Joanna smiled, then stretched out in surprised pleasure as his hands stroked down her body. He lingered at her waist, one warm hand placed on her abdomen. She sighed. His touch gave her such pleasure she could lie here all day, his hands stroking her body. She reached up and stroked his hair.
“My dearest.”
He smiled. “I think you might have to sit up a little,” he said softly.
“Why?”
He chuckled, the smile stretching the corners of his eyes. “Because...do you have to make me say it? Because then I can unbutton your clothes.”
Joanna flushed. Hearing him say it was at once so shocking and so wonderful that she felt a little shiver move slowly through her body, pulsing in her stomach with growing warmth.
She smiled at him, a slow, lazy smile that drew out all the warmth in her and let it shine on him. “Well, then.”
She sat, still smiling. She felt the urge to tease him just a little, as she always had. He smiled back, and rested a hand on her shoulder, his warm palm kneading it. She gasped and closed her eyes.
He frowned, a focused intensity on his face as he stroked a hand down her shoulder, brushing her hair aside. Then he unfastened her topmost button. As he did so, he kissed her throat.
She moaned in sudden longing. His mouth on her skin was warm and soft, making nibbles down the long length of her neck, down to the little arch where her collarbones met. It tickled, stroked, warmed, and the touch of his mouth traced fingers of fire down through her breasts to her belly. She shuddered.
He smiled – she could hear the lift of his mouth, even though she could not see his face. His hands moved lower, unbuckling the soft linen of her dress, drawing it down.
His mouth moved, too, nibbling at her shoulders, then lower.
She gasped as he drew the strap of her under-shift down, exposing her left breast.
His lips followed, and he reached her nipple, making little circles with his tongue. He drew it into his mouth and she cried out.
The sensations were remarkable, shooting through her body like pins of lightning. His lips were warm and soft and the feeling of them closing around the tip of her breast was a sensation she would never have imagined. She wanted more of it. More. However, it was not just the sensations. It was the fact that it was him. That they shared this closeness, she and her handsome man. His mouth on her skin made her shiver with wonder.
His hand moved to touch her other breast. She felt as if she would stop breathing as his long, knowing hands drew out her nipple, stroking it with small, rapid strokes.
She gasped and lay back. He swapped, moving his mouth to her left breast and his hand to the right.
Then, slowly, tenderly, he drew her gown down to her feet. Left it on the floor.
She smiled at him as he sat up and smiled down at her.
“You do not disapprove?”
Joanna felt a giggle rise inside her and leave her lips. “Dearest? You jest, I think.”
He grinned. “I'll take that as a resounding yes.”
Joanna laughed. “You have the right of it.”
He looked into her eyes, then, lowered the shift, letting it slither down to the floor, and left her naked on the bed.
Joanna closed her eyes. She heard him sigh, a slow, awed sound. She felt warmth slowly fill her.
She opened her eyes as he gently lipped at her body, sliding lower.
His eyes met hers and he smiled.
She smiled back.
She watched him undress himself, removing the tunic and trews with remarkable fluidity. She marveled at the strength of his body. The ripple of his muscles in the firelight: the body she had glimpsed under his tunic when she cleaned his wounds, and had always longed to touch, a longing that had seemed unattainable until this moment.
It was her wedding night, she loved him and it was absolute bliss.
There were no words to describe how Dougal felt as he slowly undressed her. Joanna. He looked down at her, feeling the slow tremble of desire overtake him. He wanted to lower his body onto hers, to slide into her and join with her, feeling the wonder of her body on his, giving her his all. However, he would wait. This was his wedding night. He wanted it to be just right. He loved her too much to rush, for he sensed she would like it to be slow.
He looked down at her. Her skin was the color of marble, a milky paleness just this side of peach, offset by the red fire of her hair. The length of her neck, the smoothness of her belly, the narrow waist, rounded thighs. He loved to look at her, the fluid curves of her body. He could see her scar, high on her shoulder, a deep pink stain, the shape of a leaf that stretched from shoulder to two fingers' width below. It, too, was beautiful. Her breasts were small, but well-formed, full globes tipped with soft pink circles, her nipples stiffening in the cold air.
Feeling his body tremble, he leaned down to kiss her belly. Her skin was satin, scented with rose. He breathed in, feeling like the most blessed man he could imagine. This was Joanna – mystery, poetry, soul of his soul. This was her body before him. He felt something close to awe. He kissed down her body, pausing where her thighs met. The scent of her drifted up to him, dark with wonder, and he felt a throb of desire grow inside of him. He glanced up at her. Her eyes were closed, breathing slow and hesitant. He smiled to himself.
Moving lower, he gently lapped at her with his tongue. The scent of her was spicy and sweet at once, it filled his senses and he wanted her so badly he thought he might explode with longing. He moved lower, stroked gently with his tongue.
She moaned and jerked like a fish will on land and he smiled, loving the way he knew he could pleasure her. He moved his tongue faster, making little licks in places he knew would drive her wild with longing. She was warm, wet, and wonderful, and he wanted to stay here, his mouth on her, but he wanted more as well. He wanted most of all to pleasure her.
It seemed to work.
She was gasping, panting, and he could feel a slick warmth building inside her. He moved and looked down at her.
“Yes?”
“Yes!” she said. Her smile was warm.
He smiled.
He was scared, at first, that he would frighten her. So many women were afraid of this part, he knew. However, he dismissed the thought instantly: Joanna had healed him, cleaned his wounds, and washed them until they were the scars he was left with now. She had no fear of bodies, and her knowledge of them outstripped his. He moved and lay between her legs.
She cried out as he touched her, and then gently slid inside.
Oh.
His brain knew no words for what his body felt, entering her. Warm and cool at once, sticky and slippery and deliciously tight. He moved back and then entered her again.
His mind was blank, all other thoughts flown but the joy of the sounds she made – ragged gasps of longing – and the senses that told him this was the most wonderful thing he ever felt.
He moved in her, first slowly, then, as the feeling grew more urgent inside him, fast. He could feel her movements answering his and it was as he always thought: that they were perfect for each other, suited in every way. She was the fire to his ice, the rock to his tempest. He moved and moved and felt each sense ignite as he shivered and moaned and then all senses left him and there was only light.
He collapsed onto her, panting, his body soaked with perspiration, his manhood, sated, inside her.
They lay like that, arms wrapped round each other, until the soft light of dawn turned the charcoal dark to gray.
EPILOGUE
EPILOGUE
Joanna smiled as she stood on the turret, looking out over the fields beyond. The village of Lochlann slumbered between its walls, restored and raised by the team of masons from Edinburgh.
The wind was warm, scented with fresh grass and the distant hint of flowers. It ruffled Joanna's hair and brought a soft smile to her face. It was springtime, she was in love. She was home.
“Dearest?”
She turned, feeling a slow smile cross her fac
e.
“Yes?”
“Come within. I have something to show you.”
Joanna walked languidly behind Dougal, watching the way his walk was so fluid, so lithe. She smiled. She had learned to love every inch of his body, coming to take as much pleasure in it as she did in the slow, lazy smile, the sparkle of his eyes. His moodiness. She loved him so much it hurt.
Inside, he went to the solar. Stood back, waving a hand in some proprietary pride.
“What say you?”
Joanna frowned, pretending to consider. The thing he showed her was a set of carved wooden seats in polished oak. Pale and shining, the wood was a warm ocher brown that glowed in the light from the windows and gave it back, muted and warmed. There was a table, too, she noticed. A long one, capable of seating perhaps ten per side. She felt a warm joy spread through her.
“What do you think?” she asked, a frown on her brow.
“Well,” Dougal said, tapping a long, tapered finger to his lips. “I think the workman is quite talented. Do you concur?”
Joanna tipped her head back, letting out the laugh that had been lurking inside since he brought her here.
“Dougal, I love it! Why even ask?” She laughed. “My only concern is that you'll beggar the castle savings if you purchase this! The craftsman must be a true master!”
Dougal smiled, a small, proud smile. “He is from Holland. A talented man. Though this is oak, carved here in the lowlands where the wood grows best.”
“I can see that!” Joanna laughed. “Dougal! You madman. It will be the most beautiful addition to the place. I love it.”
Dougal smiled. He put his arms around her.
“My dear,” he said, “you have brought light to my life. You've set this whole castle aflame with joy and new life. I want to celebrate it. May I?”
Joanna laughed. She pressed her body to his, wrapping her arms around him to hold him close. She could not quite believe how much she loved him sometimes.
He held her close and she rested her head on his chest, breathing in the scent of leather and warmth. She felt safe here, held against him. Warm and loved.
“Well, we need a large table,” Dougal was saying as he released her from his close embrace. “We'll have many visitors.”
“Indeed!” Joanna nodded. Already, Alina had said she would visit, bringing Leona and Duncan – and Conn and Alf too, because they must go where Leona was. Her parents visited every three months – that was as Amabel loved the castle, and spending time with her eldest daughter was a healing balm to her energetic soul. Chrissie and Blaine visited less often, but Joanna looked forward to the happy laughter they brought with them every time.
In addition, Joanna thought with a gentle smile, one day our own children will sit here.
As a seer, it was granted her to see short glimpses of the future and, as she glanced down the table, she saw, suddenly, a small boy, fair-haired and blue eyed. He caught her eye and looked at her with a strange curiosity, as if he knew her, but did not expect to see her here and now. Across the table was a small girl with red hair, a soft face and dark eyes with a solemn, inward look. Beside the boy, there was another girl, merry and fair haired like him, with a ready smile.
Joanna nodded. These were their children – at least the boy and the first girl she was sure were hers and Dougal's, for she could see both their features strong in their faces. She blinked.
“Sorry, dear?” she turned to Dougal, who was looking at her as if he had just said something.
“I just wanted to ask if you think we should move it in now. I'm not sure if we need time to make some space for it or not?”
Joanna smiled. “We can move it in now, dear. I'll ask Bet if she can send some men to help. We can rearrange it in no time at all, I'm sure.”
The castle was alive with servants and guardsmen, cooks, traders and artisans. It was a place of joy. A place of harmony.
The shadows were gone, burned away by the fire of joy. Because there is no fear, no darkness, that can stand in the face of love.
Joanna turned to Dougal, and he smiled.
“Well, then. Let's go inside.”
She linked her arm to his and followed him into the dining area of the solar, where the new table would go.
“I do love you, dear,” she whispered. She leaned up to kiss his cheek.
“I love you, too, my treasure.”
They walked across to the arched windows, hand in hand and moved the drapes back from the windows and the room filled with light.
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Lairds of Dunkeld Series
Book 1 Link -> Heart Of A Highlander
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Acknowledgement
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Publisher’s Notes
Copyright © 2017 by EMILIA FERGUSON & MOUNTAINSKY HOUSE PUBLISHING CO.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real or dead people, places, or events are not intentional and are the result of coincidence. The characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author/publisher. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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