“Me apologies,” she murmured.
He chuckled low in his throat. “Ye ken ye’re me wife, right? Ye can touch me anywhere ye want.”
Her breath caught.
With one hand still steady on the reins, he grabbed her hand and lifted it. “Here,” he said, pressing her palm to his throat. His voice dropped. “Here, too.” He brought it to rest on his chest. “Here.” Down to his belly. “And?—”
She shrieked and jerked her hand away before he could move it further, and his laughter echoed through the quiet night.
“Ye seem to be enjoying this, are ye nae?” she huffed.
“Very much, thank ye,” he said, grinning.
They rode on in silence for a while as the woods stretched wide around them, peaceful and dim. At one point, he felt her lean in and rest her cheek lightly on his back. Her breathing evened out, and he slowed the horse further. No need to rush now.
She had fallen asleep.
His heart skipped a beat; he didn’t know why. Maybe because it had been ten years since he last felt her like that. Maybe because something about her trust, the way she let herself rest against him, stirred something deeper than he could admit.
Whatever it was, he didn’t care. Instead, he kept the pace slow, careful not to jostle her awake. It would prolong the journey, yes, but he didn’t mind one bit. He’d ride all night, as long as she was safe with him.
As dawn crept into the sky, brushing it with soft gold and streaks of bright grey, he reached behind and touched her hand gently.
“We’re here, Lily.”
She stirred and lifted her head, blinking away sleep. Her gaze followed his and landed on the castle up ahead.
Its tall grey walls stood like stone giants in the soft morning light. Ivy clung to the outer fence, winding up the sides of the towers. A wide courtyard stretched before the gates, clean and orderly, and flags bearing the MacRay crest fluttered gently in the wind.
“This is truly yers?” she asked softly.
He gave her hand a small squeeze. “And yers as well.”
He felt her shift slightly. A pulse of something passed between them. Excitement, perhaps. Or maybe disbelief.
They passed through the gates and stopped near the stables. The stable boys rushed out, all wide eyes and eager bows. Alasdair nodded to them before turning to Lily.
A maid was already at her side, helping her down. Lily moved stiffly, still groggy from sleep.
“Lily,” Alasdair said, dismounting as well, “this is Sorcha. Her braither is me man-at-arms.”
Sorcha dipped into a graceful curtsy. “Me Lady,” she greeted with a smile. “His description doesnae do yer beauty justice.”
Lily turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Ye talked about me?”
Alasdair shrugged. “Ye’ll have to forgive me if I wasnae exactly right about some things. It’s been ten years, after all.”
Sorcha laughed gently. “Aye. I drew ye a bath, and Cook has prepared some food?—”
“Nay,” Lily cut in. “I want to see the wounded first.”
Sorcha blinked, her smile faltering. “Are ye certain?”
“Aye,” Lily said. “‘Tis why I came.”
Sorcha glanced at Alasdair for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Very well. Come with me.”
They made their way across the courtyard, their footsteps muffled by the grass. Alasdair walked beside Lily, but he didn’t touch her. Instead, he watched her out of the corner of his eye.
