That last statement said what Marjorie couldn’t.
She missed her husband so much, she’d sought to ease her grief with the brother who bore such a striking resemblance to him. What Marjorie needed was another man to engage her affections. Not to make her forget her husband but to help her create new memories. Berget wasn’t sure that was possible when one had loved so deeply though.
“He’s made me very happy, too,” Berget admitted. And to think she’d considered him an uncouth barbarian that first morning. Yes, but he was her untamed Highlander, and she wouldn’t have him any other way.
“I am miffed that I shall have to find another governess, however,” Marjorie complained. But the twinkle in her eye belied any real disapproval. “As you know, they aren’t easy to come by, and I cannot bear to send the girls away to school.”
“I’d be happy to continue until another is retained.” Berget draped the night gown over the end of the bed. “I’ve enjoyed teaching the girls.”
“Here, let me help you with your laces. Turn around,” Marjorie directed. “I appreciate the offer, but you’ll be much too busy overseeing the keep. There’s much to learn. I’ll help you, of course. But as the laird’s wife, you’ll have many obligations.” She paused in her ministrations. “I don’t suppose you could recommend a replacement?”
At once, Emeline came to mind. Would her friend consider such a thing to escape her domineering aunt?
“I might know someone. Let me write and ask her if she’s interested. In fact, if you’ve no objection, I can invite her to the celebration then you can meet her yourself.”
Emeline would assuredly enjoy a reprieve from her starchy aunt, and she’d also have a chance to visit with Arieen Wallace.
“That would be wonderful.” Marjorie patted Berget’s shoulder. “There, I think you can manage the rest yourself. Now, hurry and take your bath. Graeme was eyeing the hall entrance but seconds after you departed.”
With a little laugh and a wave, she swept from the bedchamber.
Once Berget had divested herself of her garments, she sank into the lavender and rose-scented bath. Sighing as the fragrant water lapped over her, she leaned her head against the tub’s rim. She lifted her hand, angling it this way and that, allowing the candlelight to catch the amethyst encircled by diamonds ring Graeme had slipped on her finger before they’d dined.
“It matches yer eyes, leannan. There’s a matchin’ necklace and earrin’, too.”
Giddiness frolicked in her middle and not a little apprehension about what tonight would bring. She was married again, but this time to a man whose very glance heated her blood and made her ache for want of him.
Heeding Marjorie’s warning, she quickly lathered a sponge and soaped herself. She’d just finished rinsing a leg, holding it above the water, when the door whisked open.
“Och, now that’s a wondrous sight I’ll no’ soon forget.”
The huskiness in Graeme’s voice sent her stomach to quivering, and with a little squeak, she sank low in the water.
Hair damp and face freshly shaven, he chuckled as he stalked toward the tub, wearing only an unlaced shirt and a kilt slung low on his lean hips. He loomed above her, the cooling bath providing no protection from his probing stare. His avid gaze swept over the outline of her nipples before gravitating to the shadowy triangle at the juncture of her thighs.
He snatched the fluffy linen from the stool beside the tub and snapped it open. “Come, Wife.”
Forcing her nervousness into submission, Berget rose to stand proudly before him.
“Perfection,” he breathed huskily, skimming a finger across the swell of one breast. “I imagined ye naked, but ye’re far more exquisite than I dreamed.”
She trembled but not from fear, and desire darkened his eyes to cobalt.
Making a rough, animalistic noise in his throat, he swept her into his arms, and in five long strides of his muscular thighs, he reached the bed. He tenderly laid her atop the mattress before unwrapping the linen and staring his fill.
“Not fair. You’re still dressed,” she said as much to cover her nervousness as the need to see him naked, too.
“Never say I displeased ye, my lady love.” With deft movements, he shucked his shirt over his head, revealing a startlingly wide chest, covered with that same reddish-blond hair. Sculpted muscles rippled across his torso, and a pulse ticked a wild rhythm in his corded neck.
His hand at his waist, he hesitated for an instant.
She raised up on one elbow, and cocked a brow, deliberately thrusting her breasts upward. “Bashful, are ye, my Highland scoundrel?”
With a growl, he swept the plaid from his narrow hips. His engorged manhood jutted upward toward his flat belly from a thatch of darker blond hair, and she swallowed, a bit of her bravado dissolving.
Dear God, he was magnificent. Sculpted male perfection. And he was her husband. Her husband.
He placed one knee on the bed, feathering his hands across her shoulders before pulling the pins from her hair and spreading the tresses. “Are ye afraid, lass?”
Berget slid her hands over his chest, then brazenly encircled his engorged length. “Nae. I’m a seductress, remember? Now make me yours for now and all time, Graeme.”
He came to her then, playing her body like a finely-tuned instrument, and when she could stand it no longer, when she’d ceased thinking coherently, he slid into her.
She cried out and dug her fingers into his back, her breath coming in short pants.
“Easy, mo ghoal. Relax and let yer body become accustomed to me inside ye,” he whispered into her ear, one hand cradling her hip and the other fondling her breast. He murmured words of love and sex, his hands caressing and soothing.
After a few moments, the pain eased, and she became aware of his fullness stretching her. She tentatively moved her pelvis, gasping as delicious sensation spiraled from her core outward.
Graeme rocked his hips, and another burst of bliss swept her.
“Oh, Graeme,” she breathed, arching into him as he slowly plunged and withdrew. “’Tis…wonderful.”
“Aye, and this is only the beginnin’.”
He quickened his pace, and Berget met him stroke for stroke, the movements sending her higher and higher. Sensation so powerful she wasn’t sure she could take anymore burned through her veins like a wildfire, engulfing and uncontrollable, until she reached a pinnacle. And then she was falling, shattering, crying out his name over and over as blissful ecstasy convulsed through her in wave after devastating wave.
Graeme slid his hands beneath her hips, raising them higher as he surged deeper still. With a guttural groan, he stiffened before collapsing atop her. Several minutes passed, her limbs leaden and her breathing ragged beneath his welcoming weight.
He rolled off her, tucking her into his side and pressing a long kiss to her temple. “I never kent it could be like that.”
She touched her mouth to his chest. “I love you.”
“And I love ye, my jewel-eyed lass.” He drew lazy circles on her bare hip. “I dinna ken what our future holds, leannan, and I fear Scotland’s future as well, but with ye by my side, I can face anythin’.”
Smiling seductively, she slid atop him, a thrill jolting through her at his strangled moan. “Can we do it again with me on top this time?”
He cupped her bottom, tilting his pelvis into hers. “Aye, and many other ways, too.”
“Will you show me all of them?” she purred, spreading her thighs and settling onto his hips.
“I’ll spend a lifetime lovin’ ye, lass.”
“And I ye.”
Epilogue
August 1720
Cèilidh Celebration
Killeaggian Tower
All the preparations for the cèilidh were complete and, at last, the week-long celebration was upon Killeaggian Tower. For the past three days, the keep had hummed with the arrival of guest after guest and the surrounding lands reverberated with the thumps, clanks, an
d banging which accompanied the pitching of tents and pavilions.
At last count, four and sixty—not counting servants—occupied the bedchambers, and dozens more clansmen bunked in the barracks or stables. Berget had no idea how many people occupied the tents, nor how many villagers mingled outside.
She clasped Emeline and Arieen’s hands. “I’m so happy you could come. I’ve missed you terribly!”
Aireen grinned and hugged her. “Who would’ve guessed that when we last saw each other at the McCullough’s ball that we’d both be wed the next time we met?” She looped her elbow with Emeline’s. “Now we must find you a husband.”
Emeline blanched, swiftly casting a troubled glance around the hall. “Aunt Jeneva has her own ideas about that, I fear. She’s been hintin’ her third cousin would make an estimable husband.” She grimaced and wrinkled her nose.
“Hmph. You aren’t married yet, and there are scores of eligible men swarming the place for the next week,” Berget declared. “In fact, I vow I saw more than one man eyeing you with appreciation during dinner last night. And remember, the position as governess is available if you are interested.”
A rosy flush blooming across her cheeks, Emeline shushed her. “Shh. Aunt will drag me home straightaway if she hears ye. I canna quite believe she accompanied me. I did insist I meant to attend with or without her permission. That sent her into a peevish sulk, but she kens I’m of age, and she truly has no control over me. I do have a mind of my own, ye ken.”
Just then, a laughing Marjorie entered with Kendra MacKay and Bethea and Branwen Glanville. Keane, the Duke of Roxdale and cousin to Graeme had come after all, arriving yestereve. His late father had been Bethea and Branwen’s godfather, and after his father’s death, he’d become the sisters’ guardian.
Marjorie smiled broadly and made short work of introducing the women to Arieen and Emeline. She was fast becoming the sister Berget had never had.
“We’ve met before, Emeline. At McCullough’s ball.” Kendra chuckled, tossing her unbound chestnut hair over her shoulder. “I was dressed as a shield maiden.”
“I remember,” Emeline offered a shy smile. “Yer costume was brilliant.”
Eyes alight with mischief, Kendra grinned. “I thought so, too, but my brother wouldna agree.” She puffed out her chest and lowered her voice. “Kendra Mackay. Ye look like a strumpet.”
The women all laughed.
“Keane never permits us to attend balls or visit Edinburgh or Inverness.” Branwen caught her sister’s eye. They were so similar in appearance they might be mistaken for twins, except she was slightly taller with midnight black hair while her sister’s hair was a deep, warm sable. Both had pewter-grey eyes that gleamed with keen intelligence.
Bethea nodded as she swept her gaze around the hall. “But at least he finally agreed to attend the cèilidh. It took days of cajolin’, and I think he only agreed to hush us.”
“Berget, Graeme is looking for you,” Marjorie said, with an impish grin. “He and several of the other men are performing the sword dance.”
Even before she finished speaking, the piper’s music carried inside the keep. Berget marched swiftly through the entry and gatehouse. The outer gate stood wide open, and hundreds of people milled about.
With Arieen and Emeline at her side, they hurried toward the bagpipes’ music. A large crowd had gathered, and smiling and excusing herself, she wended her way through the guests. Four pipers formed a neat row as they warmed up, and across from, them eight kilted men stood at the ready, two swords crossed before each of the brawny Highlanders.
Arieen clasped Berget’s arm. “Do you see the look Keane, the Duke of Roxdale, is giving Laird Kennedy?”
“Yes.” The duke’s raven brows nearly touched as he glowered at Graeme. “There’s an unpleasant history between their families, though they are cousins.”
Every bit the warrior that Graeme was, at first glance, the slightly older duke didn’t resemble his cousin at all. Upon closer inspection, however, Graeme and Roxdale had the same chiseled jaw and hawkish brows. Their builds were similar as well. Marjorie claimed they’d rarely spent time in each other’s company, and she’d frankly been surprised when Roxdale had accepted the invitation.
Graeme winked and bent into a gallant bow. Cora and Elena jumped up and down beside Camden and clapped their hands. “Uncle Graeme. Uncle Graeme.”
The pipers began playing in earnest and, at once, the men launched into the dance steps.
That such large men could move with such agility and grace amazed Berget. It soon became clear the dance was a competition between Graeme and Roxdale. The music went on and on, and one by one, the other men dropped out until only Graeme and his cousin continued to dance.
Originally, the sword dance had been a war dance, and clearly a battle commenced between the cousins and neither appeared willing to cede. Better this than fists or swords. Sweat beaded their foreheads and dripped from their temples, and their breathing came in harsh rasps.
It was the pipers who finally quit, declaring a drastic and immediate need for ale.
Grinning, Graeme swiped his forehead with the back of his hand and extended his other arm. “Well done, Cousin.”
For a lengthy, tense moment, Roxdale stared, unmoving, at Graeme’s arm. His mouth suddenly twitched into a smile and Berget blinked at the transformation in his features. He was…beautiful. He clasped Graeme’s forearm soundly. “Now, where can a mon get a dram?”
Camden clapped him on the back. “I’ll show ye, just as soon as I find the lasses’ mother.”
“I’m right here.” Marjorie sailed into view and gave Roxdale an indiscernible glance before claiming her daughters’ hands.
“I believe ye’ve met my brother’s widow.” Graeme swiped the sweat from his brow again. “The bonnie wee lasses are Cora and Elena.”
To Berget’s delight, the girls bobbed perfect curtsies, murmuring, “Your Grace.”
Marjorie fairly beamed. “Come, my darlings, ’tis time for you to eat.”
“I’m hungry myself, Lady Marjorie.” Roxdale shoved his raven mane behind his shoulders. “May I join ye and the lasses?”
A startled look fluttered across her face before she pinkened and nodded. “Of course.”
Hands on his hips, Camden shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the day a mon would turn down a dram to dine with wee lassies.”
“Hold yer wheesht, Brother.” Graeme gave him a friendly warning. “Why do ye ken I let her invite him?”
Camden stared after them. “Ah, so that’s how it is. Now ye’re playin’ Cupid.” He winked wickedly. “See what ye’ve done to my brother, Berget? The next thing ye ken, he’ll decide I need to wed.”
Graeme drew Berget to his side, kissing her temple. “Wedded life isna so awful. Ye should consider—”
Throwing his hands up as if warding off evil spirits, Camden shook his head and backed away. “Nae. Dinna get any ideas. I have nae intention of marryin’ for years and years.”
He turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.
“I need to freshen up, jo.” Graeme gave her a boyish grin. “I may have been showin’ off a wee bit.”
She raised a brow but held her tongue. Did men never outgrow the need to show off?
Five minutes later, she poured water from a pitcher onto a cloth as he stripped his damp shirt off over his broad shoulders. As always, when seeing his muscular form, her insides tumbled over. She passed him the wet cloth, and he briskly rubbed his face and neck then wiped his chest and torso.
She kicked her shoes off then crawled onto their immense bed. “Must you return to our guests straightaway?”
He slowly turned, a predator’s smile upon his face. “That depends, lass. What did ye have in mind?”
After tossing the cloth aside, he prowled toward her.
“Well, if memory serves me correctly, we’ve coupled in four—no five—positions and we’ve been totally naked for each. I must admit I’m cu
rious if it is possible to achieve satisfaction while partially clothed—”
With a growl, he was upon her, rucking her skirts to her waist, and freeing himself in a series of fluid motions. He entered her without preamble, and she smiled against his mouth. “I guess, that answers that question. I do have more, ye ken.”
“God, Woman. Ye’ll be the death of me,” he rasped.
“Aye, but such a lovely way to die.”
Author’s Note
One of the things I enjoy the most about writing historical romances is the research I do. I strive for historical accuracy, even though my writing is a mixture of fictitious and authentic places and people. I diligently try to present my stories within the cultural strictures of the period they are written in. However, I do not impose today’s values or norms within my writing. For doing so not only detracts from my stories’ authenticity, I believe it a disservice to the people who lived during that time and were obliged to live under much different and harsher expectations.
Toward that end, I would like to clarify a couple of points in TO SEDUCE A HIGHLAND SCOUNDREL.
King George I was a highly unpopular king. From the House of Hanover, he came to the throne at fifty-four years of age and ruled thirteen short years. Nowhere in my research was there any mention of him being a particularly religious or moral king. In fact, he is often suspected of having had his wife’s lover murdered. However, I’ve taken artistic license in having him render harsh judgement on the people listed in the “journal” Berget refers to. Buggery (sodomy) was a felony and capital offense until 1861. That extended to pedophilia, though that particular term was not used during the 1700s.
Another factor that requires clarification is the reason Nairna spent her childhood in a French convent rather than in Scotland. Penal Laws implemented in the 1500s sought to restrict the Catholic faith in Scotland. These laws were in effect during Nairna’s childhood, and though Scotland had many abbeys and priories, some of which still stand today, most were dissolved or secularized in the 1500s and 1600s.
To Seduce a Highland Scoundrel Page 13
