The Guardian

The thought of Angus’s hands on her sent a wave of cold fury through him. If he could kill him again, he would. “I don’t know how ye can forgive me.”

“Do ye know why I waited five long years for ye, Ian MacDonald?” she asked with a soft smile lighting her face.

It was a wonder to him that she had.

“It’s because I always knew ye were special. I could see it in ye from the time I was a wee bairn. Even when ye made mistakes, I believed in that lad who had so much courage and kindness in his heart. I knew the man ye could be.”

He cradled her face in his hand. He felt an overwhelming gratitude for her faith in him—for the wee bairn who trusted him to rescue her from every mishap, for the brave thirteen-year-old lass who threw her fate in with his without thinking twice. And most of all, for the young woman who waited for him to return, and who, when he failed her again, gave him yet another chance to prove himself.

He had come home seeking only atonement, and she had given him the wonder of love. “I’ll do my best to be the man ye believe I can become.”

“Ye already are,” she said.

He felt a powerful need to make love to her, to show her how much he cared. But she would need time, after what she had been through. The image of Murdoc standing between her legs would be with him for a long, long time. How much worse the memory must be for her. Would it ever fade enough for her to want him again?

“Let me help ye to bed, a chroi. Ye need your rest,” he said. “But if ye can bear to have me touch ye, I’d like to sleep holding ye in my arms.”

He wanted much more than that, but he brushed his lips across her forehead.

He was already hard with wanting her before she slid her arms around his neck. When she rose up on her toes and leaned into him, he held himself in check and gave her a chaste kiss. But when she pulled him down into a deep kiss, thrusting her tongue into his mouth with an urgency that sent his blood pounding through his veins, he was a lost man.

Finally, he forced himself to break the kiss. “Ye don’t have to do this to please me. Ye should r—”

“I want ye something fierce,” she said, pulling him to her by the front of his shirt. “Don’t ye dare tell me I must rest.”

Ian trusted his wife to know what she wanted.

Sileas needed him to make love to her to wipe away the fear that had dogged her since Alex burst into the house bleeding the morning before. She had kept up a brave front most of the time, but she had feared rape and degradation and death; she had feared for the lives of Ian’s family and friends, who were now her family and friends. And most of all, she had feared she would die and never see Ian again.

She felt desperate to hold him, to feel him inside her and all around her. They fell to the bed, kissing and running their hands over each other as if they might never get the chance again—because it had almost been true. They tore at each other’s clothes until at last they lay skin to skin. But it wasn’t enough.

She needed to feel his weight on her. When she tugged on his shoulder, he rolled to cover her. She closed her eyes and drew in deep breaths. It was as if she needed to feel him pressing down on her, touching her from head to toe, to believe he was truly here with her.

She felt safe at last.

And she wanted him as she had never wanted him before. He slid his hands between her legs and groaned when he found how wet she was for him.

“I need ye inside of me,” she said, her voice coming out hoarse. “I need us to be one.”

When he brought the head of his shaft to touch her center, he shuddered with the effort not to plunge into her. But when she clamped her legs around him, he gave in to what they both wanted. She gasped as he thrust deep inside her.

For a long moment, they held still, and she reveled in the intensity of the sensation of him inside her, and the anticipation of his moving again.

“Mo chroi.” He held her head between his hands and kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her hair. “Do ye know how much I love ye?”

“Aye.” She did know it now. His love shone in his eyes, his voice, his touch. It was all around her, encompassing her in its warmth.

Ian’s heart was worth waiting for. He was worth waiting for.

With his eyes locked on hers, he began moving slowly inside her. The pouch holding the crystal she gave him dragged across her chest as if connecting their hearts as he moved over her again and again. His breathing was ragged, and the muscles of his face were straining.

“Harder.” She arched her back and pulled on his shoulders, urging him closer, deeper. She clung to him with all her strength and love.

“Mo shiorghra… mo shiorghra…”

He whispered endearments to her as he moved inside her, but she felt too much now to speak. Tears streamed down the sides of her face from emotions too strong to contain. Ian captured her mouth and swallowed her cries as they melded together in an explosion of white fire.

Ian rolled with her until she lay sprawled on top of him. His heart thumped wildly in her ear, and his hand shook as he brushed the hair back from her face.

“We are one,” he said. “We always will be.”

The gray light of dawn was coming through the narrow window when she awoke. Ian lay behind her, his arms wrapped about her and one hand cupping her breast. She snuggled closer and felt his shaft press against her. When she turned in his arms to face him, he traced her skin with his fingers and kissed her with a tenderness that squeezed her heart.

“This time, I’m determined to make love to ye slowly,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “and you’re going to let