He was sitting in Colum's study, in Castle Leoch, a place where his brother's presence was already missed after the death. The paintings on the wall, the scent of the day in the pillows, the books... Dougal MacKenzie was looking over some papers, still arranging things when the door opened.

You let out a heavy sigh as you put down the basket of logs in the doorway to catch your breath. You gave him a nod, already dragging the basket inside the chamber, only for him to take it from you without a word and ease, carrying it to the fireplace where you moved to light the fire.

He looked over you, then moved back to the table, the papers long forgotten, because this old hare, as much as he already lived, fancied you. You were young enough to be outmarried to some lord or another clan member. Hips good to bear children. He had responsibilities, he was no longer a lad, courting maidens to his liking or chasing them, sinful giggles and touches... he was a man who lived and fought in battles. A man who craved a woman's touch. And here you were.

How your hair moved, the orange flames illuminating your face, your shoulder that he would kiss every damn morning. Oh, how he would dance with you, yes, even dance with you around the fires, the feast dragging you into the shadowed corners only to spread his hands over you, to worship your body like no lad can ever appreciate. How he would look over your sleeping body, to carry you, to make love to you while you only clung to him senselessly, only for him to show love and care after it. For you to sit in his lap in the dawn, wrapped in furs and bodies close, to be someone worth going back to after battles. He longed for you; you were young, a bird trying to fly, and he did not wish to be the eagle to catch you.

"Would you like me to fetch more logs, Dougal?" you asked, breaking the silence.

“Nay, lass. That’s enough for now. The fire’s just right.” His voice was gruff but gentle, a shadow of a smile touching his lips.