounded by dusty old books.”

“With you, aye?”

She nodded. Before he could think twice about what he was doing, he leaned towards her, and kissed her.

As soon as their lips came together, the barriers crumbled. He pulled her into his arms, wrapping them around her tight, and guiding her back to the very bench that he had spent so many nights alone on. He had never imagined that he would allow anyone else into this place, let alone someone like her, but now, as he moved on top of her, her body pressed against his, he knew he had just been waiting for the right person to share it with.

Her hands tangled in his long hair as she let out a gasp against his mouth, and his hardness began to swell beneath his cloak. He pulled it aside, moving to push up her skirt in the same instant. She reached for the hem of her dress and gathered it above her hips, and he leaned back for a moment, admiring her half-nakedness below him.

His eyes trailed along her body, from the soft curve of her thigh to her belly to her chest, rising and falling so fast it seemed a miracle that she could catch her breath. For all her refinement and nobility, there seemed to be something of a wild animal in her now.

And if there was one thing he knew how to handle, it was a wild animal.

He stripped her from the waist down, moving back on top of her and kissing her once more. Her tongue found his, speaking a million words of want against his lips, and he pressed himself against the crease of her thigh. Her breath stuttered against his lips, and he pulled back, pressing his head into hers.

“Tell me,” he ordered her. He did not need to explain what he was referring to. It was clear, from the way he was touching her, the way he was moving against her, the insistent pressure of his hardness against her hip, what he wanted.

“I need you,” she pleaded with him, her legs parting, as though of their own accord. “Please, Arran…”

Hearing that desperation in her tone sent a shockwave of want through his whole system, his body finally unable to fight any longer. All the desire he had been trying to stem, it was finally demanding his attention, and he could do nothing but give into it.

He took himself in his hand, guiding his manhood towards the soft folds of her sex. She parted her thighs for him, opening like a flower in bloom, as he planted himself at her entrance. Slowly, he began to ease himself inside of her.

He moved slowly, taking in every expression on her face as she registered this sensation. He could see a slight furrow in her brow, and he mistook it for pain, stilling for a moment before he went any further.

“No, no, please,” she murmured to him, voice breathy. “More. It’s just… new, that’s all…”

He planted his mouth to hers again as he continued to ease himself inside of her but, with how perfect she felt around him, it took every bit of self-control he had not to just plunge into her and take her like a wild animal. Her hands wound around him, sliding down to the small of his back, and resting there as he finally pressed his full length inside of her.

He held himself there for a long moment, letting her grow accustomed to the new sensation. Her mouth opened a little wider against his, and she pressed down on the small of his back, silently telling him that she craved more.

And he was more than willing to give her everything she wanted. Slowly, he drew himself back, and then moved into her again then repeated the motion, taking his time, savoring every moment of their closeness. Moving his mouth to her neck, he breathed in the scent of her, that intoxicating feminine musk that seemed to swell out of every inch of her body.

As he slowly moved into her, she began to match his pace, pushing back against him, her hips rising, her feet wrapping around his calves as she drew him closer and closer to her. It was as though she could barely get enough of the way he felt inside of her, the intensity of their connection more than either of them could deny any longer. From the moment he had kissed her in that carriage, he had craved her like this, and to finally give in to the tension between them felt better than he could have imagined.

The two of them rocked together, their bodies rising and falling in perfect unison as they drew closer and closer to their edge. He could hear her making the same noises she had done the night before, when they had explored each other, their chests pressed together, the swell of her breast against his thudding heart.

When he pulled back again to gaze into her eyes, there was a blaze in her gaze that almost stilled him, but right then, he felt it; the moment she tipped over and into her release. Her lips parted, and a small whimper escaped them, her vision growing blurry and distant as she stared at him. She slid her hand to the nape of his neck, guiding him against her so that he could watch her expression, written with pleasure, as he stilled himself within her.

It was the movement of her body which took him over the edge. That, and the knowledge that he had done so much to pleasure her, that he was enough to please a woman like her. He moved into her one last time and held himself there, a deep growl emanating from some place deep inside of him as he reached his release.

He held himself there for a long moment, not yet willing to break this sensation between them. As she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, her breath began to go back to normal, softening to what it had been before the two of them had come together.

“Promise me, Arran,” she whispered to him, as he held himself inside of her.

“Promise what?”

“That you’ll never sleep in here alone again. That you’ll be with me instead.”

He gazed at her for a moment. She looked so vulnerable to him, so delicate, but at the same time, he could sense a strength beneath her surface that he knew was formidable. To have survived this far into everything that she had been through, she must have born some true power.

“I promise,” he replied. And then, he leaned in to kiss her again, a smile curling up his lips as he did so.