by Nancy Pirri
"Yes, luckily," he said softly. He made to claim her lips but she stepped back, pressed her palms against his chest.
The door suddenly burst open and Harry tumbled in. "Come on, Ma and Uncle, everyone's downstairs waiting for you!"
"We're almost ready," Brianna replied.
Jamie came scampering into the room and rammed into Harry's back. Before either adult could react they started wrestling on the bed until the covers hung off one edge.
Harrison shouted, "Boys! Haven't I told you before that there'll be no roughhousing on the beds? Now make it up the way you found it," he ordered.
The boys hurriedly followed his orders. They made up the bed, albeit not perfectly.
Harry asked, "Is it done right, Uncle?"
"Perfectly," Harrison replied with a smile. "Now go to the library and work on your studies until we are ready."
"Yes sir," they said in unison, and fled the room.
Brianna sighed. "They listen to you."
"Now that I'm their father, I'll correct them in their errors, and you may continue to be their gentle, loving mother."
She liked that idea. It would be nice not to nag at them about their responsibilities. That's precisely what she'd been forced to do in the past. Harrison merely spoke a few words and they immediately complied with his requests. She smiled at him and placed her palms against his chest. Tilting her head back, she met his gaze and saw the heated look in his silver eyes.
"You know, you shouldn't have instructed them in those ridiculous tussling moves if you didn't want them behaving like undisciplined little urchins."
His face split into a wide grin. "It's called wrestling and Highlanders have been enjoying the sport for years." He stepped back and held her hands in his, as he looked her over from head to toe. "You make a beautiful bride, and I'd like nothing better than to ravish you at the moment," he said softly.
"You are quite ravishing yourself, my lord. I especially like the skirt."
He threw back his head and gave a raucous laugh. "What? Is that envy I hear in your voice?"
"Hardly!" She looked at his knees. "Unfortunately, women aren't allowed to expose that part of their anatomy, or much of any other portion for that matter. You have no idea how my knees compare with yours."
"If you will recall, I've seen your knees on occasion. Now would be the perfect time to see how yours do measure against mine."
She squeaked and skipped away from him, but wasn't quick enough. He hauled her down across the foot of the bed and shoved up her gown. Her full skirts blossomed around her waist. She pressed the mass down when it threatened to engulf her face.
"Harrison, you are mad! You're going to crease my gown before the wedding, now stop it this instant."
He shoved up one leg of her fine silk drawers and exposed her knee.
"Stop!" She shouted when he found the ticklish spot there behind her knee, setting her into wild, uncontrollable laughter.
The pins in her hair came loose. She reached up to secure one when he launched into another attack, his deft fingers going for her armpits. The merriment ended and they both turned at the insistent rapping at the door.
Harrison placed a finger to his lips and called out, "Yes?"
"Laird?" Stanton asked. "Everyone is waitin' for the two of ye. Now stop that tusslin' and come along! The Priest's been here half an hour already."
Brianna grinned at Harrison. "See? Didn't I say the proper word was tussling?"
"No--not tussling, but tusslin'," Harrison replied. "Ye see ye must drop the last..."
She squirmed out from under his heavy body with a laugh and jumped off the bed. "If you have any intentions of marrying and making an honest woman of me we'd better get down to business. After all, we don't want society saying Cam is a bastard child, now do we?"
He lurched off the bed. "Don't suggest such a horrid thing." He straightened his spectacles, ran a shaky hand through his hair, and departed.
***
After their wedding Mass and exchanged vows in the library. Harrison's Aunt Marianne had planned a lavish celebration for them in the ballroom. She'd invited far more guests than either Brianna or Harrison had wanted, or expected. Brianna received many requests for dances. Harrison was thoroughly disgusted when half the night passed and he still hadn't danced with his wife. He knew precisely when she'd reached the end of her endurance, so he guided her into the library late in the evening.
"But I can't just leave our guests, Harrison," she protested. "It wouldn't be polite."
"You've celebrated enough for five weddings," he informed her. "Now stay here and rest while I encourage our guests to leave. I'll return shortly."
Brianna stood in the center of the library, her hands on her hips. "I should be the last one to leave our reception, not the first."
He pointed at a large velvet chair. "You, my lady, are exhausted. Now sit down before you fall down on your pretty...just sit."
"You are impossible," she exclaimed. "You know how I detest your controlling ways. I won't stand for it."
"What do ye plan to do?" He leaned a shoulder against the door and folded his arms.
She knew then there was no arguing with the headstrong man. She lifted her chin and said, "I'll rest for five minutes, no more, then return to the last of our guests as a good hostess should."
He merely shrugged. "You will do what you need to do, I suppose." Then he left and closed the door behind him.
Brianna wondered at his seemingly casual tone, but sat on the edge of the chair. She closed her eyes and rested, listening to the ticking of the clock. After a few moments she stood, shook out her skirts and made her way to the door. She tried turning the knob, but it wouldn't open.
She frowned. "What in the world?" After a few more tries she stared at the knob, realizing he'd locked her in.
"Damn you, Harrison MacAulay!" She slammed the heel of her hand against the door and shouted again. The orchestra was still playing so she knew it was unlikely anyone heard her.
Furious, she threw herself into her chair. A blazing fire crackled on the hearth, and the heat made her feel warm and drowsy. There was nothing for her to do but rest. She gazed into the fire until she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. She turned sideways and laid her head down upon the chair's arm.
An hour later, Harrison found his bride curled up like a small kitten in the deep velvet chair. He'd grown impatient for their guests to leave, finally venting his frustration on the last few, who luckily happened to be good friends. They'd laughed and slapped him on the back, obviously in their cups. As he'd ushered them to the door, he'd taken their lewd remarks in good stride, knowing they would pay the price for their over- indulgence the next morning.
It had been a merry celebration, one people would remember years later.
Harrison stood over his bride, noting the fine sheet of perspiration on her upper lip. He couldn't resist stroking the bottom of one prettily arched, silken foot. He grinned when she squeezed her toes together in her sleep. She must be exhausted, he decided as he continued the light, stroking movement. He knew she was ticklish
He gradually slid his hand up the back of her calf. Even farther up her leg, across the incredibly soft back of her thigh. He stopped when she jerked in her sleep. He continued on his journey, reaching the top of her limb and moved inward. His hand reached the apex of her legs, and went on to her woman's center, where he proceeded to stroke her ever so gently.
She writhed, her eyes closed, and gasped at his touch. Her breathing quickened. Soon she stiffened and uttered a small shriek when she found her release.
Harrison felt his own burgeoning arousal, felt his control slipping when she opened her eyes and gave him a drowsy smile.
"Everyone's gone?" She sounded breathless.
He nodded. Without a word he plucked her up easily in his arms and strode to the door. Heat spread up his neck and over his face as he flung open the door and took the stairs two at a time.
"Darling? I'm t
oo heavy for you! Your face is red."
His answer was a short grunt. He reached the top of the stairs, strode down the hallway to their bedchamber. With a growl he fairly dropped her in the center of the bed. "Don't move."
Quickly he lit the lamps, so that the room held a soft, golden glow. When Brianna started to sit upright, he stopped her with a sharp, "I told you not to move." He stripped the end of the kilt off his shoulder and it fell to the floor. He tore off his shirt and tossed it in the general direction of a chair across the room. His hands reached down to remove his kilt, but he paused when the shape beneath it caught his eye--evidence of the effect his wife had on him.
He whipped the pleated wool from his loins, and heard Brianna's gasp. Then he was with her, his hands on her corseted waist. "Turn over," he commanded. When she did, he quickly unbuttoned the dress, in his impatience tearing one button free. As it hit the floor with a tiny ping, he stripped the bodice from her and tore the corset laces open.
"Harrison, stop!" she cried, when he rolled her onto her back. "My gown...you're ruining it!"
"I'll buy you another," he said, his mouth dry. His eager hands unwound her from the yards of silk and tulle. Her pantalets were sheer silk, and her skin gleamed like precious gold through their gossamer weave. Tossing the skirt and petticoats aside, he ran his hands along the length of her legs, feeling her heat. She was fire, she was satin, she was all things beautiful and exciting.
She was his wife.
"I love you, wife of mine," he said. Then he drew her into his arms, where she belonged.
THE END
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