“What time is it?” she asked.
“Almost half-past two.” He cupped her cheek with his calloused hand. “I almost didna enter, and now I see had I no’, ye’d have spent the night curled in a knot. Ye’d have a sore neck for certain in the morn.”
Marjorie entwined her arms about the corded brawn of his neck, pulling him down to her. “I never thanked you for rescuing Cora and me.”
Ever so softly, she pressed her lips to his, needing his touch, this contact with this man who’d come to mean as much to her these past few days as air or food.
She wouldn’t question how it had come to be, but instead, revel in the tremendous gift she’d been given—a second chance at love, and a blessing she truly never expected.
“I dinna want to hurt yer poor mouth,” Keane whispered, scorching her with his hot gaze as one large hand tenderly framed her jaw.
“You could never hurt me, Keane.”
“Nae, lass, never intentionally.”
His lips moved over hers, firm and warm. He tasted of whisky, for what was a first-footing without whisky? He nudged her lips apart, and his tongue swept hers.
She parted her lips, welcoming the invasion, craving his warmth and taste.
Angling away, she smiled into his eyes, and her heart melted at the adoration she saw there. How humbling that this man loved her. A duke and a laird who could choose any woman had chosen her.
She took his hand and kissed the palm and then pressed her mouth to the back of the firm flesh. He smelled of horse, and leather, and Keane’s unique rugged male essence.
A smattering of ebony hair tickled her nose, and she suspected the same dark hair covered much of his virile form. Damp heat pooled between her legs, and her mouth went dry at the delicious thought.
“I have an answer to the question you asked me earlier today,” she said, else she yank him to the floor and have her way with him. Never had she hungered for a man, for the joining of their bodies, as she did for Keane. She was starving, and only he could satisfy her need.
Delight twinkled in his heavy-lidded hazel eyes sweeping down her scantily clad form. “Do ye now? And dare I hope ’tis an answer I shall like?”
She grinned as she uncurled her cramped legs and stood, reveling in the power of her womanhood. Relishing the knowledge that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
“Aye, I think you’ll be pleased,” she said over her shoulder as she led him to the big, canopied bed. Every nerve vibrated with anticipation, lust, and love. So much love, that tears pricked behind her eyelids and tightened her throat.
“Marjorie?” Keane’s eyes had gone impossibly dark, the angles of his face etched in marble. “Ye’ve nae doubts? I willna deny I want ye so bad, my body is afire for ye, but dinna do this out of gratitude. I’ll wait until ye are ready, nae matter how long ye need, love. I’m nae a patient man, but for ye, I’ll learn to be.”
Marjorie smoothed a hand over the midnight stubble covering his hard jaw. She loved the sensation, rasping against her palm, imagined that prickly beard abrading her as he pressed his mouth to her neck, her breasts, her belly… Everywhere.
Gratitude had nothing, nothing, to do with what they were about to do.
Lust and need and want and desire. Aye, all of those. But most of all, a soul-rendering love like that she’d never known.
“I shall always and forever be grateful for what you did tonight, Keane, but this isn’t about that. I want you in my bed, tonight, and every night for as long as these Highlands exist. I want to give myself to you in body, in soul, and to take your name as mine.”
“Och, leannan.” Issuing a guttural groan, half a sigh of relief and half a moan of pleasure, he swept her into his arms, tumbling them both onto the soft bed.
Playing her hands over the rigid curves and divots of his marvelous back and shoulders, she savored his weight, pressing her into the soft mattress.
“I love ye, Marjorie.”
He nuzzled the sensitive spot between her chin and collarbone, and she giggled. “That tickles.”
“Och, so the English lass is ticklish, is she?”
She nodded as she swept a lock of hair off his forehead. “Terribly, I fear.”
His expression turned serious as his gaze fell on the chaffed, red marks encircling her wrists. He brought each one to his mouth and pressed a reverent kiss to the damaged flesh. “When I saw ye tied, yer face bruised—”
She put two fingertips to his lips. “Shh. ’Tis over, and we are fine. I don’t want to think about that right now. When I recall this Hogmanay, I want how much I love you and our first joining to be what comes to mind.”
That was all the encouragement Keane needed. Between bold caresses and sizzling kisses, they stripped each other bare. She wasn’t a shy maiden, but a woman who knew her body and a man’s, as well. Knew the pleasure that awaited them.
There wasn’t any need for extended foreplay for Marjorie was ready for him, and given the heavy member jutting toward his taut belly, Keane was unquestionably ready for her, as well.
They came together, swift and sure, her legs and womanhood open to him.
Both gasped aloud at Keane’s initial penetration, and when completion hurtled them over the edge into bliss several minutes later, their simultaneous cries filled the chamber.
Afterward, as Marjorie lay satiated and content, her head upon Keane’s shoulder and her eyes and limbs heavy with drowsiness, she kissed his chest. The broad, muscled expanse was, indeed, covered with fine, curly hair. Spreading her fingers wide, she combed through the soft mat.
“Yes,” she murmured, her lips against his fragrant, warm skin.
God, he smelled splendid.
“Hmm?” Keane made a groggy sound deep in his throat. “Aye, what?”
“Yes, I’m sure I want to marry you.”
A shudder rippled through him before he pulled her atop him, capturing her in a rather fierce embrace. “When?”
She chuckled and brushed that stubborn shock of hair off his forehead. “Is tomorrow too soon?”
“Nae for me, but I dinna want to rush ye, leannan.”
“And I don’t want another day to pass before I can call you my own.”
“People will gossip, ye ken,” His features sober, Keane trailed a finger across her collarbone. “They’ll say we are foolish for rushin’ into the union. Even yer family mightn’t approve.”
She rested her chin upon her hands, peering into his eyes. “I only care what you think, Keane.”
He flashed a grin that scorched her to her toes. “I think we’ve wasted too much time already. When ye defied me last August, ye ignited a spark within my soul, and I have nae doubt that it will blaze hot and fierce for ye until I breathe my last.”
“That’s enough for me, my love,” she murmured, settling upon him. “My very own Highland duke.”
Epilogue
Trentwick Castle
May 1722
Arms clasped behind his back, Keane paced the corridor outside the bedchamber. Behind him, Elana and Cora, looking very much like angels in their lacy, white nightgowns, mimicked his actions. Chins tucked to their chests, their little arms behind their backs, they solemnly followed him.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
Presently a small hand slipped into his, and he glanced down.
Cora peered up at him, her eyes trusting. “Papa, how much longer?”
“I’m no’ sure, lass.” And he wasn’t. He’d never been through this before, either.
Another small hand took possession of his other hand, and he winked at Elana.
“Come, let’s sit for a spell, shall we?” he suggested. “I fear we’ve worn a path in the carpet.”
They hadn’t been waiting that long, but to the lasses, it undoubtedly seemed so.
Once settled on the floor across from the door, a wee lass tucked into each side, he rested his head against the wall.
Females certainly chose the worst times to give birth. Thou
gh he supposed the onset of labor at a quarter of ten wasn’t as bad as it might’ve been, considering Marjorie had promised Elana and Cora they might stay up for the blessed event.
Anny exited the chamber, and they all perked up in expectation. Giving a rueful smile, she shook her head. “No’ yet, but soon. Her Grace has requested tea and bread and jam. She says she’s famished.”
Marjorie was hungry at a time like this?
He’d have thought she’d be too busy with the birthing to eat, but what did he know of such matters?
“Can we have bread and jam and tea, too, Papa?” Elana asked. “We can have a tea party out here while we wait.”
Why not?
It was unlikely this glorious event would be over soon, and if his daughters wanted a tea party this time of night, he’d happily oblige them. Marjorie regularly accused him of spoiling the lasses, and he supposed that was true.
He ought to have spoiled Branwen and Bethea more, and had he to do it over again, he wouldn’t have been so protective. Och, who the hell was he trying to fool? He’d have been as protective, but he’d have permitted them more fun and perhaps a smidge more leniency.
But only a smidge.
Since they’d wed, he’d missed his wards more than he would’ve thought possible. They visited regularly, and try as he might, he still couldn’t quite believe their choices of husbands.
“Anny, please bring enough for all of us,” he said. “Mayhap shortbread and Scotch eggs if they are available, too?”
Scotch eggs were particular favorites of the lasses.
“Of course, Your Grace.” A delighted smile brightening her face, Anny bustled away. The staff was continually amused at the doting papa he’d become.
Her head resting against his shoulder, Cora hummed beneath her breath while Elana walked her fingers up and down his forearm.
These darling girls and their mother had brought more peace and happiness into his life this past year than he’d ever have imagined. He was happy, truly happy, and grew more so each day.
A few minutes later, just as Anny returned with the requested tea, the bedchamber door opened again. Phemie, grinning from ear to ear, poked her head out. “Ye can come in now.”
Rather startled at the unexpectedly swift birth, Keane rose.
Elana and Cora had already scampered to their feet and darted to the door where they bounced on their toes.
He held his hands out and wiggled his fingers, and they obediently latched onto him. “We shall need to be verra quiet and calm. Newborns are verra sensitive to noise.”
“Aye, we’ll be as quiet as mouses,” Cora whispered.
“Mice,” Elana corrected, in the way only an older sister could.
Perplexed, Cora frowned. “That’s what I said, Elana. Mouses.”
Elana rolled her eyes and looked to Keane for confirmation.
“Let’s go in, shall we?” he suggested.
The girls nodded eagerly, and when Phemie swung the door wide, they both tip-toed inside.
Anny followed, bearing the laden tray. “Shall I lay it out on the table, Your Grace?”
Marjorie glanced up from the basket she’d been peering into atop the bed. “Yes, please.” As the maid set the service on the table, Marjorie waved her daughters forward. “Come, darlings.”
They released his hands and ran to the bed, scrambling onto the mattress.
“Gently,” their mother warned softly.
“Ooh,” Cora breathed reverently.
Elana gasped. “Three?”
Keane neared the bed, his heart swelling at the wonderment in the girls’ faces.
“Papa,” Cora looked up, awe stamped upon her features. “Chimera had three kittens.”
Eyes half-closed, Chimera relaxed on her side, three tiny bits of fuzz suckling at her teats. Sphynx leaped onto the bed, evidently curious what the fuss was all about.
She sniffed each kitten, then nosed her sister in approval before plopping her very rounded form beside the basket. She’d deliver her bairns soon, too. In truth, he’d expected the cats to have become mothers long ago.
Likely, that dapper black fellow with the white whiskers and mustache that had shown up around the stables a few months back was responsible for Chimera and Sphynx’s condition.
A light rap at the door preceded Nurse Swinton’s entrance, an ebony-haired bundle cuddled in her plump arms. “The wee master is awake, and the little rogue is tryin’ to convince me he hasna eaten in a fortnight. I wasna sure whether ye wanted me to bring him here or to yer bedchamber.”
Keane assisted Marjorie off the bed, and she gathered their seven-month-old son into her arms.
“Here is just fine.” She angled her head toward the basket. “We have three new members of the household.”
“Och, now that’s a blessin’, to be sure,” Nurse said, with the perfect blend of awe and reverence.
Already Cora and Elana were discussing appropriate names for the wee mites.
Keane whispered in Marjorie’s ear. “We’re no’ going to be keepin’ all of them, are we?”
A winsome smile playing about her pretty mouth, she lifted her shoulder.
That would be a yes.
“All right, darlings,” she said. ’Tis far past your bedtime. Go along to bed now, and when I’ve finished feeding Parker, Papa and I will tuck you in.”
With obvious reluctance, the girls climbed off the bed, but their expressions changed to adoration when their mother bent so they could kiss their baby brother’s soft cheek.
“Good night, Parker,” Cora said, poking a finger into his tiny fist. “Sleep well. Tomorrow ye can meet the new kitties.”
“Good night, little brother.” Elana ran her hand over his shock of thick hair.
Keane bent and kissed the crown of each of their heads. “Good night, sweetlin’s.”
“Good night, Papa,” Cora murmured, rubbing her fists into her eyes.
“Will the kittens be allowed to sleep with us soon?” Elana asked over a yawn.
“Not until they are bigger.” Marjorie shook her head. “It wouldn’t be safe for them. And Chimera will not want to leave her bairns, so you’ll have to be patient.”
“Come along, pets,” Nurse encouraged with an indulgent smile, and the girls accepted her outstretched hands. “Phemie, once the little misses are abed, I’ll have ye sit with them while I collect the wee master.”
They were between governesses again. The last had married the blacksmith, so Marjorie had posted adverts once more.
After everyone had left, Marjorie put Parker to her breast. He gazed at her in the way only an infant enamored of their mother can, but now and again, he veered his gaze to Keane. He had his mother’s deep brown eyes.
Suddenly, he grinned around the nipple in his mouth, and Keane’s heart toppled over as he fell in love with his son all over again.
With an arm around Marjorie’s shoulders, they took a final look at the contentedly sleeping cats before making their way to the chamber they’d shared since that splendid night she’d said she’d be his for all time.
Once inside, Keane took his now sleeping son from Marjorie’s arms. He kissed Parker’s soft, smooth forehead, breathing in his sweet scent. “I never kent I could be this happy.”
Marjorie slipped an arm about his torso, their son between them. “I’m tempted to believe Dolag’s prediction of tremendous peace, happiness, and prosperity, for certainly we’ve been blessed with that and more.”
“Aye, my love, we have.” He kissed her temple. “I believe ’tis because a redhaired siren consented to be my wife and brought me, my clan, and the duchy more good fortune than a thousand men might experience.”
She sighed and smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. “You, husband, sound like a man completely besotted.”
“Aye, that I am.”
The End
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading TO DEFY A HIGHLAND DUKE. Marjorie and Keane took me on a few twists
and turns I hadn’t seen coming, but it was their story, so I let them have fun.
Prior research had introduced me to Scottish Wildcats, and I found the creatures fascinating. I assumed they were similar to feral cats, and while they do breed with other species, the true Scottish Wildcat prefers woodlands to grasslands. They are also bigger than I’d first imagined. Skeletal remains indicate the cats, thought to have descended from European wildcats, can measure five feet from tip of tail to tip of nose. The average domesticated cat is eighteen inches in length, not including its tail.
For those of you not aware, Scots didn’t openly acknowledge Christmas during the 18th century, but Hogmanay was, and still is, a time of great revelry. First-footing is a favorite tradition, and if a tall, dark-haired man was the first to cross a threshold in the new year, that household was guaranteed good luck.
I wasn’t able to find specifics regarding the reading of hearth ashes, also called redding. My research mentioned this as an ancient Hogmanay tradition, and I confess to a bit of author creativity in that regard.
Keane and Marjorie’s romance is the sixth book in my Heart of a Scot series, and there are two more to come.
I truly hope you found a few hours of relaxation, escaping to the 18th century Highlands with Marjorie and Keane. If so, please consider leaving a review. I’d appreciate it very much!
Hugs,
Collette
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling, award-winning author, COLLETTE CAMERON pens Scottish and Regency historical, featuring rogues, rapscallions, rakes, and the intelligent, intrepid damsels who reform them. Blessed with fantastic fans as well as a compulsive, over-active, and witty Muse who won’t stop whispering new romantic romps in her ear, she lives in Oregon with her mini-dachshunds, though she dreams of living in Scotland part-time. You’ll always find dogs, birds, occasionally naughty humor, and a dash of inspiration in her sweet-to-spicy timeless romances.
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