Enslaving a Highland Laird: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance by Emilia C. Dunbar

Author:Emilia C. Dunbar [C. Dunbar, Emilia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-04-01T16:00:00+00:00

13

Their breath mingled like a pair of sweet summer breezes coming together, and Ethel savored the taste of him in her mouth, closing her eyes and pressing her body against his. He felt so strong and sturdy when so much in her life felt as though it had come unmoored, and she clung to him, taking support and comfort where she could find it.

In that moment, it seemed like all of her daydreams about a life with him crystalized into sharp and sudden reality—from the fanciful vague shapes of a stained glass window to the more crisp and grounded lines of a detailed portrait. All of her imagined tomorrows came true, an endless lifetime of mornings and nights with him. Years to get to know each other, and years beyond to fully settle into and appreciate those discoveries.

Ethel barely knew him really, yet absurdly, she felt as though she had known him her entire life—or rather, that she had wanted to know him without even realizing it. It was a feeling almost as though she had somehow kissed him before, but she knew it was more than deja vu. Rather, it was the opposite: Not things folding backward to some past experience, but forward to a hundred more.

Robert raised his hand, and Ethel raised hers as well, thinking that he meant for their palms to press and fingers to intertwine.

But instead, he pushed her away gently.

Their lips parted, and the feel of his heart beating next to hers was removed so swiftly that it left a vague and terrible ache in its place. She opened her eyes, looking at him quizzically.

“We must not let anyone see us…like this,” Robert told her. His voice was firm, but there was something longing and mournful hovering behind his blue eyes. “It might jeopardize the plan, now that we have one. Well, half of one, anyway.”

Ethel wanted to protest, to say anything that would convince him to kiss her again. She had spent eighteen years of life without him, yet suddenly, she felt she could not stand to be divided from him for another moment without withering and dying. How could this be?

She did not know. But much as she hated to admit it to herself, he was right.

“What do ye mean, ‘half of one?’” she asked.

“I mean it’s all well and good tae say we’re going tae kidnap Smythe,” Robert went on, “but there’s the matter of how we intend tae do it.”

Ethel grimaced. “I suppose the first thing will be for me tae tell my father that I have thought it over and agreed tae marry Smythe. I must say, I’m not looking forward tae that.”

“No, I don’t suppose ye are.” There was a deep sympathy on Robert’s face, and Ethel was suddenly certain that he wanted to reach out and touch her again but that he was holding back. She wished that he didn’t have such damnable self-control. The sheer want of him was sending a thousand tiny pinpricks across her skin.

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