|c.4|

The air was thick with the mingling scents of pine and wildflowers as Finlay and Moira lay entwined on the soft grass of the clearing, their bodies glistening under the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. Moira's golden eyes locked onto Finlay’s, a playful smile tugging at her lips. She trailed a hand down his chest, her fingers grazing the firm lines of his muscles, and leaned forward to place a lingering kiss on his lips.

"Ye ken," she murmured softly, her voice laced with both mischief and sincerity, "I called ye here fer more than just this."

Finlay chuckled, brushing a stray strand of her dark hair from her face. "More than takin’ me apart wi’ yer sweet hands and lips? Hard to believe, lass." His voice was husky, still thick with the remnants of their passion.

Moira swatted his chest playfully, laughing before her gaze grew serious. "I mean it, Fin. I want tae meet yer people. Yer kin. I want tae see the world ye've built fer yerself."

Finlay stiffened slightly, the warmth of her request colliding with the weight of his own apprehensions. He hadn’t spoken much about his family, especially his mother. The mere thought of introducing Moira to his clansfolk filled him with equal parts pride and dread. But as he stared into her golden eyes, full of hope and determination, he found himself unable to deny her anything.

“How?” he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and caution.

“My father…” Moira hesitated, her smile faltering briefly as she smoothed the fabric of her dress. “He finally allowed me to leave. He’s nae afraid for my safety anymore.”

Her words came with a slight edge, a subtle guilt she couldn’t quite conceal. Finlay’s sharp eyes caught it, but he chose not to press her. Instead, he nodded, his lips curving into a grin. “Then we’ll go. But Moira,” he added, his voice dropping to a growl as his hand slid possessively around her waist, “ye’d best be prepared. My clansmen’ll nae leave ye be. They’ll want tae know everything about ye.”

She blushed under his intense gaze but couldn’t help teasing, “Are ye worried they’ll steal me away from ye, Finlay MacLeod?”

He pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “If any man dares, he’ll meet my blade before he even breathes yer name.”

Moira shivered, a thrill running through her at the fierceness of his words. “Careful, Fin. If ye keep speakin’ like that, I might start thinkin’ ye truly love me.”

“I dinnae jest about such things,” he replied firmly, kissing her deeply before releasing her. “If ye want tae meet them, we’ll leave now.”

Moira smiled but stopped him as he began to dress. “It’s already arranged, my love. My father will visit tonight, but I’m comin’ with ye today.”

Finlay hesitated, his brow furrowing. “The MacDonnells are still there,” he warned. “And Ailsa…” He trailed off, his expression hardening.

Moira placed a hand on his cheek, her golden eyes locking onto his. “I can handle her, Fin. I’m nae afraid of a woman who thinks herself entitled tae ye.”

Her confidence soothed some of his worries, though the sight of her slipping into her gold-embroidered black dress made him groan inwardly. It clung to her curves in a way that was both modest and utterly devastating, and he knew it would drive the men in his clan wild.

As they walked towards the MacLeod hold, Moira’s excitement grew. For the first time, she felt the warmth of the sun on her skin, a sensation she had only ever dreamed of. Her steps slowed as she tilted her face upwards, basking in the golden rays.

Finlay stopped, watching her with a mix of confusion and adoration. “Ye act as though it’s yer first time feelin’ the sun.”

Moira smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe it is,” she whispered, threading her arm through his and squeezing it affectionately.

By the time they reached the hold, the late afternoon light bathed the village in a warm glow. Whispers rippled through the clansfolk as they caught sight of Finlay and Moira, the striking woman on his arm a vision of otherworldly beauty.

Inside the great hall, the air was heavy with tension. Finlay’s father sat at the head table alongside the MacDonnells, their expressions dark and unreadable. Ailsa’s gaze zeroed in on Moira, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Moira stepped forward, releasing Finlay’s arm despite his protest, and offered a graceful curtsy. “Laird MacLeod,” she began, her voice clear and steady, “I am Moira. Finlay has spoken much of ye, and I wished tae meet the man who raised such a fine son.”

Her words were respectful, but there was an edge to her tone that was not lost on anyone in the room.

Laird MacLeod’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Moira, is it? Ye’ve caused quite the stir, lass.”

Before Moira could respond, Laird MacDonnell slammed his fist on the table. “Enough o’ this! What is the meaning o’ this nonsense, Finlay? Ye’re promised tae my daughter!”

Finlay stepped forward, his expression cold and unyielding. “I made no such promise. A treaty doesnae bind my heart, Laird MacDonnell.”

Ailsa stood abruptly, her voice shaking with anger. “She’s bewitched ye! A witch and a whore—"

“Watch yer tongue!” Finlay roared, his voice echoing through the hall. The room fell silent as he took a threatening step forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll nae hear another insult against her.”

Ailsa flinched, tears welling in her eyes. “I loved ye, Finlay,” she whispered brokenly before fleeing the hall.

Moira’s gaze followed her, a flicker of pity crossing her face before she turned back to Laird MacDonnell. “I mean no disrespect, laird,” she said calmly, “but Finlay’s heart is his own. He’s chosen me, and I him.”

Laird MacDonnell sneered. “Ye’ve ruined everything. This clan will regret humiliatin’ us.”

Laird MacLeod rose from his seat, his expression weary but resolute. “If Finlay’s mind is made, then so be it. Moira is welcome here.”

The tension in the room ebbed slightly as the clansfolk began murmuring amongst themselves. Moira turned to Finlay, her eyes shining with gratitude, and he took her hand, leading her to the dance floor where the music had resumed.

“Shall we show them how love is truly celebrated?” he asked, his voice softening.

Moira blushed, nodding. “Teach me, then.”

Their laughter and kisses were a balm to the strained atmosphere, and by the end of the evening, even the most skeptical clansmen were charmed by the mysterious woman who had captured their laird’s heart.

---

Later, as the first light of dawn crept into Finlay’s chambers, the sound of their passion filled the air once more. Moira arched beneath him, her hands gripping his back as he thrust into her with unrelenting intensity.

“Mine,” he growled against her neck, his possessiveness searing through every movement.

“Yours,” she gasped, her nails raking his skin as waves of pleasure crashed over her.

When he finally spilled inside her, his body trembling with release, he collapsed beside her, pulling her close.

“I want ye tae bear me a son, Moira,” he murmured, his voice filled with both longing and determination.

Moira’s heart clenched at his words, the weight of what it would require pressing heavily on her. She kissed him deeply, as if to silence his thoughts and her own, and flipped him onto his back.

“Let me show ye how much I love ye,” she whispered, riding him with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left him groaning her name until they were both lost in the throes of ecstasy once more.

As sleep claimed them, Finlay tightened his hold on her, his resolve firm. He would do whatever it took to keep her by his side, no matter the cost.