Chapter 12

12

T he clamor of the wedding celebration ebbed away as Erin followed Magnus through the stone corridors of his ancestral keep. Her heart, a frantic deer trapped within the ribcage of her chest, pounded harder with each heavy step she took. The torches that lined the walls flickered their approval, casting long shadows that danced like specters upon the cold floor. Erin was acutely aware of the roughness of Magnus's hand, calloused and firm, as it led her towards an unknown future.

She was surprised to recognize their route led them to her bed chamber, rather than his, but considered the decision was perhaps some kindness on his part. Familiar surroundings were bound to put her at ease on their wedding night.

He opened her door wide, but rather than carry her across the threshold as she expected, he waved her on inside, remaining outside her room.

"Goodnight, wife," Magnus's voice rumbled, deep as the loch yet strangely devoid of emotion. With a curt nod, he released her hand and turned away, leaving her on the threshold of solitude.

"Goodnight?" Erin whispered to the space he had left behind. Confusion furrowed her brow. Was this not their wedding night? Were they not meant to consummate the hastily arranged marriage that bound them, by necessity?

She couldn't allow the night to end with such questions lingering like mist over the moors. Steeling herself, Erin followed the sound of Magnus's retreating footsteps, her gown whispering secrets against the stone as she moved.

Magnus stood before the hearth in his chambers, the flames casting his scarred visage in a dance of light and shadow. He spun around, his surprise evident as Erin appeared in the doorway.

"Erin," he growled, the name sounding like a warning shot across a battlefield. "What are ye doing here?"

"'Tis our wedding night, is it not?" Erin's voice held a defiant edge, even as her insides quivered. She needed to understand this man, who was her husband by name only.

"Did I nae make myself clear, lass?" His frustration was palpable, the lines of his face etched deeper with the weight of unspoken burdens. "I willnae touch ye."

The declaration hung between them, a gauntlet thrown, a challenge issued. Erin felt a spark of anger but also a strange thrill. This was a game of wits and wills, and she was not one to yield.

"Ye willnae touch me," she repeated, allowing the words to linger, a baited hook cast into turbulent waters. This was the way of the world, and she had never thought him capable of rejecting her from consummating their marriage.

Her heart raced, but Erin stood her ground, determined to unravel the enigma of Magnus Black. The Laird McCormack, a man of strength and scars, would not dismiss her so easily. Not tonight.

Erin's fists clenched at her sides as she stood, unwavering, before the formidable figure of Magnus. His broad shoulders cast a looming shadow that seemed to swallow the flickering light from the hearth, yet she refused to be cowed by his darkened gaze.

"Ye have touched me before," she accused, her voice steady despite the maelstrom of emotions churning within her. "Ye've held me hand, guided me through a crowded inn, even caught me when I stumbled in the courtyard."

His jaw tightened an imperceptible shift that spoke volumes to Erin's observant nature. "Aye, and what of it?"

"'This nae about touch, Magnus," she pressed on, her blue eyes blazing with a determination that matched the fiery spirit of her homeland. "We wed this day, and duty bides us to provide an heir for yer clan. We shouldnae dally with such matters."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension so thick that even the shadows dared not dance. Magnus' gaze never wavered from hers, though something flickered behind those deep brown eyes—a torment she could not read.

"An heir?" The words left him like the quietest of storms, heavy with portent. "I willnae sire children, Erin. Me brother, Hayden, he is to be me heir."

Erin felt her heart stutter in her chest, the revelation striking her with the force of a highland gale. She searched his face for answers but found none, only the implacable wall he presented.

"But why?" she implored, calm slipping momentarily as confusion laced her words. "Why condemn yerself to solitude? Why deny us both the chance of a family?" She had never considered having a family now, but it wasn't something she had ruled out for the future.

He turned from her then, moving to the window where the night whispered secrets to the stones of the keep. His voice was low when he spoke, a rumble of distant thunder. "Me reasons are me own, lass. I daenae wish to speak of them."

"Ye cannae just?—"

"Enough!" The word cut through the air, silencing her protest. Magnus faced her once more, the lines of his face etched with a pain she yearned to understand.

"Ye asked for answers, and I have given them." His tone brokered no argument, though Erin's mind raced with unanswered questions.

"Perhaps one day, ye will tell me the whole of it," she murmured, her voice softer now though no less insistent.

"Perhaps," he conceded, the single word hanging between them, a promise or a curse—only time would tell.

Erin took a step back, her mind ablaze with thoughts of this man, her husband in name, yet a stranger in truth. The silence stretched on, the space between them filled with the echoes of things unsaid.

"Goodnight, Laird McCormack," she said at last, her Scottish brogue wrapping around his title like a caress.

"Goodnight, Erin," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of their shared uncertainty. Yet something held her feet still, unmoving from his chamber.

"Be gone, lass. Ye're needin' yer rest." Magnus turned away from her.

Erin felt angry that he was rejecting her. He may prefer to distance himself from her company, but now he was forcing her into a marriage he had no intention of honoring. Though she would never say it aloud, she had been wanting his touch all day. Her fears that niggled at her all day were coming true. Erin's fingers trailed the intricate embroidery of her wedding gown, the tartan pattern a testament to the clan she was now bound to. Her heart thrummed in her chest, an erratic dance that matched the flickering light of the candles in her chamber. The celebrations had ended, the clamor of bagpipes and cheers fading into the night. Now, surrounded by silence, she pondered the enigma of Magnus McCormack.

She wasn't angry with his revelation—no desire for children, no longing for an heir of their flesh and blood. But the simple unity of a man and woman was her right. She had been tingling inside at the thought of giving herself completely to a man, a married woman had needs she would not be forced to live without trying. Yet, as she stood in the doorway of his bed-chamber, she couldn't deny the twinge of disappointment that crept upon her—a yearning for something more than just duty between them. Was she hoping for a love that could never be?

"Ye ken, ye'll never touch me, then?" The words slipped from Erin's lips before she could catch them, carrying across the dimly lit corridor to where Magnus stood like a shadow at his door.

His gaze found hers, piercing through the darkness. "Aye," he replied, voice steady, betraying none of the emotion that surely roiled beneath his stony exterior.

Erin swallowed the lump forming in her throat, her hands moving with a mind of their own as she began loosening the laces of her gown. The fabric fell away inch by tantalizing inch, revealing the fair skin beneath. She felt exposed, her actions driven by an inexplicable need to test the boundaries of his resolve.

"Even now?" she challenged, her voice wavering between daring and vulnerability. The gown pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her chemise, the cold air of the chamber making her shiver.

Magnus's eyes darkened, a storm brewing within them, yet he held fast to his declaration. "Even now," he echoed, his tone ironclad.

Erin could feel the weight of his stare as if he were touching her without laying a finger on her body. She fought against the flush creeping up her neck, refusing to break beneath the intensity of their unspoken connection.

"Ye must be certain, for I'll nae ask again," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she reached for the hem of her chemise, uncertainty and determination warring within her.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the only sound of the hearth fire crackling, as though even the flames were captivated by the unfolding drama. Erin's fingertips brushed against her skin, the anticipation tingling her nerves.

At that moment, standing on the precipice of something unfathomable, Erin understood the full measure of the game she played. And with one last glance at the man, her husband by name alone, she prepared to enter the unknown.

Erin's fingers trembled slightly as she slipped the chemise strap off one shoulder, the fabric whispering against her skin. The room was tense; the space between her and Magnus charged like a storm brewed in the highland skies. She dared another step forward, the firelight casting dancing shadows across her form.

"Are ye certain ye willnae touch me, Magnus?" Her voice held a boldness that belied the fluttering in her chest. It was a challenge, a gauntlet thrown at the feet of the brooding laird who watched her with eyes like polished obsidian.

A growl rumbled in his throat, a primal sound that sent an unexpected thrill spiraling through her. "I've told ye, lass," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I willnae be swayed. I willnae be tempted so cease yer trying and just enjoy all that ye have."

Erin found herself lost for words. His voice held a passion in it, he did want her, yet he still fought what was natural and right.

"Now go, before I do somethin' we both regret."

But Erin could see the lie for what it was, written in the barely restrained heat of his gaze. She let the other strap of her chemise fall, exposing her collarbone to the warmth of the hearth. His eyes followed the movement with an intensity that spoke volumes more than his words.

"Then tell me, me husband, what am I to do on this, our wedding night?" she asked, her heart pounding against her ribs.

"Take it off," Magnus commanded, sternly pointing to her chemise. His command was not loud but resonated through the chamber like a decree. Erin hesitated, caught between the modesty of her upbringing and the wild, untamed part of her that wanted to know the touch of the man before her.

"Come here, in front of me." His voice left no room for argument, and Erin found herself complying, drawn by the force of his will as indeed as the tides to the moon.

Standing before him, Erin felt exposed, her chemise falling to the floor with a soft rustle. The chamber's cool air caressed her bare skin, causing gooseflesh to rise. A shiver of excitement ran down her spine as she met his dark gaze, finding a tumult of unspoken desires within it.

"Sit," he ordered, gesturing to the edge of the bed. Erin complied, feeling the weight of his stare upon her like a tangible touch. She perched on the edge of the mattress, her legs hanging awkwardly.

"Open yer legs," Magnus instructed, his voice betraying none of the storm she saw swirling in his depths. Confusion flickered through her, and she hesitated, unsure and innocent of the ways of pleasure.

"Ye daenae ken how?" he surmised, a hint of surprise bleeding through his stoic demeanor. When she shook her head, a flush creeping up her neck, Magnus leaned forward, the predator in him stirred by her vulnerability.

"Place yer hand here," he directed, motioning to the juncture of her thighs. "Explore yerself... there."

Erin's breath caught in her throat as she followed his instruction, her fingers brushing against sensitive skin. A bolt of sensation shot through her, and she gasped, her eyes locked with Magnus's. He nodded, encouraging her to continue, his gaze never leaving her face as she embarked on a journey of self-discovery.

"Good," he murmured, a note of satisfaction in his tone. "Keep going."

Unfamiliar heat pooled within her, and her movements grew bolder under his tutelage. Her world narrowed to the sensation of her touch and the relentless intensity of Magnus's stare, which seemed to draw forth her innermost secrets without a word being spoken.

As she delved deeper into the burgeoning pleasure, the last remnants of her inhibitions melted away. At that moment, Erin realized she was playing with fire, and yet she could not have stopped had the ancient hills themselves commanded it. The chamber spun around her, the walls echoing with the beating of her heart as she stood on the brink of something profound and terrifying—a cliffhanger in her soul that promised either salvation or ruin.

"Reach yer hand inside."

Erin's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she followed Magnus's instructions, her hand slowly sliding between her thighs. A tremor of awkwardness coursed through her veins, yet each timid touch began to alight her senses with an unfamiliar warmth.

"Do ye feel it?" Magnus asked, his voice low and husky with desire. "Are ye wet for me?"

Erin bit her lip and nodded, unable to form words as she explored herself under his intense gaze. She could feel the heat and moisture building within her, a foreign sensation that both scared and enticed her.

"Good," he murmured, leaning closer to her. "Now rub yer fingers, lass. Push in and feel how good it is."

Her heart raced at his words as she followed his direction, dipping her fingers inside herself. The movement sent a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she couldn't help but moan softly.

The world contracted to the chamber, the rough-hewn bed beneath her, and the man whose dark gaze seared into her very being. In his stare, she found an unexpected adoration, a reverence that painted her not as an unwilling bride but as a woman of enchanting beauty.

"Keep going," he urged, his voice rough with need. "I want ye to feel every inch of yer body."

Erin obeyed without hesitation, feeling bolder with each passing moment as she discovered new sensations within herself. With each stroke of her fingers, she could feel the heat building within her until it was almost unbearable.

"Good girl. Obedient wife." As their eyes locked once again in an intimate dance of desire, Erin realized there was no turning back now. She was his, completely and irrevocably, and she wanted more. "Ye're doin' well, lass," Magnus's voice rumbled, low and husky, betraying a hint of something more vulnerable than his usual stoicism.

Erin's breath hitched as a wave of pleasure rippled up from her core, setting her nerves ablaze. She felt bare, not just in the flesh but in spirit too, as if Magnus's eyes could pierce through the facade she'd built around herself since those harrowing years of captivity. And yet, amidst her anxiety, there was no place she wished to hide; his look alone cradled her like the gentle caress of a lover.

"That's it, love, nearly there. Yer doin' so well." Magnus moaned. "Touch yer breast with the other hand. Tease yer nipple, tug on it." His lip slipped between his teeth as she obeyed, squeezing the hardened bug until she cried out.

"Oh Magnus!" She gasped as the world blurred before her.

"Perfect, keep goin' lass. Squeeze again."

Her movements grew less hesitant, squeezing the mound of her breasts, urged on by his words and the stirring within her, by the need to reach the precipice that promised a release from the tension that had knotted inside her since their wedding vows were uttered. With every shallow breath and stifled moan, she chased the burgeoning climax, a storm of sensation that threatened to engulf her whole.

And then it struck—a cascading torrent of ecstasy that swept her away like the powerful currents of the lochs she'd heard tales of as a child. Her body arched, a silent plea to the heavens, as she surrendered to the rapture that consumed her.

Magnus, slid his hand within the folds of his thick quilt, tenting the gathering of fabric at the front. His hand moved back and forth in time with Erin's own passion. Whatever Magnus was doing under there, he was certainly enjoying himself as much as she was. Magnus finally shattered under her passion. A raw and primal growl escaped him as he leaned forward to complete his own pleasure.

As the waves of their pleasure receded, leaving them both adrift in the aftermath, Magnus's eyes—once filled with the soft glow of untamed fire—hardened like the steel of his blade. He fixed her with a glare that could've frozen the highland moors. Without warning, he leant over her spent body, his lips pressing to hers and he kissed her. It was a gentle brief kiss which she chased as he withdrew, but it was special to Erin. She touched her fingers to her lips, stroking where he had touched her, the taste of her body mixing with his highland scent.

"Never," he said, voice low and almost dangerous, "tempt me again, Erin Gibson."

Yet even his warning couldn't stifle the flicker of triumph in her chest, nor could it silence the whisper of her heart that wondered what it would mean to yield—not out of duty, but out of a blooming, reckless desire.

The room echoed with the unspoken words between them and with tension that hummed like the strings of a fiddle before the dance began, leaving Erin to wonder what tomorrow might bring after a night that had changed everything they thought they knew about themselves.

"Agreed," Erin's voice danced through the thick air, a teasing lilt to her Scottish brogue that belied the rapid tattoo of her heart against her chest. She arched an eyebrow, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief and something more—a daring challenge.

Magnus's breath hitched, his gaze still smoldering from the intensity of their shared transgression. He was a storm contained in the flesh, every line of his body taut with restrained power. The heat from his skin seemed to brand her, even as the space between them crackled with the unspeakable.

"Ye'd best be careful, lass," he growled, "or ye'll find yerself in a storm ye cannae control."

"Perhaps I'm countin' on it," she whispered back, her tone light but her resolve as strong as the ancient stones of their Highland home.

The room around them bore silent witness to their union—candles flickering like distant stars, casting shadows over the simple yet elegant tapestries that adorned the walls. The scent of roasted meats and sweet bannocks from the wedding feast reminded them of the traditions that had brought them here and the vows they now wove together with actions rather than words.

"Ye're playin' a dangerous game, Erin Gibson," Magnus warned, but she could see how his lips twitched, the hint of a smile fighting against the stern set of his jaw.

"Oh, perhaps I am," she conceded, stepping closer, drawn to him as if by the tide's pull. "But isn't life itself a game, Magnus Black? And what is a wife if not yer most formidable opponent?"

"Opponent?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder, and she could tell she'd struck a chord within him. "Nay, lass... partner, perhaps." The admission hung between them, a fragile thing waiting to be shattered or cherished.

"Partner, then," she agreed, allowing herself a small smile. Her previous thoughts of flight, of escape from this man who was both beast and savior, dissipated like morning mist in the warmth of the rising sun.

"Partner," he echoed, and for a heartbeat, she saw the glimmer of the man beneath the scars, the hero hidden behind the torment.

She reached out tentatively, her fingertips brushing against the rough stubble of his cheek. Magnus closed his eyes, a shudder coursing through him at her touch. It was a moment of vulnerability, of connection that transcended their circumstances.

"Erin," he said, his voice a deep thrum that resonated within her, "ye daenae ken what ye're askin' for."

"Maybe I do," she countered, her gaze locked with his. "And maybe ye daenae ken what ye're offerin'."

Their breathing filled the room, a testament to the life they would navigate together, bound by duty and tethered by an emerging bond neither fully understood.

"Get some rest," he finally murmured, a gentle command laced with concern. "Tomorrow comes early."

As Erin slipped under the covers of her bed, her mind raced with possibilities. Each day with Magnus was a step into the unknown, and though fear nipped at her heels, the thrill of the journey—the challenge of taming and being tamed by this Highland beast—held a promise far too enticing to ignore. But as uncertain as the journey was, she would face it within the castle's walls.

"Until the morrow indeed," she murmured to herself, a smile playing on her lips as she drifted towards sleep. The cliff's edge of tomorrow's uncertainties loomed, calling to her adventurous spirit.