Margo Maguire (24 page)
Authors: The Highlander's Desire
T
he wedding was to be delayed for two weeks, out of deference to Kyla. Anna wanted her friend’s body healed, if not yet her soul when she witnessed the nuptials. Anna knew Ky’s feelings about losing Birk were mixed, and her friend had to deal with the changes brought on by her pregnancy as well.
But Anna took her up to the castle to be cared for, and to live as a sister in a far different way than her own sister had behaved toward her.
On the afternoon they watched the
Glencoe Lass
sail away with both Catrìona and Mungo locked away inside, Anna took Lachann to her small curragh. “I want to take you to Spirit Isle.”
“Aye?”
“Would you like to see it?” she asked.
Lachann smiled. “Only if the
sluagh dubh
does not render me mad for setting foot on its territory.”
Anna jabbed him in the ribs and looked ’round. “You know there is no
sluagh dubh
.”
“No?” He pressed a hand to his chest in an exaggerated gesture. “Do not tell me that you—”
“Kiss me, Lachann. Just kiss me.”
He did so, pulling her tight against his body. “What brought this on?”
“ ’Tis a wondrous place and . . . I want to share it with you.”
“But . . . ?”
“But you can tell my secret to no one,” she admonished.
“Of course.” He realized that for Anna to take him to her isle was a show of deep trust. “No one will learn anything about Spirit Isle from me.”
“Let’s go then. Now.”
They climbed into her curragh, and Lachann took the oars. He watched Anna as he rowed, her head tilted back, her face toward the sun.
“You are so very fine, my Anna,” he said.
“You will spoil me with your compliments, Laird MacMillan,” she said, smiling.
It was surprising how much pleasure Lachann took just from pleasing her. He’d come to Kilgorra expecting to marry a woman who only just sufficed. And yet he’d found Anna MacIver, who was so much more than merely tolerable.
It amazed him how quickly she’d become his heart and soul, and he finally understood his brother Dugan’s reticence in agreeing to Lachann’s marriage to Catrìona—a woman he had not even met.
They reached the isle and he saw that it, too, was surrounded by a network of underwater rocks. “How do you navigate all this?”
“I’m used to it.” She showed him where to go, and together they pulled the curragh onto the shore and tied it to the stake that protruded from the rocks. “This won’t come loose. Even if the weather turns savage when I’m here, the curragh will still be here when it clears.”
“Savage weather?” His heart felt as though ’twould stop. “Anna, promise me you will not come when the weather is bad.”
“No, I never plan it that way,” she replied with a laugh. “But weather has been known to change. Come on.”
She took his hand and led him to a narrow cave. He stepped inside and followed her as she made a turn or two, then he found himself crawling on hands and knees behind her. There was light at the opposite side, and when they came out, and he was able to stand to his full height, he was astonished by the magnificence of the place. Her isle.
’Twas ringed by a jagged wall of black, just like the outside. But here, the ground was covered by the brilliant mossy green of his beloved highlands. In the center of it all was a loch as clear and blue as his beloved’s eyes.
He let out a low whistle. “ ’Tis no wonder you keep the place secret.”
“This way.”
She led him to a cave with furnishings that appeared to have been accumulated over some time. Years. ’Twas a warm day, but there was a pit ready for a fire that would keep the chill out of the cave. ’Twas made to be comfortable, and he could see how Anna would want to come here to escape the demands of the castle—of Catrìona.
There were two pallets—Anna’s and Kyla’s, he assumed—ready to be unrolled for their use, and dried meat and some berries stored securely in tightly covered boxes.
“You are completely at home here,” he said. He slid his arm ’round her waist and pulled her close.
“Aye. But just wait,” she said, slipping away from him. “Take off your clothes, Laird.”
“Are you trying to seduce me, Lady Anna?”
A
nna unfastened the laces at her shoulders and turned to him for assistance with the fastenings down her back. Then she slipped out of the gown and walked perfectly naked to the water.
He watched with his heart pounding in his ears as she turned to face him, backing into the water. And Lachann knew that his life here, with Anna, was all that he would ever desire.
Lachann wasted no more time. He pulled off his clothes faster than any man had ever disrobed and joined her in the water. She swam ahead of him, but he caught her easily and took her in his arms. “You are so much more than I ever hoped for, Anna love. You are all I will ever want.”
He began to make love to her in the cool water of the loch, but she took his hand and drew him toward the shallows, where hot springs bubbled up from the rocky bottom. It felt like heaven, and he lay back against the rocks, pulling his woman over him.
He started with a gentle kiss, but then his hunger for her became raw and fierce, and swept through him. He savaged her with his tongue, nipping lightly with his teeth. He wanted her so badly he felt he was in a fog of pure desire.
Ach, she was so very beautiful. Her lush breasts and narrow waist, the fleeting fragrance of her desire, the warm center of her . . . everything about her drew him, but he forced himself to go slowly, to delight in every moment.
He nipped her neck just below her ear and slid his hands up from her waist to the soft undersides of her breasts. She arched in response, pushing the tips of her breasts closer to his chest.
She touched his own pebbled nipples, and he stifled a groan while he savored the sensations wrought by her light caress. Never before had a woman’s touch wreaked such havoc with his senses. He could hardly believe it when fire shot directly to his groin.
Closing his eyes tightly, Lachann enjoyed the burn and determined to return it tenfold. “Ah, my Anna . . .”
He floated just above a rocky ledge and pulled her onto him, prolonging his endurance. He felt her open for him as she straddled his hips, and he knew ’twould take only one smooth movement to slip into her hot sheath.
He held back, and as she lowered herself over him, he drew one of her peaked nipples into his mouth. He circled the lush tip with his tongue and smiled at her sharp gasp.
“Lachann!”
He reached down, seeking her most sensitive part. Dipping his fingers inside her, he found her ready for him.
Still he held back. He teased her nipples while he touched her intimately, rubbing that wee nub softly at first, but increasing the pressure as her hips bucked against his hand.
“Aye, bonny Anna,” he said. “Take your pleasure.”
She shuddered, then seemed to melt bonelessly against him, her breasts against his chest, her face just above the water.
Lachann kept his eyes on hers, stirred by the intensity of emotion he saw in her gaze.
“I love you, my Anna . . .”
She slid against him, and Lachann thrust deeply into her.
She sheathed him so tightly that Lachann knew naught would ever feel so incredible, so intensely right.
They began to move together, Anna meeting every thrust of his hips, welcoming him inside. She smiled down at him when he spilled into her, and when his muscles clenched in a glorious spasm of delight, the love that surged through his body and soul was immeasurable.
Anna tightened ’round him once again and shuddered her own pleasure, and it seemed there was nothing more in this life that Lachann could possibly desire.
E
very Kilgorran who could travel from home came to the village to celebrate the marriage of their new laird to his lady—Anna MacIver—or Annbjørg of Kearvaig. Only Bruce MacDuffie stayed home in the wee cottage where his father had lived long ago at Langabhat Point, overlooking the southern tip of the island.
He’d chosen to retreat there . . . to die, once it had become clear that his health would not return. Alex MacRae went with him, to care for him until the end.
Catrìona and Mungo Ramsay were gone, and some of Lachann’s men thought he had gone too easy on her. He’d given the Camerons a purse with adequate funds to set up a trust that would keep Catrìona in modest circumstances. Comfortable, but she was never to have enough to pay for travel expenses back to Kilgorra. He trusted they’d seen the last of her.
After the marriage ceremony, while the Kilgorrans danced and drank and celebrated, Lachann rowed Anna to Spirit Isle, where they intended to stay for a few days.
They wasted little time putting away the provisions they’d brought, before Lachann took his wife into his arms. He kissed her deeply and thoroughly, loving her as he would love no other.
“You know that my heart is yours, my sweet Anna.”
“And mine is yours.” She slid her hands up his chest and back to his nape, releasing his hair from the queue that held it.
He felt humbled as he looked at her. She was so very bonny, and she’d endured a world of hurt at the hands of her own family. He would see to it that she never suffered again. Kilgorra was their home, and they would watch it grow and prosper.
Standing in her cozy cave, Anna pushed away Lachann’s plaid and shoved his shirt down his arms, quickly baring his chest while he worked the laces of her gown. She licked his pebbled nipples, making him a desperate man. A man who could barely wait to take possession of his wife.
He laid her down on one of the beds in her cave and kissed her deeply, passionately, showing her his heart and soul. For she was everything to him.
He made love to her slowly, relishing every kiss, every taste, every caress they shared. He held her close, adoring her with every fiber of his being as they moved together.
And when it was over, he pulled her against him and brushed kisses across her lips, touching his lips to her cheeks and chin.
They lay quietly together while their breath slowed and their hearts’ rhythm returned to normal.
“Did I tell you that the
sluagh dubh
of Spirit Isle makes men go mad?”
“Aye.” He smiled against her forehead.
“But you are not afraid of losing your mind, Lachann?”
“I’ve already lost it, Anna love.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. “I lost it the first day I saw you, and the madness I feel for you will never end.”
She laughed softly, and Lachann knew that truer words had never been spoken.
M
ARGO
M
AGUIRE
is the author of twenty-one historical romance novels. Formerly a critical care nurse, she worked for many years in a large Detroit trauma center. Margo writes full time and loves to hear from readers. Keep up with news on Margo’s latest books by signing up for her newsletter on her website, www.margomaguire.com, and looking her up on Facebook and Twitter.
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