Christmas in Kilts

by Bronwen Evans

  She dug her feet into the mattress, lifting her hips to demand—nay, beg—for what she was not sure.

  All her body recognized was that she wanted him in her.

  As if he was reading her mind, she felt his cock, like a brand of heat and incredibly hard, probe her entrance where his fingers had suddenly left her.

  Please God let him take me now. And she almost cried out in frustration when he kept kissing her but did not enter her.

  She sent her hands flowing down his back, savoring the solid steel of muscles bunching beneath her palms, to grip his buttocks, trying to drag him closer.

  “Patience, my beautiful Emma.” But he grasped his hard shaft and slowly, teasingly moved the swollen head between her slick folds, swiping it several times over her sensitized nub until she thought she’d faint with need. At the same time he sucked one nipple deep within his mouth and as he bit down lightly her world exploded behind her eyelids. She cried out, and as her body was swamped with delicious, exquisite ripples of pleasure, he thrust deep inside her.

  She bucked and drew in a deep breath as pain sliced through her pleasure.

  He held himself still and showered her face and chest and breasts in kisses.

  The pain subsided and it was only when her eyes flew wide open that she realized she was gripping his hair, almost pulling it from his scalp. She quickly loosened her grip.

  “Tell me I still have hair,” he joked.

  “That did not hurt that much, the pleasure you gave me helped. When can we do it again?”

  A chuckle rose deep in his chest. “We haven’t finished this time, my sweet.” With that he pulled himself out and then slowly pushed back in.

  He was still as hard as rock and her body welcomed him into its heat.

  “Raise your hips to meet me,” he whispered harshly.

  She obeyed gladly and a cry of discovery broke in her throat. The sensation of him moving in and out of her made her body soften, made her seek his hardness, and the pleasure began to rise deep within her once more.

  Her body knew what to do in this dance that was as old as time. Each thrust and counter thrust drew a tightening response from her body. Soon her eyes had to close as sensations bombarded her once more.

  Dougray played her body like a maestro. Each thrust and counter thrust in perfect accord. His thrusts grew deeper, more powerful, and her body was at fever pitch. She greedily reached for some point in the tunnel ahead, beckoning, urging, and promising more magic.

  Her eyes flew open when Dougray grasped her leg, hooking her knee above his hip. She needed no further encouragement her other leg rose and gripped his flanks as he increased the depth and tempo of his possession. She turned her head to stop herself from screaming out his name. His muscles bulged in his arms, the veins prominent, and his skin flushed with exertion.

  Sparks began to form before her eyes, sensations, glorious sensations spiraled around her, until she was giddy with the joy of unbridled pleasure. A pleasure almost too intense. He surrounded her. Was in her. Was part of her . . . was with her . . .

  This is what she assumed love felt like.

  The giving of oneself, giving everything down to her soul.

  Waves of sensations coiled tighter and tighter, and she wanted to look into his eyes. To see herself a he saw her in this moment.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured as he once more found her nipple and suckled.

  She could not take any more and she let go, let her body become one with his. Sparks flew and pleasure rolled like thunder through every inch of her body. Wave upon wave consumed her, streaming molten satisfaction and filling her heart until she could barely breathe.

  She screamed his name. “Dougray!”

  Through her haze of pleasure she heard his cries, her name on his lips, and it was the most wonderful sound as another ripple of pleasure hit.

  He planted his hands on either side of her and rose above her like a powerful god of war. Dark, dangerous, but so intoxicating that she almost wept. He drove himself fully into her and then he was gone, his seed shooting from his body onto the sheets between her thighs as his shout of release echoed in the dimly lit bedchamber.

  Chapter Seven

  Dougray’s heart was thumping loud in his chest and it wasn’t just from the amazing sex he’d just had. Since Francesca’s death he’d not slept with a woman. He had forgotten how wonderful sex between those who cared for each other could be.

  And he cared, and God damn it to hell, he had seen something in Emma’s eyes that sent fear racing through his veins.

  Love. She could not hide it. Love that shone so bright it blinded him.

  He fell onto the bed beside her, his head turned away from her beauty because he couldn’t look at her. He had never expected to feel so much.

  He had taken many women to his bed before Francesca, mutual pleasure his only goal. But pleasuring Emma, introducing her to passion, was indescribable. The connection he felt made his possessive tendencies roar to life. The need to mark her as his rattled the chains around his heart.

  Most likely it was because he knew Emma. He liked her. He found her very attractive, and now very desirable. He would never be able to look at her again without thinking of how those long, lean limbs felt wrapped round his hips. Or how he could stay sunk forever in her tight, hot sheath.

  He should have said no.

  He’d had a plan. A safe plan.

  His plan was to marry Fiona, beget an heir, and save Ian Mackenzie as his father had bound him to do.

  It was still his plan.

  If he’d had any inkling that Emma loved him, he would have sent her packing the day she arrived.

  “I never imagined it could be like that,” Emma said softly beside him. “Thank you.”

  He turned his head, took her small hand in his, and pressing a kiss to her palm read the love once again in her wistful smile.

  He knew what he had to say but the words choked in his throat.

  He pushed himself off the bed and donned a robe over his nakedness.

  He walked into the adjoining bedchamber, her bedchamber, his dead wife’s bedchamber, and gathered her night rail.

  She was sitting up in bed with the sheet wrapped tightly around her like a shield. Her face showed her confusion and sadness.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his.

  “This can’t happen again.”

  Her face crumbled and he hated himself.

  “Why?” she almost wailed.

  “It would . . . it will only end up hurting more if I make love to you again, because it won’t be love on my part.”

  He let his words sink in.

  He tilted her chin up. “You should have been honest with me, sweetheart.”

  She puckered up to protest but something in his eyes must have signaled the truth. “You would not have taken me to your bed if I had.”

  He ran a finger down her face. “You are quite right, I would not have done this.”

  Tears welled. “And I would never have missed this for the world. It was the most magical moment of my life.”

  “I can’t give you what you deserve.”

  She sighed and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You are still in love with your wife?” He said nothing. “And I won’t settle for anything less than love. So you see why I will remain a spinster.”

  In that moment he realized she shouldn’t have to settle. Emma deserved a man who could give her his heart, and he couldn’t. Or was it “wouldn’t”?

  Her eyes flashed with heat. “I’m not sorry. I’ll cherish this night.”

  “Aye, so will I, lassie.” She had no idea how much he’d cherish it because the next woman he would have in this bed would never elicit the maelstrom of emotions that he felt for Emma.

  And that’s why he’d chosen Fiona.

  He stood up, wanting to touch her but afraid, because it would only stoke the attraction that simmered so close to the surface. He could cut the cooling air
with a knife but he would not let himself fall in love again. He didn’t deserve love.

  He turned his back as she modestly slipped into her night rail and knew the next few nights would be hell with her sleeping only a room away.

  He scooped her into his arms and carried her to her bedchamber.

  * * *

  Pain lodged deep in Emma’s heart, but no bitterness. She would not regret one moment of what occurred between them. The only thing she did regret was her inability to hide the truth from the man she loved.

  Then again, no she didn’t. At least now she had her answer. His heart was still too full of love for his dead wife.

  “As soon as the weather clears and it’s safe to travel, I’ll take my leave.”

  “That would probably be best,” he said. “You may take my carriage. I’ll make sure you are properly escorted.”

  Dougray kept his gaze averted as he headed to the door. He hesitated before he left. “I think you should find someone more worthy to love. You are a passionate woman and it would be an absolute shame to see you spend your life alone.”

  “Like you will?” she answered

  His spine stiffened but he said no more as he slipped into his bedchamber and out of her life forever.

  Chapter Eight

  Emma slept late the next morning because she hadn’t fallen asleep until dawn. She’d laid in bed, reliving every detail of their lovemaking. She now sat in a steaming tub and let parts of her body that pleasantly ached be soothed.

  Her body tingled with storming emotions. She didn’t know what she had expected from her request to become Dougray’s lover but pleasure seemed such a tame word for what they had shared. Tumultuous, incredulous, awe-inspiring, exquisite lovemaking, and it was singularly life-changing.

  She knew it was stupid, but she finally felt like a woman. Confidence surged through her and it was strange. She thought it would be awkward having to face Dougray but she felt no shame or embarrassment considering what he’d done to her, with her, last night. Where his mouth, hands and . . . had been.

  She should be deflated at learning Dougray was still so deeply in love with his dead wife, but she couldn’t be. She admired his devotion. Her love for Dougray made it almost impossible to consider any other man, so she had an idea of what he must feel.

  The fact of the matter was, she’d achieved her goal. She’d had her magical moment in his bed and she would hug the memories to her heart and let them warm her over the years to come.

  She smiled as she soaped her breasts. No wonder Serena and her brother barely left their room.

  It was after lunch by the time she almost danced her way downstairs. It was raining again so she headed straight for the kitchen, as she was suddenly famished.

  When she entered she was surprised to see four wee boys creating havoc in the kitchen. They looked to range in age from twelve down to five or younger.

  Mrs. Wilson the cook explained. “They’re my daughter’s boys. She’s expecting a fifth babe, hoping for a girl this time, and she needs some peace and quiet. The weather has them under her feet, so I thought I’d bring them here. However, they are a handful and I’ve meals to cook.”

  Emma looked at the four boys who had stopped play fighting to look at her. Their mouths hung open.

  “Gosh, yea tall for a lassie,” the oldest one said.

  “Duncan,” Mrs. Wilson exclaimed.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Wilson. I am tall.” She looked at the flustered cook. “What are your names?”

  “Well, I’m Duncan. I’m the eldest. The youngest is Paul.” He said pointing to a little red-haired boy with freckles. “Then there is Scott, and finally James.”

  They all looked alike and had Mrs. Wilson’s lovely sparkling hazel eyes.

  “I’m Lady Emma.” She turned to the harassed cook. “Shall I take them off your hands for a while?”

  Mrs. Wilson’s face said it all.

  Emma clapped his hands. “Why don’t you make us all some tea and toast, Mrs. Wilson, and I’ll take the boys to the library and if they are good I’ll read them Robinson Crusoe, a story of a young lad seeking adventure on the high seas.”

  “Oh, does he meet pirates?”

  “That he does.”

  Soon they were sitting at her feet in the library like little lambs, eagerly hanging onto her every word. It was one of her favorite stories too.

  Her throat was getting dry and it was only then that she realized how long she’d been reading. She must have been reading for a good two hours—the winter light had started to dim outside.

  She snapped the book closed.

  “Please keep reading, he’s about to be kidnapped . . .”

  The boys had crept closer to her feet and she gave them a warm smile. She rubbed Duncan’s head.

  “How about whenever it’s raining over the next few days, you come find me and I’ll keep reading the book to you?”

  “Can we? We’ll be ever so good.”

  “You have to promise to do all your chores for your mother though.”

  They all nodded eagerly and began talking at once until they all felt another presence in the room. Dougray.

  He walked toward the fire where they sat and the boys became open-mouthed statues, admiration and awe shining in their eyes.

  “I hope you boys have been behaving yourself for Lady Emma.”

  “Yes, my lord,” young Duncan managed to say.

  “They were just going to report back to Mrs. Wilson. We got so caught up in the story I did not notice the time.”

  “Lady Emma is going to read to us tomorrow too,” little Paul announced, standing and looking way up at Dougray with his little hands on his hips as if daring his lordship to disagree.

  “Then you need to be on your best behavior.”

  Duncan gathered his brothers and they raced back to the kitchen. Emma wished she could follow because suddenly she was tongue-tied. Dougray lowered himself into the vacant chair next to hers and warmed himself by the fire.

  “I’ve been out for a ride. Zeus needs to be exercised every day or he can become unmanageable. I’m sorry that you have been stuck inside by yourself. Your brother and Serena have not appeared?”

  He looked good enough to eat. His long legs stretched out, his hair tussled by the wind and his cheeks flushed with color from his ride in the cold.

  “I am happy with my own company. I’m used to it, and the boys were a lovely distraction.”

  “They were totally engrossed in your storytelling.” He shook his head.

  “What?”

  “It’s such a pity you’ll not consider marrying. You deserve to have a brood of children at your feet.”

  A sudden thought entered her head as she starred at him, barely registering his compliment. “You’ll need children. You only have sisters.” She couldn’t believe she’d said that out loud. “Oh that was rude of me, sorry.”

  “Rude but true.” He sighed. “There is always Angus.”

  Of course. Dougray’s cousin or his children could inherit. She watched him shift uncomfortably in his chair.

  “Speaking of Angus, I haven’t seen much of him. He is probably busy with the young lady I saw him with.”

  Dougray’s head swung to face her. “A woman?”

  “I saw him with her the day after I arrived at the summerhouse.”

  * * *

  Dougray couldn’t understand who the woman would be. The type of women that Angus would be interested in and who lived around the lodge were all married. God, he hoped his cousin wasn’t dallying with one of his tenants’ wives.

  He had problems enough without adding angry tenant husbands out for Angus’s blood to his list. What lay on his conscience was Emma and what they had shared. His solution of marrying Fiona was weighing heavily on his mind, given what had occurred.

  Everything had changed overnight. In the blink of an eye his world was shaking at its foundations and he didn’t want to face why.

  Emma asked, “Do you
know who Angus is . . . courting?”

  He shook his head at her question. “I have no idea.” And he didn’t. Why didn’t he? He prayed Angus was not in some kind of trouble.

  However, his biggest problem was sitting across from him looking like a vision of perfection. When he’d walked in and saw the boys sitting at her feet, pain ripped him in two. He wanted a family—with her. She could end the loneliness he felt every day. She was a woman who he could easily fall in love with. They were already friends, and now lovers. She had broken open the walls encasing his heart, and now he had to face his fears.

  His fear of love and the disaster he had caused were not forgotten. It was all imprinted on his memory. But a woman like Emma deserved love. She deserved all of him, if he was brave enough to give her his heart.

  A cold sweat broke over his body at the idea of opening himself to the hurt and pain that were part of love. What if he failed again?

  And then he had to consider his vow to his late father to help Ian Mackenzie. Why wouldn’t the man simply take Dougray’s money? He’d even offered it as a loan.

  Perhaps Ian hoped Dougray would understand that marriage to his daughter was the only option.

  Until he found a way to deal with Ian Mackenzie, he could not allow himself to do what his honor and his heart were begging him to do. Love her. Marry her.

  The pain he was used to deflecting stayed with him. He needed time to think of a way to help Ian Mackenzie and be brave enough to do what was right where Emma Duckworth was concerned.

  But first, he needed to find Angus and sort out whatever mess his cousin was causing.

  He rose. “I need to find Angus.”

  Just then Thornton and Serena entered. “Are you looking for Angus?” Thornton asked. Dougray nodded. “He’s gone to the Foxtail Inn.”

  He looked out the window at the gathering dark that promised more rain. “I need to talk with him, so if you’ll excuse me I shall go in search of my cousin. Don’t hold dinner for me.”

  * * *

  Two hours later he was back and soaking wet for his troubles. Angus hadn’t been at the inn. He went straight to his rooms and changed, not bothering with a bath, and headed to his study, asking Mrs. Jones to fetch him a plate of food.