“Well, ye may be pleased to ken yer roof is fixed, along with other minor repairs that needed to be addressed. The estate is in good shape. Blair also found ye a good man to keep on for an emergency.” Pride surged in his heart. This little woman had managed well without him.
“How was yer visit to the king?” the Cameron man prodded as he moved into the room and took the other seat.
“Things are dire there. I fear for his health closed up in that place. There is a sickness spreading around the people. He took the news I brought seriously and will be talking over strategies with his nephew.”
“Ah, Prince Rupert. Although he’s brilliant, since he sacked Birmingham, even the king’s people can’t stomach his cruelty.”
“Aye, his anger got in the way, and he made a tragic mistake. It may cost Charles this war.”
Tristan, Seamus, and Malcolm appeared in the open door. He was happy to see them, but he preferred time alone with Blair.
“Ah, yer back.” Malcolm pushed past him to take a seat on the sofa, near the fireplace.
Another area of the room he needed to try out with his wife.
Shaking his head to refocus, he retold the whole story of his time with the king for the rest of the men. While he talked to the men about preparing to leave, Blair kissed him on the cheek and left to ensure their guests had been accommodated.
“Did ye find any signs of trespassers?” Finlay was hoping the feeling they were being watched would disappear after his visit with the king, but the worry still niggled in the back of his head.
“Nae. Nothing while ye were gone, but we kept close watch on Blair. She was never outside on her own,” Brodie said.
Andrew called for dinner, and they strolled into the dining room. Blair came in shortly after them, flushed as if she’d been involved with some task, the color on her cheeks reminding him of what she looked like beneath him. He wanted dinner to be over so he could carry her up to their room and alleviate the ache in his cock.
When the other men were engaged in conversation, Blair turned to him. “I’m pleased I’ll be able to meet yer mother on our return.”
“Aye. She’ll probably be angry with me for stealing ye away before she could even meet ye.”
“Will she like me?”
“Of course she will. She likes whatever makes me happy.”
“Why did she no’ come to see yer father after his wife died?”
“I dinnae ken. She stopped speaking about him as I grew older. I had always hoped one day they would find a way to make things work out, but they never did.”
“I have to admit that I like it here, but I’m looking forward to seeing yer other home and the Highlands again.” Her gaze drifted to the boisterous men at the table. “’Twill be nice to be just ye and me for a while.”
His heart burst with pride and a heady feeling that must be pure joy—Blair was what he’d always wanted. A woman who cared for him enough to share both of his worlds. Now, if he could only figure out how to keep this one from drowning in debt.
After the meal, he tried to pull her toward the stairs, but she shook her head and guided him back to the study. “I have to show ye something.”
“Nae, it can wait. I cannae.” With his grin, he hoped he had enough charm to lead her off course, but she continued to tug him along.
“We have all night. Ye must see this first.”
She hurried over to his desk while he stopped and locked the door. No interruptions this time. After opening a drawer, she pulled out two books he’d never seen, along with the journals from the estate manager. He groaned. It was the last thing he wanted to be doing right now.
“Och, put it away, Blair. I dinnae want to look at books tonight. I wish to carry ye upstairs and show ye how much I’ve missed ye.”
“But this is important.”
He pushed the books aside then twirled her to face him. “Not now, Blair. Ye shouldn’t be looking at these, anyway.”
Blair stilled, and her eyes glazed over. Och, he’d upset her. “I’m sorry. I’m tired from the journey, and the last thing I’m thinking about are these damn books.”
Her head bobbed, but the happiness was gone from her eyes.
He was about to give in and let her show him the books when there was pounding on the door.
“What?” he called out.
Malcolm’s voice called from the other side, “Come, quick, the stable is on fire.”
…
“Stay in the house,” Finlay ordered over his shoulder, already running toward the door.
“But,” Blair wanted to protest. She followed the men down the hall, stopping only when she’d reached the edge of the kitchen. There was already a large group of men seeing to the fire.
After a few more minutes had passed, one of Jenny’s boys ran up, and she asked, “How is it?”
“It’s under control, my lady. All the fire is out.”
Her shoulders relaxed. She took a step outside and started to hurry across the grounds to the stables.
Tristan came rushing up to her, blocking her path. “Nae. Finlay wants ye back inside.”
“But the fire is out.”
“Aye, ’tis, but they’re inspecting the structure, and he will be in shortly.”
Of course he didn’t want her to help. She was nothing more to him than her mother had been to her father. A wife to slake his needs and do his bidding. Her insides twisted.
Nae, Finlay was different. Perhaps he was truly tired from both the journey and now this fire. She’d give him the night to rest before telling him how important it was she had a role in running the estate.
Reluctantly, she made her way back into the house and moved through the kitchen without her nightly glass of wine. She had her husband to keep her warm tonight. She smiled, thankful that her courses had come again last week and her husband would not be put off by them.
Passing back into the hall, she noticed Finlay’s office had gone dark. Although she didn’t remember doing so, she must have extinguished the candles before following her husband from the room.
When she reached their chamber, she stripped to her chemise and bare feet, then sat at the dressing table. Removing the pins from her hair, she thought about what he’d said. She had faith he would trust her to manage the estate, and he’d be pleased when he learned she had taken it upon herself to figure out the accounts.
When Finlay finally walked in, a resounding calm washed over her as she waited for him to join her. He sat and took off his boots as he seemed to roll something over in his thoughts. As he slid his shirt over his head, she asked, “Was anyone hurt?”
He paused for a moment as if weighing what to say but then said, “Abe’s head was struck, but ’tis all. No one is seriously harmed.” Finlay’s plaid fell to the floor, where he left it as he moved closer to the bed.
“And the fire is out?”
His hands and knees sank into the bed as he moved toward her.
“Aye.” His gaze was filled with desire and longing, a need so stark it called to the deepest feminine part of her. It screamed out take me.
Maneuvering onto his bottom next to her, he took her hand in his and brought it up to his mouth. He turned it over and slowly closed his mouth around the point where her pulse beat. Her insides clenched at the unexpected desire that shot through her.
“I cannae wait another minute to hold ye.”
His mouth returned to that spot, and he eased her back on the bed. He sucked, and she was arching into the exquisite feel. Fire exploded at her center and called to her, saying she’d been without this man for far too long. Nothing else mattered but letting her husband take her to that place that only he could.
Clutching Finlay’s arm, she pulled herself closer to him, seeking his touch and the connection that moved her to her soul when she looked into his hazel eyes.
The part of her that had thought love didn’t exist had been wrong. Surely, the need to never be parted from this man, the one who stole her breat
h, was love.
Hands grasped her shift, and he pulled. The material tugged beneath her rear, and she rose to let it slide farther. He drew her to sit then shimmied the garment over her head. “Ye dinnae need this when we are in bed together.”
As he tossed it to the side, her gaze remained fixed on his taut chest as the material landed somewhere on the ground.
His arm coiled around her waist, and his lips touched on her shoulders. They explored the slope of her neckline, sending waves of desire through her. Did he feel the same way, did she do that to him?
Twisting, she put her hand on his chest and urged him down on the bed, before turning onto her knees and leaning over his chest. Lowering her head, she kissed and licked as the smell of musk and woods and smoke all blended together. His scent called to her senses and drove her onward.
A thrill of approval shot through her when she noticed he’d angled to expose his neck. His mouth was open, waiting for her next move, raptured by her efforts. She trailed her fingers along his bare skin, savoring the feel of his chest rising and falling while she explored the peaks and valleys.
Finlay’s hand slid up her thigh to cup her rear and squeeze. The sensations spurred her on. She returned her mouth to his flesh and started inching upward, stretching out on top of him as she moved. Reaching his nape, she kissed, taking her time, enjoying every second of the throaty groan that escaped from her husband’s lips.
She slid her teeth across his sensitive flesh and was rewarded as his body arched into hers. A pleased grin broke across her lips. Everything he made her feel, she could do to him, and he liked it as much as she did.
She lavished attention on his neck as she worked her way up to his ear. When her mouth closed around her husband’s earlobe, she was pleased with a soft moan that escaped his throat. “I like the noises ye make,” she whispered into his ear, her breath warm as the raspy sound left her lips.
“Ye are going to destroy me, lass.”
“Do ye like it?”
“Och, yes, but I dinnae think I will be able to control myself much longer. I’ve gone too much time without ye.”
Biting down, her teeth pulled gently as her breasts rubbed against his shoulder. The sensation of flesh on flesh seared her nipples with pleasure, and her chest seemed to become engorged, full and seeking the relief that would come when he plunged into her.
Her husband’s hand slid from her rear, down the back of her leg, then around to the inside of her thigh, seeking her wet core and finding it. His finger ran up her slick folds then rested on her sensitive nub, circling while her hips moved into his touch, and she gasped in his ear.
“Och, wife. What ye do to me.” Finlay broke all contact, quickly turning and guiding her body farther up the length of the bed. His gaze pinned her—intense, dilated, and hungry for more than just her tentative kisses.
This time, it was his head dipping to her mouth. His lips covered hers, urgent, needy, as his tongue dove in to search out hers, and a hand clasped onto her breast. Her body moved into the touch as if she couldn’t get close enough. His fingers kneaded and massaged, then two of them pinched her nipple. Shock at first, then a slight trickle of pain that turned into pleasure as her core throbbed, begging for more. He did it again, and she moaned into his mouth.
His hand skimmed across her rib cage, her waist, then hip until it was at her leg. It slid across her wet, waiting channel, flicked at the sensitive nub at the top, then moved to her other thigh. He relinquished her lips and stared at her with a heated, needy gaze.
He moved again, and he was on his knees between her legs. Instead of thrusting into her, he scooted down and dipped down toward her private area. Panic assailed her.
“What?” She started to say something else, but his hot mouth was on the bud at her center, clasping it and lapping as she inhaled and bucked.
He sucked harder, and she thought she would explode as the tension built, driving her to that place where the world around her disappeared and sensations carried her into oblivion. She was almost there when he pulled away. He stared at her from between her thighs, grinning as she gaped at him.
His eyes grew darker. His fingers returned to her core, one sliding into her while his thumb teased and played at the top of her. She started to fade into the place of ecstasy. A soft cry of “Finlay,” might have escaped her lips, but she wasn’t sure, and then he drew back again, just before she could fall.
Her husband guided his staff into her waiting passage. As the fullness enveloped her, he wrapped his arm around her to hug her closer. Her head fell back as his rod massaged her insides and his pelvis rocked against her outside.
She broke.
The dam of sensation that had twice been held back crumbled as her insides pulsed and throbbed and robbed her of everything except for the pleasure. Shock waves crashed against every corner of her body as she arched and gave in to the feelings.
Consciousness started to return, and she refocused to see her husband staring down at her, his soul bare, open, raw with emotions.
For her.
She knew then, she loved him. Loved him with her body, loved him with her mind and soul, but most of all, loved him so much that her heart might stop beating in his absence. He would forever own this piece of her she’d not known she could give, this part of her that wanted to implode with just the knowing.
His thrusts became uneven as his head fell forward. The sweetest of ragged moans escaped from his mouth as his grip tightened. It was beautiful to watch him fall into that same abyss that had claimed her and to know she had done that to him, made him lose himself as she had to the perfection of their joining.
Relaxing, his sleepy, sated gaze roamed from down where they were still joined, then back to her face. It sent shivers of awareness and vulnerability spiraling through her. She’d never let anyone close enough to see her deepest yearnings before, and it terrified her that he could lead her to hell and she would follow, that she had opened herself up to hurt. But Finlay was worth it.
Sinking, his lips came down to caress hers gently, moving slow, one kiss, then two, three, then his tongue swept in to claim her. She returned the embrace, not caring he could be her undoing, welcoming it and matching each stroke. She tilted her head to get closer and sighed into his mouth.
A few moments later, she lay snuggled in his arms, breathing in the earthy male scent of him. Her bleary eyes finding it hard to stay open, she had one thought—tomorrow, she would show him the books and prove to him that he needed her as much as she did him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Waking with Blair in his arms, Finlay realized just how much he had missed her. Somehow, she had become everything to him.
Blair was his salvation.
First, he’d never felt so close to a woman, and she seemed to be accepting of his quiet, reserved nature. But she’d also found a way to give him hope, making him feel worthy of her affections, despite his deficiency.
Looking over at her now, he couldn’t believe he’d been the one lucky enough to marry her. He was almost waiting for God to send a messenger that said, no, there was a mistake, he did not deserve her. But if that happened, he’d make a deal with the devil to keep her.
After slipping quietly from the bed, he pulled on his clothes and sneaked out the door, careful to keep it from clicking as he tiptoed out into the hall. He wound down the hall and stairs to his office. Once there, he discovered his account books were missing. He’d hoped to glance over them with a clear head this morning before heading out to survey the damage to the stable in the daylight.
At first glance, he thought perhaps Blair had put them back in the drawer, but when he opened it, there was an empty space where the books should have been. Maybe Andrew had shelved them somewhere. He’d ask the servant after he met with the Cameron men about the events of last night.
Stopping in the kitchens for a bite, he was pleased to see a well-stocked pantry. The cook even smiled and didn’t make a fuss when he took from the food p
repared to put out on the side table in the breakfast room. With the fresh supplies, the man’s cooking had improved.
Stepping out into the early morning air, he took in the eerie fog that had settled with the thick mist blanketing the path like smoke searching out someone to strangle. He shivered but moved on to his target.
The stables were a good hundred yards to the west of the property, and he could barely make it out with the haze hovering like a low cloud. As he got closer, voices carried to him through the stagnant air despite the lack of a breeze.
Tristan and Malcolm were waiting as he stepped through the door. The smell of charred wood clung to the insides. A brutal reminder of last night’s events. There was no sign of the injured stable master, so he asked, “Is the man awake yet?”
“Aye, he’ll be here any moment,” Tristan said. “I’m going to take a look around outside.” The Cameron man swiveled and strode out of the stable.
Finlay inspected the damage—luckily one of the housekeeper’s boys had seen smoke and had run for help. But all the lad had been able to tell them was that the stable was on fire. He’d seen nothing else, and the man they’d found on the ground passed out the night before had a large bump on his head.
Fortunately, the rain from the previous week had kept everything moist, and there had been sufficient buckets filled with water to douse the flames. Had the boy not been here, the structure would have been destroyed, and the stable master would have perished in the flames.
Abe, the injured man, slogged in.
“How is yer head?” Finlay stepped forward to inspect the damage. Last night there had been too much blood to make out the extent of the wound.
“It will be all right, my lord. Just needs time to heal.”
“Tell us what happened.”
“I caught a man slinking around out here. Seemed to know his way around. I saw him pull out a spyglass to watch the house. Likely, he didn’t know you had full-time help now.”
Highland Salvation (Highland Pride) Page 20
