“And if ye would see past the nationality of a man to his heart, I am sure ye’d change yer tune.”
“Like ye changed yers?” Finley sneered while gesturing at William’s body clothed in English breeches and shirt. “Aye, that would be the day.”
William’s hand itched to grab Finley by the scruff of his neck and plant his fist in his face but his revenge would be temporary. When his father knew of the betrayer, his excommunication from the clan would be permanent. He stepped forward until he was in striking range of the man.
“Prepare yerself, Finley, ma Da is nae going to take kindly to ye when he kens what ye’ve done.”
The man paled but lifted his head and narrowed his eye, “I did it for the honor of oor family.”
“No, ye did it fer ye,” William said coldly. “And one more thing —” he gave in to his rage and belted the man one jaw-breaking punch in his face. “Be glad I didn’t run ye through like I did Marston.”
Heaving the man up, William walked him to the keep and handed him over to the head jailer there with a strident order to keep the betrayer under lock and key. Finley toppled to the ground, nursing his bloody nose.
When breakfast ended, Murdo stood and announced proudly to the clan that by William’s effort, they were clear of the crime of the Earl of Dawaerton’s death and that the clan would be welcoming a new member to the family, Emma Marston, as William’s wife.
Now, in the privacy of his father’s study, William told his father what Finley had done and Murdo said that he would deal with the man that night. They began preparing for the wedding, sorting out the castle cleaning, decorations, food and which people from their allied clans to invite. The day waned to the evening when a soldier came knocking.
“Aye?” Murdo asked, “What is it?”
“It’s Finley, Milord,” the man replied grimly. “He took matters in his own hands.”
Sharing a look, William and Murdo got up and went to the keep where they saw Finley, hanging from a rafter with the sheets of the nearby bed twisted into a rope. He had hung himself.
“He took tha’ traitor’s way out,” William said darkly. “Fit fer Judas himself.”
Murdo clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come ye, let's go back to planning yer wedding an’ let God be his judge.
* * *
Three Weeks and a Day later, Clan MacNair’s residence
The day had come…finally. It was the day of her wedding.
A light breeze, deep azure sky, and the slightly warm air of a Highland Scottish summer was a good sign to Emma and her mother as they passed by the swept courtyard. People, all dressed in their celebration best, called out well-wishes as they passed by on ceremonial-dressed horses. Apparently, it was just one of the unique Clan customs the MacNairs had.
When they reached the kirk, Goraidh helped Emma dismount and she was aided up the stair where Uncle Henry stood and took her arm. The interior was a bit dim but her eyes soon adjusted to the light, and her gaze was locked on William who stood immediately at the foot of the altar. As the heir of the Clan, William stood proudly in his red tartan, struck through by green and yellow, the sash of which was secured with a jeweled brooch at his shoulder. She felt a little self-conscious that she would pale beside his magnificence as she was dressed simply—a dark green English-made gown with a sash of the clan’s tartan wrapped around her shoulders and pinned at her shoulder.
The cloth of the gown clung to her curves as she walked towards him. The tiny soft kid slippers, the right one holding a six-piece coin, whispered on the ground. In her hand, she held a bouquet of lilies. William’s eyes held her as she stopped before him. Uncle Henry kissed her cheek and she let go of his arm to place her smaller hand in William’s large one, and he was humbled by the gesture of trust.
When Father Arnott cleared his throat, as one, they turned and the solemn ceremony began. Barely keeping the trembling from her voice, Emma recited her vows and blushed deeply when William kissed her cheek softly before taking her mouth. She could feel him holding back his ardor as they were in company and furthermore, cheers exploded from outside the kirk.
“Finally, ye are mine,” William growled into her ear and a shiver almost sent her to her knees. As the left the chapel, Emma was a bit perplexed to see ten men, all clad in the Clan’s tartan but with swords strapped to their side, in line at either side of the walkway, five to the left and five to the right.
“William?”
“These men are the captains of each regiment of me army. Me men are noo yer men, Emma. Just as they honor me, so will they honor ye,” he whispered. “They will swear on their lives ta’ protect ye as they do me. It has been this way since me great-grandsire made this citadel and sworn the great-grandfathers of these men into his service.”
Grasping her hand, he lifted them up and said loudly, “Me wife, Emma MacNair, is noo a part of me. As you honor me, so will ye honor her.”
He lowered their hands, and Emma watched as the men, starting from the far end, came up in twos and knelt before her, swearing their allegiance. Emma felt humbled as she could see and feel the loyalty in their eyes and voice. When the last guardsmen stood, the watching crowd erupted in cheers and cries of happiness. William took her hand and led her, as his legal wife, into the great hall.
The high table was set with so much food, Emma could barely decipher it all. There were loaves of white and brown bread, roasted pheasant, stewed lamb, fried, baked and roasted fish, and rounds of succulent smelling meat pies. True to William’s word, not a pig’s snout was in sight. She saw candied beets, tarts, pies dusted with sugar or red cherries, some had currants and smelled heavily of cinnamon.
Emma spotted her mother and uncle at a nearby table speaking pleasantly with Murdo and Goraidh. It was all festive and jolly and the scents around her were appetizing but Emma knew she could not stomach one bite of it. She had another, more carnal hunger.
“William,” She said quietly.
With one look, she knew he understood and the fire in his eyes mirrored the one growing in her stomach. He leaned in. “I ken. But’s it's rude ta’ just leave. They all ken we are aching fer the marriage chamber but they want to have to some time with us before we lock ourselves in for days.”
“Days?”
“Yes, Emma…days,” William’s voice had gone husky.
Understanding his point, Emma sat at the table and ate what she could, mostly meat pies and sweet tarts. She distracted herself with conversation and meeting a lot of William’s family, names she knew she would not remember the next day.
A short time later, the hall was cleared of tables, and the dancing began. William did not relinquish her to dance with anyone else save her uncle and Goraidh. When the hall was getting rowdy and they had spent enough time celebrating, William excused them from his father and her mother. Hoots and hollers followed them out of the room but she ignored them.
“Normally,” William said as he took her upstairs, “I’d have a maid settle ye in the chamber but I want to uncover ye, stitch by stitch, meself.”
The bedchamber was large, with a big bed clad in rich fabrics and a thick carpet on the floor. Emma’s anxiety hitched when the door closed but instead of his beginning to disrobe her, he took a bottle of wine and poured her a glass. She drank it slowly, feeling its heady, rich flavor begin to intoxicate her. William put down his glass and she handed him hers.
Threading his hand under her hair, William kissed her softly, pulled back to kiss her deeper this time. He unpinned her brooch, pulled her tartan off and unlaced her gown from the back. Emma rested her hands on his arms as he walked back to the bed and pulled her with him. He sat on the edged and pulled her gown down.
His cupped her breasts, rubbed his thumb over her nipple, teased her nipple with tongue before taking it fully in his mouth and sucked on it. She threaded her fingers through his hair, leaned forward and moaned as her hair spilled out as a curtain over them. She knew the passion his mere touch could ignite in her.
>
She felt him removing her clothes but did not mind when he prodded her to step out of them. Naked, William pulled her onto his lap and was sucking her breast alternately while his hand moved down her side and over her belly, over her thigh and as he knees were over his legs had slid his hand under to her sex and caressed her.
The nub he had sucked on the night in the Inn was being caressed by his thumb while he slipped his fingers along her opening, caressing the very core of her to spur on her wetness before entering one into her. His mouth had moved from her breast to kiss her while Emma began to rock on his finger.
“That’s it, lass,” William whispered while sliding on more inside her. Emma felt her desire spark into a bonfire and she rocked harder. Pleasure was running through her body, doubling back and rebounding on the one before it.
“Calm lass,” William whispered on her wet skin. “Calm or we’ll be done before we get right.”
He eased her off his hands and gently deposited her on their bed. Emma was too mesmerized with William stripping his clothes off to be bashful at her naked state. His body was magnificent, with the line of golden skin, rippling muscled in his arms, stomach, and thighs. She felt heat engulfing her when her eyes lay on his manhood and swallowed tightly.
William crawled on the bed between her legs and laid on her but instantly, he flipped them so she was sitting on him. His hand ran over her thigh and curved over her bottom.
“I ken yer nervous lass,” William’s voice was husky, “So ye tο get to touch me first.” He took her hand and rested them on his chest, “Touch wherever ye please.”
Tentatively, Emma ran her hands down his chest, tracing the rigid muscles of his chest and tracing his stomach. His eyes darkened as she explored him but he did not touch her. Emma felt his manhood curving behind her and blushed.
“So that’s how far that blush goes,” William smirked as his eyes dipped to her breasts.
Feeling brave, Emma leaned down and kissed his nipple, wondering if the same rush his touch gave her would give him and by the deep rumbling groan in his chest she was right. He allowed her to kiss his chest a little more before he grabbed her hands and flipped them over again.
“Me turn,” he said and went to worship every inch of her bared skin. Suckling dark marks into her skin and teasing her flesh but always came back to her breasts, taking her nipple in his mouth again and suckling hard. Again, his hand caressed her bottom, feathering her soft mounds and she could feel his arousal grew in response.
“Emma,” William’s voice had gone guttural as he slipped his fingers back inside her. Emma was wet and her soft moan was spurred him on. Softly grasping her hips, he positioned himself and eased inside her, knowing she had to adjust to his girth. Her nails sank into his back as he moved and then kissed her hard as he shoved in to break her maidenhead.
Thank goodness his lips had been on her as her cry might have sent soldiers running. William swallowed her screams and cries as her body adjusted to him. He broke the kiss to lick a stray tear from her cheek. “Tell me when yer ready, love.”
Emma’s thighs trembled and her breast shivered but the pain petered away and she nodded. Slowly, he began to move and just as slowly her body reacted. When pleasure began to spike and pull her in, her moans got deeper like William’s thrusts. He penetrated her to the depths of her being as one of her hands fisted in the bedclothes in a death grip.
“Emma…” William grunted, “D’ye feel this?”
A mewling gasp was her answer while holding him tight.
“This is me loving ye,” William’s words were thick.
“Love me,” she writhed under him. “Please don't ever stop loving me...” She grounded against him, every fiber of her body chasing a sensation that was caressing her mind but continued to flit out of her grasp. The feelings too intense, too exquisite to be contained. By now, she was panting his name, her eyes dazed with ecstasy.
“Let me hear ye, Emma,” William ordered.
As if on command the fleeting sensation in her mind stopped running and fire raced up her spine. With a cry, Emma came undone under him with white behind her eyes and warmth spreading through her belly. Blinking the stars away she felt William flex inside her and then she realized what the warmth was. It was his seed, his very essence if his being merging with hers.
Panting, William slowly extracted himself and tugged her onto his body, right over his heart. The pounding against his ribcage mirrored hers. Pleasure was still singing in her body and she loved how William kissed along her hairline murmuring sweet words of love to her.
Whispering her love for him, Emma drifted to sleep with the thought. This is what love is…he is love.
The End?
Extended Epilogue
Eager to learn how Emma’s and William’s relationship evolved? Then enjoy this complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple.
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More sexy historical romance
Turn on to the next page to read the first chapters of the Torn Between Two Highlanders, one of my best stories so far!
Torn Between Two Highlanders
About the Book
From the first moment she saw him, she has been dancing with the devil...
When Ellen Holton’s father dies, she faces yet another adversity: for her father to forge the business alliance he always wanted, she must marry the son of a Scottish Laird. But arriving at the Highlands she discovers two brothers and, unfortunately, she falls for the wrong one…
Alexander Golgow, the youngest of Laird Elairon’s sons, is a man of honor and a true Highland warrior. But the moment he first lays his eyes on his brother’s bride, he feels torn between his duty and his heart.
However, trying to escape the luring erotic ropes slowly embracing them is more difficult than they think…
When Ellen realizes her father’s death was not an accident, her life changes for the third time. Now she and Alexander must quickly uncover the one behind all misfortunes—the one person who has been pulling the strings right from the very start.
Chapter 1
“It isn’t fair,” Ellen cried for the tenth time that morning, her voice breaking on the last word.
She was sitting at her dressing table, letting her maid arrange her long dark tresses as she wept openly; her tears dropped down onto her black dress and stained the heavy fabric. She didn’t care; the thing was as ugly as sin and just as uncomfortable. Who had decided that those in mourning should be absent not only their loved ones, but the pleasure of soft fabric and clean lines, as well?
“It will be all right, Madam,” the maid said with conviction, but her words fell on deaf ears.
Nothing will ever be all right again.
She was inconsolable—she had been since three days prior when Charles Braiser, her father’s best friend and business advisor, had come running into the house shouting incomprehensibly about her father and an accident.
But Ellen’s father’s death wasn’t an accident. That much was clear. He had been killed by unknown attackers on his way back from a business trip, his body bruised and bloodied in the streets by men so strong and large that Charles and the accompanying footmen had nary a chance of fighting them off. He hadn’t had a chance of surviving even if he had been able to seek medical attention right away.
Ellen still couldn’t understand it. Who would want to kill her father, the kindest, most generous man she had ever known?
Victor Holton was a king among men, lauded up and down Hertfordshire as a fair, intelligent business man, loyal friend, and amiable neighbor. He had taken care of Ellen all by himself after her mother and sibling passed away, comforting her when he himself was still reeling from the tragedy. That such a pillar of strength and h
ope in her life could be gone so suddenly was still difficult to fathom.
“How can it be? My father is dead. Papa is dead, and I’m now to marry some man I’ve never met. Oh, if only I were a man, Marie! If I were a man, none of this would be happening. I could grieve in peace and quiet, and not have to worry about a trousseau and a new husband to entertain. Everyone would respect my wishes to simply be left alone.”
The maid said nothing. Instead she continued to look sympathetically at Ellen before sticking a few more pins in the tastefully-simple updo she had crafted for her mistress’ hair. Ellen instinctively leaned in to the look in the mirror and but a black shroud was covering the glass. The maids had covered all the looking glasses in the house as soon as Dr. Foster had pronounced her father dead. It was the custom of mourning families, after all, but a morbid one.
Disciplined by the Highlander: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 28
