A Very Highland Holiday

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “Elizabeth,” he warned, the sound of her name already achingly familiar on his lips.

  Elizabeth’s heart beat wildly. The scent of him so close was intoxicating—a combination of sweat, horse and … man. It made her nostrils flare and she inched closer to catch another whiff…

  Holy Christ in heaven above, Callum thought.

  She’s too close—too close!

  Neither did he miss the delicate flare of her nostrils as she inhaled his masculine scent and the not-so subtle way it drew her closer for another sniff. Ach, God, she was his wife now, and despite that he’d sworn not to avail himself of her bountiful gifts, it was all he could do to keep his head. “Elizabeth,” he said hoarsely, as she moved even closer.

  “Callum,” she said, and God help him, that single word was like a balm to his wounded heart. It soothed him in a way that the healer’s efforts never could.

  In fact, at the moment, his greatest ache was not the injury on his shoulder nor the one on his thigh… it was the one in his heart… and the one now throbbing between his legs.

  Helplessly caught in the prison of her eyes, he released his hold on his cock and let it slip, to rise to a full salute. At the feel of it cresting the water, he swallowed convulsively, and though she must have heard the thrashing of water, she didn’t immediately appear to notice.

  He seized her by the wrist, reveling in the feel of his tartan ribbon still bound there. “Elizabeth,” he said again, and the sound was as much a plea as he dared.

  He wanted to command her to leave the room, but, in truth, deep down he sensed that this woman’s affection was exactly what could save him… not only tonight, but for all time.

  As he stood there, basking in the promise of her gaze, he was like a drowning man reaching for a line…

  There needn’t be any words spoken…

  Not now.

  Elizabeth had never been more certain of anything in all her life.

  Gone was the effort of pretense. Her woman’s heart reveled in the feel of his strong hand closed about her wrist. Her nipples pebbled against her gown, fully revealed by the water that had splashed upon her chemise. His gaze was drawn there, as well, and he, too, swallowed, the hunger in his gaze making her feel… empowered.

  “Am I not your wife?” she asked softly, sensually, sensing the moment could turn as he attempted to compose himself.

  “You are.”

  “Then make it so, in truth.”

  He swallowed again, visibly, the apple in his throat bobbing. “Art certain?”

  Elizabeth nodded with certainty, and then, if she had second thoughts they fled as he drew her into the tub, soaking her chemise to the flesh. She gasped in surprise, hardly having anticipated this—not quite this. He sat as he embraced her, cradling her in his arms as his lips unerringly found her mouth. Hungrily, they explored her, suckling and lapping in turn, coaxing her to open for him…

  Suddenly famished for something more than food, Callum held his wife close, reveling in the feel of her in his arms.

  She stiffened, though only for a moment, as she settled over his lap, no doubt feeling the heat of his manhood rising to seek her mons—silky, sweet and wet.

  He groaned with desire, the sound no longer tortured but ravenous. Her body was like a bounty laid before a wasting man, and he was not strong enough to deny her.

  “Elizabeth,” he said, once more, if only because honor compelled him. “If we do this now, there will be no turning back. You’ll be my wife, in truth.”

  She smiled mischievously, and he wondered why. Was she already deflowered? Had she come to him with another man’s seed in her womb? It wasn’t unheard of and she was far too bold to be a virgin, but still…

  His hand found and sought the lips he craved. Without warning, he slid a finger between her slick folds, and then once inside, he found the barrier he sought, and stopped, only slightly surprised. She was a virgin—a virgin with intelligence and passion. He could see the fire burning in her beautiful blue eyes… undisguised desire with an unbridled honesty to reveal it.

  What was more, she knew, as he knew, that a willing consummation of this union meant they would be bound hereafter… so be it.

  She moaned softly as his finger continued to explore, and, finally, she sagged into his arms as Callum deepened his kiss, mimicking with his tongue the rhythm he longed to show her elsewhere, knowing in his heart that she was everything he needed.

  If, in fact, he’d lost his faith, this woman would restore it—no doubt she had already done so, judging by the lift of his spirit.

  He didn’t know if the water would make her first time easier, but he was so hard he didn’t want to wait. And besides, when they were through, he would bathe her himself, reveal and worship every inch of her body…

  Chapter Ten

  This wasn’t precisely how Elizabeth thought it might go—never had she imagined he would take her right here in the tub. And yet, there was nothing about their union that felt wrong. Somehow, every touch of his hands on her body felt oh, so right. When he found her most private place, and boldly touched her woman’s flower, she sagged against him, reveling in the hardness she encountered beneath her, and greedy in a way she had never anticipated. Her body seemed to have a hunger and will of its own, instinctively knowing what it should seek…

  She repositioned herself fully over his searing erection, thrilling over the feel of it as it also seemed to find a life of its own, slipping and seeking between them until it found the hollow it sought, nestling itself hotly between her thighs.

  “Ye’re mine,” he said, as though he couldn’t believe it. “Mine, mine, mine…”

  And then his arms enfolded her greedily, his hands pulling and tugging at her wet chemise, only to give up when he found it irrevocably stuck to her flesh—all the more so with every pass of his soaking hands. The flimsy material melded against Elizabeth’s skin.

  His gaze clouding with passion, he abandoned the garment, and so did she as his hands fell to both sides of her hips, lifting her ever so gently in order to settle her more conveniently over his arousal, and then, she gasped with new delight at the feel of his shaft pressing slowly, but firmly into her body… claiming her once and for all. Her heart hammered against her ribs in anticipation, and she knew the instant he encountered her maidenhead. Only when it seemed he might hesitate, she wouldn’t allow it. She sank down over him, taking him fully into her body, crying out over the thickness of him inside her.

  “Oh, my!” she said, and he grinned.

  “Ach, lass, I’ll have my hands full with you.”

  Elizabeth smiled because, indeed, he would.

  Indeed, he would.

  His fingers dug into her waist, clutching her desperately as he rocked against her, until she thought she would die with pleasure.

  Oh, my…

  This wasn’t at all like Mrs. Grace had warned.

  She had thought there must be pain, but no, indeed, there was none. There was only pleasure so intense she thought she might weep.

  She adored the way his broad chest felt beneath her palms, loved the way his body melted into her own, loved the way he was looking at her right now…

  They moved together in the tub, slowly at first, dancing a primal dance, hands exploring, mouths entwined, tongues exploring…

  God’s truth, this was not how Callum had anticipated the holiday might go. It was hardly the way he’d anticipated returning home—with a new wife en tow. And yet, suddenly, in that instant, he knew in his heart that everything would be all right…

  I would be a good year, indeed.

  He vowed to honor his pledge—to give this woman no reason to leave him, ever, because he suddenly, without any doubt understood that without her he couldn’t be whole.

  It had been so long since he’d lain with a woman that he came too quickly, giving her his seed, and then, because he knew instinctively that she didn’t understand what had happened, he rose from the tub lifting up his beautiful wif
e to carry her to the bed.

  Once there, he made love to her, still hard as stone though he shouldn’t be, and he was stunned to discover that, even as he stroked and teased her to fruition, he hardened again. And this time, when he felt her body shudder with release, he covered her mouth with his own, greedy for the taste of her, and jealous enough not to want anyone else to overhear her cries of pleasure.

  “Oh, my,” she said again, breathlessly, and he grinned down at her, reluctant to separate even still. He couldn’t stop, not yet, still sensitive with pleasure though he lifted himself enough so he could fill his eyes with her beauty. And when she smiled at him, her eyes so full of promise he came once more, the culmination so intensely pleasurable that he lifted his head back and stifled a primal howl.

  Outside the chamber, all throughout the scullery and tavern, voices rose with huzzahs and shouts of “slàinte mhath!” It took Callum a full moment to realize they weren’t shouting hallelujahs for him… The clock must have struck twelve.

  The first day of Hogmanay.

  The first day of the rest of his life.

  “Happy New Year, missus MacKinnon,” he said with a grin.

  “Happy New Year,” she cooed.

  Epilogue

  One year later…

  Callum MacKinnon cornered his wife at the top of the stairs, sweeping her into an embrace to keep her from going down to corral the children—not their own as yet, though he longed to hold a wee one in his arms, a sweet little girl, like her mother… with darling little freckles on her nose, a mischievous little grin more like his own, and an irrefutable sass she would come by honestly through both her parents.

  “Callum,” she protested. “First footing will be upon soon… there’s still so much so do.” He loved that she was developing the barest hint of a brogue.

  Together a full year this Hogmanay, he wanted to celebrate a wee moment just the two of them. Alice, their housemaid, along with Mrs. Grace to supervise her, was already well on the way to supplying the entire village with black buns. All he wanted from his lovely wife was two minutes alone to reveal his gift for her—his mother’s wedding band, hers to keep as the lady of Dunmore. “The neighbors can wait,” he said silkily, dragging her back into his arms when she tried to flee. “I’ve something tae give you, my beautiful wife.”

  Her brows lifted, her attention piqued. They were still in the process of rebuilding Dunmore and their funds were tight as ticks on a dog in winter.

  “A gift?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “Aye, but dinna be so surprised, mo chroí.” The use of his Gaelic tongue still wasn’t entirely safe, but he had nothing to hide from his wife. “First I should ask… do ye mean to leave?”

  Her brows drew together in confusion. “Leave?”

  “Me,” he said, hitching his chin at her wrist, at the slip of ribbon she still wore hidden beneath her sleeve, knowing the answer before she gave it.

  She squeezed him lovingly, lifting herself up on tippy toes to press her warm lips against his. “No, I’m afraid not, my love; you’re stuck with me.”

  “Ach, then,” he said, with feigned disappointment. “In that case…” He fished a small box out of his pocket to hand it to her.

  With blooming cheeks and wide blue eyes she accepted it, making short work of the ribbons, opening it to reveal a simple braided band—a silver ring that had been in his family’s possession since his ancestor, Iain MacKinnon had it fashioned for his wife to present to her on her sixtieth birthday.

  “Oh, my… it’s beautiful,” she said, fingering the ring, with its delicate etchings—fine Celtic knots. And then she slid the ring on her finger, and lifted her hand to better inspect it.

  “It belonged to my mother,” explained Callum. “And her mother before her. I wanted ye to have it.”

  “Thank you,” she said, looking up at him with such love that it squeezed at his heart. “I—”

  Something exploded, and there was an inexplicable clatter belowstairs in the general vicinity of the drawing room. Nothing good, Callum thought as he released his wife, and ran down the stairs to find what had transpired.

  Elizabeth arrived only seconds behind him.

  Lachlan and Rory stood facing the door, with their backs to a smoking hearth. Their faces were blackened with soot, only their wide eyes visible through smoke and ash.

  The acrid scent of chemicals wafted from the room.

  Elizabeth blinked, staring aghast at the boys—the young man she’d very nearly wed, and thanked God every day she had not. At Sixteen, Lachlan MacKinnon was no more a man than he was on the day they’d met. All four MacKinnon boys were present and staring at their eldest brother. “It was Lachlan’s fault,” claimed twelve-year old Rory.

  “We wanted the fire tae be blue,” explained five-year old Ailbert, with such a sober look that Elizabeth wanted to laugh.

  And Fergus, at nine, had little to say. He simply pointed at Lachlan, and, Elizabeth couldn’t help it. Although she was grateful that Maggie was in the kitchen with Alice, most likely poking at black buns, she did stifle a laugh.

  “All o’ ye, out!” demanded Callum. “Get yourselves clean!”

  He needn’t have said it twice. Like rats, the younger boys fled all together, the only answering sound the patter of their feet as they rushed into the hall, and rumbled up the stairs.

  Only Lachlan sauntered by slowly, casting a glinting glance at Elizabeth, and giving her a conspiratorial wink before turning to his brother to say, “I’m sorry, Callum. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Nay ye werena’,” agreed Callum. “What do ye think Isobel Percy might say if I told her what ye did here today?”

  He shrugged. “I think she would laugh.”

  Callum smacked his brother on the back of the head as he passed by. “Aye, well, I can well assure ye her Da wadna, and if ye e’er hope to ask for the girl’s hand, ye’d better be thinking twice before ye lead your brothers astray.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Lachlan, with a sheepish grin, and Elizabeth patted him gently on the shoulder as he passed, and said, still smiling, “There’s a clean set of clothes on your bed, Lachlan. Isobel and her parents should be here soon. Go wash yourself quick.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he said, with a fond smile.

  Once Lachlan was gone, Elizabeth embraced her husband, squeezing him tight. And then she lifted her ring finger again, and whispered for his ears alone, “Remind me to thank you properly once our guests have come and gone.”

  “Ach, lass,” he said. “That’s a promise that requires a toast.” And with that, he lifted his wife up to sip from the delicate cup of her mouth, drinking deeply of her love.

  * THE END *

  Are you hoping this isn’t the end? Stay tuned for a brand new historical romance series. To make sure you don’t miss any news, please join my newsletter.

  About Tanya Anne Crosby

  Tanya Anne Crosby is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty novels. She has been featured in magazines, such as People, Romantic Times and Publisher’s Weekly, and her books have been translated into eight languages. Her first novel was published in 1992 by Avon Books, where Tanya was hailed as “one of Avon’s fastest rising stars.” Her fourth book was chosen to launch the company’s Avon Romantic Treasure imprint.

  Known for stories charged with emotion and humor and filled with flawed characters Tanya is an award-winning author, journalist, and editor, and her novels have garnered reader praise and glowing critical reviews. She and her writer husband split their time between Charleston, SC, where she was raised, and northern Michigan, where the couple make their home.

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  The Legend of a Rogue

  By Darcy Burke

  Part of A Very Highland Holiday Collection

  The Legend of
a Rogue

  Copyright © 2020 by Darcy Burke

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  The Legend of a Rogue

  When Tavish Crawford learns treasure hunter Elspeth Marshall is on the trail of his family’s missing legacy, he swears to prevent her at any cost. As nefarious forces threaten them both, he realizes he must not only protect the mystical sword, but the woman who has stolen his heart.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The thirteen treasures of Britain are mythical objects that appear in various legends. They have been used in countless stories and in many ways (Harry Potter’s Deathly Hallows are somewhat based on them). I adapted them for the Legendary Rogues series and added the Heart of Llanllwch for purely narrative purposes. Llan Dhearg is also my creation but Rhydderch Hael and his son Constantine are historical figures, and they lived in the kingdom of Alt Clut or Strathclyde. Dumbarton, where Tavish lives, was the medieval capital of this region.

  To read what happens with Llan Dhearg’s twin, Dyrnwyn, don’t miss Romancing the Earl.

  Prologue

  Lammas Fair, August 1744

  Dunkeld, Scotland