“Iona,” he said, her name low in his throat before his lips found hers.
Her hands lifted to him without thought, finding the solid line of his shoulders, the warmth beneath the fabric, the reality of him that had grounded her again and again.
She moaned softly into his mouth.
The kiss that followed was nothing like the hurried, uncertain moments they had shared before. There was no fear here. No fear pressing in at the edges. No urgency born of intoxication or desperation. Only them. Only the certainty of what had been chosen.
Her body softened into his as though it had always known where it belonged. When his hands moved, they did so with care that did not lessen their intent, guiding her closer, drawing her fully into the warmth of him.
Time lost its edges.
Each touch felt deliberate as he pulled her up into his arms and walked into the bedroom. Frederick set her down and carefully undressed her, kissing every place his hands had touched her bare skin, until finally he knelt in front of her. Her navel was in his line of sight as he slid the last flimsy piece of silken fabric from her body, and he left a trail of kisses down her navel to her core and then all the way back up to her mouth with a painfully slow pace.
Iona did not have enough wherewithal to realize that he had undressed himself, but he was now standing in front her, bare chested, bare-armed, bare-bodied, bareeverything.
His lips felt new as they touched hers, his hands felt new as they wrapped around her, and the newness was completely intoxicating.
Frederick guided her back onto his bed and positioned himself above her before he straightened briefly. His eye meeting hers with a quiet questioning expression.
Iona’s hands lifted to his face, and she pulled him down in reply. Their movements found a natural rhythm as Frederick guided them with care. She felt the warmth of him, the steadiness, the way he seemed to learn from her even in the silence. He was adjusting, listening, meeting her where she was when she needed him to be there.
He buried himself into her deeply in a way that she had not remembered happening between them before. He thrust into her again and again with careful but relentless pace, and she felt the heat in her core rise to heights she had never experienced before.
This was all so new. So — “Good Christ above, Frederick— Please,pleasedaenae stop—” Iona heard the words left from her but had no awareness that she had said them.
Her breath dragged as she gripped his shoulders, lifting her hips toward him, and he responded in kind with an almost punishing rhythm until finally she felt her entire body almost lift off the bed. Her moans were smothered by his mouth crashing into hers as his hips continued to dig, continued to coax it out of her, continued until he finally found his release as well.
When it was over, Iona lay still beside him, her breath slowing, her thoughts returning in soft, uneven waves. The room wasquiet again, the fire remained a low simmer, and she turned her head slightly, looking at him.
Husband.
The word settled over her with warmth and a lovely tingling sensation that she could now only relate to the intimacy that they had just shared.
Her chest tightened slightly, then with an uncertainty she had not anticipated. Duty had been enough before tonight. It had been safe. It had kept her and Jamie safe. Dut was clear and predictable. But now duty felt… insufficient.
Because ye love him ye daft fool.
The realization came quietly, without drama, and yet it settled with a weight that made her stomach clench all the same.
She shifted slightly, her gaze dropping, her thoughts turning inward. Should she leave? Was this where the night ended? Where closeness gave way again to distance, to separate spaces, to the quiet understanding that what had been shared belonged to obligation rather than something deeper. Had this been just duty for him as well?
She drew a heavy breath, not willing to find out the answers to any of her questions, and then began to pull away.
Frederick’s hand closed around her wrist suddenly, but not tightly or restraining. Just enough to stop her. “Stay,” he said.
The word was simple, but it held something that caught her entirely off guard.
She looked at his hand wrapped around her wrist and then back up to meet his gaze. It was steady and unburdened by the weight of obligation, but instead with something awfully close to admiration and desire.
Her heart jumped into her throat. She tried swallowing it down but felt a sharp lump in her throat, so she nodded instead and settled back beside him. This time, when he drew her closer, it was not with urgency but with a quiet ease that allowed her to rest fully against him. His arm came around her, solid and warm, anchoring her in place without effort.
Iona closed her eyes, and her thoughts quieted as he lazily traced circles on her bare hip. And for the first time, she did not question what came next.
They slept that night as they had come together. Without fear. Without distance. Held close, as though neither of them had any desire to be anywhere else.
25
Frederick stirred beneath the warmth pressed against him. The weight of her, the soft curve of her body fitted along his side, the steady rise and fall of her breath against his chest, all of it held him in place more firmly than any sense of duty ever had.