Page 40 of Highlander’s Bride

Like always, he fixed her with his unblinking, dark gaze that seemed to penetrate right into her soul.

“I lost ye,” he said, not even acknowledging Rogene’s presence. “I thought ye may have returned…”

His voice was low and crackling with tension.

Bryanna inhaled sharply, a momentary anger blazing through her. “What if I had?”

Rogene raised her eyebrows, clearly uncomfortable. “Okay, you two. I’m going to see if Angus is ready to go to bed, because I sure am. My nausea is gone now, but my lower back is killing me.”

As Rogene climbed the stairs, probably to the great hall, Raghnall narrowed his eyes at Bryanna. She raised her chin. “Raghnall, you can’t expect me to stay when I clearly said I need to go.”

“Always tell me where ye are. I canna stand people disappearing.”

There it was again, that edge in his voice that chilled her soul. But she wasn’t his possession or his anyone, except for a pretend wife.

“I don’t owe you anything.” She brushed past him towards the stairs, heading to their bedroom, which was next to Catrìona and James’s bedroom on the floor above the great hall. “I told Angus and Rogene that our marriage is legal. You’re all cleared.”

As she climbed, she heard his footsteps behind her, barely audible against the stairs despite his considerable weight and height.

“Rogene promised to spare some people to clear the rubble so that I can leave as soon as possible. So you won’t need to worry about me at all.”

They passed by the great hall and kept climbing. Her body felt good, despite her episode from last night. Although she had been mismanaging her blood glucose, she felt like she’d gotten stronger since coming to the Middle Ages. Daily exercises on the horse, walks, and other physical activity were good for her health. Now, climbing the narrow stairs, she barely broke a sweat, her heart beating faster, feeling healthy and strong.

When she entered the small, dark bedchamber, Raghnall followed her, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. He grabbed her by the arm and turned her to face him. The light of the dying sunset and the early starlight were illuminating his face, intense and tormented as he caught her gaze.

What demons did he fight in his soul? Why didn’t he let anyone in?

“But I worry about ye, lass,” he said, bringing her closer to him. The feel of his hard chest against her breasts spread sweet tingling through her. She gasped as her soft stomach brushed against his hard one. He was so warm—hot, even through the layers of his medieval clothes—and so broad-shouldered, his muscles like boulders. “I dinna want to,” he breathed out, “but I do.”

Thoughts couldn’t even formulate in her head as she was caught in the dark prison of his eyes, just now realizing they were alone, yet again, with a single bed that was so inviting and suddenly so big it seemed to have the gravitational force of a planet.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Tell me one thing, lass. If ye leave tomorrow morning, and never see me again, is there anything ye’d regret?”

The answer stole her breath. All her life, she’d been nothing but careful. She followed a strict diet, she did the safest exercises, she avoided relationships because she didn’t want to become a burden for yet another person besides her family.

This had been the craziest, wildest, most incredible experience of her whole life. She’d been so light and so free when she’d thought she was in a wonderful, vivid dream. She’d been stripped of fears, of caution, and of worry. And, underneath all those layers, perhaps for the first time in her life, she’d become herself.

And she freaking loved that person.

That person wanted adventure, wanted to taste life, drink it in handfuls, taking risks and making mistakes.

That person had been awakened by Raghnall Mackenzie.

“I wouldn’t regret a lot,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck and watching with satisfaction as his pupils dilated and his eyes darkened. “But I would regret not doing this.”

She pushed the cautious part of her aside, lifted her face, and kissed him.

Chapter 19

Bloody hell, the woman’s kiss melted him like sun melted honey. Her lips, delicate and soft and velvety, stroked and caressed. Her mouth opened, inviting him in. As his tongue dipped in and made the first stroke against hers, small bursts of pleasure exploded through his body.

Hunger for her took over. As he wrapped his arms around her waist, a low growl escaped the back of his throat. She was so fragile and feminine in his arms, he had to stop himself from crushing her.

Her taste—sweet and flowery and delicious—and her own smell of a woman—musky and beautiful—brought his blood to a boil. Desire coursed through him in a quick, all-consuming rush, like a fever. He deepened the kiss, licking, stroking, longing to join with her, possess her, have her all to himself.

The woman who was bound to disappear.

The woman with an untreatable disease that waited to kill her without magical medicine from the future.