Was there a part that bored or that you didn't really like in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything. You could say no if nothing bothered you.

Which was the part you liked most in the book?

Even a character, a scene, or anything that you enjoyed.

What kind of emotional tension do you want most? *

• Hatred that slowly turns into obsession
• Mutual distrust with forced proximity
• Instant attraction they both try to fight

Which romantic progression do you prefer? *

• Enemies → reluctant allies → lovers
• Strangers → forced marriage → slow emotional bond
• Captor → protector → lovers

Anything else you'd like to share?

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Castle MacLeay, four weeks later…

Maureen stood in the center of the garden path and stretched her arms above her head, tilting her face to the sky.

The sun was warm, not the timid warmth of spring, but the full-bodied promise of summer. It sank into her skin, into her bones, loosening the last of winter’s memory. For a long moment she simply stood there, eyes closed, breathing.

It was the first day of summer.

Everything was in bloom. The pear trees were heavy with tiny green fruit, the cherry branches dappled with the last blush of petals. Bees drifted lazily from blossom to blossom, and birds darted low across the grass, busy and purposeful as they foraged for their nestlings.

She bent and lifted her trug, now filled with freshly cut lavender. She inhaled the sweet scent, letting it steady her.

This was exactly the day she had dreamed of in those darker hours.

A day without watchful tension and whispers of threat. Without the constant readiness for danger.

“Bobby,” she murmured.

Her little rough-coated terrier trotted faithfully at her heels, his tail in constant motion, dark eyes bright with adoration. He followed her everywhere, as if convinced she might vanish if left unaccompanied.

She smiled down at him. “Aye, I see ye.”

He gave a small bark of agreement.

She carried the trug into the kitchen, where the air was thick with the scent of fresh bread and herbs. Setting the lavender upon the long table, she paused only long enough to exchange a few words Cook before turning back toward the yard.

There was someone else she wished to find.

The stables were alive with their usual rhythm: the shuffle of hooves, the rasp of brushes over glossy flanks, the low murmur of grooms discussing tack and iron.

As expected, Samuel was there, sleeves rolled, speaking with two grooms about which horses were due to be shod before the week’s end. He stood relaxed but attentive, one hand resting against a stall door, listening more than commanding.

She watched him a moment before he sensed her presence and looked up.

The smile that broke across his face was immediate and unguarded.

He excused himself with a nod and walked toward her, brushing a stray lock from his brow.

“Ye look as though ye’ve swallowed the sun,” he said lightly.

“I may have done.” She was unable to keep the brightness from her voice. “Today is the day fer the ride I’ve been longing fer.” She looked up at him hopefully. “Can I tear ye away from yer business and indulge me dream fer a day?”

He laughed easily, the sound low and warm.

“How can I resist ye?” he said. “It is a right bonnie day fer riding.”

There was something wonderfully ordinary in the exchange. No shadow lingered behind his eyes now. No guard stood within arm’s reach. No messenger hovered with news of threat.

Unspoken between them was the knowledge that no longer was the menace of Matheson and his men hanging over their days. Laird Joseph had brought Clan Matheson to order with firm diplomacy and an even firmer hand. They were now counted among allies rather than enemies.

Samuel glanced back toward the grooms, then returned his attention to her.

“Go and change intae yer riding clothes and join me here,” he said. “I’ll have the groom saddle yer wee mare. And in the meantime, I’ll see the kitchen tae provide us with some nourishment tae take with us.”

His eyes shifted, brightening suddenly with mischief.

“I ken a special place I’d like tae show ye.”

Her heart gave a small leap.

“Dae ye now?”

“Aye.” He leaned slightly closer. “But ye’ll have tae trust me.”

She lifted her chin with mock gravity.

“I have trusted ye through worse than a summer ride.”

His smile softened at that, not fading, but deepening with shared memory.

“Aye,” he agreed quietly. “That ye have.”

She turned toward the keep, the sunlight warm at her back and the promise of open hills ahead. After she’d changed into her riding habit she went in search of Iseabail, and found her in the garden.

“We are riding today.”

Iseabail smiled. “Och, lass, the ride ye’ve been wishing tae take fer so long.”

Maureen returned the smile. “But I cannae take wee Bobby. Will ye keep watch over him fer me while we are gone?

Bobby wagged his tail and ran to Iseabail’s side.

“He loves ye too.” Maureen laughed, bending to pat the wee dog. “Be good fer Auntie Iseabail,” she said lightly before she hurried away. She would miss her little companion, yet she was almost bursting with the thought of what the day might bring

For the first time in many months, the day stretched before her without fear.

Her saddled mare was waiting in the courtyard, Samuel’s stallion beside her. Both horses seemed as impatient to ride as Maureen did herself.

They mounted quickly and, with the portcullis already raised, were swiftly on their way.

But instead of turning toward the broad, familiar path that wound gently through the lower glen, Samuel guided them toward a narrower track that climbed steadily into the hills. It was little more than a ribbon of earth between bracken and stone, half hidden by early summer growth.

Maureen followed, curiosity quickening her pulse.

The higher they rode, the more the air seemed to change. She breathed it thinner, fresher air, tinged with the scent of pine and wild thyme crushed beneath the horses’ hooves. Early-blooming heather brushed violet across the slopes, not yet at its fullest blaze, but promising it soon would be. Bees drifted lazily from bloom to bloom, their hum threading through the stillness.

Above them, a golden eagle circled high, its vast wings held steady as it rode invisible currents. Maureen tipped her head back to watch it.

“Look,” she called softly.

Samuel glanced upward and smiled. “The True Bird. A good omen.”

The track curved nearer to the river, though here it was scarcely the calm ribbon that passed the castle. It tumbled white and wild over stone, rushing between moss-dark boulders, the sound of water gushing over rock, spray filled the air.

Pine trees rose in tall, resin-scented ranks along the steeper incline. Between them, wildflowers burst in scatterings of color–– butter-yellow tormentil, blue harebells trembling in the light breeze, tiny white star-flowers tucked close to the earth.

The mountains beyond lifted in layered blue distance, their peaks softened by the summer haze.

Maureen breathed it in, the warmth of sun on her shoulders, the steady rhythm of her mare beneath her, the sense of climbing toward something hidden.

“Ye are taking me far from the usual haunts,” she called.

“That is the idea,” Samuel replied over his shoulder.

At last, the path narrowed further, and he dismounted, tying his horse loosely to a pine. He reached up to steady her as she slid from her saddle.

“Trust me,” he said again, quieter now.

They walked the final stretch on foot, Samuel carrying the basket that contained their food and drink.

The sound of water deepened, not the rush of a river now, but something heavier. A constant falling roar.

Finally, the trees parted and before them, rising high from a cleft in the rock, a waterfall plunged in silver sheets into a rocky pool below. It was not vast, but it was secluded, held close by stone and moss and fern, hidden from all but those who knew the way.

Spray caught the sunlight in drifting prisms of rainbow colors. The pool at its base lay clear and green, its surface broken by the steady cascade.

Maureen stopped outright.

“Oh,” she breathed.

Samuel eyes were on her face.

“I found this place years ago,” he said. “I came here a lot as a lad, when I wished tae be alone.”

She turned to him slowly. “And now ye bring me.”

“Aye.”

They settled near the water’s edge, spreading a blanket upon a flat stretch of rock warmed by sun. Samuel uncorked the claret and offered a cup. The bread was broken, the delicate soft cheese and cold chicken shared between them.

They ate simply, talking little.

The sound of the waterfall filled the spaces between words. The warmth of the sun sank deep into Maureen’s limbs.

“Thank ye fer sharing yer beautiful sanctuary with me,” she said, taking Samuel’s warm hand in hers.

Without speaking, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips and she met his tender gaze. His eyes told her everything she needed to know, they shone bright with love.

After a while, she lay back, head resting against his shoulder, and closed her eyes.

For the first time in so long, there was no watchfulness in her rest. No ear straining for alarm.

Only the steady roar of falling water and the solid warmth of him beside her.

They dozed a little in the sun, wrapped in one another’s presence, the air rich with summer.

When she woke, the pool shimmered invitingly. She pushed herself upright.

“I shall paddle me toes,” she announced.

Samuel opened one eye. “The water will be cold.”

“I am braver than ye suppose.”

She stepped carefully across the rocks, lifting her skirts just above her ankles. The first touch of water made her gasp, sharp and deliciously cool.

“It is indeed bracing,” she declared.

“Bracing is often a polite word for foolish,” he replied lazily.

She turned to retort and her foot slipped.

A slimy rock shifted beneath her weight. She pitched forward with a startled cry and vanished into the pool.

There was a splash and a moment of silence.

Samuel was on his feet at once, concern flashing across his features.

Then she surfaced, sputtering, hair plastered to her face. And laughing.

“Are ye hurt?”

“Only me pride,” she called, pushing wet curls from her eyes.

Her gown clung hopelessly to her form.

He stepped carefully to the edge and offered his hand, but instead of pulling her out at once, he paused.

“Ye are soaked through,” he observed.

“So it would seem.”

His expression shifted, amusement warming into something more intent. Admiration?

“Then we must remedy that.”

He helped her from the water and, with gentle efficiency, began to untie the sodden laces of her gown. She did not protest. The sun was warm, the air kind.

He peeled the heavy fabric away and laid it across a sunlit rock.

“I think ye’ve nae need fer this wet chemise,” he said peeling the garment away leaving her naked in the sunlight. “Ye’ll catch a chill.”

“Then perhaps ye should join me and ensure I dinnae.”

She met his gaze directly.

He gave a low laugh. “Hmm.” He muttered. “Ye’re like a beautiful siren, bold and tempting tae a poor soul.”

She lifted her chin. “Well. Have I tempted ye enough?”

He did not hesitate.

Boots, shirt, kilt––discarded piece by piece in short order––until he stepped into the pool beside her.

The cold stole his breath at once.

She laughed outright.

They moved beneath the waterfall, letting the torrent strike their shoulders, the spray cooling their heated skin. They splashed, teased, stole kisses between bursts of laughter.

But playfulness softened gradually into something deeper.

The world beyond the rocks seemed impossibly distant.

He drew her close beneath the fall of water, his hands warm despite the chill. She traced droplets from his jaw, kissed the hollow at his throat, slipped her wet body next to his.

Their laughter faded into slower breaths.

He kissed her then, under the tumbling water, holding her tight so that she felt all of him and his fast-beating heart as the kiss deepened. His hands splayed across her pulling her against his hardening shaft. The sun playing on the spray of water around them.

It was other-worldly, outside of anything Maureen had known and she was lost in it, was lost in the touch of him, the flow of water between them, the feel of the sun on her bare skin

They left the pool and lay upon the sun-warmed stone beside it, the waterfall’s constant song rising above them. The warmth returning quickly to chilled skin.

What passed between them was unhurried, tender yet fierce, born not of fear or urgency, but of freedom.

They had become part of the wildness of the flowing water, as Samuel lay back, lifting her so that she straddled him, his shaft as hard as the rock they lay on.

Rivulets of water ran from her long hair across his chest and she gazed into his eyes, dark now with desire. Heat rushed through her as she pressed herself against him, kneeling on all fours to take him as she pleased, at her leisure.

He growled. “D’ye ken what ye’re daeing tae me lass, with those beautiful breasts above me and yer tasty quim so close tae me shaft.”

She laughed softly, wriggling a little so that her breasts swayed close to his lips and her entrance slipped near to his tip.

With a groan he reached up and pulled her down to him so he could take the puckered nub of her breast in his hungry mouth. She moaned as he worked his teeth and tongue, the delicious sensation fanning out and finding its mark between her thighs, heating her desire, lifting the passion already rushing like the torrent between them.

Shifting her hips she lowered herself onto his shaft feeling his hardness sliding, stretching her, filling her, as he thrust up to dive deep inside her.

They were part of the wild torrent. As free as the eagle soaring in the blue sky above. Their pleasure in each other as they joined, creating a rhythm to match the tumbling water. She cried his name as she crested the waves of delight, but it was lost in the rushing river, while Samuel’s roar of ecstasy joined the roar of the waterfall and the moaning of the wind in the pines.

Afterward, they lay entwined beneath his cloak in the sun, drowsy and content, the rhythm of water steady as a heartbeat.

They drifted into sleep.

The End

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