The Highland Secret Agent

by Emilia Ferguson

  He turned round and looked at her, and those blue eyes seared into hers. She felt her cheeks lift in a smile. He smiled back, the special grin they shared. Then he looked back at the priest. She came and joined him at the altar.

  The priest cleared his throat and started the ceremony. Amice let the Latin words wash around her, familiar and lovely. Some of them – the words that were like French – she understood. The rest she knew by rote.

  Henry Arthur Quinn, vis accípere Amice MacConnoway, hic præséntern in tuam legítimam marítum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?

  Henry cleared his throat. “Volo,” he said hoarsely.

  Amice felt the word vibrate in her. Volo. I do. The priest turned to Amice with a broad smile.

  “Amice MacConnoway, vis accípere Henry Arthur Quinn, hic præséntern in tuum legítimum marítum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?

  She cleared her throat. “Volo.” I do.

  He said some more things, and Amice felt her heart soar as the ceremony came to an end. He pronounced them man and wife.

  Amice felt her breath catch as Henry turned to her, his gentle hands lifting the veil that covered her face. Then he was smiling at her, his blue eyes alight as they looked levelly into hers. He leaned forward and their lips touched, so gently. She closed her eyes as he leaned forward, his mouth delicately nibbling at hers, her own lips sliding over his, and his hands gently stroking her hair. She reached up, put her hands on his shoulders, and felt as if her heart might burst.

  Then they were turning to face the crowded space where all her family stood, looking at them and smiling. They were man and wife.

  ***

  “Henry?”

  Henry looked at Amice where she sat beside him at the banquet table in the great hall. “Yes?” he said, raising his voice to carry over the din. The hall was packed with people, the guardsmen, townsfolk, and servants, the cottagers, farmers, and tenants all packed in to the vast space. Somewhere, a violin played and many people danced.

  “Are you sleepy?” she asked.

  Henry raised a brow. “Not particularly,” he said. He felt quite awake.

  “Oh.” Amice frowned. “I had thought we might...slip out of here a bit early.”

  Henry felt the blood rush to his loins as he understood her meaning suddenly. “Oh,” he said. “Yes. Mayhap we should.” He looked around.

  Her parents were far up the table, and they sat with Brodgar and Henriette, his wife, with Joanna and her quiet, handsome husband and with the cheerful woman Amice said was her aunt Chrissie. None of them were looking their way at that moment, all focused on the dancers.

  Amice grinned at him. “We've stayed as long as we should.”

  He nodded. “Yes. Well, perhaps we should wait until the piper starts playing,” he said, surveying the hall for possible distractions. Amice chuckled. “What?” he asked.

  “It feels like...the old days,” she said with a grin. “Like when we met.”

  Henry laughed. “You mean all this subterfuge?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled fondly at her, remembering those days. It seemed like it belonged to another time, a distant memory they shared, though in truth it had only been a month ago. Here, with her dressed in her bridal regalia, surrounded by her talking, laughing relatives, it seemed a dream.

  The piper started, the lilting, stirring melody filling the hall.

  “Aye! Way-hay!” someone shouted, launching into a jig. Everyone was laughing, clapping, some were singing. At the high table on the dais, Amice's relatives were all watching the dancing.

  “Now,” Henry whispered. Amice nodded. She pushed back her chair and slipped quietly off to the back of the dais. Henry waited, but no one remarked on anything and so, a count of thirty later, he stood and slipped quietly away.

  They met in the courtyard, breathless and laughing. The air was cool and Henry pulled Amice close, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

  “Let's go in.”

  His heart was pounding in his chest, his body slowly catching fire. This close, he could smell the sweet, floral scent of her and the spicy, intoxicating lower notes that were not perfume but her own natural smell. He felt his loins tighten and he drew her close, his arms tight around her.

  They went into the main body of the castle, sticking to the shadows. They didn't want to be seen and alert the family – they were both planning to avoid the awkwardness of the bedding ceremony. This was a night just for them.

  Henry followed Amice as she led the way up the spiral staircase to the floor where the bedchambers were, and they slipped silently along the long upper hallway and to the door. She opened it and they slipped inside.

  He reached for her, drawing her into a kiss.

  “Henry,” she whispered. He smiled. His lips came down over hers and his body pressed to hers. His loins were throbbing now and he could barely control his need of her. However, he would. This was their night. A night when he wanted everything to be right for her.

  His lips moved over hers and his tongue probed, very gently, between her own. He tensed as he sampled the sweetness of her mouth. It tasted sweet and his body hardened as he penetrated it with his tongue, tasting the sweetness and holding her close to him.

  “Amice,” he whispered.

  He stroked her hair, she looked up into his eyes, and he reached down gently, removing the veil. He set it aside carefully on the table and then turned back to her. His eyes looked down into hers and he kissed her again. Her body, firm and rounded, pressed against his lean chest and he drew her tighter into his embrace even as he kissed her again, his tongue pushing and probing into her mouth. She murmured as his hands moved to her shoulders, and he fumbled, feeling for a button.

  She looked up at him, her eyes full of that naughty shine he recalled from their journeying together. He stroked her hair, and then reached behind her again, reaching for the second button.

  It came undone and then the next, and the next. Shivering, he moved so that his lips stroked the soft, scented skin of her throat. He nibbled gently and she gasped. He moved lower, his lips sliding over her clavicle and then lower still, questing down for her breasts.

  She gasped as he unbuttoned the dress lower and pulled it down. She wore a petticoat below it and he drew it down from her shoulders, exposing her breasts. He gasped. High and firm, the tips pink as petals, they were beautiful. He couldn't resist taking one into his mouth and working it with his lips. The nipple hardened under his flicking tongue.

  She gasped and he gave a breathless laugh, looking up into her eyes.

  “I'm not troubling you?” he asked sincerely.

  She looked into his eyes with that naughty look. “Henry Quinn, you are no trouble at all.”

  He roared with laughter, and then reached for her again. He mouthed her other breast then pushed her back gently below him onto the bed. She lay there and he looked at her. Her hair around her pale shoulders, those sweet breasts pointing at the ceiling, she was so beautiful that he could barely contain himself. He reached for the dress and worked it down over her hips. It slid off and pooled at her feet.

  She gasped and half sat as he slid her petticoat down over her hips. She was naked on the bed.

  He looked at her, not quite believing what he saw. Her sweet curves, the skin so pale on the coverlet of unbleached cloth. He reached out to touch those satiny legs and let his hand fall.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.

  She smiled at him. She reached across and kissed him and he felt his body catch fire with need as her lips parted under his tongue. She was so close and he could smell the sweet scent of her, that musky scent that he recalled from their journeys. He wanted her so much he ground his teeth.

  “You are so beautiful,” he growled.

  She smiled and let him push her back onto the bed, his hands stroking her waist, her hips, her thigh. She giggled then and he frowned.

  “Tickles?”

  “Yes!” she laughed and then pr
otested as he did it again, wanting to see her smile. He tickled her and she giggled helplessly, and then sat up.

  “I think this situation is unfair,” she said, eyes dancing.

  “Oh?”

  “I am at a disadvantage, sir. You are clothed.

  “Oh. Yes.” he looked down at his tunic and trews. He had almost forgotten about that.

  She reached up and tugged at the tunic and he laughed, pulling it over his head. When he stood up and completed the undressing, he saw her looking at him with complete openness. He laughed.

  “I suppose you've already seen it all,” he said, flushing with embarrassment as he saw her give him an appreciative glance.

  “Only from the back,” she said, her voice teasing and lilting and then he couldn't contain himself anymore as, laughing, he joined her on the bed.

  “Oh, Amice,” he said. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He lay beside her, his hand drifting down over her soft skin. She gasped as he touched her body, and he knelt, moving down the bed.

  She looked up at him with such complete trust that he felt his heart clench. Then he gently moved down and parted her thighs. He could no longer control his shivering and he felt like his whole body would burst if he waited much longer. He lowered himself so that he was between her thighs.

  “Yes?” he said, his voice husky.

  “Yes,” Amice whispered. “Oh, yes.”

  He moved so that he entered her. He gritted his teeth, expecting resistance, and met it. He closed his eyes and pushed in, very gently, not wanting to hurt her. She gasped and the barrier was gone. He pushed in the rest of the way and she gasped again, but this time her expression was not of pain.

  He moved back, almost all the way out, and then all the way in. She gasped and moaned with pleasure as he moved and moved, relishing the warmth and tightness of her around him. It was coming home after a long trip, the safety of hearth, the wonder of the chase and the welcome of love. It was everything he had ever imagined and more besides and he moved and drove and pushed and pulsed within her until he heard her cry out and then, crying out himself, felt his body climax.

  He fell asleep on top of her, their bodies pressed together, arms around each other.

  Later, when they woke, he made love to her again, more slowly. He took his time and moved lower, pleasuring her with his mouth. When she gasped and cried out wordlessly, he entered her again, taking renewed pleasure in the warmth and wonder of her body.

  It was many hours and the sky was already gray with morning by the time they slept.

  EPILOGUE

  EPILOGUE

  The waves lapped the side of the ship. Amice clung to it, laughing, as the sea slapped at wooden boards eight feet below where she stood.

  “Ahoy!” Henry shouted from where he stood on the front of the deck, calling up to the sailors in the rigging. “Trim the sail, lads! Look lively! Land ahead!”

  Amice smiled. She watched him covertly as he worked, full of admiration for him and the way he cheerfully commanded the ship. The men all seemed to respect him to the point that they would die for him if he required it.

  There was no thought of dying this day. This day, the wind smelled of summer and they were heading to Scotland.

  “I can see the harbor,” Amice said. She hadn't thought Henry had heard, but he came to join her a moment later, once the ship was brought round, heading in toward the coast.

  “I know,” he said, kissing her. “It's good to be back.”

  “It is,” Amice agreed. She watched as the green hills approached more closely. The wind was stiff and they moved fast under sail.

  At the wharf, the usual crowd had gathered – men to help with hauling in, men to unload cargo, and the inevitable tax officials, waiting to check their imports. As it happened, they had nothing to declare. They had sailed from Dover to Calais, and now they were coming up to Queensferry, their business all concluded. This was a trip for pleasure. They were going home.

  Amice snuggled up to Henry and he put his arm around her shoulder.

  “Almost there,” he said. He kissed her face.

  As they alighted, he held out a hand for her, steadying her as she jumped down from the gangway to the jetty. She laughed.

  “Oh, Henry. I'm not Venetian glass.”

  “No,” he agreed. “You're much more precious.”

  “Henry Quinn,” she protested, laughing and kissing his cheek. “We don't have to be so careful for months yet.”

  “I don't take any chances, dear.”

  “Oh?” she looked at him, grinning. “You don't, do you?”

  He roared with laughter and they went across the harbor to talk to the customs men.

  The journey from Queensferry to her home castle was one that was full of recollections. They stopped at the same inns and Amice found herself blinking tears more than once as she sat in familiar places, the memory of when they had traveled this way together before fresh in her thoughts.

  “Henry,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  At Dunkeld, they were received with open arms. Henry had managed to learn some of her language in the year away, and he delighted everyone with his attempts. They all ended up laughing together.

  Alina looked searchingly at Amice. Amice smiled back up at her.

  “You will travel far, and the man you wed will have something different about him,” Alina said, quoting almost word-for-word the prophecy she'd revealed.

  Amice cleared her throat, sensing it tighten with feelings. “Oh, aunt,” she said gently. “You were right. I did. He does have something different about him.”

  “Well, yes,” Alina said dryly. “I should say being English is the least of it, but then I would be being unfairly critical.”

  Amice roared with mirth and they both shared a special smile. Henry looked at them fondly and they sat down at the table together.

  Later, Alina confided her news in her aunt and her mother. She was carrying a child.

  “You must stay here, of course,” her mother insisted. “And have the child in Dunkeld.”

  “That's what we wish.” Amice agreed. “I would not want any other midwife but you, aunt.”

  Alina smiled. “Well, then. It seems you have your wish.”

  They both laughed.

  They stayed the summer at Dunkeld and, by the time the corn was ready for bringing in to the storehouse, Amice was in labor.

  The labor lasted five hours, but it was easy and straightforward and, at the end of it, Alina laid a small wrapped bundle in her arms.

  “Here is your daughter.”

  Amice looked down at the tiny, red face and felt her heart fill with love. “She's so beautiful, aunt. So beautiful.”

  “Congratulations, my dear.” Joanna smiled down at them both. She had assisted with the birth.

  “Thank you,” Amice whispered. “Could I...can Henry come in now?”

  Alina chuckled. “I've had such pains keeping him out. Let him in, Joanna.”

  Joanna grinned and opened the door. Then Henry was there, his face all worried frowns. Henry, who was pale as death and who looked wild with worry. When he saw her, his face softened.

  “Amice!” he said. “My darling! I was so afraid!”

  Amice laughed. “Oh, Henry. You're not scared of anything.”

  “I am,” he said gently “Of losing you.”

  Amice swallowed hard. “My dear.” She paused. He was looking at the bundle in her arms with such an expression that she thought her heart might break with the love she felt for him in that moment.

  “That...that...”

  “Meet our daughter, Henry.”

  “Our daughter.” He laughed. “Our daughter! My dear Amice! My dearest. I am....” he swallowed. His throat worked. “I am so happy.”

  Amice chuckled. “I am too, dearest.”

  Later, in their bedchamber, their arms wrapped round each other, their daughter sleeping in t
he cot beside their bed, warm in the changing firelight, they discussed possible names for her.

  “Amice,” Henry suggested. Amice laughed. He frowned. “What?”

  “I can't name her for myself.”

  His face fell. “Well, I like the name. What then?”

  “I don't know,” Amice said, frowning. “I had thought of Amabel, but it's like Alf's wife's name too, and we cannot have too many Ambeals, or Amabels.”

  “Well, then,” Henry said. He frowned. “How about something completely different?”

  “Something English?” Amice asked.

  He blinked. “Would you consider it?”

  “I'm not sure,” Amice said softly. “We could think about it.”

  “I know,” he said. “How about something French.”

  “Yes!” Amabel smiled. “That's perfect. How about Amelia?”

  “I like it.”

  They both went to the crib.

  “Amelia?” Amabel said gently. The baby shifted, opened her eyes.

  They both nodded.

  “Well, then.”

  They smiled at each other and slid back into bed. Under the cover, Henry wrapped his arm around Amice and she snuggled close. They kissed and then they slept. As she drifted off to sleep, Amice knew she was impossibly, wonderfully happy.

  At the end of her long journey, she had finally arrived home, to love. For love is always just on the horizon, waiting until we reach out to touch it.

  A SURPRISE FOR YOU

  A BONUS NOVELLA

  THE HIGHLANDER’S CONFLICT

  A MEDIEVAL SCOTTISH ROMANCE STORY

  by

  EMILIA FERGUSON

  and

  MountainSky House Publishing Co.

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  A headstrong and brave Highlander…a stunning and intelligent lass…and a cold-blooded ward who’ll do anything to get what he has long desired…