Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe Book 3) (36 page)

“I will snap,” she promised.

“We cannot have that,” he replied. “A bride should never snap at those celebrating her happiness.” The grin faded. “You are happy, are you not?”

“Aye, Duncan.” She cupped his cheek in her palm to the accompaniment of several happy female sighs from those sitting near them. “I am happier than I ever hoped to be. I still cannot believe that you love me after everything I have—”

He kissed her again, this time with care, as if it were another vow he made to her. “I have always loved you.”

“I think I should like you to prove your love.” She tried to keep the teasing out of her voice but was not successful.

“And I know I should like you to prove yours,” he said, taking her hand that still rested against his face and placing a soft kiss in her palm.

“So we are agreed? ’Tis time to slip away from the celebration?”

“There will be no slipping away, you two,” Peigi said.

They looked up to find the old woman standing behind them, her gnarled hands on her hips.

“’Tis not right to deprive the clan of their fun,” she said, a rosy hue in her cheeks and a twinkle in her eyes.

Scotia rolled her eyes at the old woman and was rewarded with her wheezy cackle. Duncan drew Scotia up from their seat of honor on one of the logs by the cookfire, and everyone else went silent, all eyes on the two of them. Scotia was suddenly struck dumb by the genuine happiness she saw on every face directed at the two of them . . . not just at Duncan . . . and for the first time in a very long time she felt a beloved part of the clan.

“My bride is tired,” Duncan said. Snorts and ribald retorts rattled through the crowd. “We shall take our leave—”

Kenneth stood, storm clouds in his eyes.

“Da,” Scotia said, “I am wed now, and Duncan has always taken care of me.”

“We will not leave the glen,” Duncan said, “but we may not return here for a few days.”

“Only a few days?” she teased, rousing the crowd to even louder retorts.

“Get ye away, lad!” Uilliam’s voice rose over the others. “I dinna ken how much more of this Kenneth can take!” And then the jokes and whoops shifted to her da.

“’Tis time,” she said to her husband, pulling him out of the clearing and into the forest.

S
COTIA LET
D
UNCAN
lead her quickly away from the gathering to a small cave far enough away to give them privacy. Without words he drew her into his arms and kissed her, slowly, gently, as if he thought she might break. But that was not what
she wanted. She tilted her head, threaded her fingers into his soft hair, and took control, her kiss turning greedy and demanding. He hesitated only a moment, then met her kiss for kiss, his hands roaming everywhere, pulling her tight against him. She fumbled with the broach that held his plaid at his shoulder, then went for his belt, dropping it and the plaid to the ground.

“’Tis not fair that you wear more than I,” he whispered against her throat where he kissed and nipped and nuzzled. Her laces were undone before he stopped speaking. He pushed her gown down her arms to puddle at her feet, leaving her only in her kirtle, while he still wore his tunic. She stepped back, missing the heat of him, but wanting, needing to see her husband. She pulled the string at her neckline and let the kirtle slide off.

The look of hunger in Duncan’s eyes made her smile. When he pulled his tunic over his head, her breath caught. Dark hair spread over his chest, narrowing down his stomach until . . .

He reached for her hand and pulled her a little deeper into the cave and down onto a pallet that she had not noticed. They were both breathing hard, and she found herself suddenly focused completely on the intensity of Duncan’s stare, as if he could see nothing but her. He pressed her back and settled himself over her. The feel of his chest grazing her breasts with every gasping breath they took nearly overwhelmed her senses, leaving her exquisitely aware of every touch, every breath that feathered over her face, and the look of desire, and more, that filled his eyes. All at once Duncan groaned, though she had done nothing to hurt him, and covered her mouth with his greedy, urgent kiss.

Everything disappeared in Scotia’s mind as her attention was overwhelmed by the feel of his lips against hers, the way his tongue swept into her mouth, tangling with her own, the way his fingers twined with hers, grasping her hands as if he could not bear to let them go, and the way his desire pressed against her belly, telling her more about his need of her than any words might.

And her own need answered his.

Rational thought fled, and sensation was all she knew. He rolled, settling her next to him, as he ran his hand down her arm, over her hip and waist, and up to cup her aching breast, all the while feasting on her lips. She reached down, running her own hand over his thigh, reaching around to cup his buttock, urging him closer to her, closer to her core, to her need. She moved her hand between them and trailed her fingers lightly up his length before she took him in her grip and began tormenting him with excruciatingly slow strokes. She hooked a leg over his hip, pressing him even closer with it. Need burned through her until she could think of nothing but Duncan, and the need to join completely with him.

And then he slid his hand between them, until he found the wetness between her legs and pressed a finger into her depths, drawing a groan of pleasure from both of them.

D
UNCAN FOUGHT THE
need screaming through him to complete the joining immediately. Instead he slowed his breath and slowly pulled his finger out of her slick folds, then even more slowly pressed it back inside her, again and again, achingly slow, until she was begging him with the undulations of her hips and the quick gasps of her breath to hurry his movements, to hurry her pleasure. But he did not. He reveled in the power he had to make her lose herself to the sensations he was creating within her body.

“You must cease tormenting me, Duncan.” Desire made her voice smoky and low, thickly caressing him with the promise of pleasure, with the promise of . . .

“Now, Duncan. Come to me now.”

He settled between her thighs, and then he stilled. “I love you, Scotia,” he said, waiting for her to meet his gaze so she could see the depth and the truth of his words.

She cupped his cheek in her hand, as she had earlier. “And I love you, Duncan.”

He held her gaze as he slowly buried himself within her. As he began to move within her she arched to meet him, urging him on with her hips, her hands, the sounds of pleasure that escaped her full lips.

The joining was not gentle, but then she did not seem to want it that way. She met him thrust for thrust, keening her pleasure, pulling him hard against her, into her, harder, faster, until they both leapt, their voices joining in the moment as their bodies pulsed against each other, complete and one at long last.

EPILOGUE

One year later . . .

D
UNCAN STATIONED HIMSELF
on the wall walk as he did every morning, keeping watch over the three Guardians as they stood at a small round table near the well in the bailey below—auburn, pale yellow, and his own Scotia’s raven-black heads bent over their work.

It had been a year since Duncan and Scotia had wed, and still he marveled at the woman he had married. She remained an imp at times, teasing him, and stirring up trouble here and there, but she did so with purpose, redirecting the squabbles of weans and the arguments of adults. She did so to bring a smile to the faces of her clan as she had when she was a lassie, and she did so to gain his attention, though that was not necessary. She was the center of his world, as she always had been.

Of course just this morning she had teased him that his love would have to be shared when their bairn was born in the early spring, but he knew in that moment his love would only multiply, if such a thing were possible.

“You are hopeless,” Malcolm said as he joined Duncan, standing next to him, but his attention fixed on the Guardians below.

“Hopeless?”

“Every single morn you stand here gazing down upon your wife like a besotted lad.”

Duncan shrugged. “’Tis true, I am besotted, but you are no better at hiding your feelings for your ‘angel.’”

“And why should I hide them?” Malcolm grinned at Duncan. “Who could have known that being abandoned in battle by my kin and nearly losing the use of my sword hand would turn out to be what brought me to my destiny, to Jeanette?”

Nicholas joined them then, fresh from his morning inspection of the newly completed north section of the curtain wall. Bryn of Beaumaris had stayed with them after the defeat of the English force, preferring to build things for the MacAlpins rather than killing for the English. His skill had created a strong new wall for the clan, and now he was directing the building of a new great hall. This one would be larger than the last, the walls made of stone this time.

Malcolm and Duncan nodded at their chief, the three of them leaning against the wall as they watched in silence, as they did every morn, while the Guardians prepared to strengthen the Highland Targe, as
they
did every morn.

Rowan took a moment to settle her new bairn—Lilias, after the Guardian’s mum—in the sling of plaid that Scotia had fashioned as a birthing gift for her. Jeanette arched her back and ran a hand over her huge belly. Her bairn, a lassie who would be named Elspet, as was revealed to the pale-haired Guardian in a vision, would be born any time now. ’Twas why they worked at a table instead of on the ground as they used to. Rowan had the table built when she was with child and could no longer sit upon the ground, nor rise from it without help.

Nicholas yawned, wide and not quietly.

Malcolm looked at their chief, his mouth cocked in a half grin as if he tried to suppress it but failed.

“How does the wee Lilias fare this morn?” Duncan asked Nicholas.

“She fares better than her mum and me,” he replied. “She has a strong set of lungs, that one, and she uses them with gusto
when she is hungry.” He sighed. “Peigi says it may be a full year before she sleeps through the night.” He shook his head, but the soft smile on his face betrayed the way the tiny girl had already burrowed into the man’s heart.

As the Guardians began what Duncan thought of as the dance-of-hands that was part of the Highland Targe blessing, Malcolm nudged him with his shoulder. “Jeanette says you will have a son.”

“She says what?” Nicholas asked, his attention suddenly on the two Protectors at his side.

“Scotia said she had told no one but me—” And then the rest of Malcolm’s words sank in. “A son? Jeanette had a vision?”

“There are no secrets from my wife, Dunc,” Malcolm said, slapping Duncan hard on the back on one side as Nicholas did on the other. “You should ken that well by now.”

“’Twill be good to have a laddie to keep the lassies in check,” Nicholas said with a grin on his face.

“If the lassies are anything like their parents,” Duncan said, “there is no hope of keeping any of them in check.”

“Especially if the laddie takes after his mum!” Malcolm said with a waggle of his tawny brows. “If he does he’ll be leading our lassies into trouble by the time he can crawl.”

Duncan gave a mock groan, and the three of them laughed, a deep joyful sound that drew eyes from everyone below, including their Guardian wives.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

P
AMELA
P
ALMER AND
Ann Shaw Moran—as always, your insight, support, and friendship sustain me, inspire me, and keep me open to all possibilities.

Phyllis Hall Haislip and Kathy Huffman—your company each morning keeps me moving forward. I appreciate that more than you know!

The great women and men at Montlake Romance—it is such a pleasure to work with all of you! Thank you for all you do for me and my books!

My family, Dean, Samantha, and Alex—you are my strength, and my joy!

I also want to thank my amazing readers for buying my books, writing reviews, and seeking me out online. It is such a gift to know my stories touch your hearts!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR