Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

In response, Emma slid her hands up to his jaw, letting her fingertips drag through his beard, and then paused, relishing the moment. Grant tilted her face up, and she smiled, then leaned in, seeking his lips with her own.

He let her kiss him. A soft exploration, a little clumsy and shy, yet hungry.

I have missed you, too, Emma wanted to say as he deepened the kiss. I have wanted to feel your touch, too. I ? —

They broke apart, and a shiver ran down her spine.

When he made to kiss her again, she put a finger on his lips and murmured, “What are we doing?”

“Sharin’ this night,” Grant said and kissed her again.

This time, he wrapped his arms around her, tight and snug. Emma wound her arms around his neck, and any lingering resistance vanished. All she wanted was more—more of his heat, more of his touch, and more of his kisses.

When he kissed down her neck, she gasped. “Oh yes, Grant.”

“Hm, I like it when ye sound so sweet and breathless, Sassenach ,” Grant purred. His hands trailed down her back and rested on her rump, before squeezing it lightly. “But ye never said aye.”

“Hm?” Emma lifted her head to meet his dancing green eyes, though his expression was mock-somber—even as he squeezed her rump again, sending a bolt of heat to her core.

“May I kiss ye?” he asked, almost against her lips. “And a bit more?”

Emma slid her hands into his hair and tugged on it. She pulled the tartan tie off and slipped it into her corset, while Grant shook his hair free and grinned at her.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked in a coy voice that she almost did not recognize.

He shook his head. “Can ye nae just answer a man’s question? Obstinate minx.”

“Demanding laird,” Emma retorted.

“Ye have nay idea,” Grant said and kissed her hard again.

Their kisses became wilder, Grant’s hands roaming over her back and hips, while she let her fingers trace the edges of his shoulders and strong arms. Finally, they broke apart, gasping for air, and they both smiled. He spun her around, her skirt billowing, and she shrieked with glee.

All around them, the night had grown even more beautiful. It smoldered overhead with bright stars. A crescent moon dipped low over the loch, as though contemplating a drink. Fireflies flitted over the water and through the trees, while the soft breeze played its own melody in the grass.

Grant smiled at her when she looked back at him. “I’ve never shown anyone else this spot, ye ken. Verra few people ken about it, since we’re near the castle and huntin’ in these woods is forbidden.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Emma said.

As her eyes roamed over his kilt and crisp white shirt, she found that she was no longer thinking of the lovely glen around them, but only him.

“Will you show me more?”

Heat and desire flared in Grant’s eyes, but his expression was soft. “Are ye sure?”

“Yes,” Emma said with a nod of her head. “In this spot, away from the world, you are mine , Laird Ronson.” She paused as he pulled his shirt over his heart. “And I am yours.”

She held out her hand, and he took it as he stepped forward. Then, he tugged her toward the waterfall, where the shelf of rock arced into the earth. Vines climbed down next to the water, damp white flowers shaking in the mist. But the way the rock curved left a bare stretch of stone.

Something about it felt almost private—sacred. Emma gazed up at Grant as he pressed her back against the rock, next to the flowers and the water. Mist played over her skin and gemmed her eyelids as he gazed down at her.

“Here, I am yers,” he said in his soft, husky voice before he kissed her again.

However, he stepped back too soon, and Emma frowned as the Laird of Clan Ronson got down on his knees.

“What—what are you doing?” she gasped. “You do not kneel to me, Grant.”

“Aye. In our place, I do, Emma,” he said. “Did ye nae ask for more? Although…” He tilted his head to the side. “It might be easier if ye’re nae wearin’ yer gown.”

“Oh, yes, I don’t want to ruin it,” Emma said and bit her lip.

Grant stood up and quickly helped her take off her gown, then her petticoats, until she stood in nothing but her chemise, with her corset and underclothes underneath. He tugged on her chemise, and she slowly peeled it off.

Her nerve endings prickled as the air whispered over her bare skin, and she gazed at Grant as he took her in.

“Is this enough?” she asked, more boldly than she felt.

He closed his eyes and murmured something in Gaelic, then gave a curt nod. “Nay more. I dinnae ken if I’d be able to—” He swallowed hard, and then his eyes flew open.

Before Emma could take another breath, he was kissing her, devouring her. She was pressed back against the rockface, and one of his hands delved into her hair while the other slid down her neck, then over her breast and ribs. Then, he cupped her sex, and she bucked against him.

Grant teased and petted her through her smallclothes, and she moaned into his mouth.

“I must taste ye,” he suddenly snarled, and he went down on his knees again.

It was only when he lifted her leg and placed it on his shoulder, kissing the inside of her knee, that Emma realized what he’d meant.

A gasp escaped her lips. She’d once heard of such a thing and had always been curious about it.

She looked down at this powerful man kneeling before her, raising an eyebrow at her, and a smile spread across her face.

Something flared in Grant’s eyes, and he shook his head. “Ye are a dangerous creature, Emma Wells.”

“I-I’ve heard about this,” she admitted, “once, and I-I was curious. My friends were alarmed, but I…”

“Ah,” Grant purred. “Happy to teach ye pleasure, Me Lady.”

And with that, he tore her smallclothes in two and buried his tongue between her folds. Emma cried out, tugging on his hair, and her head lolled back. She could not have been quiet if she tried, crying out in agonized bliss as her entire body lit up.

He devoured her with his wicked tongue, and her entire body quivered and shook around him. She never wanted it to stop, and Grant took his time until he had to hold her up because she’d gone so weak with pleasure.

With Laird Ronson kneeling at her feet, giving her mindless pleasure, Emma looked up at the stars and let herself explode among them.

After, when she had floated back down to earth, they lay on the grass for a while, kissing and talking of idle things in a way she’d only ever done with her mother and Helena. Emma reveled in the feel of Grant’s hand sliding up her bare leg and wanted to feel his chest against hers, wanted to cross that final line. Oh, if only she could give herself to him, as she was told she could only give herself to a husband.

Yet both of them seemed to know they could go no further.

Finally, after kissing until the moon had risen overhead and the night had grown cold, they rose to their feet.

Grant helped her get back into the dress, murmuring compliments, and then pulled her against him.

“I didnae realize how cold it would get,” he said. “Stay close—I cannae believe I didnae bring a cloak with me. What fool I am. I hope ye dinnae catch a chill.”

Emma’s heart swelled at his sweet words as they walked back to the castle.

And as they approached the castle, Grant suddenly slowed down. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple before pulling her into a tight embrace.

“Thank ye, Emma,” he murmured into her ear. “I will never forget this night so long as I live. And I will never return to that place without ye.”

Emma tried to speak but was too overcome with emotions. She could only hold on to him as she wished that the night would somehow go on forever.

But by the time they reached the gates, her last day at Banrose had finally come.

Emma woke up after a few fitful hours of sleep, her entire body wracked with exhaustion and an impending sense of falling off a cliff. She took a long bath, but it did not help. All her muscles remained tense, bracing for the impact as she bid the maids to bring her a snack and a trunk.

Moving slowly, she first gathered up her letters, stashing them in a smart bag that Brenda had given to her yesterday morning. Then, she set about going through her gowns, unsure what she should take with her and what she should leave.

Strange how she wanted to take them all with her and never see them again.

After the maids brought her tea and a snack, she felt a bit more revived. She had them dress her in a simple, forest-green gown and again asked for a trunk.

“It’s comin’ soon, Me Lady,” one of the maids said. “And we’ll come back to help ye pack.”

Emma watched them go, Aileas leaving last and giving her a soft smile. With a sigh, she began to sort through her smallclothes and chemises, when a knock sounded at the door.

“Finally,” she muttered and turned, expecting to see a strapping lad bearing a trunk.

Instead, Grant ducked into the room. He had not shaved, though he had pulled his hair back with a dark tie and wore fresh clothes. Emma fingered the tartan tie around her wrist—the one she’d taken from him—and then tugged down her sleeve.

“Have you come to say goodbye?” she asked before he could speak. “I’m glad. I would have hated to?—”

Grant had let out a snarl and crossed the room. As he got closer, Emma could see the shadows under his eyes and the tight lines at the corners of his lips. He looked as though he had not gotten a wink of sleep, but instead, he had gone out riding. Indeed, musk, grass, and horse sweat clung to him.

And yet, she did not resist as he pulled her against him and kissed her hard.

“Come with me,” he said when they broke apart.

“I-I’m packing,” she stammered.

Grant glared at the clothes folded on the bed, then stalked away from her and shut her door. She gasped, and he shot her an ironic look over his shoulder.

“Have we nae been alone together many times, Sassenach ?” he asked as he turned around.

“But that—this is not proper, and you know it,” Emma said, going over to her bed and methodically folding clothes that she’d already folded. “I want to thank you for everything.”

“Aye?” Grant murmured, and she looked over to see him leaning against the door, his arms folded across his chest. “Then will ye stay?”