Peggy’s Love: The Victorian Highlanders Book 5

by St. Clair, Ellie

  She lifted her head at that, looking intently into his face, searching his eyes to determine if he was, indeed, telling the truth.

  “You know me better than any other woman ever will. You are completely aware of my failings — of which there are many, ’tis true, and you care for me despite them. You bring out the best in me, and you understand the ways of my life. You also have a spirit within you that longs to see beyond the Highlands, as I do, and yet you will always have that urge to come home. We share that, Peg, and imagine the fun we could have together.”

  He turned completely toward her now, staring into what she was sure must be her very wide eyes. “And when I see the Matthew Gowans and Brodie Reids of the world wanting you, I can hardly stand it, Peggy, and I’m beginning to realize that the only way to prevent any other from having you is to marry you myself. Which I want to. And I promise you, Peg, that if we marry, I will never take another woman. It will be only you.”

  She could only stare at him. These were the last words she had expected from Rory MacTavish. They were words she had so longed to hear, and she wasn’t entirely sure if they were too good to be true. But he looked so earnest that she couldn’t help but be moved by them.

  “This would be for forever, Rory,” she said, needing him to look past his impulsive decision and understand this and how important it was to her.

  “I know,” he said, his face as serious as she had ever seen it. “I realize that. And if there is any woman I would want to spend forever with, it would be you.”

  He said nothing of love, and Peggy didn’t expect him to. As for her own feelings, she knew there would never be another that she was drawn to as she was to Rory, and for that, she could hardly say no.

  “So, what do you say, Peg?” he asked, his grin returning, the one that always made her heart melt and her limbs liquid. “Will you say yes? Will you marry me?”

  “Aye, Rory,” she said, the words coming to her lips, nearly unbidden, “I will marry you.”

  * * *

  They shared the good news with their parents, who looked relieved — and happy, each in their own way — by the turn of events. While they all wished their children happiness, it also did not hurt their clans’ partnership to have another marriage solidifying them together.

  Peggy looked as though she were in a daze, and Rory didn’t blame her as he felt much of the same, even though it had been his idea — impulsive though it was.

  When the women rose to leave, Duncan called out Rory’s name, asking him to sit and speak with him for a moment. Rory nodded, though sat somewhat anxiously as he waited to see what further admonishments Duncan had in store for him.

  “Rory,” Duncan said, his gaze pinning him to his seat, “I’m proud of you, son.”

  “Proud of me?” Rory asked, his head snapping up in astonishment.

  “Aye,” Duncan nodded. “You stepped up and did the right thing, took responsibility for your actions. The boy I knew a few years ago would not have done the same.”

  Rory dipped his head slightly, not meeting Duncan’s eye.

  “I must be honest with you, Duncan. Were the woman anyone but Peg, I likely would not have done the same at this point in time, either. But as it is… well, I am honest when I say that being married to her would not be a hardship at all. In fact, I canna imagine being married to anyone else. Though I did not think it would be so soon.”

  Duncan stood and walked over to him, placing a meaty hand on Rory’s shoulder.

  “Well, I appreciate it. And I trust ye to take good care of her.” Rory looked up at him with a forced smile, hoping he could keep that promise.

  “Oh, and Rory, I know Peggy’s dowry isn’t as big as some women’s, but I do have a fair bit set aside for her wedding. Use it to care for her, all right?”

  Rory raised a hand. “I cannot take it.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Tis not why I would marry her. I can make my own money.”

  “Take it, Rory,” Duncan insisted. “It’s there for a reason — for ye to start your new lives together.”

  And with one final clap on Rory’s shoulder, Duncan lumbered out the door, leaving Rory to anxiously bite his lip. ’Twas true he could use the money, but he had to make sure it didn’t go to paying off his debts. Matthew Gowan would have to settle to just wait until Rory could find other means.

  * * *

  Although he had talked Peggy into this, Rory was still in a bit of a state of shock as he awaited her at the altar of the village church on their wedding day. All had been surprised to hear of their upcoming nuptials, of course, though they were met with celebration from both clans.

  When he had followed Peggy the other night and convinced her of his wish to marry her, while nothing of what he said had been planned in advance, the truth was that he’d meant his words. Anytime a woman had mentioned the word “marriage” before, he had nearly run the other way as fast as he was able. Yet when the time had come to consider the option with Peggy… it didn’t seem so bad. If there was ever a woman that understood him, it was she, and he knew that wherever life took the two of them, she would have no qualms about making the best of it.

  He looked around the church now. Most of the village had gathered, though it was hard to see beyond the hulking frames of three of the four McDougall brothers. All three of them watched him now, so similar in their looks, and yet their countenances so entirely different. Finlay glared at him, Adam was contemplative, while Roderick just looked worried.

  Which, of course, he had a right to be so, Rory thought with a sigh. He knew he wasn’t exactly the type of man most men would want their sister to marry. But here he was. And he would do right by her. Of that, he was determined.

  All thought fled, however, when the church doors opened and Peggy appeared on the arm of her father. She wore a long gown, the color of the hills that stretched between the McDougall and MacTavish lands. Her dark hair was, of course, flowing around her shoulders. On her head, she wore a circlet of gold. Her eyes, however, were what held him. Their bold blue, luminous in the light streaming in from the windows circling the top of the church, were fixed on him, unhesitant, though her pink lips were fixed in a grim line, as though she was not entirely happy about this wedding.

  So why, then, had she agreed?

  Finally, they reached him, and Duncan shook Rory’s hand before taking his seat next to his wife. If only his marriage could be as happy as theirs, Rory thought, as he watched Jane take Duncan’s hand and smile at him.

  And then it was only Rory and Peggy — and the priest, of course. Rory took Peggy’s hands, gave them a quick squeeze, and winked at her, which slightly softened her lips into the semblance of a smile.

  Then he turned toward the priest and nodded at him to begin.

  Chapter 16

  And just like that, she was married.

  Peggy took deep breaths as she took Rory’s arm and turned to face the crowd of well-wishers, all who seemed utterly thrilled to see another marriage between the clans — with the exception of a few of the young ladies who likely had been eyeing Rory for a few years themselves.

  “Cheer up, Peg,” Rory whispered in her ear. “Time for the celebrations to begin.”

  And that was precisely wherein lay the problem. Peggy had always been a romantic — she loved weddings, and had spent hours planning those of her brothers and now sisters-in-law, who had not overly cared for it themselves. And then her own had come so quickly she hardly had any time at all.

  After the surprise proposal, she had determined she would remain at the MacTavish holding for another couple of days, and she was determined to see through on her promise, despite both Rory and her father telling her she had no requirement to continue on, as she would be joining the household soon enough. Jane, of course, had remained as a chaperone, while Duncan had refused to return home, claiming he had no desire to leave his wife once more, though Rory and Peggy were both aware that he was likely more concerned about leaving the two of t
hem alone.

  As it was, they had barely spoken in the past couple of days. They were busy enough seeing off the party from Perth, and then tidying the house for the next group, booked to arrive the following week — and in between, they would hold the wedding.

  Peggy had hurriedly prepared. Adam’s wife Rebecca had selected a dress and the village seamstress had altered it, while Kyla ensured that all was in order for the celebration following the wedding. They hoped the merriment could be held out of doors, as with Peggy’s brothers’ nuptials, although in this instance it would be in the keep surrounding Darfield rather than Galbury.

  Peggy had dreamed of her wedding for years, and now it was already nearly over.

  Though, there was one dream that had been made a reality — her groom. For so long she had pictured Rory MacTavish by her side and now here he was. She turned her head to study him. His long blond hair had been pulled back at his neck, which only enhanced his prominent cheekbones and brilliant green eyes, lines crinkled around their corners from the laughter that seemed to follow him around. He caught her gaze and winked once more.

  “What are ye thinking of, lass?” he asked as he helped her up into the carriage.

  “You,” she confessed, her cheeks slightly flushing. “Us.”

  “Oh?” he raised his eyebrows, slightly wiggling them. “Anything in particular ye would like to share?”

  “Just that I never realized this would actually become our reality,” she said honestly.

  He stretched an arm around her back, the starched linen of his shirt rubbing against her skin, and she wanted to lean back into his embrace, to feel his warmth around her. But she was far too worried. For she was already more in love with him than she had ever been, and yet she was no fool — she knew that while he cared for her, that was the extent of his affections. If he loved her, he would have said so in order to convince her to marry him.

  How she was supposed to keep herself from falling for him even further, to a point from where she could not return, she had no idea.

  * * *

  Rory loved a good celebration, but somehow, he didn’t seem able to give himself over to the music or to the moment that evening. He danced with Peggy, he danced with women from his own clan and the McDougall clan, but every time he came back to his wife, he could sense her hesitancy, her unwillingness to open herself up to him, despite the light that danced behind her eyes. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she was eager to escape.

  Now, as the guests slowly filtered away while light began to creep over the hills surrounding them, Peggy turned to look at him from afar, and he yearned for her with a desperation he had never before experienced — one that scared him.

  He stepped slowly toward her now, her eyes on him the entire way. He paused in front of her, and she looked up at him from her seat on one of the chairs that had been brought outside from the dining hall.

  Rory crouched down and held out a hand. It was time for them to begin acting like husband and wife, not a couple in the first blush of courtship.

  “Wife,” he said, willing her to take his offer. She paused, but eventually slid her slender fingers into his large palm. “Are you ready for yer wedding night?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” she said, her typically strong, fluid voice hardly more than a whisper. Yet she stood to accompany him until her parents intercepted them.

  “Rory,” Duncan said, his thick hand coming to cover Rory’s shoulder. “Ye take good care of me daughter, now, ye hear me?”

  “I do,” he said with a nod, holding Duncan’s gaze as he made the vow. He would take care of Peggy. If there was ever a woman who deserved to be well looked after, it was her — though he knew that if he were to ask her, she would tell him that she could look after herself.

  Peggy hugged her parents, and soon enough they were mounted and riding away, while Rory led his bride into Darfield Keep, her new home.

  * * *

  Never in her life had Peggy been so nervous. When she and Rory had previously found themselves nearly making love in the sitting room, it had been spontaneous, impulsive, and nothing she had thought about ahead of time— she had simply acted.

  But now he was leading her up the stairs to his bedchamber, and her heart pounded in her chest so hard she was afraid she might faint — and wouldn’t that be embarrassing, to fall down, passing out on the way to her wedding night.

  Rory had taken her hand as they climbed the steps, and when they reached the top, he turned to her, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to sense her hesitation.

  “Are ye all right, lass?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” she answered honestly. This was Rory, a man she had known her entire life, which allowed her to feel as though she could tell him anything… and yet in the same breath, she could hardly imagine opening herself up to him as she would be expected to do momentarily.

  “Peggy,” he said softly, bringing his hands to her shoulders as he turned her to face him, his eyes searching hers. “I care about ye very much — ’tis why I married you. I will not do anything to hurt you. When we step into my bedchamber, all that will happen is what you want to happen, do ye understand? You say the word.”

  She nodded, her heart still beating quickly, but now something more ran through her veins — a thankfulness that Rory was the man he was. His reputation was as a womanizer, a man who cared only for himself. Much of that reputation was earned, it was true, but she had always known that there was more to him behind the facade of which everyone else was aware.

  He took her hand once more and led her inside. She had never been into his bedroom. It was mostly dark, lit only by the soft moonlight through the window and the fire roaring in the grate, clearly having been recently stoked. She flushed at the thought of someone making up his chamber for the two of them.

  The MacTavish plaid was thrown across his large bed, and besides a few other small items of furniture — a washstand here, a dresser over there — the room was devoid of much else.

  “’Tis not much,” he said, turning to her and seeing her assess her surroundings. “But perhaps you can do something about that if you’re inclined to.”

  She nodded. She would like to, but she would worry about that another time.

  “I’ve had your trunks brought in here,” he said, taking a seat on the bed, allowing her time to become familiar with her surroundings. “It must be difficult, leaving yer home for a new one, taking all yer possessions with you.”

  “’Tis a strange feeling,” she admitted, “but I know Darfield. It is not as though I am leaving behind all I know, as Rebecca did, or Gwen.”

  “And ye know your husband, too.”

  “I suppose I do,” she said, swallowing hard as she summoned all of the courage within her. “At least most of him.”

  She walked over to the bed now, pausing in front of where Rory sat back, bracing himself on his palms. She reached her arms around to the sash tied behind his back, pleased to see that her fingers were not trembling as she unfastened it and it fell from his body. He simply watched her as she then took to his shirt, lifting it over his head, pausing for a moment to stare at him.

  She had seen his torso uncovered many times before. His skin was dark, the muscles of his chest and abdomen hard. She ran her hands over them, feeling the crisp tickle of the slight bit of hair beneath her fingertips. Peggy touched his arm, wondering at the colorful ink.

  “When did you get this?” she asked.

  “The last time I went south,” he responded with a slight smile. “It’s a depiction of my mother — a version of her anyway. She never was an actual warrior, but that was her spirit, or so I’ve been told. So that’s how I had her portrayed.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Peggy said, and she meant it.

  When her hands brushed over his nipples, he took a sharp intake of breath, and she looked up at him, surprised at his reaction. His eyes were hard, his jaw clenched tight, and she realized that her slight touch was causing mor
e of a reaction than she had anticipated. Power reigned within her over the thought, and she continued her quest, exploring what more he held in store for her. She followed the trail of light hair down his stomach, over his navel, and saw it grew thicker below, to where it disappeared underneath his kilt.

  She hesitated, but at his slight nod, she undid his kilt, and he lifted his hips to allow her to slide it down over his legs.

  Peggy couldn’t help the gasp that escaped. She should have known he would be naked underneath the kilt, but that didn’t stop her from being shocked nonetheless. He grinned briefly, though he still allowed her to set the pace, to slow down if she felt the need.

  “Well, lass,” he murmured. “I dinna mind your perusal, but I am beginning to feel a slight chill. Perhaps ye might warm me up?”

  His lips turned up in the slightest of smiles, and she felt herself responding to the quick wit that was Rory. She turned around in front of him.

  “Will ye help with my buttons?” she asked, and soon felt his warm fingers upon her back as he rose from the bed to stand behind her.

  “Gladly,” he ground out, and made short work of them, as she could soon feel the air against her back. She turned back around, shy suddenly and unsure of what to do next, but he reached up a hand and brought it around the back of her head. He pulled her down toward him and took her mouth with his.

  It was as their previous kiss had been — exciting, tempting, searching — and this time, a promise of more to come. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her, teasing her, causing her insides to seemingly melt as she forgot her fears and eased her body toward him. His hands left her hair and began to slip the arms of her dress down, gooseflesh rising from her skin behind his touch, though not from cold but rather her nerves on edge. Her dress was soon around her waist, but now instead of wanting it to remain, she was eager to be rid of it. It slid down her hips and she stepped out of it, left now in only her chemise.