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Her vision darkened at the edges, and a sweet taste filled her mouth.

Alisdair didn’t stop. His rhythm was punishing, slamming into her over and over as his thumb circled her nub. Her inner walls clenched around him for a moment, before climax crashed over her in endless waves.

He didn’t stop, drawing out her pleasure to the last shudder. Then his control snapped. He thrust into her three more times before he went rigid, the cords of his neck standing out in stark relief as he spilled his seed inside her.

“Isla!” A hoarse shout escaped his mouth.

He buried his face in her neck, his heart hammering against hers, and for a few moments they didn’t move. Isla let herself feel his weight, the heat of their still-joined bodies.

He lifted his head just enough to look at her, the morning light filtering through the windows and spilling across their bed. He caressed her face and brushed a stray strand of hair from her sweaty forehead.

“I love ye,” he murmured.

She smirked. “I ken.”

He nipped her lower lip. “Is that all, little rebel?”

She licked his upper lip, coaxing a moan from him. “I love ye too, ye brute.”

He gathered her against his chest. “I think ye liked it when I became a brute just now.”

She giggled, and he laughed with her, the sound loud, genuine, and unguarded.

Eventually, his laughter died down, and with that soft smile on his lips, he gazed at her, caressing her face as if committing the moment to memory.

“I love ye.” His voice almost trembled.

“I love ye too,” Isla repeated it like an oath.

The stones of the battlement right outside his chamber were cold beneath her feet, but she didn’t mind.

“It’s still chilly.”

Alisdair stepped up behind her, wrapped her in fur, and hugged her from behind. She closed her eyes at the feel of him so close, protecting her, cherishing her.

“We should sleep,” he murmured into her hair.

“I ken,” she said, leaning her head back against his chest. “I just wanted to see it. All of it. Life just… movin’ on.”

Alisdair was quiet for a moment, his chin resting atop her head as they both looked out over the yard.

The castle was stirring awake after a huge ordeal. Isla feared she would find uncertainty and dread among the clansfolk, who had not many hours ago seen enemies at the gates, their Laird hurt, their Lady stolen away by the man they had trusted most.

And yet the morning bore every sign of ordinary life. Servants crossed the yard with baskets of bread, a boy chased a loose hen past the stables, and two guards traded jabs as they changed shift. Smoke curled up from the kitchen chimneys.

“Our people are strong,” Isla murmured.

“Our.”

“Aye.” She smirked. “I am Lady MacLeod, am I nae?”

“Ye are more than that, Isla.”

“It broke me heart to think that the trouble I brought ye would break them.”

Alisdair turned her to face him, his gaze tender.

“Ye didnae bring trouble, Isla,” he said with conviction. “Ye brought life. Ye are the lucky charm of this castle.”