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For a moment, he didn’t move, just kept staring at her with a gaze that brought an odd prickling all over her body, making every tiny hair on her skin stand up. Everything around them stilled and quieted, waiting for her. In that moment between the old world where Anna had been a miserable maiden and the new one where she’d be fallen but happy, the wind stopped rustling the leaves and branches, the crackling of fire quieted, and the only thing she could hear was her pulse thudding in her temples.

He gave her a choice. He gave her control. No one had done that in her life. And she’d never have it again, not as Philip’s wife and not as the King of Scotland’s daughter.

“I wilna say nae to ye, David. Show me what ’tis like to live and to be free. I’m saying aye.”

His lips were on hers before she could take her next breath. His kiss was demanding, claiming her, just a wee bit short of being rough, and she leaned into him, clutching the tunic on his hard shoulders, then clasping his neck as she wanted more. His tongue was greedy, sweeping against hers, over and over again.

Mine, his kiss was saying. Mine.

She sagged against him, wanting that tongue everywhere. As she ground her pelvis against him, she felt something long and hard between his thighs.

Oh God, he was so hard for her already.

She knew what that meant. She’d seen animals mating on Islay, seen stallions covering mares. And even though she’d never seen a human male organ, she knew what this hardness meant.

And she liked it.

Heat rushed through her with every sweep and every bit of suction and pressure. She was squirming and rubbing against his solid body, against the hard length of him. She’d felt his body every night pressing against hers, and only now was she allowed to have what she wanted.

He moved his large, strong hands up her spine, spilling fire through her, doing something with her dress. The pleasure of his kiss, the heat of his body, his smell, and his closeness made her skin itch. The dress felt too tight, unnecessary. As though he read her thoughts, in a few moments, the dress was loose on her shoulders, and he tugged it down.

His mouth left hers and moved down her neck, leaving scorching traces of kisses. She dug her fingers into his silky hair and heard her own moan escape her throat. She didn’t recognize her voice. It wasn’t her. She wasn’t the lass who wanted desperately to be legitimate, to be a noble in her father’s court.

This was her. A true, wild spirit—a Highlander with a heart glowing like the sun, her body turned liquid and spilled through the world like she was one with it.

One with him.

He pushed her dress and her undertunic down her body, and, to her shock, cupped one naked breast and took it into his mouth. A burst of pleasure shot through her as his mouth tugged and nibbled and sucked her flesh, his tongue flicking her nipple, which hardened like a pebble, aching. She arched her back, and she may have called his name. She was half-oblivious.

As he moved to her other breast, still fondling the first one with his hand, she knew her logical mind was gone. It had evaporated in the heat of her desire.

And she liked it. She wanted more of this. Everywhere.

She ran her hands down his muscular chest and stomach and undid the girdle around his waist. As it fell on the ground with a soft thud, she pulled his tunic up, marveling at the hard surface of his body, the body of a warrior. She dragged his tunic over his shoulders, and his naked torso was like a warm stone against her sensitive nipples.

“You’re so beautiful I can’t breathe,” he whispered as he looked down at her body, shamelessly, decadently, and she wanted him to have every inch of her. “God, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Her throat clenched from emotion; she couldn’t believe a man would say things like these about her.

And would want her so much…

He pushed her back down to lie on the sleeping roll, the soft fur of the stag skin like a caress against her naked back. He stretched over her, supporting himself with one arm. The skin of his bulging biceps gleamed with firelight as he leaned down and kissed her again.

His kiss was different now—urgent and deep and taking her, claiming for his own. As she was gliding her hands against him, he pushed down the rest of her clothes to her hips and then down along her legs, and the dark air of the evening caressed her naked body like he did.

His tongue kept making love to hers as his hand traveled down her body, cupped a breast, and played with the nipple. Pleasure spilled through her chest like wine. He growled into her mouth as she arched her chest into him, wanting more of his touch, more of him over her, more…

When she thought she wouldn’t be able to breathe anymore, his hand moved down her stomach, spreading liquid heat through her. And with every inch he came closer and closer to the very center of her, the place between her legs that throbbed and ached and burned with need. Then he was at her curls, and his fingers were spreading her folds, and as he touched her—right there—an intense jolt of pleasure shot through her like an arrow.

She gasped and jerked, and he intensified the kiss, murmuring into her mouth.

When he froze, letting her get used to the sensation, she ground herself against him, unable to wait, and he grinned into her mouth.

“I knew you’d love it, sweetheart,” he whispered. “This is just the beginning.”

“The beginning?” she murmured. “Och, David, I’m going to burst…”

“And I’ll catch every part of you.”