Chapter Seventeen

It was still several hours after Ailsa had left the underground dungeon with his agreement before anyone had come to release them. That had been Colin, who’d seemed surprised by the turn of events though he’d asked no questions, had merely unlocked the door to their cell and had delivered them to the hall. There, they were met by two women—Margaret and Mary, who had been the first to tend Cole inside the rectory when he’d first come to Torr Cinnteag—who directed them to a room upstairs. This, Margaret explained in her broken and thick English, was the keep’s garderobe, a large open room that appeared to serve as both bathroom and washroom.

Cole found himself marveling at the room; it was his first time inside any chamber beyond the hall and dungeon. Tall walls of cold stone loomed over him, though their surface was smooth and gleaming with dampness from rising steam. The space was stark, with minimal furnishings, but the deep wooden tubs, already filled with steaming water, were inviting enough to distract from the otherwise austere setting.

The tubs themselves seemed almost comically small to Cole at first glance—round and shallow, looking more like oversized barrels than proper baths. He and Tank exchanged a quick, uncertain glance when the maids lingered expectantly, one near each tub, clearly prepared to assist with the bathing.

Cole cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing at Tank, who stepped back defensively. “We can manage, thanks,” Cole said, trying to sound polite but firm.

The maids exchanged a confused look, until Tank said—speaking slowly, enunciating each word, as if they were deaf and not only struggled with the language—“We’re fine. You can go.” Possibly, waving his hand toward the door was what actually sent them scurrying from the room.

Cole shed his filthy clothing with no small amount of relief, grimacing at the stiff, dirt-encrusted fabric. The moment he lowered himself into the hot water, his skepticism about the size of the tub vanished. The heat soaked into his aching muscles, dissolving the tension he hadn’t realized he carried. Even if he had to sit with his knees drawn up, the cramped position was a minor inconvenience. “Man, this beats those cold baths in the lake,” he muttered, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as steam curled around him.

“Holy shit, that feels good,” Tank groaned as he sat.

By the time the maids returned with fresh clothes—where they’d come from or who they belonged to, Cole couldn’t begin to guess—he finally felt somewhat human again. The pale brown tunic was snug across his shoulders, just shy of restrictive. Tank’s shirt, on the other hand, looked as though he’d been poured into it as liquid and then somehow expanded after the fabric had settled. Cole’s pants, while clean, were laughably short, but tucking their hems into the oversized leather boots that had also arrived—a half-size too large—helped him feel at least moderately presentable.

Tank, standing there crammed into a tunic that pulled tight across his chest and arms, with sleeves so short they barely reached halfway to his wrists and wearing pants that stopped well above the boots that had been supplied to him, making him look like a child who’d outgrown his clothes overnight, had no business laughing at Cole.

But he did, swiping his hand down his beard while a grin overtook him. “Dude, that might be your wedding tux.”

He had fully expected to be summoned to meet with Tavis beforehand, bracing himself for a stern lecture on how he’d single-handedly shattered the possibility of peace with the MacLaes. That would have undoubtedly been followed by another sermon on how he was expected to treat Ailsa, likely laced with thinly veiled threats about the consequences of stepping out of line—banishment, or worse. But to his surprise, there was no such meeting. Instead, the maid, Margaret, awaited them just outside the bathroom, and they were led directly from the soothing bath to the chapel, which, upon arrival, was empty and eerily silent.

The heavy smell of incense hung in the air, wafting up from a brazier near the altar. It was sharp, earthy, and strangely comforting—though Cole couldn’t say why, unless because it reminded him of those Sunday masses he’d attended as a child or more recently, on holy days with Aunt Rosie. He suspected that going forward, the scent would forever be tied to this day, this moment.

Of course a shotgun wedding would not be celebrated with any great fanfare, but he kind of expected there would at least be some witnesses aside from Tank.

There would be, he realized a moment later as the door opened and Anwen strode inside. Like Ailsa, the maid seemed none the worse for wear despite having barely escaped an avalanche. Cole never could tell if she was actually smiling or not; it always looked as if she was, though her mood never quite matched her expression. Today, however, the quick glance she cast toward Cole as she walked toward the altar seemed genuinely pleased, the smile seeming to reach her eyes as she nodded a wordless greeting.

Cole flexed his fingers, his palms damp despite the cool air. He wasn’t nervous though, or at least he didn’t think he was. He wasn’t already regretting his decision to marry Ailsa. He knew that he was attracted to her, not only her body and her kiss. But let’s be real: this wasn’t the wedding he’d imagined back in the twenty-first century. If someone could step up right now and give him a guarantee—some kind of cosmic confirmation that he was stuck here for good—maybe he’d embrace this moment with less resistance. Maybe he’d dive into this marriage with both feet.

But without that assurance, he kind of felt that it was wise to tread lightly. Even as he stood here, wrestling with caution and hope, he knew one thing for certain: his feelings for Ailsa were no joke. Being married to her might have him falling harder and faster than he had already. And that was the part that made him nervous, because there was no guarantee that they had any chance at a future together.

Tavis arrived then, accompanied unsurprisingly by Dersey. While the captain’s expression seemed at worst annoyed to have this thrown into his schedule for the day, the laird’s face was a mask of stony displeasure. Tavis’s lips were pressed together so tightly, it appeared he snarled. Cole thought a baring of his teeth was soon to come as he walked forward.

He stopped directly in front of Cole.

“Ye dinna get to fail her, nae even once,” he said, nearly eye to eye with Cole, “Nae Torr Cinnteag. I’ll be watching for any opportunity to cast ye out—either walking or being carried in a pine box, makes nae difference to me.”

Cole didn’t blink as he nodded solemnly. Good talk.

Father Gilbert arrived then as Tavis stepped aside, entering from the door at the side of the altar. He positioned himself in front of the altar and signaled Cole to approach. He looked...on edge, which was not particularly reassuring. The priest's gaze darted between Cole and Tavis as though he expected he’d have to break up a fight at any moment.

And then came Ailsa...

Cole’s breath caught as she entered the chapel. She moved toward him with a quiet grace, her steps judged as just slightly less than hesitant, her hands clasped tightly in front of her though she carried no bouquet. Her gown, though simple, was undeniably beautiful—a light blue wool embroidered with delicate vines of white and gold along the hem and neckline. The threads caught the faint light of the candles, glistening, giving her an almost ethereal glow. Her dark auburn hair, loose and cascading over her shoulders, framed her face, accentuating the gentle angle of her cheeks and the delicate curve of her jaw. Her face was pale, her expression tense, and her eyes—those striking blue eyes—flicked toward him only briefly before darting away. She was nervous, he could plainly see, but she was also radiant.

As she arrived at his side, he caught the faint scent of lavender, subtle but enough to momentarily cut through the incense. The combination of the two scents—earthy and floral—etched themselves into his memory.

If she had looked at him then, or at any point during her short procession, he knew he would have smiled at her. He wanted to offer her something—a silent assurance that everything would be all right. Whether or not it would prove true, he couldn’t say. But in that moment, it felt like a small and meaningful gift he could give her, a sliver of peace amidst the uncertainty.

The ceremony began, Father Gilbert’s voice low and steady as he spoke the necessary words. Cole barely heard them, his attention fixed on Ailsa. She didn’t look at him directly, her gaze flickering between the priest and some point beyond him, but every now and then, her eyes darted his way.

Cole was pretty sure that Tank and Anwen were the only people smiling.

When Ailsa finally met his gaze, prompted by Father Gilbert’s instruction to face each other and recite their vows, Cole seized the moment to look directly into her eyes. He didn’t blink, his stare steady and intentional, trying to convey his resolve. This was his way of showing her that he’d made his peace with their union, as much as one could under such circumstances, and that he was stepping into it willingly.

As he repeated his vows, which the priest kindly recited in English, and while Cole had no illusions about this marriage, being born of necessity, not choice, he couldn’t help but feel an odd, tiny surge of joy.

***

With little fanfare, they emerged from the chapel into the biting air of the courtyard. Ailsa flinched as icy rain began to fall, the cold droplets stinging her skin. To her surprise, Cole reached for her hand, taking it firmly in his own as they crossed the bailey. The strength of his grip and the warmth of his palm against hers, warding off the chill, offered a quiet reassurance she hadn’t known she needed.

Inside the keep, Ailsa and Cole, Tavis and Tank took their seats at the family’s table. The supper hour had arrived and the hall filled quickly, the chatter of the Sinclair folks carrying an air of normalcy that felt at odds with the monumental shift in Ailsa’s life. Most of the attendees arrived blissfully unaware of the marriage that had just taken place, greeting one another with laughter and the occasional complaint about the cold or the day’s work.

Once everyone was seated, Tavis rose, his expression composed but his jaw tight—a telltale sign to Ailsa of his frustration, though no one else would likely notice. He raised a hand for silence, and the room quieted. His tone was firm, yet laced with an unmistakable edge of forced goodwill as he announced, “Before we begin, I bring news. My sister, Ailsa, is now wed to Cole Carter, who has already proven himself a loyal and willing ally to Torr Cinnteag.”

Ailsa felt the weight of every gaze turn to her and Cole, some only mildly curious while others appeared utterly stunned. Her heart quickened as murmurs spread through the hall, but she lifted her chin defiantly.

Tavis continued, his voice steady. “This marriage was conducted with my blessing, as is proper. We welcome Cole as one of us, as... our kin now.”

Though his words were smooth, Ailsa detected the subtle undertone of tension, a barely veiled warning to anyone who might question the union. It was, she realized, an act for the sake of the clan, a show of unity and control. Though she believed her brother’s amiability was feigned, it was clear he meant to leave no room for dissent.

Ailsa’s gaze shifted to Cole, who sat quietly beside her, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning the room, clearly aware of the scrutiny. For all the awkwardness of the day, he looked remarkably composed. She wondered what he was thinking, whether he felt as out of place as she suddenly did.

As the meal began and the hall returned to its usual hum of conversation, Ailsa tried to act as though this evening was no different from any other. Yet, a quiet ache gnawed at her—a nervous little voice whispering that Cole Carter didn’t appear even remotely pleased about their marriage.

She wasn’t blind to the circumstances. She knew he had married her to escape the dungeon and whatever grim fate awaited him, but still, she had allowed herself to hope. Surely, after that kiss—the one that had upended both their lives—and the one before it, there must have been some spark of feeling on his part.

Now, she wasn’t so certain. Throughout the meal, his jaw remained clenched, his expression tight, as though the entire affair was an ordeal

Though this wasn’t a proper wedding feast—there were no toasts, no speeches, no honored guests, and no music played in celebration of their union—Ailsa had tried to treat the supper as a normal evening, but in her heart, it felt monumental. Yet, seeing Cole’s unchanged—or perhaps slightly darker—demeanor left her feeling small and disheartened by the end of the meal.

Finally, as courage and desperation warred within her, she summoned the nerve to speak. “Ye are nae pleased,” she ventured softly, her voice careful, hesitant. “Despite having your freedom.”

The words seemed to shift something in him. His gaze slid to hers, and though his expression softened slightly, his tone remained clipped.

“Ailsa, I’m not upset—certainly not with you,” he said, though the frustration laced in his voice suggested otherwise. “I understand you’re bound by the rules and conventions of this time. But I’m not, or at least I wasn’t meant to be. Where I come from, something as...harmless as a kiss would’ve done little more than raise a few eyebrows. To end up imprisoned for it, forced into marriage...” He exhaled sharply. “It’s a lot to accept.”

Her heart sank, though she kept her voice steady. “Ye dinna want to be wed to me,” she concluded quietly.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to be forced to marry—you or anyone,” he admitted, his voice strained. “Christ, Ailsa, don’t you find it odd that your brother doesn’t trust me, yet he allowed this to happen?”

“He is trying to protect me,” she replied, though the words felt hollow as she said them.

Cole scoffed, his disbelief evident. “He’s got a funny way of showing it.”

Ailsa lowered her head, the flicker of hope she had been nurturing all evening snuffed out.

For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. But then Cole’s voice came again, quieter this time, more measured. “Ailsa...” He hesitated, as though weighing his words. “I don’t know what’s expected of me in this marriage. But I promise you this—I’ll never hurt you. And I’ll try my damnedest not to cause you any more trouble than I already have.”

She looked up at him, warmed by the sincerity in his tone. Though his words weren’t overflowing with affection, they held a kind of promise—small, but steady. And though it wasn’t the declaration she had been hoping for—was scarcely a declaration at all—it was something. And for now, she decided, it would have to be enough.

She smiled with a wee bit of gratefulness at him.

Though Ailsa knew she and Cole were expected to retire to her bedchamber together—and feast or no, sooner rather than later—Ailsa still needed to be prodded by her brother.

“?Tis time ye took yer leave of the hall,” Tavis said to her shortly after the platters had been cleared, when only tankards and crusts of bread remained on the table.

She nodded without meeting her brother’s gaze, her cheeks warming instantly with heat.

She angled her face toward Cole but did not meet his eye. “We will retire now,” she advised and waited for him to stand.

He hesitated but a moment before rising to his feet and pulling out her chair.

It wasn’t often that she felt either put on display or deeply aware of scrutiny in her own home, but she felt it now. The weight of the hall’s collective gaze settled heavily on her shoulders as she rose from the head table. The low murmur of conversation ceased almost instantly, replaced by a silence that seemed deafening in its intensity. Even the crackling of the fire in the great hearth seemed to fade to silence.

Though her cheeks burned, Ailsa kept her head high. She was acutely aware of Cole at her side, his presence solid and calm, his hand at her elbow, his stride steady and purposeful as he steered her away from the table.

She, on the other hand, felt as though she might stumble.

They were all watching her—of that, she was certain. Were they thinking of her wedding night, mayhap more than she was? Did they imagine her blushing beneath a veil of stoicism, or picture her submitting meekly to her new husband, a stranger to Torr Cinnteag? The thought made her stomach twist into knots. It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought of it—of course she had—though the idea of intimacy with a man she barely knew left her feeling more wary than wistful, despite what she was sure was some feeling for Cole Carter—despite even the tantalizing thrill she’d known from his kisses.

They strode through the corridor and climbed the stairs to the second floor, Cole’s hand having dropped away from her arm as soon as they’d left the hall.

Lifting her chin, Ailsa pushed open the door to her chamber and stepped inside. Once there, however, she paused, not quite sure what to do, where to stand even. Nervously, she scratched her right arm with her left hand, turning near the bed to face her husband.

She watched as he surveyed the chamber, his eyes seeming to linger on the details—the tapestries, the low glow of the firelight on the stone walls, the carved bedposts. Did he find it strange? Dull? Did it lack the comforts he might be accustomed to, wherever—or whenever—he was from?

To her, the chamber was a sanctuary, familiar and comfortable. To him, she realized, it might seem a relic, an odd mix of austerity and charm, stripped of any modern convenience he might have known. Did he see the years of history in the stone? The care in the stitching of the coverlet? Or was it simply another reminder of how far from home he was?

“So, I’m not sure how this works,” Cole confessed. He turned and slowly closed the door before facing her again. “Is this to be a real marriage, or am I here in your bedroom only to pretend that it is?”

Ailsa felt a sudden constriction in her chest. Any idea that this would not be a real marriage hadn’t occurred to her, and she felt suddenly ridiculous for not having considered it. “I...dinna even think to imagine... what were ye expecting?”

“I think this comes back to: expectations regarding...the time-travel thing,” he said, wiping a hand over his mouth and jaw.

She thought the answer was a wee bit evasive. She wondered if, rather as she’d just done, he’d simply tossed it back to her to answer.

Meaning to settle it here and now, Ailsa bravely asked, “If nae for the time-travel...event, if ye had nae expectation that ye might possibly be returned to your time, how would... ye like our marriage to proceed?” She swallowed nervously, waiting his reply.

Cole unclenched his fists and crossed the chamber toward her, his gaze locked on hers.

“I’m here and well, we’re in this,” he began, “and you are fully aware that I simply can’t guarantee a future, but...” He stopped two feet away from her and ran a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. “I don’t mean that we need to rush into... anything. But then, I won’t lie and say I’m not attracted to you or that I don’t want to kiss you again or...”

His words hung in the air, heavy and uncertain, but oh, so invigorating.

And yet, Ailsa wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he repeated with greater certainty, as if he knew this one thing for certain. His mesmerizing blue eyes imprisoned her, holding her gaze. “I’ve thought of little else all day.”

Ailsa’s responding smile, small and wobbly, one she’d have not been able to deny even if her life depended on it, likely served as permission granted, so that her new husband took two steps forward and did not stop, but kept coming until he’d taken her face in his hands and covered her mouth with his.

Her eyes drifted close, and she was jolted by wild, glorious sensations as his tongue explored her mouth until, wanting to give and not only receive, she touched her tongue to his. Cole groaned and he curved his hand around her nape. He moved his other hand to her waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of her léine, pulling her closer. He sucked her tongue deep into his mouth, twisting his against it with a muted sound of desire.

Anwen had repeatedly warned Ailsa that a man could be carried away by his ardor, and that he might begin to behave in an inappropriate—though unspecified—way. Presently, and despite her vast innocence, Ailsa had a theory that she desperately wanted Cole to behave inappropriately. Her insides were melting, like wax becoming liquid over a flame. She brought her hands up to his chest and shivered as his lips slid away from hers, moving along the column of her throat as she instinctively arched her neck. She felt his hand come between them and curve around the side of her breast. Heat bloomed within her and her nipples tightened.

He brought his mouth back to hers and pushed her backward, toward the bed. One hand skimmed down her back and pressed her hips against his. Ailsa gasped into his kiss, feeling the hard line of him pressing against her softness.

She nearly wept a moment later when he stopped. Completely. Took his mouth and his hands away and just stopped.

With a whimper of discontent, Ailsa opened her eyes, her fingers clutching at his tunic.

“Ailsa, I have to ask... have you done this before?” While she shook her head slowly in answer, he questioned, “Do you...know what we’re about to do—what I very desperately want to do with you right now?”

She felt no shame confessing that she hadn’t a clue, shaking her head once more. In truth, she had some idea, but as were Anwen’s warnings about a man’s possibly inappropriate behavior, Ailsa’s knowledge was vague, lacking specifics.

He took her face in his hands again and kissed her forehead and then said, “Do you want me to lay it out for you? Well, wait—first, are you sure you want to do this?” With seeming regret he lowered his hands and put a bit more distance between them. “I have a feeling that you’re going to—and not because you’re a woman or anything, but just because of the time period, that gulf of centuries between us—that you’re going to be looking at our marriage as a forever thing... even though I’ve said and I hope you understand that I just don’t know what the future will bring.”

It struck Ailsa that this was the most amount of words Cole had ever strung together all at once, and she sensed that he was nervous about something.

“I’m saying it wrong,” he admitted when she failed to respond. “I just mean, once it’s out of the bottle, so to speak, you can’t put it back.”

Ailsa narrowed her eyes at him, trying to understand exactly what he was saying.

He grimaced a bit and tried again. “Ailsa, I’m guessing you’re a virgin,” he continued bluntly, “but you won’t be after tonight. And I’m wondering if you’d rather remain a virgin, maybe if... well, if something does happen and I somehow get back to my time, maybe you would marry for real and would want to be a virgin for your husband. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think virginity is kind of prized in a bride in this time period.”

The words, for real , stung. Sharply. But she didn’t let on—she’d already been holding her breath so a gasp was impossible. She wanted his touch, wanted more of his kiss, wanted his hand on her breast again, felt as if she would die of hunger if she wasn’t fed these things. So she focused on the one thing he’d said that would—or might—get her what she wanted.

“Ye are my husband.”

He smiled. It came with a burst of a sigh, something like relief. “I was hoping you would feel that way.”

If only you did , she thought with a bittersweet twinge.

In truth, she counted herself lucky, to have had as many moments as she had with this handsome, considerate, mysterious man from the future. But she was greedy and wanted more. She’d take whatever she could get before he was taken away as he supposed he might be.

“I trust ye,” she told him.

“That’s funny,” he said. “When I first came here, I felt the same about you—I trusted you almost immediately. I still do.”

They stared for a moment at each other. Cole brushed her hair back from her temple.

“This is desire, what I feel when ye kiss me?” She asked, wanting that clarified. “Passion, mayhap?”

“Um, yeah,” he said, grinning playfully, “if I’m doing it right. And yes, if you’re wondering, I feel the same.”

“We have desire and trust, then,” she told him. “That’s a guid beginning, even if the beginning is all we have.”

He liked this, she decided. One corner of his mouth lifted and he looked into her eyes, left and then right. “Sometimes I look at you and I can’t believe you’re real. But yeah—then we’re good. Although I still need to know, do you want me to spell out what...making love is, or...do you want to feel?”

“Feel,” she answered automatically, greedily. “I want to feel...everything.”

“That’s a good answer,” he said. His white teeth flashed briefly. “I really don’t think you want to hear me stumbling and fumbling through some lame explanation of all the moving parts and what they’re going to be doing. It’ll be so much better if I show you.”

Once more he pulled her close and kissed her again. His mouth was like warm silk against her lips, infinitely persuasive, and soon he deepened the kiss, ravishing her, and Ailsa clung to him.

He lowered his head and claimed her lips with a scorching kiss. Her mouth opened instinctively, allowing his tongue to tease and torment with relentless skill until her knees threatened to give way. Was this to be her fate—to be undone again and again by him, by the relentless pull of the desire he stoked in her?

Somehow, they had gotten turned around—or Cole had turned them around without her realizing—so that the bed was behind him. He pulled her forward, his lips not leaving hers even as she felt him lower a bit. He leaned or sat against the side of the high bed and reached for her hips, easing her into the space between his thighs. She was happily trapped and greedily drank in his kiss while he raised his hands and stroked strong fingers down her back and then up until he found the laces of her léine. As if he were facing the ties with his eyes opened, he loosened them effortlessly. Next, he moved his hands to her arms, pushing them up, dragging his mouth from her so that he could raise her léine over her head. He did not kiss her again immediately though but stared at her chest for a moment, compelling Ailsa’s gaze to drop as well.

Her breasts ached and her nipples stood hard against the thin fabric of her chemise.

Time, that funny thing that brought him to her, stood still when next he touched her breast.

With worshipful awareness he closed both hands around her breasts. Ailsa shivered but otherwise did not move. He kneaded her flesh through the fabric, his thumbs stroking over the peaks. Ailsa moaned and dropped her head to the side, closing her eyes, reveling in the sensation, the way her pulse pounded with delight. Her eyes jerked open, however, in the next moment, when he put his mouth to the fabric, pulling at her nipple with his teeth. The sensual shock of it weakened her knees but Cole moved his hands to her hips steadying her, bringing her more intimately between his legs, bringing more of her breast into his mouth.

“Christ,” he murmured thickly and worked quickly, gathering the fabric of her chemise into his hands before lifting that up and over her head as well, until Ailsa stood before him in only her hose and short boots.

At first his gaze moved with the fabric, over all the parts of her revealed, but soon his eyes focused on her bared breasts. Ailsa watched him, marveling at the lean, severe contours of his face, how such austere lines could make for so handsome a man. Again there was a reverence in his touch, his hand moving with an aching slowness as he cupped the swollen mounds. He stared at them, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling.

Ailsa thought with a rare and kind self-appreciation that her skin looked like ivory in the soft light and that her breasts fit his large hands almost perfectly.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, nearly incoherent, wanting him to take her nipple between his teeth again, “there.”

Obligingly, he bent his head.

Ailsa sucked in a breath as his lips touched her nipple. But he did not tug at it again but first drew his tongue around it, creating an exquisite path of delicious torture to its peak. Her body reacted, blossoming at his touch. She was an instrument, and he merely plucked at strings, creating a melody in her pulse until she vibrated for him. “I like it,” she confessed breathlessly. “I like this very much.”

In response, he focused again on her nipple, holding it in his teeth, while inside his mouth, his tongue stroked the bud.

Ailsa gasped, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. Cole shifted her until her other breast was directly in front of him and repeated the beautiful torment. He was firm but gentle, clever, so easily eliciting a cry from her, begging for more.

“Please,” she whimpered as heat pooled low in her pelvis.

His lips, teeth, and tongue abandoned her breast.

“Say my name,” he instructed.

Chest heaving, Ailsa tipped her face down to him. “What?”

He laved his tongue over her nipple, his eyes locked on hers. “Say my name.”

“Cole,” she breathed.

He licked again and a muscle between her legs clenched involuntarily.

“When you beg, Ailsa, say my name,” he said, his breath warm on her cool, wet nipple. He watched her and waited.

“Please, Cole,” she managed, her voice suddenly unfamiliar, throaty. Desire soared even higher.

He gripped her tight and yanked her to him, plundering her nipple with renewed vigor.

“Cole,” she heard herself whisper again.

A moment later, while her head was thrown back and her hands were threaded in his hair, he paused and put his hand at the back of her thigh, lifting her leg off the ground. A wee bit dazed, Ailsa moved her hands to his broad shoulders and glanced down as he removed her shoe and then glided his hand slowly up her leg to the top of her hose, slowly rolling it downward, his intense blue eyes worshipfully following his hand. Indifferently, he tossed the hose aside and repeated the process with her other leg.

And Ailsa stood completely naked before him.

Cole’s hands returned to her hips, his strong fingers curling possessively but not painfully into her flesh. His smoldering gaze lingered on her as though she were something rare and precious, his eyes tracing her shape and curves with an intensity that made her heart flutter. In that moment, as never before, she felt truly beautiful.

“Christ, Ailsa, you are unreal.” He met her gaze, his eyes softening, a subdued warmth flickering in the blue depths.

He stood then and pressed a brief kiss to her lips.

“Climb in bed,” he directed, his hands moving to his waist as he began to unbuckle his belt.

Ailsa did as instructed, pulling back the bedlinens, distressed by a fleeting, disheartening thought that it was done. But they couldn’t be, she reasoned. She was yet a maiden, she knew. God’s teeth, but she didn’t want to be!

Tucked under the blankets, she returned her attention to Cole.

Silhouetted by golden firelight, he doffed his tunic and then bent and removed his boots before peeling away his breeches and hose. Of course, his impressive chest she’d seen before, but still, she was not prepared for the thrill that nearly curled her toes at the sight of him fully naked, a masterwork of rugged beauty, corded muscles everywhere. As he returned to her, she took note—wordlessly, breathlessly— of his powerful thighs and then gulped, having her first glimpse of a fully aroused man.

And her thoughts became wildly inappropriate.

Cole might have caught sight of her wide-eyed gaze. “That’s one of those moving parts I mentioned,” he said, a hint of laughter in his tone.

Apparently at ease with his own nakedness, he walked slowly to the bed and sat down next to her. Gently, he tugged at the blanket, pushing all the layers down below her knees, leaving her—inexplicably at this moment—vulnerable. He pushed her arms and hands aside and leaned down to cover one nipple with his lips, while his fingers gently explored the triangle of silken hair between her legs. Ailsa was overcome, delirious with some notion that she was being attacked on several fronts.

Her eyes flew open wide. “Cole!” She struggled up on her elbows and stared down at him, at the muscled perfection of his body. Her objection, if it could be called that, lacked authority, sounded yet like another plea.

Unprepared for the sheer delight that tore through her, she moved her hips against his fingers. With his free hand, Cole slid his palm and fingers up over her belly and between her breasts, gently pushing her down until her arms went limp and she melted into the mattress. She stared at the ceiling and let herself feel. Somewhere inside her an emptiness burned, and instinct told her Cole knew how to fill that. His fingers stroked her, blatant promise in every caress.

An urgent look hardened his face when she lowered her gaze to him.

Slowly he slipped one finger inside her, the strange and exquisite sensation wringing a startled moan from her. He changed position, stretching out beside her, kissing her everywhere, wherever he pleased, nuzzling her neck and crashing down against her lips, then traveling back to her nipples to tease them gently. All the while, he worked magic with his fingers, discovering her while she discovered herself.

Ailsa moaned his name again, her voice low and wispy. She slid her hands into his hair, holding him to her, lest he stop or leave and deny her the mysterious, spiraling pleasure he brought her.

He ceased anyway, gently pulling his finger from within her hot channel a moment before he moved over her. His weight and warmth as he came over her was wonderful, sturdy, yet he took care that he didn’t press too heavily upon her. She ran her hands over his arms, feeling the muscles tighten as they held his weight on his elbows. Her legs parted naturally to cradle him and she sighed at how perfectly they fit together. Her body opened to him as he moved against her, slowly nudging. His eyes held hers, a smile in them that Ailsa selfishly, hungrily decided held more promise.

The head of his cock met with the very center of her, and Ailsa somehow knew this would complete her and deliver to her what her untutored body craved right now. She moved her hips to draw him inside her, heard him growl, suggesting he liked this, and she shifted again. Cole went still, his lips returning to hers as he flexed his hips and answered her want of more, entering her slowly. With his elbows and forearms on either side of her head, pressing into the flat mattress, he watched her as he pushed further inside her. Ailsa stared back, her fingers digging into his sides with this new sensation and wished now for so much more light inside the chamber to see him, to see if he felt what she did, how beautiful and perfect and right this was. She saw only that his eyes were shiny and that he breathed through his mouth as he watched her.

In the next moment, he slid his hands down and gripped her hips, and his mouth tightened as he murmured, “I’m sorry, Ailsa,” just before he thrusted firmly, tearing her maidenhead.

She cried out, shuddering against the burning pain, clutching at his shoulders.

Cole stopped moving. “Give it a minute,” he advised huskily. “Kiss me, Ailsa.” His arms returned to her sides, his hands pressing into the mattress near her shoulders. He lowered his mouth at the same time Ailsa obediently lifted hers, and their lips met in a slow, languid kiss.

“It feels...very full,” she murmured when their lips parted. She shifted her hips, hoping to find ease from the aching pressure. Alas, it didn’t particularly feel good anymore.

Cole groaned when she moved, however—in restrained pleasure, she thought—and she moved again, suddenly deliciously aware that she held some power. Expecting more pain, she stiffened as she lifted her hips again, but to her surprise there was little, and then less again when next he moved, withdrawing and then pressing forward again.

“Oh,” was all she could manage as that odd, tantalizing heat began to build again within her. The feeling continued to build until she thought it would be the death of her. She tightened her hold on his shoulders, desperately seeking more, that promise he’d made with his fingers. Her breath came in short, rapid bursts.

He lifted himself and slid deeper inside her, into the narrow passage he’d claimed as his own.

She sighed when he withdrew again, nearly all the way, and then entered her with excruciating slowness. He did this over and over, kissing her further into senselessness. Ailsa felt the need to move and rocked her hips against his, mimicking his motion.

Her body was slick and wet. Mindlessly, Ailsa arched her back as the wave crested, until finally it broke. Sensation washed over her, hot liquid pleasure coursing through her veins. She moaned her disbelief, the “Oh,” being drawn out, being breathed with startled delight. She opened her eyes.

Cole’s neck was arched, his head tilted upward. His eyes were closed, and he wore a tortured expression as his own body was racked with what she imagined was the same shuddering ecstasy he had given her.

A moment later, he slumped against her. Breathless yet, Ailsa swirled her short nails around the top of his back.

She couldn’t smile, could scarcely move, but she felt a smile inside.

She was his, and he was hers now.