by Tamara Gill
If she hadn’t been able to get warm in his tartan.
If someone with mal-intent had found her naked...
Claire shivered and took a step closer to her soon-to-be husband.
“Ye all right, lass?” Duncan’s whisper jolted her but she smiled.
“Aye.” She was getting used to the word, and loved the lopsided grin he always flashed when she said it. Maybe she’d be able to pull off that accent sooner than later, though she’d miss her Texas twang.
“No’ changing your mind?”
“No, my laird.”
“Good.” Duncan grinned and her stomach fluttered.
He actually wants to marry me.
Gods knows I want to get in his pants—err, under his kilt, but does he want me for more than sex?
The preacher cleared his throat as their conversation interrupted him.
Duncan threw him a sheepish look and snapped his mouth shut.
Claire couldn’t stop staring at Duncan’s lips. She wanted to kiss him again. Soon, she’d be able to, as his wife. Her heart missed a beat, and he squeezed her hands as if he’d read her mind.
The priest continued speaking to their small audience of Duncan’s father, sister and nephew, but Claire tuned them all out, staring up at the man she’d call husband in mere moments.
He stared right back, and she got lost in the blue of his eyes.
The strip of plaid fell away from their hands, and then Duncan pushed a simple gold band onto her ring finger. Then he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her.
Claire reached to snake her arms around his neck and met his kiss. Their tongues twined and danced, duelled as he pressed deeper into her mouth. She moaned, her legs wobbling as desire swallowed her whole.
Duncan groaned and she felt his erection pushing into her stomach.
She wanted him.
Needed him.
Right. Now.
A deep throat cleared, and Claire jolted.
Duncan pulled away. Color lit his high cheekbones and her heart stuttered. He’d been as lost to the kiss as she was.
Her father-in-law chuckled. “Save tha’ for later, lad.”
Heat scorched her cheeks, and Claire buried her face against her husband’s crisp white tunic.
Duncan laughed but pinned her to his chest. “I need a minute, lass, or I’ll embarrass myself as well.” His warmth breath above her ear shot a tremor down her spine. He was still aroused and wearing a kilt.
Claire was torn between pride, since she’d done that to him, and even more embarrassment.
They were in a chapel.
And she wanted to strip naked on command.
“Let’s go to the great hall.” Janet wore a grin. “Everyone’s waiting. I’ve arranged a feast.”
***
Claire heard the lively music even before she entered the great hall on Duncan’s arm.
Angus had already dashed inside. Iain and Janet walked in front of them, and her new sister-in-law was giddy. Grinning from ear to ear and apparently proud of herself.
Claire gasped. Flowers were on every surface that would hold them. They were even wrapped around the great wood chandelier that hung above the tables.
Sweet scents mixed with roasted meat wafted through the large room.
So much for no fuss.
Janet had promised Claire she wouldn’t make a big deal about things. Evidently, they had two different definitions.
All the MacLeods were already assembled to welcome the laird and his new wife. Everyone was dressed in their best MacLeod-tartan attire and had wide smiles on their faces.
Claire looked around at all the bright open expressions.
These people will hate me when I leave Duncan.
Duncan squeezed her against his side as if he’d read her mind, then bent down to press a kiss to her cheek.
He wanted to marry me.
Her new husband smiled, and Claire forced herself to return the gesture.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
“I am, thanks. This place looks great.”
Duncan’s expression turned wry. “Aye, my sister outdid herself. As usual.”
“Obviously we need to further define no fuss.”
His smile slid into a grin that made Claire’s stomach somersault.
“No’ likely she’d mind ye any more than she’s ever minded me, lass.”
“Aye. This is a wedding. It must be celebrated,” Janet said, beaming as she stepped up behind them.
Duncan chuckled.
“I rest my case,” Claire muttered, but she couldn’t stop smiling.
Relax. You’re married. To a dreamy hottie.
You get to have sex with him later.
Actual sex.
A tremor shot down her spine, and she shifted in her borrowed ladies’ slippers.
“Let’s eat,” Duncan said, seating her at the head table.
“Then we’ll dance!” Janet said brightly.
The evening was something out of a period-piece movie, but it was more wonderful than Claire could’ve ever imagined her wedding celebration to be.
The MacLeods were a lively bunch, full of laughter and love, and rowdiness when given too much drink—as Duncan put it.
She’d danced with his father, uncles, and cousins and even little Angus, until her feet were about to fall off.
When her husband claimed her for a dance and a kiss, the catcalls made her face hot.
“Time to retire, lass.” His blue gaze darkened.
Claire didn’t argue as she fell into his eyes. Her body warmed with only a look from him, and her limbs loosened as she remembered how he’d kissed her when they’d been pronounced man and wife.
She yelped when Duncan swung her up over his shoulder like a ragdoll, but he just laughed and carried her from the great hall, as the men continued to throw ribald remarks at them.
Her cheeks burned and she was glad she couldn’t see anyone as her up-do—courtesy of Janet—came undone and flew in her face.
Duncan kicked the door to his rooms shut after pounding up the stairs. He steadied Claire as he set her to her feet by the oversized bed she’d shared with him for the past eight nights.
His gaze was intense as he looked down into her face. “Are ye innocent, lass?”
“Am I a virgin, you mean?”
“Aye.”
“Oh, God no.” Claire’s neck seared when she processed the words she’d just blurted. “I mean, I’m not a slut, or anything.”
“A...slut, lass?” Duncan was slow to repeat the unfamiliar word.
She cringed. “Um...like a whore, but...she doesn’t get paid.”
Now his sapphire eyes were wide.
Dammit.
“A woman who likes a lot of sex,” Claire said.
Oh. My. God.
Just tell him to give you a bigger shovel.
She threw her palms out. “Wait. No. I mean, I like sex, but...” More heat scorched her neck and cheeks, and Claire averted her gaze. She studied his room, trying to avoid the huge bed that dominated the left side. The earthy scent of fresh peat drifted from the friendly fire burning in the big hearth.
Way to go with the new husband, Claire McGowan...or MacLeod.
Duncan’s deep chuckle brought her head back around, and their eyes met. “I think I know what ye mean, Claire-lass. We say, loose with yer favors.”
“Ah, yeah, that.”
He studied her with that blue gaze.
“Wait! That’s not right, either. I’m not loose with my favors. I’ve had a few lovers, is all.”
“Ever married?”
“No.” She moved closer. “My time is different than yours.”
“Marriage is not sacred?” His dark brows drew tight.
“Well, I guess it is. I mean, to me it is. I...” Claire sighed. “Never mind. My words aren’t cooperating.”
Duncan cupped her face. “The vows I made to ye, hold true for me, lass. I belong to ye. I would hope the same
can be said of ye.”
Claire’s heart sped into overdrive. He’d not spoken any words of love—or hell, even caring, but when he said things that flipped her stomach, she melted every time.
Even though the only thing he had told her was that he wanted her, she wanted to reassure him. “Of course. I meant it.”
And she did.
With all her...heart?
He smiled, and her thoughts scattered. When his lips hovered over hers, Claire closed the distance between their mouths, kissing him back with all her might.
Duncan rested his forehead against hers, when they parted, and a companionable silence descended.
“Are you upset that I’m not a virgin? Regret marrying me?”
“Nay.”
“Are you a virgin?” Claire pulled back and arched an eyebrow. There was no way a guy that looked like Duncan, kissed like Duncan, touched like Duncan, was an innocent virgin.
He had the nerve to chuckle. “No. Not since I was a lad.”
“Doncha think that’s a little hypocritical?” Claire crossed her arms over her breasts and leaned even further away.
Duncan smirked at her attempt at a Scottish accent. “I’m a man.”
“And?” Irritation flared. She had to remind herself he was from the seventeenth century, not her own twenty-first. “I assume you weren’t with other men?”
His eyes shot wide. “Jesu. No.”
“Right. So, you ruined a few lasses, then?”
Duncan frowned. “Nay.”
“So you paid for it?”
His silence told her what she figured—and didn’t want to know. “In my time, prostitution is illegal. And risky.” Claire’s voice dropped.
The idea of Duncan with other women—prostitutes to boot—burned in a way it shouldn’t.
It wasn’t like she had the right to be disappointed.
Her claim on him was brand new.
Thoughts like this make you the hypocrite.
You’re not a virgin, neither is he.
You’re even.
Claire still didn’t like it. She ignored her train of thought and focused on his words.
“I didn’t always ‘pay fer it,’ as you say. But I won’t lie to ye, it’s acceptable in my time. I’ve had a few lovers, as ye also put it.”
“I don’t like it, but I understand.”
Duncan cupped her face. “We come from different places, and we both have a past, but we’re here together now.”
“Married.” Claire smiled.
“Aye, married.”
“So whatcha gonna do about it?”
Duncan growled, and her heart fluttered.
Claire met his kiss and slipped her tongue into his mouth.
CHAPTER TEN
Duncan buried his tongue in the lass’s mouth. Damn, he couldn’t get enough of his wife’s taste. It was a mixture of mead she’d had at dinner and something that was just Claire.
Her sweet whimper was lost in the movement of their mouths, but she kissed him back with the same fervor he offered her.
He tugged at the fancy fabric of the pale green wedding gown Janet and her seamstresses had made in two days’ time. Duncan’s plan of marrying Claire the morning after his proposal had been dismissed by his family. His sister had gotten her way, and planned what she’d termed a real wedding.
The dress was gorgeous, and first sight of Claire in it walking down the small aisle of the chapel had stilled his heart, but if he didn’t get it off her, Duncan was going to rip it off.
“Duncan, don’t tear my dress,” Claire chided, as if she’d read his mind. She took a step back and started to unlace the front of the corset.
It was shimmery and low-cut, displaying enough cleavage to make him growl all evening—any time one of his kinsmen had the bollocks to look her way. But at least being laced up the front would have her spilling into his hands sooner.
Smirking, Duncan took the ribbon from her hand and deftly undid it. Every inch of skin he exposed made his cock harder.
He remembered her perfect breasts from the day they’d met on the beach. Then the mere impression of them every night in his bed. His hands itched to cup and knead. His tongue burned to tease her nipples, feel them harden against his lips.
“Claire-lass,” Duncan groaned.
Claire batted his hands away when he reached for her. She wiggled, and the bodice of the dress fell, revealing a chemise that did nothing to hide her body from him. It was much fancier than the one she normally slept in, covered in lace. The fabric had a sheen to it as well.
He didn’t care.
He wanted it off.
His cock kicked against the wool of his kilt, but still his woman wouldn’t let him touch her, sliding back a step when he reached for her.
“Patience, husband.”
Duncan growled and shot forward, cupping her face and crashing his lips into hers. He kissed her until she wavered on her feet, clinging to the linen of his tunic with tight fists.
“Not fair,” Claire panted into his mouth.
“I’ve wanted ye from the moment I saw ye on the beach. I’ve been patient.”
Her breasts rose and fell against him, and Duncan burned to see her completely bare.
“Take the gown off,” he ordered.
A smile played at his bride’s lips as she regained her composure. “You have clothing to lose, too, you know.”
Words of retort dissolved as she pushed the dress downward. It gathered at her waist, then she shimmied her hips, and it pooled at her feet on the stone floor with the barest rustle.
His room was alight with candles in every corner—thanks to his sister. Claire’s body was surrounded by the soft glow like a radiant aura.
Duncan’s breath caught in his throat. The diaphanous fabric of the chemise held no secrets, but his wife looked like an angel. It mattered not he’d seen her naked before. The way she was now was more beautiful than ever before.
Claire reached up, letting her flaxen locks loose from the elaborate style Janet had done up for their wedding. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders, and she flashed a smile, enhancing his enchantment with her.
“Claire-lass.” His tongue was thick; his mouth dry.
Duncan burned for her.
“Duncan.” Claire’s whisper made his heart thunder and his erection pound.
“Come here.”
She didn’t hesitate as she stepped to him.
Duncan kissed her again, but this time it was a soft thing with no demand. He trailed his lips down her neck, nibbled her earlobe, then pushed the lace of her sleeve off her shoulder to kiss her collar bone.
Claire moaned, her hands flexing on his forearms. “I want you.”
“The feeling is mutual, lass.” His voice had gone thick on him, barely recognizable to his own ears.
“Get naked for me, Duncan. Please. I want to see you. I want to touch you. I want to get into that big bed and have my way with you.”
Duncan chuckled and cupped her face. “Yer way with me, ye say?”
Claire grinned and nodded, pressing a kiss to his palm.
“I suppose I canna’ deny ye, Lady MacLeod.”
She paused. “I am, aren’t I?”
“What, Claire?”
“Lady MacLeod.”
“Aye, yer my wife. My Lady MacLeod. Until Alex returns, yer the Lady of the Clan.”
Claire’s expression sobered. “No pressure.”
Duncan stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “Nothin’ yer not capable of. Don’ worry.”
“What do I know about being a Scottish noblewoman?” she whispered.
He dipped his head down to taste her again, and Claire kissed him back without hesitation. When they parted, Duncan rested his forehead against hers. “Tis our wedding night. Let us leave worries lie.”
“You’re right. Get naked, husband.”
He grinned, releasing her and whipping his tunic up and off. “Ye as well, wife.”
Claire’s green stare sear
ed as she removed her chemise. She gasped as Duncan let his kilt hit the stone floor. Her eyes moved up and down his frame.
His cock jutted as if it needed to show off.
A groan fell from his mouth when she licked her lips.
“Damn,” she muttered. She made no move to cover her nudity.
“Damn? Something wrong?”
“No.” Claire’s blond locks shifted as she shook her head. “You’re...just...wow.”
Duncan smirked. “This is good?”
“Very good.” Claire dragged her hands over the hard muscles of his chest, tracing his abdominals until they jumped. His nipples ached, his skin warmed and burned every inch her fingertips caressed.
He ordered himself not to squirm and ignored the demand between his legs.
When she encircled him with her hand as if she’d read his mind, Duncan cried out—couldn’t have held it in if he’d tried. “Not shy.”
“Why should I be? You’ve told me you belong to me, right? I’m going to enjoy you.” Her tone was confident, but her cheeks were pink, and the appeal made his blood boil.
She was an intriguing mixture of sultry and innocent, and he had to have her now.
Duncan swept her up into his arms. They both gasped when their naked skin came together, but he didn’t stop, covering her mouth with his and carrying her to his bed.
Finally her presence it in would no longer be torture. He would have her, take her as many times as he wanted.
Claire belonged to him.
She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and that made Duncan’s need surge. He put her at the center of his bed and followed her down, settling in the cradle of Claire’s body and deepening their kiss. She was still right with him, twisting her tongue around his, exploring his mouth as he plundered hers.
His wife wove her fingers in his dark hair, yanking as she moved closer into his chest, but Duncan didn’t care.
He split her thighs with a knee, pushing a hand between them and caressing the curls that guarded her core.
Claire gasped into his mouth, but lifted her hips into his touch. “Duncan...”
“Jesu, lass. Yer wet...” he teased the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex.
She whimpered and her head fell back into his pillow as he further explored her slick folds.
