Page 28 of The Laird who Craved her

They rode in silence for the first mile. The horse's rhythm made Claire move with him, friction causing slow, painful torture. The cold Highland air bit her cheeks, but where she touched Finn, she burned. He radiated masculine heat, with scents of pine, leather, and rain, wrapping her until she felt dizzy.

"Are ye trying to freeze me to death to solve yer political problems?" she finally whispered.

"If I wanted ye dead, lass, I’d have left ye in the muddy ditch," Finn replied, his voice a deep vibration against her back.

"I suppose I should be grateful for the company, then," Claire muttered. "Even if yer sword hilt is making sure I dinnae forget how close ye are."

"Then stop squirming," he commanded smoothly, though she felt him pulling her just a fraction closer. "Ye insisted on this folly. I told ye to stay by the fire."

"I insisted on an explanation, nae a kidnapping," she shot back.

"Ye hijacked me horse, lass. If anyone is kidnapping anyone, it is ye."

"And miss the charming company of the Devil of the North?" she teased, though her voice sounded slightly breathless. "Never."

She felt his chest rise and fall with a heavy sigh. Without stopping the horse, Finn unclasped the heavy iron brooch at his shoulder. With a swift movement, he dragged the thick, warm expanse of his MacRae plaid over her shivering shoulders, trapping her body against his beneath the heavy wool.

"Better?" he asked gruffly.

"Aye," she whispered, her throat dry. It was far too intimate. Under the dark plaid, surrounded by his scent and his heat, the rest of the world completely vanished.

Eventually, the dense pine forests gave way to open, rocky terrain. The sound of the wind grew deafening, as water boomed against stone. Finn steered the mare up a steep incline, finally bringing the beast to a halt.

Far below them, the dark, churning waters of the Atlantic crashed violently against the jagged black rocks. The vast horizon was just beginning to bleed with the pale pinks and grays of dawn. It was a beautiful place.

Finn dismounted first, landing with a heavy thud. He didn't step back. He turned immediately, reaching to help her down.

Claire placed her hands gingerly on his broad shoulders. Finn’s hands settled firmly around her torso, his thumbs resting just beneath her ribs. His grip was absolute, his fingers spreading wide across her sides.

He didn't pull her down quickly.

He lifted her from the saddle and let her slide down the hard length of his body with agonizing slowness. Through the layers of wool and velvet, she could feel every hard line of his chest, the taut muscles of his abdomen, and the heavy, solid bracing of his thighs as her boots finally met the earth.

He didn't release her immediately. They stood toe-to-toe on the edge of the world.

Claire looked up into his face. His green eyes were entirely dark, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the emerald entirely. His gaze was fixed on her mouth. She could feel his chest expanding rapidly against hers as he took a deep, ragged breath, literally breathing her in, and the slight tremor in his large hands where they gripped her waist.

"I come here when I need to clear me mind," Finn said softly, his voice barely audible over the roaring sea.

His hands dropped from her waist, leaving her skin feeling cold, though he remained standing close enough to block the worst of the wind.

"Ye’ve dragged me to the edge of the world, Laird MacRae," Claire murmured, her hands trembling as she pulled her cloak tighter. "I’d hoped there was a reason for it beyond the view."

"Ye dragged yerself," he replied, his gaze fixed on the churning Atlantic. "I told ye to stay by the fire."

"So we’re nae to speak of it, then?"

"There’s nothing to speak of." He did not look at her when he said it, his jaw set like granite.

"Of course not," she said, forcing a brittle, aristocratic calm into her voice. "A moment’s madness. I’d nearly forgotten it myself."

Finn turned his head, his eyes cutting into hers with an intensity that made the air in her lungs feel thin. The silence stretched between them, heavy with the things they refused to say.

He took a half-step toward her, and for a heartbeat, it seemed he might bridge the distance. His hand came up, fingers hovering near her cheek before he clenched his fist and dropped his arm.

"It was a lapse," Finn said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that betrayed him even as he fought to sound indifferent. “The tension of the hall... it clouded me judgment."

Claire’s heart twisted, but she did not look away. She forced a hollow laugh. "Clouded yer judgment? Is that what we are calling it? I assure ye, Laird MacRae, I am composed now. We understand each other perfectly."