He filled Lucy’s senses completely. His hand touched her knee, then moved upward. She felt no shyness, no shame when his fingers reached the part of her that ached most for his touch.
She opened to him. Body, heart, and soul.
“You are so beautiful, so perfect.” His whisper penetrated the sensual haze that surrounded her and she responded with quiet sounds that seemed to inflame him even more.
He pulled off his trews while he continued to kiss her. Then he shifted his position, placing his body in intimate contact with hers. When he moved again, Lucy felt him press against her, his flesh as naked as her own.
“Ian?” Her voice, soft as a whisper, was full of emotion, her body full of yearning. She needed him…
“Don’t be afraid.”
“I could never— Oh!”
He moved quickly. A burning pain lasted only a second and Ian held perfectly still inside her.
As the discomfort subsided, Lucy was certain there must be more. Sensing that he awaited her acceptance, she moved her hips, taking him deeper. He made a low sound in his throat and braced himself over her, meeting her eyes with his own. Slowly, he began to move with slow strokes within her.
Lucy matched his rhythm, digging her fingers into the thick muscles of his upper arms, her body reaching for the intense pleasure he’d given her before. She began to move faster, and Ian coaxed her legs around his waist. When he slid a hand down between them and touched her most sensitive part, Lucy was plunged into a maelstrom of sensation. She cried out with the pleasure, cupping Ian’s face in her hands.
“Sweet heaven.” He drove into her one last time, shuddering with his own completion, and Lucy brought his face down to hers, melding her lips with his.
“I love you, lass,” he said when he moved to her side and pulled her to him. “For now and forever.”
~ THE END ~
Or perhaps not…
December, 1817. Craigmuir Castle
It was the first time Lucy had hosted a house party, but fortunately, it was just her family, and she did not need to impress them. Besides, they were impressed enough with the ancient castle that was now her home.
She and Ian planned to stay on, since his father’s health was so frail. The duchess had passed away in September, an expected event that was mourned by few. She had spent the last half of her life feeling bitter and wronged, though no one knew why. No one, except Ian’s aunt, who doubted the duchess’s wild ramblings, anyway.
Ian’s friends told him that Duncan was bitter, too – living a life of dissipation in Edinburgh. He gambled too much, and drank too much. Ian believed he was destined for the same fate as the duke.
The duke, in the meantime, had told Ian something of his Irish mother, and whatever it was, it seemed to ease his mind. Lucy did not care who his mother was. She loved him with every fiber of her being, and his parentage had nothing to do with that.
Meg and Calvin had stayed for her wedding after the Hamilton party, but Joshua had returned to Berkshire. Lucy’s parents, along with Samuel and Emily had come to Scotland for Christmas, so it was a joyous occasion, as was the knowledge of the child growing within her. She and Ian intended to announce the coming event on Christmas Eve.
Caroline and Jessamine had remained at home, so they would receive the news later. Caroline could not travel with her newborn son – especially not in winter, and Jessamine had stayed with her and Robert to help where she could.
The whole family was just about to go in to dinner when Lockhart spoke quietly to Ian. “My lord,” he said, “Lord Kindale is here.”
“Show him in!” Ian replied. “He can join us for supper.”
The butler cleared his throat. “My lord, he wishes to speak to you in the great hall.”
They had not seen Kindale since the night of Lady Muirhouse’s ball, and he had left abruptly. Just as abruptly as Meg had done, Lucy mused. And it occurred to her that Kindale might very well have been the one who’d broken her sister’s heart.
She knew he was to marry soon, but Ian had voiced doubts that a wedding between Miss Douglas and Kindale would ever take place. It seemed that at least once a week his betrothed found a new reason to avoid marriage.
“If you will excuse me,” he said to Lucy and the others. “I will return in a moment.”
* * *
Meg could not believe Malcolm had just shown up at the castle. Did he know she was still here in Scotland?
Why had he come? To torture her with all that could never be? He had no choice but to marry Elsbeth Douglas, his late father’s ward, in spite of what they’d shared all those months ago.
She still loved him. How could she not? Besides being the handsomest man she’d ever known, he was kind and considerate, and responsible to a fault. Except for that one time. The time they’d been alone in his cousin’s house and he’d made love to her.
Tears welled in her eyes. She’d been such a fool. Malcolm had not been free to marry her, and when he’d left Lake Windermere so abruptly, she’d known she would never see him again.
Until now.
~~~***~~~
Meg Stillwater’s story will continue soon with a novella. Watch for news about the release of this happy tale in my newsletter.
For earlier stories in the Berkshire Brides series, start with Mad About Ivy, a free novella. The follow-up story is Eleanor and the Duke, a full-length novel.
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Lucy and Her Scottish Laird Page 24
