by Meara Platt
He kissed her again, this time cupping her soft, ample breast in his palm and gently running his thumb across its straining bud. He’d meant to wait, to take it slow and ease her into their coupling, but his body was already in flames and had its own ideas. Pagan ideas. Because on these hot August nights, the air was thick and wild, and so was a man’s blood and desire.
A groan tore from the depths of his soul. “Jenny...”
In the next moment, they were undressing each other, flinging clothes here and there because all that mattered was fulfilling the promise of the marriage bed on this summer night.
Cheyne could not remember ever behaving like a pawky lad, unable to control his sense of urgency. But he couldn’t hold back with Jenny. His Jenny. His hands were all over her, unlacing her ties, easing the gown off her shoulders...worshiping her bosom...Lord, did such perfection exist anywhere else but heaven? He heard the whoosh of the cool silk slipping to the floor. Her corset and chemise came next, dropping one by one until she stood naked before him.
His beauty.
He lifted her in his arms to carry her to bed.
Moonlight spilled onto the covers and illuminated her body as he set her down. He drew off his shirt, removed his boots, and took off his trousers before settling beside her and taking her in his arms. He liked the way she curled into his body, and he looked forward to falling asleep with her tucked in his arms. But there would be no sleep for them yet. He wished to bring her to pleasure first, wanted her to feel the sensations of passion so that she would understand the promise of it when they coupled.
“I love ye, my Jenny,” he said in the quiet of the night, dipping his head to her breast and suckling the rosy bud. He took his time savoring it before moving to the other. At the same time, his hand slowly slid up and down her body, first gently kneading her lush breasts, then exploring her delicate curves, caressing her warm, silken skin.
He kissed the throbbing pulse at her base of her neck where it met her slender shoulder, and at the same time eased his hand downward to caress her between her thighs.
“Lyon!” She clutched his shoulders and tugged on his hair, responding with sighs and moans as he kissed and suckled and teased her with his hands and lips and tongue.
Her scent enveloped him, that of sweet summer roses and subtle lavender.
He felt her respond to the stroke of his fingers and watched her as she experienced pleasure for the very first time, and then he felt her pleasure again as her body took the length of him inside her to bind them together in love.
“This marriage thing,” she whispered after he had spilled himself inside her and was struggling to calm. He eased out of her and rolled onto his side so he would not crush her with the weight of his big, spent body. “It is a nice thing, isn’t it, Lyon?
He took her in his arms, inhaling the heat of their arousal and her delicate scent. “Aye, lass. A verra nice thing.”
He claimed her once more during the night, but held back from more. He’d tried to be gentle with her, but his body was on a tightly coiled spring and she was not used to him yet. He did not want to leave her too sore to recall their pleasure.
Besides, there were more duties to attend to this morning in Stonehaven because of the Pagan Moon festivities.
At sunrise, he reluctantly rose from the bed and stared down at her sleeping form. Her long, golden hair was splayed across the pillow and strands tumbled onto the coverlet. She was covered only to her waist. His breath caught as he looked down upon her, taking in her soft, slender body and her full breasts. She was pink and warm, and he wanted to forget his duties and climb back into bed beside her.
She opened her eyes and smiled at him.
He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Good morning, Jenny. How do ye feel, lass?”
She stretched contentedly, and gave a little purr. “I never knew hard muscles and a body the size of an ox could feel so good atop me.”
He felt badly about his spent, sweaty body falling atop her like that, but she’d drained him entirely. In a good way, of course. “Och, did I crush ye? I’m sorry, my love.”
She grabbed her robe and put it on as she rose and came to his side. “Lyon, it felt splendid.”
He arched a wicked eyebrow. “Splendid enough to repeat? We have an hour before today’s festivities commence. What do ye say, lass?”
Moonlight had spilled across his chamber last night, but this morning the sun was brightly shining to mark another perfect day. The sun’s rays cast an aura around Jenny’s flame-gold hair. She looked ethereal. Beautiful.
Breathtaking.
She smiled at him. “I can be lured back to bed.”
“Can ye, lass?” He took her in his arms and wasted no time in sliding the robe off her body so that she stood before him in all her natural beauty. “I think I’m the one being lured. Jenny, ye have a magical hold on me. Are ye sure ye’re not a selkie?”
Chapter Thirteen
Castle Lyon, Stonehaven, Scotland, December 1816
Jenny stood with Lyon on the front steps of the castle as an elegant carriage rolled through the front gate. She held little Johnny in her arms. In turn, Lyon held her in his arms as they stood together waiting for the passengers to descend.
Matthew and Lucas had joined them the night before and were also beside them, eager for John and Jenny’s arrival. The real Jenny.
She turned to her husband. “Oh, Lyon. I can’t believe they’re here.”
“Nor can I, love. I wonder if the bairn will remember his own parents.”
She frowned at him. “He will. Perhaps not at once, but you’re not to lecture your brother. This day is for reconciliation. Smile, and mean it. You’ll scare the horses if you don’t stop scowling.”
“Och, lass. I promised ye I would behave. But I’ll tell ye now, if they leave Johnny behind again, they’re not ever getting him back. He is no’ some wee paffle to be passed around on a whim.”
Jenny hoped her best friend would show some common sense. “You’ll have no argument from me. I cannot imagine ever leaving a child of ours behind, not even in the care of Matthew or Lucas, and I trust them as though they were my blood brothers.”
Professor Bradford had come up with his daughter and son-in-law since his term at Oxford was presently in recess. Jenny looked forward to seeing him again. She had written him weekly to assure his grandson was well cared for and happy, but the old man had to be aching to see the boy.
Jenny held her breath as the three of them finally climbed down from the carriage. The Bradfords ran to her immediately and began to fawn over Johnny. Incredibly, the boy seemed to know his mother, and without missing a beat, stretched his arms out and squawked at her. In the next moment, the Bradfords were crying and hugging Johnny and kissing his pudgy cheeks. “Jenny, you’ve done wonders with him. How can I ever thank you? I know what I did was inexcusable, leaving my son behind. But I knew he would have the best care with you. I did not worry for a moment.”
Lyon frowned, but Jenny shot him another warning glance. Yes, she was also irritated by how easily her friend eased her conscience in dumping her son when she knew about Uncle Arden and Lord Finster, and her desperation to escape them. Did she not once consider that she might have been placing Johnny in danger by leaving him with her?
She smothered her irritation, for Lyon would sense it immediately. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said, hugging John and both Bradfords. She asked Brogan to lead the Bradfords into the parlor and offer them refreshments while their bags were brought in.
She intended to remain beside her husband, curious to see what he would do now that he was face to face with John. His expression was serious and his smoke-gray eyes were fiery. This was Lyon. Fierce. Proud. Soft and gentle with her, but that side of him seemed reserved only for her. “Lyon.” She poked him with her elbow. “He’s waiting for you to take the first step.”
“Aye, love. I know.”
She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. �
��There’s Pagan Moon sex in it for you tonight if you give your brother a hug.”
He laughed. “Do ye think I can be bribed, lass?”
She nodded. “I know it.”
He caressed her cheek. “Aye, for you.” He stepped forward and swallowed his brother in a gigantic hug. “Welcome home, John.”
Jenny could not hold back her joy as all four brothers were soon embracing each other and tearfully apologizing to each other, although she had no clue what Matthew or Lucas were apologizing for. The four of them strode toward the house together, but John paused to grin at her. “I knew my brother would love ye, Jenny.”
She smacked him on the shoulder and laughed. “You wrote that I was just like him and you thought he was a prig.”
“He is, but I also think he is the most wonderful brother in the world and I’d still give my life for him without hesitation. That’s what I thought of ye, too. My wife’s best friend, and a lass with a heart of pure gold. I’m proud to call ye sister. I canno’ believe the two of ye are married. Perhaps I’ll make matches for my other two brothers.”
Lyon cuffed him playfully. “Ye leave them alone. Jenny and I falling in love was just dumb luck and had nothing to do with ye. I’m forever in yer debt for saving me from Davina, but yer still an idjit and a pain in my arse.”
“Glad that’s settled,” John said, looking happier than Jenny had ever seen him. “And about my debts...”
“Och,” Matthew said with a roll of his eyes, “here it comes.”
Lucas sighed. “John, ye looby. Ye never could hold on to yer allowance.”
Lyon glanced at her and winked before turning back to his youngest brother. “What do ye need, John? Come into my study once ye’re settled and we’ll discuss it.”
By the end of the evening, Jenny was too tired to keep her eyes open. When the Bradfords excused themselves, she did the same and retired to the bedchamber she and Lyon shared. Mairi was waiting to help her out of her gown. “Did ye have a joyful evening, Miss Jenny?”
“Yes, it was perfect. We were all smiling and crying. The Lyon brothers are reunited once more.” She dismissed Mairi with a nod of thanks and moved to stand by the window, leaning her shoulder against it as she stared into the chill, moonlit night.
This is how Lyon found her when he strode in. “Jenny, lass. How are ye feeling?”
“Good. Happy. Just a little tired from the excitement of the reunion.” But she turned to him with a smile. “Are you here to collect on my promise?”
He chuckled. “Pagan Moon sex? Lass, my heart’s been pounding like a war drum from the moment ye offered. Forget the Pagan Moon. All ye had to say was sex. The day couldn’t end soon enough for me.” He crossed to the window and took her in his strong, solid arms so that she rested her back against his broad chest and was surrounded by his warm embrace as they both stared out toward the distant waters.
It was a cold night, indeed.
Moonlight reflected off the bits of ice floating in the sea.
“Are ye all right, my Jenny? Ye seem to be tiring easily this past week. Is it the hogmanay preparations and this reunion that has you stressed?”
“I’m not stressed, Lyon. Take me to bed and hold me in your arms.”
He kissed her on the neck. “Ever your dutiful servant, ma’am.” He carried her to bed and tossed another log onto the fire before undressing and climbing into bed beside her.
She nestled against his big, muscled body. “I haven’t been myself lately,” she admitted.
He shifted their positions so that she lay on her back and he was propped on his side, looking down at her with his keen, gray eyes full of worry. “Tell me, lass.”
“I’m not certain yet...but I’ve not been able to hold down my food very well. And my breasts are swelling.”
“Aye, they’re tender, too. I’ve noticed the last few times I’ve touched ye.” His mouth twitched at the corners in the hint of a smile. “We’ll need to order ye some new gowns. I overheard Mrs. MacNaught talking to Mrs. MacAlpin yesterday. Those two old hens miss nothing. How far along do ye think ye are?”
She shook her head and laughed. “I’m not sure. Almost three months I think.”
He took her into his arms again and held her as though she were a fragile piece of glass. “Well, isn’t that just grand. A bairn of our own.”
She gazed up at him. He looked stunned and happy and very much looking forward to becoming a father. He cast her the softest smile. “I was worried about ye. Ye’d grown so attached to Johnny. I feared it would break yer heart when John came back to take him away. They’re going to return to Oxford with the bairn shortly after the new year. John told me this was their plan.”
“I’m happy for them, truly I am.” But her tears came anyway. “I’ll miss him.”
“I know, lass. We’ll see if we can get him back to spend summers with us and his soon-to-be cousin. Mrs. MacNaught thinks ye’re carrying a girl.”
She wiped her tears and laughed again. “Well, then. It must be a girl, for no one dares to contradict Mrs. MacNaught. Not even the prideful Duke of Mar.” She kissed him on his shoulder. “I love you, Lyon. Do you mind that it won’t be a son?”
“No, lass. I hope she has big, green selkie eyes like her mother.”
“Lyon, I have another question.”
“I know what ye’re going to ask...the answer is yes. She’ll have the Lyon birthmark on her buttocks. It does no’ skip the women. Now, I have a question for ye.”
As he lay back, she rolled atop him and rested her chin on his chest. “And I know what’s on your mind. Yes, Mrs. MacNaught says we can still have sex, but we must do it a little differently.”
He frowned. “How?”
She proceeded to show him.
“Blessed saints! Jenny, I love ye, lass. But ye’ll be the delicious death of me.”
THE END
About Meara Platt
Meara Platt is a USA Today bestselling author and an award winning, Amazon UK All-star. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her award winning, fantasy romance Dark Gardens series. If you’d like to learn more about the ancient Fae prophecy that is about to unfold in the Dark Gardens series, as well as Meara’s lighthearted, international bestselling Regency romances in the Farthingale series and Book of Love series, or her more emotional Braydens series, please visit Meara’s website at www.mearaplatt.com.
Also By Meara Platt
FARTHINGALE SERIES
My Fair Lily
The Duke I’m Going To Marry
Rules For Reforming A Rake
A Midsummer’s Kiss
The Viscount’s Rose
Earl of Hearts
If You Wished For Me
Never Dare A Duke
Capturing The Heart Of A Cameron
BOOK OF LOVE SERIES
The Look of Love
The Touch of Love
The Taste of Love
The Song of Love
The Scent of Love (March 2020)
The Kiss of Love (June 2020)
* * *
DARK GARDENS SERIES
Garden of Shadows
Garden of Light
Garden of Dragons
Garden of Destiny
* * *
THE BRAYDENS
A Match Made In Duty
Earl of Westcliff
Fortune’s Dragon
Earl of Kinross
Pearls of Fire*
*also in Pirates of Britannia series
DeWOLFE PACK ANGELS SERIES
* * *
Nobody’s Angel
Kiss An Angel
Bhrodi’s Angel
* * *
HOLIDAY NOVELLAS
Stars Are Brightly Shining (Christmas)
The Midnight Hour: All Hallows’ Brides (Halloween, Gothic)
THE SCOT’S BAIRN
BY Tabetha Wai
te
Damaris Honeywell suffers from an unwanted betrothal. Her solution? Ruin her reputation. But one night with a handsome Scotsman leads to certain…complications that can’t be ignored. When Callum Murray, Laird O’Donogue encounters her again, he intends to show her that they are meant to be.
Dedication
For Jane Kagarise, one of my faithful readers, and the one who suggested I write a
story about a Scottish baby. Since this was my first attempt at writing a brooding Scot, and considering I was currently on an Outlander watching binge, it only seemed fitting that another hero from the Highlands should be honored. While Callum Solomon Murray, Laird of the Clan O’Donough may not be Jamie Fraser, I hope that you enjoy his character nonetheless.
Chapter One
England, February 22, 1817
Miss Damaris Honeywell, the only child of Viscount Matheson, had intended to lose her virtue on the night of the famed Cyprian’s Masquerade Ball in December, but what she hadn’t considered was the fact she might become with child after only one encounter — however magical that one night might have been.
Now, as she stared out the window of the carriage taking her somewhere to the wilds of Northern England, nearly two months along in her pregnancy and wincing every time the coach hit an uneven rut in the road and jarred her queasy stomach, she could only lament her brash actions. She was being sent into exile to stay with some spinster cousin she’d never even met for the duration of her confinement. She was ostracized from her family, while the remainder of her debut London season had come to an abrupt end.
It was going to be the longest seven months of her life.
