Page 62 of The Highlander’s Defiant Bride

When at last she tilted her head, his lips were there to meet hers. The kiss was not born of passion alone but of need, of desperation, of the knowledge that tomorrow might take everything from them. His hands slid into her hair, hers clutching at his shoulders, both unwilling to break the moment.

He whispered against her mouth, rough with emotion, “If this is the last night before the walls are tested . . .” His voice was hoarse, breaking. “I would spend it with you.”

Her heart swelled, and for once she did not hesitate. “Then tonight, Cameron, let there be nothing but us.”

His answer was not in words but in the way his mouth found hers again, in the way he eased her back onto the bed, his weight a comfort, his touch reverent and hungry all at once. Their hands moved with urgency, pulling away the barriers of cloth, until only skin met skin, warm and trembling.

Every kiss, every brush of his hand, carried both promise and plea—that they were here, alive, together, in defiance of the darkness gathering beyond the walls.

His hands moved over her breasts, her abdomen, and lower to tease the soft curls at the apex of her legs. Indescribable sensations shot through her. He cupped her buttocks and lifted her gently. “Wrap your legs around me.” His tone was guttural.

She did as he asked and was rewarded when he plunged inside. She gave a low cry and clutched him with her thighs and hands as his palms held her, sealed her to him. He slid out and back into her with slow, deliberate thrusts that grew harder, deeper, as flesh met flesh. She tried to choke back the unbidden cries of pleasure each measured thrust produced, but it was impossible. Instead, she gave herself over to the ecstasy, arching up, meeting each plunge of his hips with an eagerness that took her breath away.

A groan rumbled from his chest as he braced himself on his arms. Candlelight spilled over him, highlighting the hard lines of muscle and shadow. Destiny’s breath caught. He had never seemed so unguarded, so utterly real. Every barrier between them had fallen away. And in his eyes, she thought she saw something she had never imagined she would. Not command, not desire alone, but something perilously close to love.

The sight of him above her, the solid warmth of his body pressed to hers, even the faint, musky scent of their joining sent a tremor of pleasure spiralling through her. She gasped his name as the tension coiled tighter, higher, until it broke in a rush that stole her breath. Her legs clenched around him, holding him close, refusing to let the moment slip away as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

His cry met hers, deep and rough, the sound of it blending with her own until neither knew where one ended and the other began. The candlelight flickered across their skin, gilding them in a soft, golden haze as the world narrowed to the rhythm of their hearts and the shuddering release that left them trembling and spent. For a time, there was no war, no Mackenzies, no father’s betrayal, only the heat of their union, and the rhythm of their hearts.

At last, he shifted, rolling slightly to one side, keeping her gathered close against his chest. Their breath came ragged and uneven, mingling in the quiet air. The fierce urgency that had driven them moments before melted into a warm, languid peace.

Destiny rested her cheek against Cameron, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. When he lifted his head, a stray lock of dark hair fell across his brow. She reached up to smooth it back, her fingers lingering there, tracing the line of his temple as if memorising the feel of him.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence was full, soft and sacred, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and the rhythm of two hearts still finding each other in the dark.

Cameron pressed his lips to her hair. “Whatever comes, Destiny, this I will not regret.”

Her hand found his, their fingers locking tight. “Nor I.”

And in the quiet after, with the fire dying low and their bodies still joined in warmth, they held on to one another as if sheer will could keep dawn from coming.

*

Morning came grey and cold, the sun hidden behind a veil of mist. The bells of Foulis tolled to rouse the men, though most had scarcely slept. In the courtyard below, the sounds of preparation began anew—sharpening steel, hauling water, tightening leather straps.

Destiny had awoken alone. Cameron no doubt slipped out of bed in the quiet of the pre-morning. Missing his presence, Destiny stood at the narrow window of her chamber, her shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. Behind her, the bed was still warm from the night she and Cameron had stolen together, but the harmony they had clung to was already fading in the light of morning.

The door creaked open. Destiny turned as Cameron entered, already dressed for the day, plaid slung over his shoulder, sword belted at his side.

His eyes softened when he looked at her, but his voice was clipped with the edge of duty. “The eastward scouts have returned. The navy ship has anchored at Invergordon.”

Her breath caught. “Do they come for us?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. The men say the ship lies at harbour, her sails furled, her crew ashore to speak with the magistrate. They fly the king’s colours openly, but we do not yet know their intent.”

Destiny turned back to the window, her fingers tightening on the sill. “Help might be on our very doorstep, and yet the Mackenzies march nearer with siege towers and a ram. Time is not our ally.”

Cameron crossed the chamber, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “By nightfall, we will know what their presence means. They could be here to help us, or not.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with all that meant, until Destiny laid her hand over Cameron’s. “Then until we know, let us do all we can to be ready.”

He drew her into his arms, resting his forehead against hers. “Aye. And when the fight comes, we face it together.”

Destiny closed her eyes, letting Cameron’s body warm her against the chill that had settled inside her. Beyond the walls, the Mackenzies moved closer, their engines of war no doubt creaking south. At the harbour, visible from the towers of Foulis, the king’s ship sat idle, its flag snapping in the wind. Between the two, Foulis waited on the edge of hope, on the border to ruin.

A cry from the watchtower broke through the moment. “Rider from the east. Bearing the king’s banner.”

Dressing in haste, Destiny and Cameron hurried from their bedchamber, down the stairs, and out into the courtyard. Work stilled as every eye turned towards the gates.