Captured by his Highland Kiss

by Eloise Madigan

  “Broken nose?” Delilah asked.

  “Yes,” her father said. “It would seem that, during the fight in which a battalion of Highlanders waylaid him, Viscount Keicester was the recipient of a rather juicy blow to the nose. Both his eyes were blackened.”

  It took every single ounce of upper-class restraint for Delilah not to let out an unladylike snort of laughter. Even so, she felt as if her ribs might break with the strain.

  Finley! Marcus was certainly right in his confidence that you could hold your own, even against a man brandishing a sword.

  “My,” she said, “how perfectly awful. The gang of Highlanders of which you speak must have arrived after Marcus and I left.”

  “No doubt they must have,” said her father, his eyes twinkling.

  There was a knock on the door of their chambers.

  “Come in,” the Earl said.

  The door opened and Marcus was revealed standing in the doorway.

  Delilah shot to her feet, her eyes wide, a look of joy on her face.

  “You’re out of bed,” she said, stating the obvious.

  “Aye,” the son of Laird MacConnair said, “though expressly against the wishes o’ Boyd.” He grimaced and flexed his injured arm, which Delilah suddenly realized was in a sling.

  Running a closer eye over him, Delilah saw that he was slightly paler than usual, and that the corners of his eyes were pinched in pain.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. “You should be resting still.”

  “I’ll sit down in a little bit,” the Highlander said, “but I had tae make sure that ye were all right and unscathed.”

  “Me? You were the one who was stabbed!”

  “Aye, but I ken what it’s like tae see somethin’ like that fer the first time.”

  “I—to be quite honest, Marcus, my only thoughts have been of you.”

  She blushed, suddenly quite aware of her parents sitting only a few steps behind her.

  As if in answer to her thoughts, her father said, “Delilah, would you mind leaving your mother and I to our breakfast? We have some matters to discuss that are best done in private.”

  Turning, Delilah saw that her mother was holding out her shawl to her, a small smile on her lips. “Marcus looks as if he could do with a little fresh air, my dear,” she said. “Why not sit with him awhile and look over the loch?”

  Delilah curtsied, took the shawl and said, “Thank you, Mother.”

  Lady Glimouth nodded and her smile took on a knowing edge.

  They did not spend long in the grounds. Marcus was still weak and soon made his excuses to leave. Delilah watched him hobbling slowly away. She was quite aware that, despite the uncertainty of her future hanging over her head like a cloud, she felt happier than she could ever remember feeling.

  She looked at the loch, gleaming like a dull metal puddle in the moody light, then back at the broad back of the retreating Marcus. She found that he was standing there, gazing at her.

  “What are you looking at, Marcus?” she teased gently.

  The corners of Marcus’s mouth twitched upwards. “Just ye,” he said. “Just ye.”

  It was not until another two days had passed that Marcus was able to rejoin the evening meal in the great banqueting hall of the MacConnair clan’s castle.

  To celebrate his return to health, the Laird held a feast and invited all the Lairds of the neighboring clans—including the Allerdices—to attend.

  Delilah could understand the Laird’s jubilation that his son had passed through his ordeal with only a hefty scar to show for it, but wondered whether having the Allerdice clan there was a wise diplomatic decision.

  Everyone behaved themselves, however, and even though she was seated at the other end of the head table to Marcus, she could see that her beloved Highlander was back to his old high spirits. She watched him as he conversed with his fellow clansmen, spending much of his time messing about and jesting with Finley.

  The only slight thing to mar Delilah’s enjoyment of the feast was when a pretty, auburn-headed young woman left her place at the side of a man—who had been pointed out to Delilah as being the Laird of the Allerdice clan—and went to talk to Marcus.

  Is that Elspeth Ewan? The woman who Marcus spurned when he chose to ride to me?

  The two of them conversed for a good few minutes before the young woman sat back down smiling, leaving Marcus looking thoughtful.

  At the end of the feast, Callum rose to his feet and banged his metal goblet on the table to call order to the merry proceedings.

  “Lairds and Ladies,” he said, “and all ye other fine folk, thank ye mightily fer comin’ to this wee celebratory feast o’ mine!”

  There was cheering and clapping at this.

  “Ye ken from my invitations that I have asked ye here to celebrate me son, Marcus, returning back to health after a brush wi’ disaster.”

  More applause.

  “Aye, aye, thank ye,” the Laird said, to quiet the clapping, “But, mighty fine news as that is, it is nae the only reason that ye have been gathered here this eve…”

  He looked around the suddenly expectant and hushed hall.

  “Nay, I’ve brought ye all here together—most trusted friends and closest allies—fer another reason. That purpose is tae rejoice at the news that Marcus has also recently been betrothed tae be married!”

  There was a stunned silence. Then the hall burst into long and loud applause. Cups and goblets and knives were clashed and rattled on the tables.

  Delilah sat astounded, the vision of Elspeth walking away from Marcus with a smile on her face suddenly taking on a whole new and sinister aspect.

  “That’s right!” boomed the Laird of the MacConnairs. “So, if ye’ll raise yer cups and join me, let us drink a toast tae the union o’ Marcus Malloch –”

  This can’t be happening, not after all we have gone through…

  “—and Lady Delilah Jefferson!”

  The hall erupted in joyous cries and with one voice, the company gathered within cried, “Tae Marcus and Delilah!” And drained their cups.

  Delilah, awash in a joy so potent that she felt intoxicated with happiness, was led by her father to where Marcus stood, looking as dazedly delighted and surprised as she must look.

  As the cheering in the hall continued, Marcus bent down and whispered into her ear, “Lord, I thought me heart was goin’ tae stop fer a moment there,” he said.

  Delilah smiled up at him, as around them, goblets were refilled and another toast to couple-to-be was drunk.

  “Marcus,” she whispered into his ear over the raucous bellows of delight.

  “Aye?”

  “What about Elspeth? I saw her talking to you before. She was smiling.”

  “Oh, aye,” Marcus said, “she was smilin’ because she told me that her faither and mine had come to an agreement about she and I, and between the clans MacConnair and Allerdice.”

  “An agreement?”

  “We are no longer betrothed to one another, instead she is to be wed to another brave MacConnair clan member—one that, so she tells me, she’s been fond of fer years.”

  “Who?” Delilah asked.

  Marcus grinned with pure happiness. “Finley!” he said.

  Delilah laughed. “Does she know what she can expect with that rascal?”

  Marcus winked at her. “She’ll ken soon enough!”

  Epilogue

  The wedding between Marcus Malloch and Lady Delilah Jefferson was a wonderful affair. It took place out in the open air, amongst the wind and the heather, under a blue Highland sky that behaved itself remarkably well.

  Delilah was dressed in a gorgeous velvet gown of deep blue. It was a color that her mother had told her symbolized purity. This caused Delilah—when her mind, as it often did, returned to that steamy night in the cabin—to feel a slight twinge of guilty unease. She reasoned with herself that, seeing as she was marrying the one man that she had lain with, God probably wouldn’t cast too harsh a glan
ce on her.

  With both Delilah and Marcus in their finery, the ceremony took place and the vows were spoken down by the shores of the loch. The water shone like burnished iron, and only the sleek forms of a family of otters disturbed the perfect, glassy stillness. On the banks, horned grebes chattered excitedly.

  When the priest asked the couple whether there were any transgressions that might prohibit them from being wed, the two of them barely glanced at each other.

  “Under the great dome of Heaven, surrounded by the wind and the grass and the water?” her father had said to her when she had asked him whether he didn’t mind his only daughter getting married outside of a church. “I told you when I first brought you here, that this was God’s country. The Highland countryside is as magnificent a chapel as there ever was, my dear!”

  Delilah stood on Marcus’s left—Eve was born of Adam’s left rib after all—as tradition dictated. The sun shone down, slicing its way out of the fluffy clouds that sailed sedately by over the heads of the large congregation. Whilst the vows were spoken and the rings exchanged, Delilah chanced a glance over at her mother.

  Lady Glimouth’s usually austere face was creased with joy. Tear tracks glimmered on her cheeks, and she looked happier than Delilah had seen her look in as long as she could remember.

  Delilah, not being of a Scottish clan, was unable to furnish Marcus with a strip of her clan tartan to tie the knot with his. Instead, he simply laid a strip of his plaid on her arm. Not wanting to do the thing half-heartedly, Delilah—much to the delight and approval of the Scottish guests—had brought with her a strip of velvet used in the making of her gown, and she entwined this with the MacConnair tartan. This elicited an emphatic cheer.

  At the conclusion of the ceremony, after Marcus and Delilah had been declared husband and wife, the congregation burst into hearty applause. Then, the entire party was led by a pipe-band around to a set of pavilions that had been erected on the shores of the loch. It was here that the wedding feast was to be held, and the guests all gathered around the tables that had been taken from the hall and set to their meal with gusto.

  They reveled far into the night. The continuous eating and drinking was backed by a procession of minstrels, singers, and other local musicians. Delilah and Marcus led the dancing with their first Highland reel. This was, luckily, something that Griselda had taught her, and Delilah was happy with the way that she conducted herself.

  The dancing and feasting continued as the sun went down in the west and stars glimmered forth. The clouds departed entirely, the wind dropped, and soon the wedding party was taking place under a sky that looked like a cloth of the deepest sable festooned with diamonds.

  Taking advantage of a brief respite in the reeling, Delilah and Marcus walked down to the edge of the loch to get away from the heat and noise of the pavilions.

  “This,” Delilah said, with perfect truth, “is the most fantastic night of my life, Mr. Malloch.”

  Marcus leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. Delilah basked in the rightness of it, in the fact that they didn’t need to hide how they felt about each other anymore.

  “Aye,” Marcus said, the stars reflecting in the deep brown eyes, “Well, I’m glad ye like it, Mrs. Malloch.”

  They looked at each other for a long while, simply drinking in the sight of one another.

  A sudden question popped into Delilah’s head at that moment, quite unexpectedly. She realized that she had been fretting about this for some time, though she had not really thought that there was much she could do about it.

  “Marcus,” she said, stroking her Highland husband’s strong jaw, “what will happen to Mallory?”

  Marcus raised his eyebrow at this. Subconsciously, he raised his hand to his tender, stitched arm.

  “Our weddin’ day, and ye have thoughts tae spare fer the woman that would slice me up like a roastin’ joint?” he asked, a wry smile playing about his lips.

  “I’m sorry, I just—I feel sorry for her, in a way.” Delilah cleared her throat and looked out over the water of the loch. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it.”

  Marcus turned his face back so that she faced him. There was wonder in his face.

  “Ye’ve nay reason tae apologize fer askin’ me that, Delilah. I was just taken aback, is all. Tae ken that I’ve a wife who can feel pity and compassion fer a woman that tried tae stick her husband.” He smiled at her. “Ye’ve the greatest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

  They kissed and for a while nothing else mattered. When they broke apart, Delilah slapped him playfully on the chest and said, “Don’t try and distract me from my question. What will her fate be?”

  “Dinnae worry yerself on that score, lass. It’s already been resolved.”

  “It has?”

  “Aye. Me faither exiled her from MacConnair lands wi’ a pouch o’ coins. He said tae me that love, more than hate, is an unpredictable force o’ nature. That it makes folk dae strange things. He said that he dinnae think Mallory was an evil lass, just lonely and sad.”

  “I hope she finds someone to hold her and treat her kindly,” Delilah said, softly.

  “Speakin’ of bein’ treated kindly,” Marcus said with one of his infectious grins, “perhaps ye’d fancy takin’ a wee peek at yer new chambers…?”

  Delilah gazed at Marcus from under long lashes. “Why, husband, whatever do you mean by that?”

  Skin hissed against skin as Marcus ran his hands up Delilah’s thighs, her naked body turned to bronze in the light of the fire in the grate of their chambers. Her golden tresses fell about his face, tickling at his cheeks and eyelids and ears as they kissed. His wife’s breasts brushed against his chest as she straddled him, her soft groaning making his blood sing in his ears.

  Marcus gasped as, without warning, Delilah settled herself upon him, and began to move with an instinctive rhythm. Her hands moved across the hard muscles of his chest, nails running down his stomach as he looked on with awe at the woman atop him.

  This is what’s meant by two people bein’ joined as one. This completeness. This wholeness.

  A wave of lust enveloped him—a hot, red mist in which he and Delilah were the only real things. He picked his wife up as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, spun her over and lay her back down. He kissed down in between her breasts, down her stomach, across her hips to—

  Delilah cried out, clutched at the bed covers.

  Below them, out in the night, the wedding celebrations continued. Bagpipes and flutes suffused the night with their melodies. The dancers cried out as they spun and twirled. Laughter and singing echoed out over the still waters of the loch.

  The music and merriment came drifting in through the open window of the chambers of Mr. and Mrs. Malloch, mingled with their twin cries as they both fell limp into each other’s arms.

  The fire died down, shadows encroaching on the naked couple lying in the mess of scattered garments and bed clothes.

  Delilah rolled over and propped herself on one elbow. She ran a finger over the stitched cut on Marcus’s bicep.

  “I hope you don’t think that this trifling injury excuses you from future exertions this night, husband?” she said.

  Marcus pulled his bride to him. “Are ye naggin’ at me already, lass?” he teased.

  Delilah slapped him on the chest, then snuggled in closer, pressing herself against her husband. Marcus smiled as he stared into his wife’s face.

  “And what do you think you’re looking at, Marcus?” she whispered, her hand caressing the strong muscles of his chest.

  He gave her another one of his broad smiles, and brushed his thumb across her parted lips.

  “Just ye, lass,” he said. “Just ye.”

  The End

  Also by Eloise Madigan

  Thank you for reading Captured by his Highland Kiss!

  Don’t forget to send me an email to let me know how you liked my book!

  * * *

  I am so lucky to h
ave you by my side on this new chapter of my life!

  You are amazing!

  Eloise Madigan

  About the Author

  Eloise Madigan is a passionate writer who fell in love with Scotland when she was only 5 years old. On a trip to the beautiful Highlands with her family, she was encouraged by the mesmerizing scenery to start weaving intricate stories about handsome Highlanders and beautiful lasses.

  Born in the US to a Scottish mother and an American father, she formed a deep bond with her mother’s roots. She studied English Literature and Creative Writing, and soon she began working as an editor for a small publishing house. But even though she liked editing, her true love lay in the short romantic stories she could write…This is when she decided to start publishing her own romance novels!

  When Eloise isn’t writing, she enjoys spending time with family and friends.

  Accompany Eloise on the most wonderful trips across the mysterious Highlands, where love and adventure intertwine, and rogue Highlanders are there to save the day! A world full of burning passion and sensational stories, that promise to sweep you away, to the land of pleasure...