A Lord for the Lass (Tartans and Titans)

by Amalie Howard; Angie Morgan

  A bristling Finlay narrowed his eyes. “She’s a Scot now.”

  Julien braced himself for the man to fly at him. But Sorcha was the first to step forward, and Julien blanched. She might be a Highlander, and a fierce one, too, but he would not hit a woman. Instead of braining him with a fist, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.

  “Thank ye for saving our sister,” she whispered in a choked voice. “And Finlay’s onto something because ye’re a Scot now, too.”

  Shocked by the turnabout, Julien wasn’t prepared for the three other bodies that crushed him into one clustered embrace, making his sore ribs ache, but he was glad that they weren’t pummeling him. Evan and Finlay offered him their gratitude as well, and a grinning Niall chucked him in the shoulder with his good hand.

  “I’d fight by ye any day,” he said. “Ye saw what we couldnae, even while ye were at Maclaren, and she had the wherewithal to come to ye. Ye saved her life. I dunnae ken how we will ever be able to repay ye.”

  Julien laughed. “I think you just did by not beating me bloody.”

  “So, I take it that for ye, it’s no’ a marriage of convenience?” Niall asked.

  “No.” The word was vehement, but his subsequent laughter was light.

  “Aye, I kenned how ye felt about her at Maclaren, and I wanted to trounce ye for it.” Niall grinned. “It’s a good thing Aisla distracted me or ye might no’ be here today, and then, where would my sister be? I’m glad she has ye.” His hand clamped Julien’s shoulder, his expression solemn. “Thank ye, bràthair.”

  Julien huffed a choked breath at the Gaelic word for brother.

  Ronan was the last to approach, his expression equally somber. Julien knew that he took his family’s safety seriously. He did not have the lightheartedness of the others. The man wouldn’t admit it, but Julien guessed that he felt guilty at not having known about his sister’s suffering, and he blamed himself.

  “It’s not your fault,” Julien told him in a low voice. “She’s stubborn and strong. No one knew because she wanted it that way.”

  “I ken it.” His voice broke slightly, the pain in his eyes mirroring what Julien himself had felt. “God, what she must have endured.”

  “She’s a Maclaren,” Julien said simply.

  Ronan shook his head. “She’s a Leclerc now.”

  For some reason, the fact that Ronan had used Leclerc instead of Riverley made the constriction in Julien’s chest loosen. Being Lord Riverley didn’t mean he lost being a Leclerc. He was both: Lord Julien Leclerc, Marquess of Riverley. One was the man, and one was the title, but they were both him. The knowledge settled into place.

  “Why did you call her that?” he couldn’t help asking. “Instead of Riverley.”

  “It’s yer name, is it no’?”

  Julien nodded. “Yes.”

  “Ye saved her. Ye married her. Ye were the man for her before ye took yer grandfather’s title.” Ronan’s lips twitched in what passed for a smile from the stoic Highlander. “I ken that more than anyone. I’ve always fought between the man I am, Ronan Maclaren, and the man I will have to become. Sometimes, they are no’ the same. One day, I will be the Duke of Dunrannoch, and my duty is to marry, provide heirs, and continue the line.”

  Julien canted his head, tracing a note of resignation. “You do not wish to?”

  “I’ve no’ found anyone, nae. I’m too…set in my ways.”

  A warm feeling surrounded Julien’s heart. “I never thought I would, either. And I, more than you, had declared I’d never marry. But sometimes, fate has other plans.”

  The Scot did not respond.

  But then everyone turned to the redheaded hellion in a tartan flying from the doorway and down the steps. At the sight of Makenna, Julien’s chest tightened with desire and love and longing. Dieu, his wife was beautiful.

  “Dunnae touch him, Ronan,” she shrieked, and then came to a hurried stop as if realizing that there was no brawl, and Julien wasn’t covered in dirt and blood. It didn’t stop her completely however. She threw her hands onto her hips, her eyes glaring daggers at each of her siblings surrounding him. “I’m a grown woman, and I can make my own decisions without the lot of ye interfering, ye ken.” She stalked toward them and glowered. “And if any of ye lay one finger on him, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Julien pushed out of the group and swung her up into his arms. “My fearsome marchioness come to rescue me.”

  She slapped at his shoulders. “Put me down, ye amadan, or ye’ll reopen yer wound.” Fierce blue eyes turned to him, and in them, Julien saw an answering desire edged with despair. He had no idea why she would think he would leave, but he wanted to assure her in so many ways that he never would. “And I’m no’ yer marchioness. It’s over. Ye dunnae have to pretend anymore.”

  “Pretend? You think this is a pretense?” He set her to her feet but kept her close, his hands splaying wide over her small waist. “You are wrong, Makenna Leclerc.”

  Her mouth opened and closed, her heart in her eyes. Julien wanted to kiss away her worry, but first he had something to say. He couldn’t stop the words that bubbled to his lips. The emotions had been leaping around inside of him, battering against his rib cage and clamoring to get out.

  “I love you, Makenna mine,” he said. “I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, and my heart has been yours ever since. This is for forever, and if you think to be free of me, you’ll have to skewer me with your claymore yourself. If you don’t want to be a marchioness, that’s fine by me, but my name is yours. I am yours. Always.”

  “Ye love me?” she asked, dazed.

  “What do you think this was all about, mon coeur?”

  She blinked, her throat working. “Ye dunnae want children. And I have Malcolm now.”

  “I didn’t want a lot of things,” he said gently, brushing a red tendril out of her face, his knuckles grazing her soft cheek. She licked her lips and he wanted to kiss her right then, rapt and nosy audience be damned. “But I hadn’t met you yet.”

  “And Malcolm?” she whispered.

  “I love him like my own.”

  She loosed a shaky breath. “He will be the Brodie laird one day and he needs to be here in Scotland. I cannae leave him.”

  “Then we will stay here.”

  “But what about France and Bramble Park? Yer life?”

  His hands cupped her cheeks and gazed into her expressive eyes. “Chérie, my life is with you. Wherever you are. I can easily manage my assets from anywhere. I have an entire fleet of ships at my disposal, I have an army of solicitors, and as it stands, I have an excellent former steward who will pick up the slack as I fulfill my marital duties.”

  “Apparently, I already have a job,” she said, her voice breaking on a sob.

  Julien smiled, holding her indecently close. “You do? Who is the rat bastard so I can set my ferocious Highlander family on him?” She bit her lip. Julien didn’t care who was watching. He kissed her. Hard. Oblivious to the mix of groans and raucous whoops, he prolonged the kiss until they were both gasping with need. “Yes, Lady Riverley, you do have a job. As do I. Mine is to make you happy.”

  “Ye’ll stay in Scotland?” she asked.

  “How can I not?” he said. “My mother has sent for the rest of her things and has declared an affinity for all things Scottish. Malcolm has decided he wants to be a sea captain and has started to call me Papa.” Makenna’s eyes watered at that, but Julien wasn’t finished. “And my demure lady wife cannot seem to keep herself out of trouble. Who would I leave? Everything and everyone I love is here.”

  This time, she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him.

  Julien grinned as he scooped her up, offering a short bow to the watching Maclarens and Montgomerys, as well as his weeping mother, and the grinning little boy, hiding behind her skirts, who should have been in bed.

  He cleared his throat, his voice ringing loudly through the moonlit courtyard. “In the matter of a marriage of c
onvenience, I have it on good authority that my wife must have clocked herself in the head during the feud. As far as grounds for annulment, I will be retiring forthwith with Lady Riverley to disabuse her of this notion, now and any time in the future.”

  “Julien!” she gasped, blushing and tucking her head into his shoulder.

  He glanced down at her and grinned, his voice lowering for her ears alone. “The only words I expect you to be saying for the next hour are ‘more’ and ‘don’t stop.’”

  With that promise, he climbed the steps and went straight to their bedchamber.

  …

  By the time her husband deposited her onto the bed, Makenna was a mass of nerves and want. Her entire body felt like liquid fire, particularly between her thighs, and he hadn’t even touched her there yet. The thought of that made her skin burn. Because she knew he would. The look in his eyes was feral. Purposeful.

  “Julien,” she began.

  He cut her off. “I told you—the only words you are permitted to speak are ‘more’ and ‘don’t stop.’ Now get undressed.”

  Good Lord, if her body heated up any more, she would combust. He was so forceful, so commanding. Her trembling fingers moved to obey, going to the pin on her tartan. She unclipped it before starting on the front laces to her bodice. He divested himself of his waistcoat and shirt, and then shucked his trousers and smallclothes. Her hands failed her. As did her breath. Julien stood there in all his nude glory. The bandage around his ribs did not take away from the powerful beauty of him—from those broad shoulders tapering to lean hips and muscular limbs.

  Makenna wanted to drag her eyes away, but she couldn’t. He’d said he was hers, and she looked her fill, devouring every hard inch of him as though she’d never seen him before. She blushed, recalling the last time she had seen him without clothing and how thoroughly he had seduced her. Her mouth went dry with both lust and trepidation. Things were different between them now. They’d been illicit lovers before. Now they were man and wife. Would it be different? Graeme had changed after their marriage. He’d become a different man. She sucked in a breath. But this was Julien. He’d proven time and time again that he was nothing like any other man she’d ever met. Still, she was afraid.

  Makenna lifted a hand. “Wait.”

  Julien stalled, his pale green eyes meeting hers, as if sensing her mood. He waited in calm inquiry, and again, she noted how remarkably different he was from her previous husband, who would have ignored any protest completely. “What is it, mon amour?”

  “Are ye certain?” she whispered. “That this is what ye want. That I’m what ye want.”

  “Yes. Today and every day forth.”

  “What if I cannae give ye any children?”

  “You already have,” he said. “Malcolm is ours. I want you, Makenna, as my wife. You and only you, for a lifetime.” He prowled toward her, his delicious smirk breaking over his lips. “Also, there’s a matter I must tend to so that a certain word never enters your vocabulary ever again.”

  Tears threatened to fall, but her mind was consumed by other things. Carnal things. “Should I say ‘dunnae stop’ now?” she asked breathlessly.

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Julien joined her on the bed, and helped her remove her clothes until she was as naked as he was. She did not shy away when he stared at her, his eyes tracing every uncovered section of her body. They lingered on her breasts and between her legs, but she did not cover herself. She loved the way he looked at her.

  “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  A tremulous grin shaped her lips. “More.”

  “Minx.”

  Pushing her gently back onto the pillows, he covered her body with his, and stared into her eyes. “Every inch of you is mine, protected by me, and I swear that I will never let any harm come to you, my love.” He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her brow, her nose. “I will endeavor to make you deliriously happy for the rest of our lives. Starting now.”

  He shifted his pelvis slightly, and Makenna gasped at the hot length of him pressing against the welcoming juncture of her thighs. The last time they’d made love, she’d been on top. She liked this way, too, even though it’d been all she’d known before. With Julien, she felt cherished. Makenna rolled her hips upward, wanting to feel him against her. She loved the way his long, lean body felt over hers…his hard planes fitting perfectly into her softer curves, his hard abdomen resting on her rounded stomach, his hair-roughened limbs abrading hers. She adored the restrained strength of him, his ardor encased in gentleness.

  She kissed him, her tongue licking at his lips, moaning when he parted his and drew her in. His tongue tangled with hers, deepening the kiss. It was soft and demanding all at once, full of tenderness and passion. Julien broke the kiss and moved down her body, nipping at her neck and then settling at her breasts. Almost reverently, he kissed each of them and then took her aching nipple into his mouth. Makenna arched her back on a hissing sigh as his tongue teased and caressed, nibbled and soothed. He moved to the other breast and the sweet torture continued. It spiked when one hand wandered down to the apex of her legs and delved into her drenched folds. A gasp broke from her lips as his fingers stroked her, her hips nearly bucking him off.

  He groaned, his mouth finding hers again. “Dieu, you’re so wet.”

  “Julien, please…”

  She grasped his shoulders, forgetting his instructions about her choice of words. “I cannae wait, I need ye now.”

  He was either also too far gone to remind her, or he didn’t care. Levering up onto his arms, he positioned himself at her entrance and entered in one slick stroke. This time, she almost did come off the bed. Pleasure spun through her like a summertime squall, violent and beautiful in equal measure. She muttered insensible words, clutching at his shoulders as she started building to another peak, the thick feel of him sublime as he rocked in and out of her.

  “Dunnae stop, leannan,” she whispered, and he chuckled.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He took her to the edge, until suddenly without warning, he pulled back to his knees, withdrawing from her completely. She felt cold as the warmth of his body left hers. “What are ye doing? What’s wrong?”

  He bent over her and took her lips before whispering, “Turn over.”

  “Nae,” she said, her entire body going tight at the thought of what he meant.

  His large hands grasped her hips gently, caressing along the sides and making her tremble with want. “Trust me, love, I would never hurt you. If you don’t wish to, you don’t have to do anything you do not want.”

  Makenna hesitated. The arrangement terrified her, bringing back memories she didn’t want. Thoughts of pain and mockery. Of being used like an animal. She’d never felt anything but degradation in that position, but she trusted Julien. He would never harm her, never demean her. She loved him, and a part of her wanted to please him as he was pleasing her. Slowly, she turned and lay on her stomach. Makenna shivered slightly as his hands passed over the backs of her thighs and she braced her body for him, but he did not slam into her as she expected. Instead, he kissed down her spine, licking and biting, caressing her bottom and the sensitive backs of her thighs, until she was a squirming, writhing mass of need.

  “Julien,” she begged, her fingers gripping the sheets.

  When her husband finally lifted her hips and put himself in place, she was pushing back onto him, and after he filled her, she nearly sobbed with the pleasure of it. It felt nothing like what she’d felt before. She was so full, so complete, and she still felt treasured and revered. It was a shared act of love between two consenting people, not one partner dominating the other. Makenna groaned at the thick slide of him and the delicious, devastating friction. She wasn’t far off from losing her hold on her sanity as the pleasure coiled indescribably tight within her body. Julien’s fingers reached around to touch her and she shattered into a million pieces. He stroked in and out as she shuddered
around him, and then shouted his own release, collapsing over her.

  Gasping, he rolled off her body and shifted to the side. He looked flushed and sated, much like she looked, she imagined. “Are you well, love?” he asked.

  “That was different,” she said, turning to face him. “I didnae expect it.”

  “People can make love many different ways,” he said with a grin, trailing a hot path down her damp shoulder, across her ribs, and over the curve of her hip. Makenna felt her body respond at the merest graze of his finger on her sensitive skin. “And I plan to teach you all of them. In great detail.”

  She shot him a wicked, lazy smile. “Do ye?”

  “Yes.”

  His fingers crept back up, his index finger circling her dusky areola. Under his expert touch, her nipple tightened and budded. He’d pleasured her into oblivion and still she wanted more. She wanted it all, every possible thing he could ever give her. Makenna reached over and covered her mouth with his. He tasted like satisfaction. He tasted like heaven.

  “Then ye should ken that I plan to be a devoted student,” she promised. “What’s my next lesson, my lord?”

  Her husband smirked, and she leaned in to nibble the corner of those full, irreverent lips. “Tell me how much you love me.”

  “I love ye as much as ye love those hideous waistcoats of yers.”

  His eyes widened comically. “That’s simply not possible.”

  Makenna giggled, her fingers tracing his beloved face. What was impossible was to qualify or put into words how much she loved him. There were so many little things behind it—his love for his mother, his protectiveness, his intelligence, his courage, his humor, his loyalty. Everything he’d done for her—teaching her to forgive herself, finding her own strength, loving a man again. Being loved in return and trusting again.

  She had fallen a little in love with him the first time she’d met him at Maclaren and then at Duncraigh, and that love had only deepened with time. She’d thought him a popinjay, but he had the heart and soul of a Highlander. She could open her arms wide and say “this much” but it wouldn’t even begin to encompass what she felt.