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He was dancing with that insipid Liliah McKay Cameron again, with her stupid golden ringlets and ridiculous large blue eyes. She was batting them at him now and he was lost in them. His smile was large and toothy, his own hair swaying with the music, and his hands around her waist. At that moment you knew he was as gone for her as you were for him.
A huge stone formed in your throat, it ricocheted down to your heart, tearing and breaking the flesh all the way to your stomach where it sat hard and horrible. Your cheeks were wet and your hands shaking but you couldn’t move. Your eyes following them, until you were aware of another’s eyes on you. Two dark brown ones surrounded by freckles. A message passed between you, some reflection of your own sorrow and the brown eyes moved to a red headed girl and a man with black hair. Ah, you thought, at least you weren’t alone.
Eventually you’d pulled yourself away from your own personal hell and found the tent serving food, your hands grabbed a bannock. There were far tastier foods to sample, lemon cakes, raspberry tarts, apple pies, everything that would usually make your sweet tooth drool but you weren’t hungry. You just needed something to keep your hands busy, something hard enough for your grip not to crumble. An anchor for the turbulent sea you found yourself drowning under.
You had a few friends milling around but no family at the Beltane, your friends were occupied with frivolity, a couple had wandered off for the fertility blessings and others busy with their own much happier love lives. If you had your own horse you’d be off home to cry yourself to sleep but unfortunately for you, you’d came with a friend in their carriage. So you walked around, seeing very little, just putting one foot in front of the other.
You’d been so preoccupied with your wondering that you didn’t realise you’d walked straight into someone until you both went tumbling to the ground.
“Christ!” A man grumbled, the stench of liquor wafting into your face.
You were on top of him, and you pushed yourself up to your elbows, trying to untangle yourself. Finally able to see the man you recognised his eyes instantly. You’d barrelled into the man with the same pain in his eyes as your own.
“I’m sorry,” you said, wriggling to get yourself loose. “I think you’re sat on my skirts.”
The man stared up at you, wincing as you tried to get up.
“Right.” He said, finally pushing himself up and lending you a hand.
You took his offered hand and stood, he swayed a little at the effort of helping you but you could tell by the liquor on his breath that that was more to do with his lack of balance than your overall weight. Although he looked somewhat slender, he also looked like a man who could handle himself.
You looked at your still joined hands as the man tried to right his balance, he was gripping your own tightly.
“Are you alright?” You asked as he squeezed his eyes, you thought perhaps he had, even with your joined hands, completely forgotten you.
“No.” He said.
You decided to give him a moment, his other hand was on his knee as he steadied his breath. You looked at his tartan and tried to remember to which clan it belonged. No one else around you seemed to wear one that matched. Even bent over you could tell he was much taller than you. His coat had seen better days but was well cut, so definitely made for him. You weren’t a lady, or anything close, just a very distant cousin of the McKenzie, their name wasn’t even your own. He could easily be higher born than yourself. His hair was longish, cut to above his shoulders but mostly straight and warm brown.
“Hell and damnation.” He spat, pulling up to full height and righting himself. It was then he noticed his hand still holding tightly onto your own and he quickly let go.
“Sorry.” He said, the hand you’d been holding slicking back his hair.
“It’s okay.”
He looked back at you, before it clicked that you were the one he’d seen in the tent for the Beltane Queen choosing.
“Yes.” You looked away from his stare.
“Are you alright?” He asked, no doubt taking in your tear stained cheeks.
“No.” You echoed him before.
He smiled at you, an honest smile, with deep pain lingering behind his eyes. You were perhaps the only two people here that knew exactly how the other felt. An energy passed between you, quiet understanding, mutual pain, a connection.
“Do you want to walk with me?” You don’t know why you say it, but you wouldn’t take the offer back.
He nodded and offered you his arm.
You walked solemnly together, resembling a family in mourning attending a beloved relatives funeral rather than two young people enjoying the festivities. Mostly people didn’t notice you, but those that caught your eyes seemed to catch your dark moods and made way for you to pass. You had already made a full round of the festival area before either of you spoke.
You didn’t feel eyes upon you until he cleared his throat.
“So what’s your name?”
You were still walking but your speed had decreased, and his words had pulled you back into the present. People were still dancing, the bands were still playing, laughter and joyous shouting could be heard from all directions.
You gave him your name. “And your own?” You asked in return.
“Murtagh Fitzgibbons at your service Miss Scott.” He said with a mock bow.
You giggled despite your low mood, and mock curtsied back which earned you a smirk of amusement.
“And your clan?” He asked, steering you both past a group drunk men.
“McKenzie.” Murtagh winced slightly.
“I’ve never seen you around Castle Leoch.” He said, his eyes back to their painful cast.
“No you wouldn’t, I live on the outskirts of their domain.”
“Aye right.” Murtagh nodded.
“Do you belong to the McKenzie too?” You asked.
Murtagh stopped for a moment and sputtered “Me? No lass. I’m a Fraser.” He stood slightly taller at the admission.
You let go of his arm abruptly, “Ah then we must cease all acquaintance here. It has been a rare pleasure Mr Fitzgibbons, good day.” For a moment Murtagh stood crestfallen, but then after a swift look into your eyes catching the jest, he laughed out loud and folded your arm back into his own.
“The lad you were mooning over, he a McKenzie too?” A vision of Duncan Brown with Liliah Poxy Ringlets McKay Cameron came racing through your mind.
“Aye he is, but I don’t want to talk about him.” Murtagh nodded, and went to speak but you couldn’t help the fury and hurt that crawled its way out of your heart and into your throat.
“He’s an idiot, a bloody stupid ox with nothing but straw between his ears. Years I’ve known him, since we were both bairns, I followed him everywhere like a fool. Taught him how to read when he was eight and I was only five, mended his shirts, kept his chickens fed and watered when he went off for days to lord knows where. Minded after him when he was sick once too and he looked so grateful and said I were an angel.” You felt a tear fall down your cheek, and bitterness crawl up your throat.
“I’m the idiot, I never should have assumed that his thankfulness would become affection. Or that he’d fall for the silly wench that lived on his coat tails.”
Murtagh was quiet beside you, you’d both wandered further from the gathering, and you were sure no one else would have heard you but still you were embarrassed. You’d only just met this man but you didn’t wish to scare him away. You were in this together. This being an awful abyss of woe and heartbreak. Who wouldn’t want to wallow in company such as you?
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve no need to be sorry, I understand, but I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about it?” He smiled at you, half joking.
“Your lass? That’s Ellen McKenzie you’re lovelorn over, isn’t it? She’s to marry Malcolm Grant, everyone knows it but that wasn’t him I saw her dance with.” His smile vanished and you felt guilty for bringing her up, but he had started this conversation.
“No, that is yes. It’s her I’m in love with but she was dancing with my cousin.” Murtagh stopped and dropped your arm, he fiddled with his belt till his whisky flask was free and took a big draw from it.
You watched him, your new companion for however long he’d stay. Although the conversation was hard for the both of you, it didn’t feel strange to be with this stranger. You decided that was down to your mutual unrequited feelings and nothing else.
“He never once said that he had spoken to her before let alone-“ he looked past you, his eyes bulging out of his skull and he stepped closer to what had arrested his gaze.
You followed him, standing next to him you saw Ellen McKenzie and Murtagh’s cousin sharing a kiss. You felt your own eyes open an alarming amount and you slipped your hand into Murtagh’s and dragged him away.
———————
The trees here were sparse but there was a small hill covered in heather, with scattered large rocks and enough space between everyone else and you and Murtagh. You had dragged him away as far as you could, and sat down his shocked body, pushing him to sit on a rock before sitting beside him.
“Don’t.” He said.
Don’t? What? - you wondered.
You took his hand again and held it in both of your own. No matter your own pain, his was fresher now. You rubbed his forearm softly, trying to ground him to his surroundings. You could feel him shaking slightly.
“My own cousin.” He spoke in disbelief.
“The dance was one thing, I thought maybe I’d seen something that wasn’t there. I was suspicious but this is-“
“I know.”
“I’ve spoken to him of her for weeks, of my love for her and then of my own heartbreak at her betrothal to Grant.” He drank a large draw of what you knew was whisky again, and he coughed on it. You patted his back.
“I’ll never forgive him for this.” He spat, his eyes locking with yours and you found them wild and sure.
————
It was dark now, the Beltane fires lit and you watched from afar as Ellen McKenzie and Malcolm Grant stood crowned amongst the flames. You felt a pang of pity for her, she too wouldn’t be with whom she loved.
Murtagh looked on at the fires too, and your hand kept to its steadying circles on his back.
“What is it you love about her?” You asked gently.
“She’s beautiful.” He said wistfully.
“Aye she is,” you agreed. “Is that all?”
“That’s everything.”
You stopped rubbing his back.
“But what of your memories of her? Do you speak often? Has she no idea of your feelings?”
“Well I’ve never spoken to her.” He confessed.
“You’re not in earnest?”
“Aye, but I’ve wanted to talk to her.”
You’d been mistaken. Yes, Murtagh obviously felt a strong inclination towards Ellen McKenzie but love, love like you felt for Duncan had come from all the moments you had spent with him.
“You cannot love someone without ever speaking to them.”
“Aye you can.” He rounded on you, his eyes reflecting the burning Beltane fires.
“You cannot.” You stood, hands on your hips.
You’d spent the day with a silly lad in calf love.
“Love is made through time spent with someone, I don’t love Duncan because he’s handsome and nice to look at. I love him because he’s funny, and when I need a laugh he knows it and goes out of his way to lighten my mood. I love him because he sees me and when my parents died he brought me the food he could spare. I love him because-“
“Aye lass I heard you.” Murtagh leapt to his feet and walked quickly away.
You watched his angry form disappear into the night, your own anger rising, but you weren’t going to let him leave you so riled.
He’d stormed back into the throng of the festivities, most people were outside and deep into their liquor. The dancing was no longer confined to the tents but was happening everywhere. Fires burned bright and hot and the ritual dancers weaved between the merriment with their lit torches but you kept your eyes on a lean muscular back as it disappeared into a tent.
You ducked in not long after him and found him pouring himself a drink from a barrel. There were barrels all around you indicating that he was stealing a drink from the storage tent. He’d downed a whole tankard before he acknowledged you were there.
“Stop following me.” His tone was harsh, and you backed up a little.
Murtagh helped himself to another ale and again you watched him guzzle it down in one. Not ten minutes ago you were sat together in solidarity and now you’d driven him to drown himself in drink.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” You said carefully.
Murtagh sat, his eyes tired and his body hanging over itself in defeat. You approached him slowly. He looked like an injured puppy, all too long limbs and big brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked up at you, all the anger had left him, leaving him again just sad and lonely. On impulse you sat next to him again, drawn to him and his longing that was very like your own.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did. Only you know your heart and I was angry. Not at you, but-“
“No, you’re right. I only have myself to blame. I never approached her, I was too scared of outright rejection.” He took your hand again, seeking comfort.
You let him lace his fingers with yours.
“She is beautiful, and I know that might seem ridiculous a reason for loving her but I don’t just mean her outside appearance. She’s beautiful inside too, I’ve spent enough time in the vicinity of her to have seen her fire and felt her warmth.” He smiled sadly, and you squeezed his hand.
“Duncan isn’t all that perfect as I’ve made him out to be.” You confessed. “He has been cruel to me as many times or more as he has been kind.”
“One day I found out he was trying to have me evicted from my home. It took me days to believe what I’d learned was true. My parents had only recently died and the house was all I had left, no other family. No close cousins or siblings. Just me alone in my house. He’d talked directly to Red Jacob’s overseer and told him that I ought to be thrown out.”
You heart still twisted at the betrayal that had knifed through your heart.
“Why did he do it?” Murtagh asked.
“I don’t know.” And your truly didn’t. “I asked him, I begged him to explain himself but he just looked at me as if I were a silly child and said so calmly that I wasn’t capable of looking after it. Even though I’d been the sole able bodied person living under its roof for years.”
“Your parents?”
“Drunks.” You felt his eyes fall to the tankard in his other hand. “Neither had lifted a finger to do anything in years. I knew Duncan’s answer was nonsense and he did too. Now I think he just wanted the house for himself and her.”
You reached for his drink and drank down the contents as hungrily as you’d seen Murtagh do.
“I’m sorry.” You heard Murtagh say, his hand now squeezing yours.
You smiled weakly at him, and held his gaze.
“What’s the point of love at all?” You said glumly.
“I just want to be wanted.” Murtagh said, and your heart sank in reply.
You were so close to Murtagh, certainly the closest you’d ever been to a man in private. You could smell the liquor on his breath and something earthy that lingered on his skin, it reminded you of the smell of the trees after rain. Being sat so close to him didn’t feel like sitting next to a stranger. All day you’d taken comfort in each others presence, and it had felt so easy to you, to cling to him and have him cling in return.
He wanted to be wanted, and you knew then that that was the same longing in your heart. Duncan was the only man near your age in the village, you’d never socialised with any others to form a comparison. So you’d dreamed of him, let his few kind moments out-way his more prevalent cold ones. Romanticised his personality to suit your fantasy. You’d been alone for so long, even before your parents died when they’d cared far more about their next drink than their only daughter.
You just wanted to be loved. To be wanted.
“That’s all I want too.”
Maybe it was you.
Maybe it was him.
Perhaps it was the both of you all at once.
But his tongue was pressing into your mouth and you let him in.
The kiss was hungry and your first. His hand was on your cheek then in your hair, your own hands gripped his coat and gave into the pull of his body. You weren’t sure what you were doing, but he seemed to be taking care of the rhythm and you were happy to let him take what he wanted from it.
He tasted of ale and whisky and something else equally intoxicating. Why were his lips so soft? Why did his hands set off goosebumps along your arms and a thrill through your body?
He stopped and breathed hard, his forehead on yours and his eyes wild staring into your own.
“Don’t stop, please.” You heard yourself beg.
Without hesitation he kissed you again and swung you around to straddle his legs. You felt powerful from here and you pushed your hands into his hair, it was soft but your fingers found knots, the pull of your fingers on them lead Murtagh to let out a loud moan. The sound of which delighted you, and you let your own tongue twirl around his. The kiss was far from skilful and was more sloppy than you were sure Murtagh had experience of but he didn’t stop you. Instead his hands held you tightly and pressed you to him.
“Christ” he moaned into your neck. “You taste like heaven.”
You wanted to giggle but then he kissed you on your pulse point and giggling was far from your mind. Your giggle turned to a moan of your own on your tongue.
Murtagh said your name like a prayer, his big orbs of now familiar brown beamed up at you, hungry and longing. You kissed him in response, unable to stop.
His hands found your arse, he squeezed your buttocks and dragged your core against him. You’d never felt a man’s arousal before, the hard length of him connecting with you was a feeling you wanted to experience again and so you dragged yourself over him mimicking the way he’d just moved you.
Murtagh swore, his head flying back and his eyes rolling into his skull. His eyes found you again and you gasped at the blackness you found, not a hint of brown around the edges. He bit his lip and pulled you back again over his cock.
“Please.” You begged him.
Murtagh took charge, his hands moving you over him, grinding your cores together in a rhythm so exquisite you thought you would soon burst.
It felt like nothing you’d ever felt before, having Murtagh beneath you, all lean muscle and strong arms, his usual deep longing soulful eyes had turned to molten iron. His manhood slotted perfectly and rutted against you with such wild precision you had to hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself upright. There was still your own skirts and his kilt between you but you felt him so intensely.
“Murtagh” you cried.
“It’s alright lass, come for me.” He said, taking your mouth again for a hungry kiss, all the while his hands on your arse kept guiding your body over his.
The feel of him. Must be fairy magic.
The sound of his voice. Soo deep and soothing.
His words. Coaxing, to come for him.
Suddenly you exploded with pleasure, your core pulsating with something soo wonderful you didn’t come down from the high of it for several seconds or was it weeks?
“Lass?” You breathed heavily, still moaning softly from the feeling of what Murtagh had just given you.
When you came up for air he was looking at you so softly, a sliver of brown around his pupils again. His hands were stroking your hair and cupping your cheek. His cheeks were pinked and his hair a wild mess.
Handsome, he was very handsome.
“Thank you.” You said, really you didn’t know what else to say. You’d never done anything like this before.
Murtagh smiled at you, and kissed you gently.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Both of you jumped as a small round man burst into the tent.
“Get your selves away!” He stood with his hands on his hips, “Now!” He bellowed.
You jumped up, Murtagh too and you both ran out back into the night.
————
Murtagh’s hand held yours steadily as you walked quickly away from the tent.
Where were you going?
Where could you go?
Half of the Beltane revellers had departed, mostly just men and a few women here and there remained lit by torch light and the fading embers of the lit arches.
You’d never stayed so late before, it was by now you’d be home in bed, under your thin old patched blanket, dreaming of Duncan holding you tight.
“Murtagh” you said and he stopped to look at you.
“Aye lass?” You looked at your joined hands and stepped closer.
“It’s late and I,” you really didn’t want to end your night here, not yet. After tonight you were sure you’d never see this man again, a thought that made your heart pang a little and your breath catch, but you knew it was true. “Thank you for today and well tonight.” You felt your cheeks heat to crimson.
“You made what could have been the worst night of my life into something special, and memorable.”
“Lass,” he said coming close to you, his other hand finding it’s home again on your cheek.
He kissed you, and it was suddenly apparent to you how much taller than you he was, he had to bend to reach you. You clutched his coat, pulling him even closer and you could hardly believe before today you hadn’t known him. How had you never felt his kind eyes on your before? Or stood in his presence? He felt like safety and possibility.
“Don’t go, not yet.” He asked, resting his forehead back on yours. Those ridiculously warm big brown eyes begging you to stay.
“How will I get home?” You were certain your friends would have assumed you had made your own way home, they only ever stayed for the crowning of the Beltane King and Queen then made for home.
“Don’t fret, I’ll make sure you get back.” If he were any other man, if his eyes weren’t the most honest pair you’d ever seen before you would be suspicious but this was Murtagh. A man you’d just met but knew inexplicably that he meant what he said.
“Alright.” You nodded.
Murtagh held tightly onto your hand and guided you through the small groups of drinkers to the simmering remains of one of the arches. A few of the ritual dancers still remained, those with the animal masks made of reeds and wood danced and threw the ashes of the pyres into the air.
You remembered hearing about this part of Beltane but you’d never witnessed it. The people who remained were also drawing closer, and couples bent to run their hands through the ash. Murtagh and you watched on as they drew symbols on each other with the soot and spread it up their arms.
Murtagh crouched and he too gathered some ash and rose to face you. The hand containing the ash reached out to you and you raised an eyebrow in question.
“I don’t know what the symbols mean or how to write them.” You confessed.
“It’s alright, neither do I really. Draw whatever you like, it’s got to stand for something right?”
With your unjoined hand you poked a finger into the ash and withdrew it. Murtagh bent his legs to come down to a more assessable height and you drew a circle on his forehead.
Giggling you gathered more ash on your finger and went back to work.
“I do hope you’re not drawing anything rude lass.” He said in mock annoyance.
“How could you ever think me capable?” You laughed and he did too.
Truly you didn’t know what you could draw that would be naughty. A donkeys behind perhaps?
You drew a star and some cats whiskers on his cheeks before leaning back to assess your work.
“Done?” He asked.
You nodded and he stood up.
“Right, my turn.” Murtagh stood above you, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth and a cheeky gleam in his eyes.
You narrowed your eyes at him which earned you a wider grin in response.
“You just be careful what you try Mr Fitzgibbons, we women are armed with sharp knees.”
Murtagh laughed, his eyes growing more intense in challenge. “I assure you, my intentions are honourable Miss Scott.”
He let your hand go and rubbed the remaining ash between his hands. Then with his long thick fingers he used both hands to draw gently on your face. You weren’t ready for the way his administrations made you feel. His fingers glided over the planes of your face, tracing your features in rapt reverence, like he were a blind man trying to see. You closed your eyes, and let your head fall back, fully giving in to the pleasure of his fingers on you.
HIs fingers stopped and you opened your eyes to find him looking at you so softly, then a single finger started at your forehand and ran down your nose, stopping in the centre of your lips. The pad of his finger slipped into your parted mouth and pulled down your bottom lip. Then his eyes blackened and his mouth was covering yours.
His ash covered hands wound into your hair, holding you against his mouth. The kiss was hungry but not as frantic as the ones you’d had before in the tent.
Your arms pulled him close, the warmth of him surrounding you and spreading throughout you to the tips of your fingers and toes.
You wished you still had privacy, a tent to go back to, a place where you could feel Murtagh everywhere and keep him. All too soon he pulled back.
“I think it’s time we got you home.” He said and you nodded.
—————-
You’d fallen asleep.
Murtagh held you tightly aghast his chest as you rode with him, you didn’t have a clue how long you’d been asleep but Murtagh was shaking you gently and calling your name.
“I’m sorry.” He said and he sounded very much so. “You need to try to stay awake if you’re to get home, I’m afraid I don’t know the way.”
You rubbed your eyes and thanked the moon for glowing so brightly tonight. Your eyes had both adjusted to the light and enough was still visible to make out the way.
“It’s alright.” You reassured him. “We aren’t far away now. Take a left by that bridge and carry on over the small hill there and we’ll see my hamlet.”
You leaned back against him, you couldn’t help it. Whatever had happened tonight, it had changed you, the draw you felt towards Murtagh was too strong to deny.
His right hand took hold of the reigns and his left felt for your own hand and he placed it under his back on the reigns. His thumb stroked the back of your hand and the action made your heart skip a beat. You’d seen this man broken, betrayed, angry and wild and yet he touched you so reverently, like he couldn’t help but be drawn to you as much as you were to him.
You don’t want to reach your hamlet. You. Wanted to tell him to turn the other way, you were wrong, this wasn’t where you lived at all. You could lie. You could at least try, because though you just met and you didn’t have a name for the feelings he excited in you, this man was important to you now. Necessary.
“Now which is yours?” Murtagh’s voice rang through your ears and you blinked awake, it was too late. You were home.
Your house wasn’t small, well not small for a poor hamlet. You had four rooms, two for sleeping, a kitchen and another room that doubled as a work room and a room to entertain any quests. The walls were stone and the fires modest but when all lit the space was warm and cosy enough. You supposed that was why Duncan had wanted to throw you out. You knew you had more room than most. You had always thought Duncan would marry you and you’d fill the house with children, now you felt dwarfed by it.
Murtagh stood just inside, his head almost brushing the ceiling. He took off his bonnet and stared down at you. You couldn’t read his expression but you wondered if he was dying to be given leave or was as loathed to part with you as you were with him.
“It’s late.” You said.
“Aye,” his shoulders slumped slightly. “I’ll. get off then.”
“No!” You reached for him.
“I have a spare room, it’s so late and the Fraser lands are almost half a days ride from here. You’re more than welcome to stay and rest. I have food too, and will make you breakfast. Of course if you’d rather leave then-“
“No I’d like to stay, only if you’re sure I won’t ruin your reputation?”
“The hamlet is small but I am sure we can get you away tomorrow without anyone noticing. I don’t get many visitors.” You walked to the hearth and poured a glass of water for him.
Handing him the glass you pulled out a seat for him and gestured for him to sit.
“I’ll just go make up your bed.”
You hadn’t gone into your parents old bedroom in some time. After they had died you’d scrubbed it clean of the stench of old booze and damp. You’d burned their sheets and emptied the drawers, sold on their clothes to the rag man or made rags out of them yourself to clean with. You’d kept very little except the small embroidered cushion your mother had made you when you were born and your fathers pocket watch. Everything else of worth had been pawned long ago.
You had a few sheets spare and made up the bed. It would have to do.
You made to leave for the kitchen but your stomach did a little flip. Murtagh was just out there, sat in your chair. A man you had never set eyes on before Beltane, who’d kissed you hungrily and reverently, made you feel pleasure you hadn’t known the human body was capable of. A man that was right now giving you butterflies.
You’d started the day so supposedly in love with Duncan Brown and ended it with ever growing affection for another. Did Murtagh feel the same? Or was he still hurting over Ellen McKenzie and his cousins betrayal? Were you just a distraction, a dalliance to pass the time?
You had too many churning questions and confused stirrings in your stomach as you walked back into the kitchen but sat where you’d left him was Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser. He was looking at you with gentle if tired eyes, his eyebrows drew together as he took in your expression.
“Lass? Are you well?” He rose, coming to you.
“Yes. No. I’m not sure.” He took your hand, a habit you both had acquired.
“This between us. What is it to you?”
Murtagh paused, his thumb that had been rubbing soothing circles into your palm stopped too.
You readied for rejection, but you needn’t of.
“It’s new,” He started, his hands taking you by the waist and his impossibly deep brown eyes holding yours captive. “I felt so shattered earlier, a deep pain and ache that was tearing me in two. Then I met you, and the ache isn’t so crippling, the parts of me that felt scattered are returning. I can’t think of much more than the taste of your kiss or the comfort of your proximity. Just holding your hand makes me feel grounded and hopeful.”
Murtagh kissed you again, and as he did you were aware of the tears running down your face and the overwhelming feeling of rightness.
“Follow me.” You grasped Murtagh’s hand and walked him past your parents old bedchamber and into your own.