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Highland Wolf Pact:Compromising Positions(43)

By:Selena Kitt





"That's that, then," she announced, fanning her red face with the tray.  "I'll leave ye alone t'eat yer breakfast. Call if ye need me?"


         

     



 
"Aye, thank ye," Kirstin said, meeting the old woman's smiling eyes.  Moira knew what was in the scroll, just as well as they did.



At least, she hoped.



When Moira had gone out Kirstin looked at Donal, feeling a lump in her throat that was hard to swallow past.



"From t'king?" she asked and he just nodded.



She noticed Donal's hand shook slightly as he broke the seal and she felt cold, in spite of the fire in the fireplace.



"Wait." She put her hand over his. "Donal …  what if … ?"



"I told ye, lass." His blue-grey eyes were clear, shining with love.  "Yer mine, n'matter what. I'll fight for ye, I'll die fer ye, I'll-"



She kissed him, feeling the soft, full press of his lips against hers, a promise more powerful than any king's proclamation.



Kirstin covered her face with her hands as Donal opened it and began to  read. She couldn't read the words anyway, and even if she could, they  meant nothing

g.

Nothing except freedom or death. Nothing except peace or war. Nothing except her love or pain. Nothing. And everything.



"Kirstin … " he whispered her name, trying to peek through her fingers.



"Nuh. I can'na." Her voice was muffled, her tears-they seemed to come so  easily lately, now that she had no wulver left in her-stinging her  eyes.



"Kirstin, look a'me." She dropped her hands, feeling her mouth trembling  as he cupped her face. "Yer mine. I do'na need any man's permission."



"He denied it again," she whispered, feeling a heavy weight tugging on her heart.



She had visions of war, King Henry's men marching to the borderlands,  facing off against her whole family, all of them, the MacFalons and the  wulvers, the green, velvet hills of her homeland running with blood. She  could lose them all, in one horrible, bloody battle, simply because the  English king was afraid a wulver might claim the right to his precious  throne.



"Nuh, lass." Donal pressed his mouth to hers and a fat, salty tear  slipped between their lips. "King Henry's granted the dispensation. As a  thank ye fer exposin' Lord Eldred's treason, King Henry's given up all  rights to the MacFalon lands."



"Ye do'na hafta marry an Englishwoman?"



"Accordin' t'this, James IV of Scotland's s'posed t'marry King Henry VII's daughter, Margaret Tudor some time this year."



"Looks like t'king's gettin' serious 'bout marryin' t'border." Kirstin's eyes widened. "What else does it say?"



"This says I'm free to choose me own bride."



"Free." She repeated the word softly, saying it out loud, hardly believing it could be true.



"Aye." He pressed his forehead to hers. "Free t'choose-and I choose ye, Kirstin MacFalon."



Kirstin MacFalon. Hearing him say it out loud gave her a little thrill of pleasure.



"Are ye sure?" She swallowed, feeling doubt now that there were suddenly  no barriers at all between them. "Even if I'm …  not quite a woman, and  not quite a wulver?"



"Och! Ye've always been all woman, lass." He laughed, grabbing their  tray of food and setting it aside on the bedside stand. He moved his  body over hers, stretching her out beneath him, and she welcomed his  delightful heat and weight, wrapping her arms around his neck.



"I told ye, nothin' could keep me from ye." His mouth claimed hers,  hands roaming over her body, carefully avoiding her wound. They'd slept  in the same bed for a week, but had been warned not to engage in any  ‘strenuous behavior' by Laina, their resident nursemaid, and Donal had  taken her at her word, no matter how much Kirstin begged him to take  her.



"E'en if ye were a star up in the heavens, I'd reach ye," he whispered  against her throat, his big, calloused hand moving over her hip. "And  make ye mine."



"I'm much closer than that." She took his hand and pressed it between  her legs, rocking against it, moaning softly. "And I burn hotter, too … "



"Aye, ye do." He slipped two fingers into her heat and she gasped.



"But e'en if I was a star … " Her hand traced over the sloped hills and  valleys of his belly, tracing that dark line of hair down from his navel  to find him oh-so-hard and ready for her. "Ye could still reach me wit'  this … "



He chuckled as he shifted his weight fully onto her.         

     



 



"Yer a thousand times brighter and more beautiful than any star,  m'love," he murmured. "And I'm t'luckiest man in the world, because I  don't have to look up into t'sky to see ye."



"Nay, ye jus' have t'look in yer bed," she laughed, putting her arms  around his neck. She would never, ever tire of this. Making love with  him was the deepest, best expression of who she was.



"Nay, lass." His breath was hot in her ear, and she realized with a  little thrill that this was the first time they would make love as man  and woman, free and unencumbered. "T'only place I'll e'er have t'look  fer ye is in m'heart."



She met his gaze, smiling.



He was such an extraordinary man, who said such extraordinary things.



And he was hers.



Kirstin gave a little cry as his mouth laid claim to her first. She felt  him, throbbing against her, seeking entrance, their hearts beating hard  and fast together.



She knew she would burn for this man forever.



Kirstin parted her thighs to welcome him home.



The End         

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