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“Catrìona wants to be here,” Rogene said, “don’t you, hon?”
Catrìona raised her eyebrows and gave a polite smile. “Lord David is right, sister,” she said. “I am ready to head to the monastery. I am only waiting for the end of summer to honor my word to Laomann.”
Rogene sighed. In the past month, Catrìona had become even stricter with her prayers. She’d given all her good clothes to the poor in the village and wore her mother’s old dresses with fading colors and patches all over them. She was fasting, and her cheeks had become hollow and circles darkened under her eyes. Her translucent skin looked paler every day. The dresses hung on her as if she were a scarecrow. It pained Rogene to look at her, but she knew the young woman was punishing herself for killing and was even more determined now to dedicate her life to serving God.
Rogene sighed. “We didn’t mean to make anyone uncomfortable.”
“I know,” David said, his eyes softening. “Sorry, Rory. I’m really happy for the two of you. It’s just…it also reminds me, not everyone is so lucky. And of how much I’ll miss you if I ever do get home.”
Angus nodded and opened his mouth to say something when an excited “Ma-ma-ma!” announced his nephew’s arrival. Angus’s face spread in a wide grin. Laomann came into the hall with Ualan in his arms, Mairead walking after them. The boy was tugging at Laomann’s beard, and Laomann was trying his best to show excitement and not yelp with pain.
Angus leaned closer to Rogene. “I must say, now that I have ye and our son on the way, I sympathize with some of the hard choices that Laomann had to make to protect them as husband, father, and laird.” He met Rogene’s eyes and she sank into the dark depths of him, her heart singing. “I would do anything to protect ye and our future babe. Plead, humiliate myself, or beg if my sword and my words didna help. We still have Euphemia to think of. And I ken we must be ready for whatever she throws at us.”
Rogene squeezed his large palm and smiled at him, calling for courage to rise within her as the fist of anxiety squeezed her stomach.
“I know you’ll protect us.”
The family sat together around the fireplace, talking, laughing, playing with the baby. Rogene met David’s eyes as their clan chatted around them. He smiled at her in encouragement. Even though there was sadness in his eyes, there was something else she felt, too.
The warmth of belonging to a family that she hadn’t felt since their parents died. In all the years with their aunt and uncle, she’d never had that. And now, she knew she and David were accepted without a question, without a doubt, perceived as equal members of clan Mackenzie—perhaps not by everyone, but by the core family.
Was this it? The family she and David had always longed for? It certainly was for Rogene. She wasn’t so sure it was for her brother.
The only one who was missing was Raghnall, who, after talking to Laomann after the wedding, had disappeared. Rogene wasn’t sure what they’d talked about, and Angus said it wasn’t his secret to tell.
After a while, the servants brought lunch, which consisted of a vegetable stew with barley and bannocks. Rogene ate a little, but stopped as soon as her nausea returned.
Later that night, Rogene lay—sated, warm, and heavy—in Angus’s secure arms in their bed. Lazily, she traced a soft line down his hard chest, smoothing her fingertip over his soft, dark hair. She gently kissed his skin and laid her head on his rib cage, listening to the beat of his heart. It sounded like music to her.
She’d never again take this sound for granted. Not when she knew what a dark, lonely place her world was without him.
Angus brushed his fingers down her spine. “Ye have such soft skin, lass,” he said. “Softer than silk.”
She smiled. “Thanks. We aim to please.”
She put her chin on his chest and looked at him.
“I love when you’re so relaxed,” she said. “You’re so handsome when you have no worries in the world.”
“’Tis because ye and the babe are in my arms. And when ’tis just ye and I on our estate, I wilna let ye out of the bedchamber. I will love ye every day until ye’re sore and my cock canna stand nae more. Though I dinna think ’tis possible with ye.”
Rogene giggled and slowly moved her hand down his hard stomach to the apex of his thighs and covered his gorgeous cock with her palm. Already semihard, hot, and velvety, he jerked under her palm and grew harder.
“Lass…” he whispered. “Didna ye have enough just now?”
She put her leg over his hips and pushed herself up, straddling him. His cock was pressed against her clit, still sleek from their recent lovemaking, and sent a small jolt of pleasure through her. She began to gently thrust her pelvis to and fro, rubbing herself against his hard length. His dark eyes became black bottomless pools as he devoured her, slowly looking her up and down.
Breasts, then waist and slightly rounded belly.
He laid one palm on the small swell. “By God’s blood, lass, ye become more and more bonnie every day. So feminine… So…” He reached out with his other hand and thrust his already stiff cock deep inside her. It went in smoothly, effortlessly because of how wet she was, and filled her still swollen and sensitive core.
She gasped as her walls stretched, accommodating him within her, adjusting to the sweet pressure and all the bliss that radiated through her.
“So delicious…” he said with a thrust that spiraled her higher. “My wife…” Another thrust. “My love.” He sat up and wrapped her legs around his waist. He looked deeply into her eyes, his own gaze dark. The gaze of a conqueror. The gaze of a warrior. The gaze of a man who loved her more than anything in the world.
“My desire…” He groaned and began thrusting into her.
She knew then that he’d let go—let go of the sense of duty, of limitations, of expectations—and given in to desire, to love, to happiness.
