Gray granite buildings, gray sky, gray sea-gloom surrounded him. And so he barely noticed the rain at first, when it came. Cold, thin drops pricked his face.
Marjorie was out there, somewhere, feeling this same rain. Did she lift her cowl against it, or turn her face in welcome?
His feet moved faster, until he found himself running. That gray sea loomed larger, closer. An eerie light hit it, the sun breaking through clouds, even as it rained. It cast the sea in a strange, luminous blue. He ran faster.
Aberdeen Beach swept before him, the stretch of it much wider than his own sliver of rocky Dunnottar shore. The waves were higher here, the sand soft underfoot. Somethi
ng visceral shot from his feet to his core: a recognition, a homecoming.
A lone figure walked along the sand. A woman, with a dark cloak whipping about her legs. Her hair tangled long and loose behind her. She held it tucked behind one ear.
Ree.
Marjorie dug in her toes. She wished the waves could smooth the thoughts from her mind as predictably as they washed her footprints from the sand.
Cormac's words had rocked her. She'd thought nothing could be worse than weathering his blame, enduring his cruel silence, until he'd put voice to his cruel thoughts.
Unseemly. Reckless. Dangerous.
That last had been the worst of all. She'd been a danger to Aidan. A danger to Davie. Cormac thought her foolhardy, that her recklessness made her a danger still.
She'd only wanted to make him jealous. It had worked before, at Dunnottar. Or so she'd thought. But she'd clearly miscalculated.
It seemed Cormac had only accompanied her to Aberdeen because of his sense of duty. She'd been a fool to hope otherwise. Of course he'd offered his help. He was a man bound by honor. The years had hardened him, his time in the wars hammering all but that sense of duty from him. What she'd hoped might be tender feelings for her had merely been a sense of obligation.
Marjorie felt something, a shift in the air around her. It made her turn.
Cormac strode to her. Intent darkened his face. He was power and conviction and anguish, too.
He came to her in anger. He came to berate her and belittle her. Pride sputtered up from someplace down deep.
Marjorie stiffened her back, bracing for his attack. “If you've come to—” Cormac slammed into her, crushing her body close to his, and his mouth stole the words from her lips.
Wrapping an arm at her back, tangling a hand in her hair, Cormac kissed her, roughly, deeply, his mouth hard and hungry. She let her head fall back, feeling her heels leave the sand as he pulled her up and into him. She'd been gripping the sides of her cloak tightly, but her hands slackened. She let go, her arms stretched down and out at her sides, as though poised to feel a storm's wind rush over her body.
She'd felt ripples of desire tease through her before, but it'd been nothing compared to this. Need flooded her, crackling up and between her legs, lighting her belly on fire. Marjorie brought her hands to him, desperately clutching at Cormac's arms, his shoulders, his face. Whatever could get her closer to him.
His tongue took her mouth, exploring her, owning her, and she thought her heart might explode in her chest. She opened herself, trembling from the sheer bliss of it.
She'd never kissed a man before. She'd always known it could be only Cormac. But she hadn't dared hope. She barely dared believe it now.
She stroked her hands along his arms, more mindful now, needing to feel him, to convince herself this could really be true. He wore only his linen shirt and his plaid, and the fabric clung to him, wet under her fingertips.
His muscles were solid, as though his entire body was clenched for her, fighting either against his desire or for it.
Her fingers curled into those hard muscles, and he pulled her closer still. His hand tightened in her hair, cradling her head as he pulled his mouth from hers, only to come down hungrily on her neck, her throat, her jaw. He rained kisses over her face, tender kisses, hard kisses. Both angry and loving, and she wondered what demons he fought. Did Cormac's kisses overcome them, or was this his submission?
He clutched her tighdy to him, and the feel of his strong arm braced along her back, the broad span of his hand on her waist, made her feel tiny, insubstantial. She was no longer a woman plodding through the world but had become instead some other, more transcendent creature, the sum of her now simply the fluttering of her heart in her breast and this tremendous need vibrating through her veins.
His hand roved her, along her side, over her breast, up to cup her cheek, and then back down again. She sank into Cormac, her legs molten, held upright only by the muscular arm at her back.
A crash and hiss, louder and closer than before, burst through to them, and frigid seawater broke and swirled over their feet.
He pulled away, staring at her, their faces a breath apart. His eyes were half-lidded, his dark brow furrowed almost as though in pain. In that moment, she found Cormac unbearably beautiful. He bore such secrets, such hidden depths. She wanted to understand them all.
She saw something else on his face: a wanting, raw and potent.
His intent, for her.