by Julia London
Hugh insisted on making the arrangements for a wedding supper, which Grif and Anna were happy to let him do, for they were far more interested in one another and the very new and exciting notion that they were, indeed, husband and wife, and free to enjoy all that entailed.
Hugh called the innkeeper to them at once. “I introduce ye to Griffin Lockhart,” he said, bowing toward a beaming Grif, “who traveled as far as London to find his bride, and now they’ve just come from the vicar and would request a wedding supper.”
The innkeeper’s ruddy face lit with delight. “Aye, of course, sir! Ealasaid!” he shouted, and a girl with the same ruddy face appeared from a door leading toward the kitchen. “Show his lordship and his bonny bride to a private dining room, aye? And bring round a bottle of Scots whiskey!”
“Aye, bring the best Scots whiskey ye have,” Grif said. “I would introduce me English bride to one of many fine qualities of Scotland.”
“Whiskey!” Anna cried, laughing. “Good English ladies do not drink whiskey, sir!”
“Then be thankful that ye are now a Scot,” he laughed, and kissed her to the great delight of the serving girl and the innkeeper.
“Ye must drink whiskey, milady,” the innkeeper said sternly. “It will bring ye health and many bairns.”
“As to that, sir, they’ll be needing a sleeping room for the night as well,” Hugh said, winking at the innkeeper as he pulled a roll of banknotes from his pocket and peeled off several. “A fine room, too—one befitting a lady on her wedding night.”
Anna blushed furiously, but the innkeeper quickly pocketed the banknotes. “I’ve a fine one, indeed, if ye’ll follow me.”
Grif and Anna started after him, but Hugh stopped them with a hand and a grin. “Be patient, lad. Give me yer things, then,” he said, winking at Anna. “I’ll make certain it is made ready for ye. But first we celebrate.”
“Hugh,” Grif said, handing over their satchel. “I’m right touched, I am. I didna know ye to be so sentimental.”
Hugh laughed. “Ye’ll save me a tot of that fine Scots whiskey, will ye?”
“Ealasaid! Come along, then!” the innkeeper bellowed over his shoulder as he hurried alongside Hugh’s determined stride to inspect the sleeping room upstairs.
“Aye, milord, it’s just here,” Ealasaid said, smiling broadly as she showed them to a small private dining room, well appointed with a table and six chairs upholstered in leather. “I’ll come round with yer whiskey,” she said as Grif and Anna entered the room, and pulled the heavy drapes behind them.
It was their first moment alone since they had wed, and Grif took Anna in his arms. “Ach, lass…it wasna the most fashionable of ceremonies—no flowers, no wedding breakfast. No ring on yer finger and yer family so far away. I pray ye are no’ disappointed.”
“How could you even suggest it?” she asked, rising up on her toes to kiss him. “I’m too happy for words, Grif. I love that ours was such an exciting wedding! Think of it, married in Gretna Green, by a smithy! Imagine the stories we’ll tell our children!”
“Aye,” he said kissing her neck. “I would that we’d have our celebration so that we might carry on with a more pleasurable and private—”
“Yer whiskey, milord,” Ealasaid announced at the drapes.
Anna laughed at Grif’s look of disappointment as the girl stepped in and placed a decanter of whiskey and several small glasses on the table. She glanced shyly at Grif as she poured the whiskey. “Ye look quite happy, milord,” she teased him. “The world smiles with ye this day, no?”
“The world smiles with me every day, lass,” Grif said, grinning at Anna. As Ealasaid slipped out of the room, he poured a tot and handed it to Anna, and gestured for her to hold it up in a toast. “To me heart, which heretofore hadna awakened,” he exclaimed, lifting the tot. “Slainte mhath—Good health, mo ghraidh.”
“To our hearts,” Anna said, and watched Grif toss back the amber liquid, then did the same. But as she’d never drunk whiskey, she was not prepared for the burn of good Scots whiskey, and instantly erupted into a fit of coughing.
“Ach, Anna, ye must sip it until ye’ve been in Scotland a wee bit longer,” Grif suggested, rubbing her back.
Anna was still coughing when Hugh stuck his head between the drapes. “Are ye ready for a wee celebration, then?”
Grif grinned and gestured for him to enter. “We are learning the art of drinking Scots whiskey,” he said laughingly. “Come, then, Hugh, and tell us about yer journey out of London.”
Hugh smiled roguishly, but he did not move. “Ye will recall I said I had a wee spot of trouble, aye?”
“Aye,” Grif said, frowning lightly, gesturing him in. “What trouble?”
“It wasna exactly easy, fleeing London, aye, Grif?”
Grif frowned darkly. “God blind me, what have ye done, MacAlister?”
“Ach, I’ve done naugh’ wrong, Lockhart! Well… that is to say, at least no more than any man in our situation might have done.”
“Diah! What—” Grif started, but Hugh suddenly threw back the drapes, and standing just behind him, her hand in his, was Miss Brody.
Both Grif and Anna gasped with surprise. Miss Brody colored slightly and frowned at Hugh for a moment. “Good wishes on yer wedding day,” she muttered, clearly uncomfortable.
“Hugh!” Grif cried, but Hugh waved a hand at him as he pulled Miss Brody into the private room. “’Tis no’ what ye think, lad! Miss Brody—Keara—she and I met with a bit of a problem leaving London, and I couldna leave her there in harm’s way.”
“Oh dear God,” Anna said, gaping at Miss Brody, who frowned at the table. “Miss Brody, are you quite all right?”
“Oh, aye, miss, I’m quite fine, I am.”
“What happened, then?” Grif demanded.
“Lockhart returned just after ye left,” Hugh said with a smile, anticipating Grif’s question. “He wanted yer head on a platter, he did.” He laughed and looked at Miss Brody. “And he’d no’ take no for an answer,” he added with another laugh, and even Miss Brody smiled.
He went on to tell them that Keara had been out that afternoon, to see her brother, and Hugh wouldn’t leave Dalkeith House or London, not without explaining to her what had happened and giving her a week’s wages. But Hugh felt uncomfortable in his grandmother’s house—he claimed to have had a very strange feeling about it, as if he were being watched. So he moved the horses to the public stables, along with his bag, and returned to Dalkeith House under the cloak of darkness.
It was that which saved them, he reckoned.
He waited for Keara in the kitchen, in a darkened house, and when she returned, he told her what had happened. He’d just provided her wages when they heard several voices on the floor above them. They quickly hid in an old, unused larder, listening as the men made their way to the kitchen. It was Lockhart, returned with a constable and his men to search the mansion for Grif, cursing the fact that he’d apparently escaped.
The men were in the kitchen, not a foot away from Hugh and Keara, when the constable assured Lockhart that Grif would indeed hang were they to find him.
It was all Hugh and Keara needed to hear, and fearing for their lives, the moment the men left the kitchen they escaped the house via a window, ran to the public stables, and rode out of London in the night.
“But… why didn’t you seek refuge with your brother?” Anna asked Keara.
She exchanged a look with Hugh. “He was angry with me, me brother Kevin. He didna think I was bringing him all me wages,” she said softly. “He’d threatened me when I’d gone to him that afternoon, and I was afraid to return for fear he’d beat me.”
Anna reached across the table to take Keara’s hand.
“So then…” Grif said, looking at Hugh, “ye and Miss Brody came to Gretna Green. And I suppose ye made yer own call to the smithy—”
“Keara and I will go our separate ways when the beastie is sold,” Hugh interrupted, looking at Keara. “I’ve
promised her half of what I receive so that she may go home to Ireland, as she desires, to her family.”
“Aye,” Keara said, shifting her gaze to Grif. “I’ll return to Ireland just as soon as I am able. I’ve sisters and brothers who need me.”
“So we shall toast our escape, then, aye?” Hugh lightly suggested, sliding his arm across the back of Keara’s chair. “No’ a one of us left our head in London after all.”
“Aye,” Grif said. “That’s worthy of a toast.” He poured four tots of whiskey. “Slainte mhath!”
As the four of them drank to their collective health, the innkeeper pushed aside the drapes and announced grandly, “On this happy occasion, milord, I’ve a Highland roast beef for yer wedding supper!” Two women carried in heavy trays, and the smell of the Highland beef was enough to make them swoon with pleasure.
They celebrated with dinner and whiskey, laughing at the tales of their flight from London, and toasting Grif and Anna’s happiness over and again.
When the food had been taken away, Grif glanced at Anna. He could see the flush of a bit of whiskey in her cheeks, the sated look in her eye. He put his hand on her knee and squeezed it, gave his thanks to Hugh and Keara for a wedding celebration they would not otherwise have had, and putting his hand on Anna’s elbow, he helped her up.
“Just a moment more, lad,” Hugh urged him. “Let us see to it that all is at the ready for ye,” he said, and hurried Keara along with him, quitting the private room.
“Come, lass,” Grif said gently, putting his arm around Anna’s waist. “’Tis time I took me wife to her wedding bed,” he murmured, and kissed her cheek.
“Mmm,” she said dreamily, and allowed him to languidly lead her from the private room, across the common room, pausing briefly to thank Ealasaid and her father, and up the stairs, to the room at the end of the corridor where Hugh was standing, grinning proudly.
“’Tis all as we’d hoped. Mind ye have a care with her,” he said, and threw open the door to the room.
Anna gasped. It was filled with flowers, Scottish primrose and bluebell. A fire roared at the hearth, a pair of candles blazed on either side of the bed, and primroses blanketed the bedcover.
“How?” Anna asked, clearly taken aback by the room.
“I’m a Highlander. And now I’ll take me leave— Keara is waiting,” Hugh said, and with that he clapped Grif on the shoulder and sauntered down the corridor and the stairs, disappearing into the common room below.
Grif laughed softly. “Bloody sentimental fool.”
“It’s beautiful,” Anna said softly.
“No’ as beautiful as ye are, lass,” Grif said sincerely, and swept her up in his arms, surprising her.
“What are you doing?” Anna cried, laughing.
“Ach, what do ye think I’m doing? Carrying me bride across the threshold, of course!” he said, and walked into that room, kicked the door shut, then put Anna down, turned to lock the door, and then turned around again, divesting himself of his coat and waistcoat, all the while smiling at Anna.
She shyly returned his smile and wandered to a vase full of primroses next to the basin. She selected one and put it in her hair as Grif tossed his neckcloth aside. He moved to stand behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her neck. “Ye canna know how I’ve longed for this night,” he said. “I’ve longed to show ye just how much I’ve come to love ye.”
“How long?” she asked, smiling, and took another primrose from the vase.
“A lifetime,” he muttered. “A bloody lifetime.” He ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders. “Come on, then, and lie down, will ye, so that I might show ye just how much I do,” he said, and pressed his face to her hair, inhaling her scent.
“Shouldn’t I remove my gown?” she asked, falling back against him and tucking her head under his chin. “Or would you prefer to imagine what lies beneath?”
He laughed. “The time for fancying ye has passed.” He moved his hands to her back, began to undo the tiny buttons, moving deftly down her back. Anna lifted her arms and let down her hair as he did.
When he had finished, she let her hair fall, and turned around to face him, her gaze roaming his face. “You must tell me what to do.”
He smoothed her hair, kissed her forehead, and carefully pushed the gown from her shoulders, watching it slide to the floor and pool at her feet. He offered his hand to her; she put her hand in his, slipped out of her shoes, and stepped out of the gown, moving gracefully in nothing but a thin chemise.
They moved to the bed; she tossed the primrose she held onto the bed with the others, and Grif gathered her in his arms, kissed her gently. “Are ye frightened?”
Anna laughed lightly and shook her head. “I’m not the least frightened.”
“Is this what ye want?” he asked, caressing her face.
She laughed again, slipped her arms around his waist. “Do you recall the night in the garden at Featherstone? The night you asked me what I wanted?”
He nodded solemnly.
“I want you to kiss me, Grif. I want to know how it feels to love.”
Diah, but he loved this woman! He gazed down at her now, her face between his hands, her coppery eyes glinting with a delightful, devilish glint, and wondered how he’d come to be such a lucky man. No woman had ever evoked such passion in him, good or bad, and he marveled at how he might have gone on, never feeling such depth of emotion for another human being, had it not been for that wretched beastie.
He’d cherish her because of it, for he never wanted to be without this feeling again. “I want ye to feel how I love ye, Anna,” he said with great emotion, and lowered his head to kiss her.
Anna instantly pressed against him, lifting her face, her tongue seeking his. Grif made a sound of approval, and Anna’s hands were on his back, pulling his shirt from his trousers, seeking to touch his skin, her hands on his bare back, sweeping up to his shoulders, then around to his belly. Then she broke away from him and focused on the buttons of his shirt until she had undone them all. She pushed the fabric of his shirt aside and caught a breath as she looked at his chest.
And she slowly released that breath as she lifted her hands to his chest, let her fingers slide down, over taut nipples, to the flat plane of his stomach, and to the fine line of hair the disappeared into his trousers. She stared down at his trousers, at his thick erection, and then lifted her gaze to him. “I want to feel it, Grif. All of it.”
Grif had never been more aroused than he was in that moment, and he unfastened his trousers, guided her hand to feel the strength of his desire for her. When her small hand closed firmly around him, Grif was lost.
He was suddenly feverish, working to loosen her chemise, seeking her bare breasts with his hands while her fingers squeezed him, sliding down his shaft, then deeper, to his heavy testicles. With a moan, Grif grabbed the hem of her chemise and pulled it up over her head and tossed it aside.
She stood naked before him, wearing only a flower in her dark tangled hair, her breasts full and ripe, her belly smooth, the dark patch of hair flowering above trim, long legs. He put his hands on her hips, pulled her into him, kissed her deeply, and lowered her onto the bed. She fell onto her back and smiled up at him as he removed his trousers.
Grif couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was beautiful, perfectly made, a shape that could drive a man wild with desire. He lay beside her, put his hand on her belly, and just gazed at her, unable to fully absorb that she was his wife.
Anna touched his brow, traced his nose with her finger, then pressed it against his lips. It was so innocently seductive that Grif found it impossible to resist. He bent down, took the rigid peak of her breast fully into his mouth, and she lifted to him, openly indulging in the ravishing of her breast.
For Anna, the sweet sensation of his mouth on her breast was intoxicating, burning deep inside her and building a fire in the pit of her stomach.
With his mouth and hands, he exalted in her, and Anna received his
caresses with pure elation. He moved with his mouth on her breast, his shaft pressed against her hip, and his hand skimming up her leg, sending a thousand shivers through her. She propped herself up on her elbows so she could see him naked, could see his magnificently masculine form—the curve of his hip, the power of his legs, and the thickness of his arms.
Grif suddenly lifted his head, frowning a little. “Anna, m’annsachd, my beloved, how did I find ye?” he softly demanded. “What did I do to deserve ye?”
She did not answer, but smiled wantonly as he pressed her down into the flowers. She buried her face in his neck as her hands anxiously roamed his body. When her fingers grazed the tip of his erection, Grif drew a long breath through his teeth.
“Bloody hell, I want ye, lass,” he said gruffly. “I want to possess ye as a man will possess his wife, the woman he loves.”
Anna responded to that with a smile and by taking him fully in hand. His eyes darkened; he pushed himself up, balanced on his muscular arms, and looked at her, his gaze reverently sweeping her body.
Never had she felt so beautiful as she did in that moment, as Grif gazed so longingly at her. He sighed, kissed her mouth, then her breast, moving lazily to kiss her belly. “Me wife. Me beautiful, bonny wife.”
Anna grabbed Grif’s hair as he put his hands on her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, and pulled her forward. He buried his face in her belly, pushed her right leg and lifted it, putting it over his shoulder. “Grif,” she whispered, smiling as his lips traced a warm, wet path across her inner thigh, toward her sex, and she absently lifted her hand, let if flutter across her breast.
His breath brushed the apex of her thighs. When his tongue dipped inside her sex, she grabbed his shoulders, suddenly terrified by her own desire. She was gasping for air as he flicked his tongue in the valley, her body moving against him. But Grif held her firmly, his mouth closing in on the point of her desire, nibbling, sucking, licking.
She was spiraling down again, into a dark pool of ecstasy, clutching desperately at his head, moving instinctively to meet the caress of his tongue. Unable to contain her desire, her body was quickly shuddering, and just as she began to cry out, he caught her breast, holding it, kneading it as she fell into paradise.
