The Highland Laird

by Amy Jarecki

  “And me.” She drew his fingers to her lips and kissed him back. “And Albert.”

  Ciar glanced over his shoulder. “Speaking of the dog, where is he?”

  “I left him in my chamber. I didn’t want to risk having him bark or do something silly like go for a swim in the river and chase ducks. He’d alert everyone in the shire, much less Moriston Hall.”

  “And Betty?”

  “She’s waiting outside.”

  Ciar draped his arm across Emma’s shoulders and nibbled her neck. “Then thank the stars I didn’t act on my desires and ravish you as soon as you stepped inside the bower.”

  She arched her back with a quiet giggle. “I’m not certain I agree. After all, this is a place of magic.”

  “Is it now?” he teased, moving his kisses to her earlobe.

  “So said my great grandmama. She insisted the water in the pool at the bottom of the falls made women fertile. And she ought to know, because she birthed eleven children.”

  “Eleven?”

  “All healthy bairns, I might add.”

  “Well, I do not think you and I will need magical water. Once we are wed, we will make magic of our own.”

  “The vicar has agreed to our wedding date. Has anyone told you?”

  “Me?” Ciar smoothed his fingers down her enchantingly straight spine. Unbelievable. Robert hadn’t managed to send word. “Who am I?”

  She nudged him with her elbow. “The most important man, I’ll say. At the Invermoriston church ten o’clock on Monday, October first.”

  “Must we wait that long?”

  “We must if we want Robert to speak to us again. Otherwise, we can elope this very night.”

  He brushed aside the auburn tresses and kissed her in the tingly spot at her jawline. “The idea has its merits.”

  “Miss Emma,” Betty called from the archway. “’Tis time we start heading back, else you will be missed.”

  Emma groaned. “Already?”

  Ciar pulled her to her feet. “Time will pass quickly enough. Put your posy in water, and every time you see it, think of me.”

  Only she would understand what he meant. She visualized everything through touch and saw so much more than everyone else.

  After kissing his love goodbye, Ciar waited for a time, though the bower turned hollow and lonely without her.

  Until Grant stepped inside. “Sneaking around my back, are you, Dunollie?”

  Ciar’s gut clenched. He didn’t want a fight, but if it came to blows, he’d bloody well ensure he’d be the victor no matter what. “It seems the date for my wedding has been set, though you did not see fit to send me word.”

  Robert relaxed his stance. “Ah, yes, my mistake. I should have sent a messenger this morn.”

  Ciar dropped his hands to his sides. Grant admitted an error? Perhaps they might call a truce. “Forgive me for breaking your rules, but when I receive a summons from the woman I love, it is not in my nature to ignore her.”

  Grant paced toward the brazier, clasping his hands behind his back. “My sister can be quite determined when she sets her mind on something.”

  It wasn’t difficult to agree. “Perhaps that’s why she’s such a brilliant harpist.”

  “And lock picker.”

  “And dog trainer.”

  Grant crossed the floor and clapped him on the back. “She’s quite accomplished at knitting as well.”

  Ciar threw back his head and laughed. “Good God, ’tis nice to see your sense of humor return.”

  Pulling a flask from his sporran, Robert handed it over. “You truly love her, do you not?”

  “More than anything on this earth. I think I always have,” Ciar said before he took a swig and gave the flask back to his friend. “What changed your mind?”

  “Aside from a wallop up the side of the head from my wife, I overheard some of your conversation.”

  Thank God the pair of them hadn’t gone down to the pool and tried to prove Great Grandmama’s magic. “Some?”

  “Most.” Grant’s shoulder ticked up. “I told Betty not to make my presence known.”

  “Did she inform you about the meeting?”

  “Nay, my guardsmen saw you slip into the wood—not long before Emma rushed through her nooning and practically ran out of the house. It didn’t take a bloodhound to figure out what the pair of you were up to.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Janet took Emma’s hands. “Oh, my! You are the most radiant bride I’ve ever seen in all my days.”

  “You’re not just saying so to whisk away my jitters?”

  Betty pushed in a hairpin. “Och, you were right about choosing yellow.”

  “Allow me to paint a picture.” Janet smoothed the taffeta over Emma’s palm. “First of all, your gown looks as warm as sunshine on a summer’s day. The snug-fitting silk bodice topped by lace is lovelier than a daffodil. And I would be remiss if I didn’t say the swells of creamy skin peeking above are enough to bring any rugged Highlander to his knees.”

  Emma clapped a hand atop her breasts. “Is it too much?”

  “Just enough,” said Betty. “And mind you, the corn marigolds and daisies I’ve woven into your hair make you look bonnier than a fairy.”

  Tapping her fingers about her tresses, Emma inclined her ear to her lady’s maid. “You’ve seen many fairies, have you?”

  “I’ve heard enough stories about them to ken what they look like.”

  On a sigh, Emma pressed her hands against her nervous stomach. “You are both very kind, but all I care about is whether Ciar likes it.”

  Janet hummed. “If I know men, he’ll be so enraptured with you, he’ll hardly notice the gown.”

  “After all our work?” asked Betty. “He’d best notice it.”

  “He will, especially the flowers.” The posy was still in a vase on the mantle. “Ciar loves corn marigolds and daisies.”

  Janet laughed. “And foxglove, I hear.”

  “Ahem.” Robert cleared his throat as he opened the door. “Your trunks are loaded and will be waiting. Dunollie has sent a coach as promised.”

  The hummingbirds in Emma’s stomach multiplied by three. “Already?”

  “Would you like more time?” he asked.

  “Nay.” She took Betty’s hand and stood. “And you’ve packed my harps?”

  “Just as you asked.” Her brother’s pocket watch clicked. “’Tis time.”

  “I only wish you were staying for a few days. I would have liked to have a grand feast,” said Janet.

  Robert’s heels clicked the floor. “Aye, but Dunollie has something grander planned.”

  Janet had invited Ciar for the evening meal a few nights ago, where he’d announced that they must leave directly after the ceremony with haste. Emma had been brimming with excitement to find out what he had devised, but he would not reveal it even to her.

  Once they were in the coach, Emma’s nerves didn’t ease. She was very familiar with the ride to the church, but today every bump in the road made it feel as if soap bubbles were levitating and popping inside her.

  As the coach rolled to a stop, she gripped the bouquet of wildflowers she’d picked with Betty yesterday. “Is this really happening?”

  From across the coach, Robert patted her hand. “Aye, lass. Are you anxious?”

  “A little, but I shouldn’t be.”

  Janet tweaked one of Emma’s curls. “Every bride is nervous on her wedding day. But not to worry, I’ve known Ciar MacDougall all my life and, though he may be a bull of a man, he’ll always be gentle with you.”

  “And if he’s not, I’ll bury him,” Robert growled. It always took so little to rile him.

  Emma brushed her finger over a daisy. “I have no doubts about the groom. I just hope I’m truly the woman for him.”

  Once they stepped into the vestibule, everything passed in a blur. Janet fussed over Emma’s dress while Robert explained the process of giving her away, even though they’d practiced it with the min
ister last eve—though Ciar hadn’t been present. Her brother didn’t feel the groom ought to see his bride the day before the wedding. “I allowed my wife to invite him for a meal, and that was quite enough,” he had insisted.

  “Is he here?” Emma asked as they started down the aisle to the rolling notes from the organ.

  “Aye,” Robert whispered in her ear. “He’s standing up front with a daft grin on his craggy face.”

  “How can you say such a thing about my betrothed?”

  “Forgive me.” Robert cleared his throat, patting her arm. “I’ve never seen him look happier.”

  “That’s better.”

  When they stopped, Emma pictured everything in her mind’s eye. The vicar stood before them, and she felt Ciar’s aura beside her. Bathed in a wash of his spicy scent, warmth radiated from him as he filled the nave with his powerful presence.

  “Who gives this woman in holy matrimony?”

  Emma held her breath, praying Robert wouldn’t say anything rash.

  But her brother took her hands and shifted them toward Ciar. “I do.”

  If the priest continued from there, Emma didn’t hear him. She stood facing the man she loved. She slid her fingers up his velvet doublet and brushed them over the plaid and brooch at his shoulder. The fabric was crisp and new. His cravat was made of the finest linen and tied in a perfect knot with lace fringing the two ends.

  Moving upward, she found his smile, smooth, freshly shaven cheeks, and thick hair curling down to his shoulders.

  “You are beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Nay half as bonny as the bride.” His breath lightly swept across her forehead. “Och, the wee flowers are perfect.”

  “May we now begin?” asked the vicar.

  Emma’s face grew hot. He’d been waiting? She should have known. After all, the man had baptized her.

  The vicar recited the service efficiently, though it was unbearably difficult to pay attention. There she stood before God and her kin pledging eternal love for Ciar MacDougall, chieftain of Dunollie, the only man she had ever and would ever love from the depths of her soul. It was difficult to believe that merely two months ago she had been content with spinsterhood. Because of her blindness she had been afraid to venture anywhere outside of Glenmoriston.

  So much had transpired since then, and now she was embarking on a new adventure—willfully going to a home where she had never been.

  But Emma could do anything with Ciar at her side.

  Now she harbored no fear of learning to negotiate a new home. A place where she would be Lady Dunollie, wife of the most fearsome chieftain in the Highlands. And she could hardly wait to begin.

  Together they recited their vows, and when the vicar called for the ring, Ciar took her hand and circled a stone in her palm. “This was worn by my mother and my grandmother, and by generations of Dunollie women. With this ring I thee wed.”

  Emma felt as if she were floating on a cloud as he slipped it onto her finger and kissed her hand.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” said the vicar.

  Each moment growing more ethereal than the next, she smiled at her husband.

  Husband?

  Now she was definitely floating. “We’re married?”

  Ciar pulled her into his warm, soothing, and wonderful embrace, pressing his lips against her forehead. “Aye, lass. You will be mine for the rest of our lives.”

  The crowd around them faded into oblivion. “And you mine.”

  * * *

  After they’d shared a glass of oak-aged sherry, Ciar was only too happy to usher his bride toward the waiting coach.

  “Write to us as soon as you arrive at your new home!” Janet called.

  Robert stopped his sister and pulled her into his arms. “Och, I’ll miss you, lass.”

  “Ye ken I’ll miss you as well.”

  He kissed her and released her, shifting his gaze to Ciar. “Bring her back to visit often.”

  Ciar took his friend’s hand and gave it a sincere shake. “I will, but after the bairn is born, I hope you’ll see fit to venture to Dunollie. I’ll teach the lad how to sail.”

  Emma clapped a hand to her chest and gasped. “Who told you?”

  Janet looked every bit as shocked, but she rested her hand on her tummy as she had been doing of late.

  “Och, it did not take a seer to figure it out.” He bowed and kissed her fingers. “God’s speed, m’lady.”

  Turning his attention to Emma, he helped his wife into the waiting coach and scooted Albert off the velvet bench.

  Emma took his place and patted her knee. The dog was all too happy to rest his head there and receive a pet. “Are you ready for a new adventure, laddie?”

  Ciar smoothed his palm around her shoulders. “A new adventure. I like the sound of that.”

  The coach rocked as it started away. “Ye ken I trust you implicitly, but will you tell me where you’re taking me?”

  “Well.” He kissed her lips, then nibbled along her jaw to the tune of her delightful giggles. “I wanted our first days together as man and wife to be unforgettable.”

  Her shoulders shimmed as he licked the blue vein running down her neck. “I’ll never forget.”

  “Nay, because I’ve an armada of fourteen ships waiting out at the mouth of the River Ness.”

  She gasped. “Fourteen ships?”

  “Aye, and we’ll be sailing in luxury, staying in the captain’s cabin of my new cutter.”

  “A tall ship?”

  “Mm hmm.” He kissed her rosy cheek. “We’ll sail around the southern point of Britain and up the west coast until we reach the Firth of Mull.”

  “I ken where that is—and we’ll sail past Gylen Castle and the isle of Kerrera.”

  “Indeed, though we’ll not stop until we’re moored at the estuary beneath Dunollie.”

  “Is Betty sailing?”

  “Aye, she’ll be with us.”

  “And Albert.”

  The dog’s tail wagged at the sound of his name.

  Chuckling, he pulled her onto his lap. “Of course Albert.”

  Ciar supported her back with his left hand while he cupped her cheek, admiring the delicate lines of her lips. “I love you,” he whispered right before he lowered his mouth to hers. Closing his eyes, he savored her taste. As he sealed their lips together, he seduced her with hot glides of his tongue while slowly inching up the hem of her yellow gown.

  She stilled his wrist. “Ciar, no.”

  “No?” he asked, moving his mouth to the luscious tops of her breasts—tempting, creamy flesh that had beguiled him throughout the ceremony. Sliding his fingers past her garters, he found a gloriously silken thigh. “Mayhap just a wee sample of what’s to come.”

  “But we’re in a coach.”

  He slipped his hand just a wee bit higher, high enough to make her blood thrum. “Aye—enclosed inside where nary a soul can see us.”

  “No one?” she asked, a grin spreading across her lips.

  He coaxed her legs open, sliding his hand up until he lightly brushed downy curls. “Only Albert.”

  Emma arched into him, a hint of her nipple showing from her scooped neckline. With a sweep of his tongue it slipped free of the silk and lace, and he teased it while his finger slid into the warm, wet folds beneath her skirts.

  She placed her palm on his chest and moved it downward, until she touched the tip of his cock, hard and wedged beneath the soft curve of her hip.

  He moved his finger along her parting, making her head drop back with a rapturous gasp. “Let me pleasure you, my love.”

  She lightly brushed her fingers, making his balls tighten. “Just me?”

  “Not to worry,” he whispered, moving his mouth up to her lobe. “My pleasure will come later.”

  “Mm. And I will see to it,” she said, reclining her head and moving her hips with the gentle caressing of his finger. As her passion mounted, he slid inside and worked faster, using his thumb to tantalize her. A
nd when her mewls grew louder he covered her lips with his, relentlessly stroking her, until he muffled the elated cries of her peak with his mouth.

  Panting, she brushed her hand over his hair. “I love you, Ciar MacDougall.”

  “And I you,” he said, as he slowly slid his hand away and straightened her skirts.

  “We’ve hit the cobblestones of Inverness. It won’t be long now before we arrive at the wharf.”

  Emma patted her hair. “I must look a fright. Have I smashed my flowers?”

  He examined the lovely daisies and cornflowers inserted among the curling pile of red tresses and pulled out one with crushed petals and tossed it out the window. “I must say your coiffure withstood my attack quite well.”

  “I would refer to it as no more than a surprise.”

  He tugged up her bodice to ensure all returned to its proper place. “A pleasant one, I hope.”

  She nuzzled into his neck. “Delicious. Delightful. Dizzying.”

  As the coach rolled to a halt, Emma clasped his hand between hers. “I cannot believe I shall have two adventures in my lifetime.”

  “I believe the bounds on such things are without limits.” He took her hand as the footman opened the door. “Let the rest of our lives be an endless adventure.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Woooooooah!” Emma cried as she clung to the ropes of a gamming chair. She’d been on a swing before, but this one made her stomach fly to her throat as the crew winched her aboard Ciar’s ship, the Flying Ceilidh.

  Up, up she went while the sea slapped against the hull of the boat.

  “You’re doing well,” Ciar called from the skiff below, which had ferried them out to where the ship moored.

  “Swing the boom!” Livingstone hollered.

  As the timbers creaked, Emma’s trajectory suddenly shifted sideways. “There you are, my lady,” said Ciar’s man-at-arms, right before the chair abruptly stopped swinging.

  Emma didn’t realize he was talking to her until he took her hand. Goodness, she was now a real lady. “My heavens, that took my breath away.”