The Highlander’s Awakening Lairds of Dunkeld Series)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “My life.”

  They kissed again.

  Ettie let out a long shuddering breath and together they went downstairs.

  The week passed as if she dreamed. It was soon the morning they had chosen – a Saturday – the spring just melting the ice.

  “My lady?” Glenna woke Ettie from a firm, dreamless sleep.

  “Glenna?” Ettie murmured, waking slowly. “What is it?”

  When she realized how broadly Glenna smiled, she remembered. It was her wedding day.

  “Time to dress, milady.”

  Ettie sat bolt upright. She slid out of bed and hurried to the pitcher, splashed her face and dried it. The mirror showed her sparkling eyes, a smile she couldn't suppress.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “We'd better dress.”

  Glenna fetched the gown while Ettie combed out her long gold hair. It was a gown of white linen, so fine-woven as to float like mist about her. The skirt was long, a long length of the fabric a train behind her. The waist was low and fitted, a kirtle of silver holding the gown across her slim hips. The bodice was a low oval, and the sleeves cut into points that lapped her hands. Her veil was a whisper of gauze from Bruges, draping her loose-flowing hair.

  “There you are, my lady,” her maid said from around behind her as she fastened the last buttons. “By! You are my bonny.”

  Ettie swallowed hard. The figure who looked back at her was tall and slender, her shapely body encased in the soft white dress that clung and fell as she moved, flowing like cool water.

  “It's lovely,” she breathed, running her hands down the skirt.

  “You're beautiful, milady,” her maid said warmly. “The gown does you justice. Now. Let's set that wreath in your hair...” She fussed with minor alterations, stepped back to admire the effect. She blinked back tears when she had finished surveying her with some pride.

  “Now, off you go,” she said. “Just the shoes and the flowers needed, and you're right as rain.”

  Ettie flushed with excitement as her maid passed her the bouquet of daisies and lilies, then stepped back.

  “Off you go.”

  Ettie walked down the hallway dreamily. As she joined Amice – dressed in a soft cream linen gown patterned with little flowers, hair shining like living flame down her back – she wished Uncle Heath could have been there to see her. Or to take her arm and lead her to her Brodgar, as her guardian, which he certainly was.

  A surprise awaited her. At the foot of the stairs, her uncle smiled up at her. Uncle Heath.

  “Uncle!” she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. All the family was there – Amabel, Alina. Broderick and Duncan, Chrissie and Blaine. Alf and Ambeal. They all smiled at her.

  “Your uncle was released from duty in the north last week,” Broderick explained gently. “We received word of his return and sent a message post-haste to summon him. Here he is.”

  “Uncle Heath.” Henriette swallowed hard, trying to prevent tears. She looked at the vaulted ceiling, high above her head. When she had counted to ten and could be relied on to speak without her voice wobbling, she looked back. “You're here.”

  “I am,” he chuckled. “And I have good news. The threat is over. Your parents can return. I summoned them from France last week. They should be here next month. Weather allowing.”

  “What?” It was too much. Too wonderful. Ettie fought the urge to pinch herself, to check she was not fast asleep, lost in some wondrous dream. As she did it, she caught two pairs of eyes on her,

  Alina's black gaze held hers. Trust. I knew you could do it. You're loving, and the heart makes us brave.

  As she seemed to almost hear the words in her head, another pair of eyes met hers. Chrissie. All possibilities are possible, her memory supplied as the petite woman's face widened with a smile.

  She swallowed hard. Those were two messages she would never forget.

  Then Heath was beside her. Heath, with his serious smile and his dark eyes, which lingered with love and admiration on Chrissie before turning to her. “Well, my niece. I am grateful not to have missed this. You look surpassing lovely. Shall we go?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, trying not to cry. “Yes. Thank you, Uncle.”

  He patted her hand. “Don't mention it.”

  Then they were across the flagstones and through the adjoining courtyard and passing through the high arch of the chapel door.

  Henriette stared up at the greenish sunlight, and then followed the rays down to the altar, where a man stood in a green cloak and brown trews and tunic. A man whose hair shone with coppery highlights as he turned, quickly, and sent a radiant smile her way that shivered through every part of her body.

  She swallowed hard and, blinking rapidly, unable to look anywhere else, went to join Brodgar.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  WARM WEDDING NIGHT

  WARM WEDDING NIGHT

  The great hall was warm and crowded. All the men-at-arms were there, all the servants and townsfolk, crofters and tenants and the village priest. Everyone packed into the hall to attend the feast.

  Sitting beside his bride on the dais, Brodgar felt as if he had walked into a matchless dream. He inhaled heavily. His nose was filled with the delicate scent of roses that wafted off Henriette. He could not tear his eyes from her pale skin, her neck exposed now as she turned to his sister with a merry smile. He watched the way the light warmed the soft skin of her cheek, curved with a smile.

  “And so, a toast to the groom! And the bride! Health!”

  “Health!” everyone shouted. Brodgar felt his heart warm, hearing the whole clan declaim. All the same, as the music started and the dishes were passed around, goblets filled and refilled and the shouts and merriment got loud, he found himself impatient.

  Despite the joy of sharing his happiness with the clan and his family, he wanted, selfishly perhaps, to sneak away. He could not keep himself from Henriette any longer.

  He moved his hand to hers and took her fingers. She squeezed back. He felt a thrill move through him as she smiled warmly back. “I feel tired,” he whispered to her. “Should we retire somewhere?”

  “My husband,” Ettie whispered back sweetly, making his blood burn, “I think you are excessively naughty. And sensible too. Shall we?”

  She took his breath away. He had expected a little laugh, some shy hesitance. He hadn't actually thought she'd agree to it! Well then, he decided, as his heart thumped painfully. To hell with custom.

  “Maybe we can slip away.”

  Ettie smiled warmly at him. “While the dance begins.”

  “Yes.”

  When the fiddler began the first measure, they slipped away, ostensibly to join the dance. Which they did. For a while. Then, squeezing her hand, Brodgar indicated to Ettie to turn left.

  His heart thudded as they slipped off the dance floor, moved between the men-at-arms and tenants. They reached the door. He couldn't quite believe they were being so openly flouting of custom – the bedding ceremony was a well-established old tradition. His family would be cross with him come morning.

  “Brodgar?” Ettie whispered. She smiled at him and his blood sparked hot through his veins. “I'm feeling tired.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “Let's go.”

  They held hands and he led her up the long staircase, turning left at the top so they went on to another short stair-flight and to the main chamber, which was set aside for them.

  Slipping in through the door and past the garlands that were strung about it, Brodgar crossed the threshold onto clean rushes and into warmth.

  “I should carry you across,” he whispered to Ettie. “Better luck that way.” His body tensed with longing at the thought of lifting that sweet body and carrying her in his arms to bed.

  “Well, then,” Ettie said coyly. “Lift me, then.”

  Brodgar felt his loins aching as she smiled wickedly, showing a pink mouth and small, pale teeth. He leaned forward and took her in his arms. Then, reaching lower, he lifted round her
waist and under her knees and carried her, cradled to him, across the threshold. He stood with her in the middle of the room, his heart thudding so heavily he thought everyone would hear it.

  “Here we are,” he whispered, kissing her.

  “Indeed.”

  She moved to stand again and he carried her to the edge of the bed before setting her on her feet. He took her in his arms and drew her close to him, feeling himself shivering with longing as her rounded, warm body pressed against him. He kissed her, plundering her mouth with his tongue. Then he leaned against her, pushing her toward the bed.

  She smiled at him and, very deliberately, reached a hand to her veil, which she still wore. Brodgar grinned.

  “I think there's one more thing I have to do,” he said. She smiled.

  He removed her veil and set it carefully aside. Then he slid his hands down her back, feeling the buttons that held the dress shut. Trembling so hard he could barely concentrate, he managed to slide the loops off them, opening them one by one.

  At last, he reached her waist, where the last button was. He drew the dress down off her shoulders and stared. She wore a strapped under-shift below the dress, cut low so as to reveal her pure white cleavage. Her breasts were high and full and moved with breathing. He nuzzled her neck, breathing in the warmth of skin and the subtle perfume she wore. He felt his loins ache and moved lower, the silky skin gliding under his exploratory tongue.

  He worked the dress down to her hips and as he pushed her back onto the bed, it slid down completely, leaving her in her under-shift. He leaned down, licking a trail down her breastbone. Her skin was satin in his mouth and he wanted to kiss it forever.

  He pulled back the shift and she moaned softly as he revealed her breasts. He sat back, looking down at her. Her skin was cream and her nipples pink and stiff. He bent down and took one in his mouth. She gasped and the sound made his loins tense as he sucked her nipple, feeling his body harden as he stroked the other firm breast with his fingers. He felt as if he wanted to stay here forever, the silken skin slipping between his lips, his tongue usefully employed here.

  She shifted and gasped and he moved her so that she lay along the bed, her head on the pillow, and he kissed her lips.

  “May I undress you?” he whispered. The shift still covered half of her. She nodded intensely.

  “Yes.” Her voice was a breath of whisper that excited him still further and he slid the shift off.

  * * *

  Ettie had no idea that anything could feel as wonderful as it did when Brodgar kissed her. Her body was naked below him and his mouth plied hers. She moaned and moved closer. His hands explored her naked form and she could feel warmth rising inside her, some strange urgency building and building, and refusing to be denied. She stroked the back of his neck and he tensed and stiffened, looking down at her.

  “My lovely?”

  “I think,” she whispered shyly, “you should undress.”

  He smiled. “I think that's correct.”

  He stood and undressed hastily. He joined her on the bed, kneeling beside her, eyes devouring her.

  She looked at him. In the flame light, shadows played on his muscles, making him seem as if every inch of him was corded and tense. She loved the ripple of his shoulders, the shape of his arms, the lines on his chest where the muscle tensed and flexed as he moved. She knew that body a little already – knew how strong it was when it held her, how safe she felt against it, how it was to sleep beside that warm presence. “My love?”

  “Yes?” he whispered.

  “I don't know what it is,” she confessed. “But my body...needs yours.”

  He smiled. “I think I know how you feel,” he agreed. “And I have a way of solving that.”

  “You do?” she whispered. He nodded and lowered his body onto hers. She gasped as it pressed against her, feeling a hardness touch her in a most improbable place. Improbable it might be, but it felt good. That was what her body needed. That, and for him to move against her, his muscled torso weighty on her as he moved and thrust between her thighs...

  “Oh!”

  A sudden stab of pain went through, followed by a floating bliss so profound she thought she might have died and be floating on cloud-wrack, soft and insubstantial. “Oh!” she called out. “Oh! My love...”

  Then he was moving inside her and all wonder was driven out by the sheer incomprehensible beauty of what he made her feel. She was fulfilled and safe and satisfied and there was a sweet warmth building up as he moved, and building and building...

  “Oh!” She gasped as the sensation crested and broke over her, lifting her up into the sky. She closed her eyes, feeling like her body was melting, like she floated in a sea of syrup, like she had died and was falling through the gap between clouds.

  She heard, distantly, how he was gasping louder now and felt him thrust, moving with urgency and need and power and then he collapsed on top of her.

  She lay, warm and satisfied. She had never felt anything like this before. If this was what they were meant to do, she was excited to do more. He moved and rolled off her.

  He looked down at her and she was surprised to see wonder on his face, like it must have been on hers.

  “My dearest,” he whispered, and kissed her. “Thank you. That was wonderful.”

  She smiled. For some reason that made her feel as if her heart had melted. She kissed him back, her hand on his head, drawing him down to her as he gasped and she gasped and their bodies warmed again.

  “My love,” she whispered. “That was very heaven. Thank you so, so much.”

  He chuckled and stroked her face and then they kissed again.

  He lay down beside her and it felt like it had that night in the wood – those nights of their exile – only this was closer and warmer.

  He took her in his arms and she lay beside him, and together they drifted into sleep.

  They awoke when the sun was high in the sky and kissed. They made love again, only this time more slowly, more fully, with more time. Then they slept again.

  Henriette, her arms around him and his around her, was sure she was in heaven.

  EPILOGUE

  EPILOGUE

  “And what do you think I should do? Do you think...?”

  “Hush,” Ettie smiled fondly at Brodgar. “Stop fussing yourself. Just be natural. They'll love you.”

  Brodgar's face was stiff. Anyone would think, she thought with some amusement, that he was marching into a den of blood-thirsty flesh-eating creatures.

  “I don't know,” he said.

  “Love, they are my family,” Ettie smiled up at him. “They're nice people.”

  Brodgar smiled fondly at her. “I know, sweetheart. I just feel unworthy of you. They'll notice.”

  Ettie giggled breathlessly. “Dearest! I feel as if half the world envies me you, and the other half begrudges me you. So how do you think I feel? Come on, let's go down. Big breath?”

  “Big breath.” Brodgar took in a big breath, and then kissed her chin. “You're adorable.”

  “You're naughty,” she retorted. “Distracting me like that. Come along.”

  He laughed and they went down the stairs together. Despite herself, Ettie felt a flush of apprehension as she went down the stairs. They were at her father's home, where they had traveled after the wedding, and preparing for her parent's arrival. She was nervous.

  What will they think? Will they approve? She looked down at the lilac dress, smoothing it with her hands. Amice had helped her choose the cloth and the memory reassured her. She would not disgrace herself.

  Trust.

  She reached the bottom step. Found herself looking into green eyes.

  “Mama!”

  She cried it out, surprising herself with the joy in her heart as she opened her arms to the tall woman, who held her to her chest and sobbed as they laughed and clung tight.

  “My daughter,” Lady Lynette blinked back tears. “You look radiant. And this...” Her eyes lit warmly as she
looked to Ettie's right. “This is your husband.”

  “Yes, he is, Mama,” she agreed breathlessly. “Brodgar MacConnoway, Mother.”

  She introduced them to each other briefly. Then, as they greeted and talked, she turned to her father. He took her hand and looked into her eyes. Neither of them spoke. She could see tears in Lord Ewan's eyes as he looked at her, the gray eyes so like her own only more brown and less blue in them.

  “My daughter,” he said after a long moment. “I am so glad you're well.”

  “I am well. And happy. And content.” Ettie felt her heart soar as she searched for adjectives to describe how amazingly good she felt. She was sure no words existed and she gave up. “And I am so pleased to see you, my father. More than I could ever possibly say.”

  “It is a kind of miracle, it seems,” her father said and nodded gravely. “So many good things happening together like this.” He shook his head, dark eyes bemused.

  “All possibilities are possible.”

  He frowned at her when she said that, then smiled. “I suppose that's so.” He nodded. He slipped an arm through his wife's and they shared a soft smile.

  “It is true.”

  Then they all followed the steward through to the solar, where luncheon was laid out.

  After luncheon, her stomach full and replete, Ettie talked with her mother. She had news of Dunkeld too, it seemed.

  “The nephew of the thane is expecting a babe with a MacDonnell lady. It has made peace between the houses,” she explained gravely.

  Henriette and Brodgar met each other's gaze. Brodgar nodded. “I know of the peace and am glad of it.”

  “Yes,” Lord Ewan said gravely. “A toast to the thane, your father, and all blessings for the new forged peace treaty.”

  “Indeed,” Brodgar nodded. “A toast.”

  They all drank and Ettie felt herself relax as conversation slowly moved from news exchanged to the comfortable tales and anecdotes her family shared. Far from being on the edge, Brodgar was immediately included and was soon chuckling along with the rest. He fit so well that Henriette could barely believe this was the first meal they shared.