Page 120 of Steel & Surrender

Her lips curved, more tears slipping free as she nodded. “Aye,” she whispered back.

When he kissed her, he did so passionately, bending her back across his arm.

The crowd went wild, roaring its approval, yet Greig ignored the well-wishers for the moment. Instead, his lips moved across Brìghde’s.

This was a promise, sealed not just for this day, but for every one that would follow.

The moment the door to Greig’s bedchamber shut behind them, the world fell away.

They looked at each other then, as if neither quite believed this was real.

And then his hands found her waist, pushing her back against the wood. His mouth took hers with a hunger that stole her breath. The taste of wine and smoke and him filled her senses. She reached up, her fingers tangling in the thick fall of his hair as she kissed him back just as fiercely.

By the Saints, he tasted good.

The noise of the revelry below—laughter, music, the stamping of feet—seemed faraway now.

There was only this, and the wild, breathless joy that still hadn’t settled in her chest.

His hands slid up her back, pulling her closer still. But then, with visible effort, he tore his mouth from hers.

They stood there for a moment, breathing hard. “God help me,” he muttered, a strained edge to his voice. “If I don’t slow myself, I’ll have ye right here against the door.”

Heat flared through her. She let out a shaky laugh, though her pulse was still racing. “And would that be so terrible?”

His lips curved, but he stepped back nonetheless, dragging a hand down his face. “No … but I’d rather take my time with ye.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine. She knew what Greig Maclean did when he took his time. Her knees weakened at the memory.

Turning away, he crossed to the table and poured two cups of wine, handing one to her before moving toward the hearth.

Brìghde followed, the warmth of the fire wrapping around them as the flickering light danced across the chamber walls. They stood in his bedchamber, a fine space dominated by a canopied bed. She tried not to glance in that direction though, for it set her imagination aflame.

For a moment, neither spoke. They simply stood there, side by side, sipping their wine, silence settling between them.

A moment to breathe, to feel, and just be.

Greig shifted then, easing himself down onto one of the high-backed wooden chairs flanking the hearth, his hand briefly massaging his left thigh.

She noticed, of course, she did. He’d been on his feet all day, and he’d even danced with her downstairs. His leg could only take so much.

Even so, he looked breathlessly handsome sitting there, his lèine open at the throat.

Setting her cup aside, Brìghde stepped closer, her gaze lingering on him. “Take off yer lèine,” she murmured. “Let me look at ye.”

His brows lifted slightly, though a spark lit his eyes. “Is that an order, wife?”

“Aye,” she replied, lifting her chin.

A slow smile spread across his face. “As ye wish.”

Brìghde remained standing, looking on as he reached for the hem of his lèine and pulled it up over his head. He then tossed it aside. Firelight slid across his bare skin, tracing the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his chest, the faint scars that marked his body.

Brìghde’s breath caught.

He was watching her now, his gaze darkening. “Yer turn.”

Her pulse fluttered, but she did not hesitate. Holding his eye, she reached for the ties of her kirtle.