by Ann Stephens
Pacing the floor of her bedroom, she berated herself for foolishness. In truth, she admitted silently, her husband’s recuperation had been the sweetest time of her marriage so far.
She felt valued as never before in her life. He seemed to enjoy her company, allowing her to cosset him, asking her to read aloud in the evenings. He even insisted on sleeping with her every night, although sleeping was all that happened in the immense oak bed. She had discovered waking up with him to be even more intimate than the intense lovemaking they had shared previously.
A dozen times, she had been on the verge of bringing up the feelings she had revealed to him. Fear had stopped her, and the conviction that he could never return them. He might rely on her good judgment and care for now, but surely he would eventually seek some woman more interesting than she was.
Instead, she enjoyed his company and wrote of each day in her journal, so she could treasure the memory of this time in the years ahead.
Finally the night came when Kieran gathered her close in his arms upon retiring, kissing her deeply. Diantha pulled back. “Is this wise?”
He could hardly pretend not to understand her with the solid jut of his manhood hardening againsther leg. “I don’t care if it’s wise or not. We haven’t made love since before Barclay shot me.”
She winced, even knowing that his cousin could never threaten them again.
He cupped her cheek with a hand and regarded her soberly. “You saved my life. Barclay planned that for months.”
She shuddered. “How can you be so calm?”
“Because I survived. I’m here in one piece, at least mostly.” Lying back down on his side of the bed, he propped himself up on an elbow. She tried to read his face. “And that’s because you refused to abandon me, and nearly got killed on my behalf.” Unnerved by the utter seriousness in his voice, she dropped her gaze to the vicinity of his chin.
“I would prefer that you not make love to me out of a sense of obligation.” It pained her to force the words out as memories of his touch burned through her body.
“Dammit, Diantha!” Startled by the exclamation, she lifted her eyes to his. Only inches away, the raw intensity radiating from the blue green depths arrested her.
“I will be profoundly thankful for your courage every day of my life.” A crooked smile tilted the corner of his mouth. “But I assure you my motivation tonight is overwhelming lust.”
She regarded him suspiciously. “Promise?”
He burst out laughing. “Promise!” Tingles ran up her arm as his fingers traced the veins on the back of her hand where it rested on the pillow between them. “Most women would have been mortally offended should their husbands have said that.”
“I’ve learned the value of a lusty husband.” She barely gasped out the words before he pulled her into a passionate embrace. He rained kisses on her face as one hand slipped beneath the fragile batiste of her nightgown to stroke the soft skin of her thigh.
With a groan of pleasure, she gave herself up to the liquid heat coiling through her body. Pulling him down to her, she returned his kisses almost frantically. When he buried his face in her neck to lick and nibble his way to her earlobe, her breathing turned ragged. His hand fumbled at the buttons of her nightgown, trying to unfasten them. With a rueful smile down at her, he deposited a hard peck on her lips before pulling back to use both hands. She chuckled and pushed his hands aside.
“Let me.”
He watched, riveted, as she undid the top button. “Slower,” he breathed. She arched a brow, but complied, fascinated by the way his breathing quickened as her fingers worked their way down the plaquet. He sat back on his heels as she eased the gaping neckline off her shoulders, clenching his hands where they rested on either side of the bulge in his silk pyjamas. The heat in his eyes ignited a fire in her veins and her urgency transmuted into languor.
Reaching out, he slowly exposed her breasts. Her nipples tightened under his gaze, but he did not touch her except to pull the material down her body. She ran a hand over his arm, lifting her hips as he freed her from the wispy material.
“Kieran?” She puckered her brow as he stared down at her. His hands stayed balled in her wadded up nightgown.
“I want to look at you.” The huskiness in his voice betrayed his want.
She grinned in relief. “You have looked at me on numerous occasions.” She clasped her hands behind her head, arching her back slightly. His eyes crinkled with amusement at her ploy, but he replied soberly.
“I want to take my time tonight.” She shivered as he stroked her cheek, then followed the curve of her neck, then down to linger at the hard peak of her breast before continuing down to her waist.
“I trust you’ll allow me to do the same?” Heart pounding, she sat up and loosened the tie at his waist. A surge of feminine power rushed through her as she felt his erection twitch beneath her hand. His breath rasped as she pushed him back onto the coverlet and pulled the silk down his long legs.
Completely naked, he made love to her as he never had before. He caressed every inch of her with his hands and mouth and invited her to explore his body in return. The barriers she had always sensed between them seemed to disappear as he brought her to climax with mouth and body.
Afterward, they lay silently in each other’s arms for a long time, content. On the verge of sleep, the words of their marriage ceremony came to Dina’s mind unexpectedly: “With my body I thee worship.” She wondered if this is what that felt like.
The next morning she woke up alone in her room yet again. Disappointment overwhelmed her. She had thought the freedom of their love-making the night before signaled deeper feelings on Kieran’s side. She curled into a ball and took a shaky breath. It had apparently signaled nothing more than a return to his normal routine.
Despite the late summer sunlight that streamed in when her maid opened the windows, she felt gray and lifeless. Listlessly she allowed Florette to dress her in a morning gown of amethyst twill. She refused to wear mourning in private for Barclay and his mother.
“Milady is not going to read her note?” The maid handed her a square of heavy vellum, addressed to her in her husband’s slashing hand. As the maid straightened up the room, Diantha unfolded it.
Dearest Dina,
Please join me for a picnic lunch today? Doctor Andrews has pronounced me fully recovered and I should like to celebrate. Meet me downstairs at 11:30. Wear a riding habit.
Yours, Kieran
Numbly, she folded the paper back up and moved to her desk to draft a reply. He wanted to take her on a private picnic? It sounded so promising, but she squelched her hopes ruthlessly. They had no guests, who else was there for him to turn to when he suffered from boredom?
Nevertheless, a few hours later she descended the wide stairway to the entry five minutes early, wearing a cerise serge riding habit that flattered her brown hair and blue eyes. Thoughts of her own appearance left her head when she saw Kieran pacing the floor, already waiting for her.
“You’re wearing a kilt!”
“Clever of you to notice.” His lips twisted into the lopsided grin that never failed to make her smile back. The severity of the ash gray plaid shot with green, blue, and yellow enhanced his stunning good looks. He wore a black jacket above the skirt with a crisp white shirt underneath. Another length of plaid was looped diagonally around his body and secured at the left shoulder with a badge. Diantha swallowed at the sight of his muscular calves, then glanced at his face. She had nearly started drooling on the man; how humiliating.
Kieran’s eyes swept slowly down her body with a glint of appreciation that set her heart hammering. He offered his arm. “Shall we go?”
Outside, the groom threw her up into the saddle while Kieran mounted his own horse. Seeing her look about for servants to accompany them, he patted one of the two hampers slung behind his saddle. “I thought we might serve ourselves today.”
“I should like that very much.” She beamed at him as they set
out. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
He refused to disclose their destination despite her lighthearted coaxing. The ride passed with laughter and teasing until they reached a meadow stretching in all directions. The scent of heather arose with every step the horses took. After helping her dismount, he stood for a long moment looking down at her with eyes gone serious.
She returned her husband’s regard, wrinkling her brow, until he let go of her waist and stepped away to fetch the baskets. She frowned at his back, wondering if he toyed with her emotions on purpose.
“You could be of some assistance here!” The smiling request came as Kieran turned, arms full, to face her once more.
Together they spread the tablecloth and unpacked the carefully wrapped china, glasses, and crystal. MacAdam’s perfectionism did not permit him to provide an inferior meal, and they dined on potted salmon with toast points, cold chicken in cream sauce, cucumbers vinaigrette, rolls, butter, and cheese. They washed everything down with a bottle of white wine. Only the wild birds wheeling overhead and the steady breeze kept them company.
“However did you get MacAdam to prepare all this on short notice?” Diantha inelegantly licked a spot of crème anglaise from her index finger. Beside her lay a dessert plate with only a few crumbs of cake left.
In the noonday warmth, they had both removed their jackets, and she relished the sensation of eating in her shirtsleeves.
Across from her, Kieran lounged back on his elbows. Sunlight fell on his face and neck where he had unbuttoned his shirt. “Actually, I spoke to him about it a few days ago.”
“How thoughtful of you.” Touched and oddly shy at the idea that he had planned their picnic in advance, she ducked her head. “This is one of the loveliest afternoons I’ve ever spent.”
“It’s not over yet.” Rising in one fluid motion, he held a hand out and assisted her to her feet. “There’s somewhere else I’d like to show you.”
“More surprises?” She brushed some dried bracken off the skirt of her riding habit. At his innocent expression, she rolled her eyes. “Very well, but it had better be as nice as this was.”
She spoke in a tone of mock severity, but he answered soberly. “I hope you think so.” His aqua eyes searched her face intently for a moment before he released her.
In the time they finished packing up the leftover food and utensils into their protective layers of straw and newspapers, the sun had shifted slightly to the west. Despite the warm afternoon, Kieran insisted they put their jackets back on. Picking up the carefully folded plaid from its place on the ground, he shook it out and rearranged it over his clothing.
Eyeing the woolen length, Diantha shook her head. “You’re going to roast.”
He shot a smile at her. “It’s important.”
“For what?” The smile widened to a grin as he shook his head and knelt to toss her into the saddle. After she mounted, she sighed. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a remarkably stubborn man?”
“It has been mentioned, yes.” With a chuckle, Kieran climbed onto his horse and led them toward a hillock in the distance. Birdcalls and the buzz of insects filled the companionable silence between them.
As they drew closer, Diantha noticed that it seemed to be crowned with a ruin of some kind. She studied it as they approached along a barely discernable path through the heather.
“It looks like a Norman keep.”
“It is a Norman keep. Or at least as close to one as we could build in the 1100s.” Reining in his horse for a moment, her husband stared up at the crumbled walls. “One of my ancestors was a Norman knight who fled England after he crossed Henry I, during the reign of Alexander I of Scotland. After distinguished service to the chieftain, he married his eldest daughter and was taken into the clan.” They started up the trail again.
Riding next to him, Diantha listened to the pride in his voice. “Fascinating. What was his name? Did they live happily ever after?”
“We don’t know his original name. He took our name when he married.” He paused. “It was probably an arranged match, but I’d like to think they were happy.”
Their glances met and by mutual consent, they left this dangerous subject. Instead, Kieran told her the history of the old keep, how it had sheltered generations of Rossburns.
“You’ve studied it a great deal.” Diantha looked up as they passed through what had been the outermost gate. Blue sky stretched above them through the collapsed arch.
“Exploring this place was my favorite pastime as a boy.” He stopped his horse and she did likewise.
“With all this falling stone?” She shuddered as they dismounted near an enormous pile of rubble. Mefisto and Dancer immediately fell to grazing on the long grass. “It’s a wonder you weren’t killed then.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, I spoke without thinking.”
“Please.” He leaned over to touch her arm. “We’re both alive, and safe. I don’t want to think about Barclay and Iona, and I don’t want you to. Today is for us.” He held her hand until she gave a tiny nod.
“Besides, I never felt the least endangered here.
Perhaps the spirits of Rossburns past protected me.” He bent to tether the horses.
“Or you were a heedless boy.” After a shout of laughter at her tart remark, he drew her arm through his as they strolled among the remains of the bailey. He showed her the rocky outlines of several storerooms as they crossed to the roofless great hall. He even coaxed Diantha up a set of stairs creeping along the wall to a sturdy section of rampart. After looking out at the vast view of the Highlands beyond, she sighed and turned to lean her back against the worn stones.
“This is splendid. No wonder you’re drawn to the place.”
“You surprise me. My father used to bring me here when I was a boy, but no one else in the family visits.” He placed a steadying arm over her shoulder as a stronger gust blew against them. “Too remote, I suppose.”
Below, she spied a nearly intact building with an arched doorway in it.
“What is that?” His gaze followed her pointing finger.
“Next on the tour.” After he carefully led her back down the narrow stairway, they made their way across the keep.
At the threshold she stopped and peeked inside. “Amazing.” She lowered her voice instinctively. “I wonder how it survived.”
A line of window openings on each side allowed enough light to illuminate the stone altar under a Celtic cross carved into the back wall. A few clumps of grass thrust through breaks in the stone floor, but the chapel had suffered less decay than the rest of the keep.
“I like to think there’s an element of divine intervention.” She slanted a glance up at Kieran, but he spoke seriously. “It always seemed so restful in here.”
She had to agree. The windows allowed fresh air and light in, but sheltered by the bailey walls, very few of the outside breezes entered. The warm air barely stirred.
Linking hands, they slowly approached the altar. Someone must have carved the cross with a great deal of care, she decided. She stepped forward to examine it more closely, but a hand on her arm restrained her. She looked at Kieran in confusion.
He in turn regarded her soberly. “I’ve wanted to do this since the night Barclay tried to kill me.” Turning her to face him fully, he took her hands and tenderly kissed each in turn. He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes.
“I, Kieran Moray St. Colm, take thee, Diantha Susanne to be my wife. I promise to be a loving, faithful, and loyal husband to you as long as we both shall live.”
Diantha gulped down a small sob. Another followed. He brushed the tears from her face with his thumbs. Finding her voice at last, she replied.
“I, Diantha Susanne, take thee, Kieran Moray St. Colm, to be my husband. I promise to be a loving, faithful, and loyal wife to you as long as we live.”
She saw a track of moisture on his cheek when she finished. Slowly he unfastened the clan badge a
nd lifted his plaid off. She stood immobile as he wrapped her in the woolen length, fastening it with the brooch. “Welcome to the family.” He cradled her face in his hands. “My lovely, brilliant, foolishly loyal wife.”
“My kind, beautiful, far too stubborn husband.” The words scarcely left her mouth before his lips touched hers in the sweetest kiss they had ever shared.
“Our first kiss as true man and wife.” He rested his forehead against hers.
“Actually, I thought that might have been last night.” She hiccupped as a chuckle escaped her.
“You’re spoiling the moment.” Even as his chest shook with laughter, a warm drop fell from his closed eyes and rolled down her cheek. “I’ve wanted to feel this kind of love all my life, but didn’t think it existed. And it nearly cost you your life before I realized I’d found it.”
“I thought you wouldn’t want me.” She pressed her face against his chest.
“I will always want you.” His lips brushed the top of her head. “More important, I love you. I will love you for the rest of my days and beyond.” For long moments, they embraced loosely, letting the light and peace of the old chapel fill their hearts.
Finally, sliding an arm around her waist, he led her to the doorway. She stopped and looked back, wanting to remember every detail of what she would always think of as her true wedding day.
Shakily, Diantha stepped through the arch and searched fruitlessly in her pockets under her husband’s quizzical gaze. “I don’t suppose a kilt has any room for a pocket handkerchief, does it?”
Another chuckle escaped him. “I’m afraid not.”
She mopped her eyes on her sleeve and took a shaky breath. “They do seem to be rather inconvenient garments.”
“On the contrary, they can be remarkably useful for some activities.”
She sniffed. “I hardly think there is sufficient time to raid any rival clans before teatime.”
“That wasn’t the activity I had in mind.” She regarded him with a furrowed brow as a slow smile spread up to his eyes.
“Haven’t you ever wondered what a Scotsman wears underneath a kilt?” Recognizing the wicked twinkle in those aqua depths, she gasped in indignation.
