“Have ye now?” She bit her full lower lip and adjusted the basket.
Camden couldn’t quite determine what caused the slight catch in her voice and sparkle in her eye. Hope?
He stepped closer until his thighs touched hers through her gown, giving her time to retreat or rebuff him. Instead, she wet her lower lip, and her gray eyes softened in invitation.
That was all the encouragement he needed.
Grateful the kitchens were located on the house’s other side, and they weren’t visible from the stables, he greedily took her mouth.
Bethea sank into him, opening her lips and accepting his tongue with an eagerness that stoked his desire higher and higher.
She tasted of raspberries and tea, and her floral scent entwined around him, inflaming his passion into an uncontrollable firestorm. Kissing her wasn’t enough, but with his hands full, he couldn’t encircle her in his arms and press her against the house’s rock side. Couldn’t ruck her skirts up and explore the satiny flesh and rounded curves he’d dreamed of every night.
With a frustrated groan, he raised his head and waved his arms up and down. “I picked a terrible time to kiss ye.”
Her eyes rather dreamy, and her plump lips pink from his kisses, she curved her mouth. “Nae time ye kiss me is terrible, Camden.”
Something in her tone gave him pause, and he shifted the pole to his other hand, awkwardly gripping the fish and pole in one fist. He pulled her to him and savored her mouth again. “I’d do much more than kiss ye every day for the rest of my life if ye’d let me,” he murmured into her hair.
“Wouldna ye have regrets?” Head angled, her perceptive gaze probed his. “I couldna bear that.”
Cupping her nape with his free hand, he shook his head before pressing his forehead to hers. “Nae. No’ a one. Marryin’ ye was the smartest thing I’ve ever done, mo ghaol.”
My love.
She was his love.
The keeper of his marauder’s heart. The other half of his whole. He couldn’t regret their forced marriage or a single moment he’d spent with her since.
“Ahem.”
A very exaggerated throat clearing jerked Camden back to reality. He glanced toward the corner of the house. Higgins, red-faced but wearing a sloppy grin, stood there, letters in his hand. “These only just arrived, and I kent ye were awaitin’ word.”
Camden gave Bethea’s shoulder a slight, apologetic squeeze. He’d have explored what this was blossoming between them much further.
She seemed as reluctant as he to separate.
He curved an arm about her waist and gently urged her toward Higgins.
Her cheeks glowed pink, but she gave Higgins a bright smile.
As soon as he’d handed Camden the letter, he touched his forehead and beat a hasty retreat. Every one of the other men would know of Camden’s infatuation with his wife within ten minutes.
And he didn’t give twenty tinkers’ damns.
“Who are they from?” Bethea fell into step beside him, leaning into his side as if it were the most natural thing to do.
Such love swirled inside Camden at the simple, trusting gesture, his throat tightened. His heart lay at her feet, to be trampled, or picked up and treasured. He sure as hell didn’t know what he’d ever done to deserve this remarkable woman, but he thanked God she was his.
Somehow, he must convince her to remain so.
He thumbed through them. “Bryston, Keane, and…” He turned the third letter over and missed a step before coming to an abrupt halt upon recognizing the extravagant seal. “The king.”
Chapter Fourteen
Bethea stared at the letters in Camden’s sun-browned hand as they approached the kitchen entrance. Just short of the door, she placed her palm atop his.
“Camden, please dinna open them yet.”
He met her gaze, a question in his arresting blue eyes.
Her heart racing madly at her boldness for what she was about to do, she managed a tremulous smile. “They might change everythin’, and…” She felt the color heating her cheeks, but she bravely raised her chin. If she didn’t do this now, she mightn’t ever. “And before they do, I would be yer wife in every way. If ye’ll have me, and if that’s what ye desire, too.”
Without argument, he tucked the letters into his jacket pocket.
“Aye, I’ll gladly have ye, Bethea Kennedy.” His eyes filled with primal satisfaction as a seductive grin crooked his mouth. “Today and every day, for the rest of my life.” He glanced down at the fish and rod and chuckled. “Let me dispose of these, and then we can have a proper conversation.”
Her tummy toppled over in giddy expectation. She sincerely doubted they’d be conversing in words, and a delicious thrill started in her middle and spread outward. For days she’d attempted to muster the courage to tell Camden she wanted him in her bed. Wanted to remain his wife. Yet each time she’d opened her mouth to tell him, her courage had fled.
It wasn’t the forever, till death do us part piece that kept her tongue-tied.
It was the fear he hadn’t come to care for, to love, her as she had him these past weeks. For she’d admitted to herself several days ago, what she’d suspected since the day she’d married him—Camden Kennedy had captured her heart. And with each grin, each kiss to her forehead, each charming or rakish comment or chuckle, the organ became more firmly cemented at his feet.
She’d found herself humming and singing, which in truth, was cruelty to humanity and animal-kind since she well knew she held no talent in that direction. Nevertheless, her joy demanded a venue of expression, and she could hardly dance about the house or lawns. Although… she’d been doing just that when he’d come upon her a few minutes ago.
She swung the basket of flowers, drawing his attention to the early blooms she’d cut from the now tidy gardens’ beds, thanks to Hetrick and Livingston. “I’ll just leave these in the kitchen.”
After bracing his fishing pole next to the house, Camden kissed her temple before opening the door. At once, warmth and the aromas of dried herbs, fresh bread, and whatever was cooking engulfed her.
Glen Toramallan’s kitchen, as well as the rest of the house, sparkled after a thorough cleaning by Mrs. Newberry, the maids, and Bethea. Though the lodge didn’t quite feel like home, the house was comfortable and welcoming.
Mrs. Newberry looked up from stirring a pot atop the stove, a smile wreathing her plump face. A lock of red hair peeking out from beneath her cap clung to her damp forehead.
“Och, look at those fat fish,” she exclaimed in admiration with an approving nod. “’Tis baked trout for dinner tonight.” Angling her head, she indicated a large bowl atop a table. “Ye can leave them there, sir.”
As Camden deposited the fish, Bethea set the basket on another table.
“Either Bridget or Alice can place these in vases in the dinin’ and mornin’ rooms,” she suggested.
“Aye, Mrs. Kennedy.”
How Bethea loved hearing that. What had started as a desperate lie had become a most treasured reality.
Mrs. Newberry sprinkled an herb into the fragrant, bubbling pot then lifted the spoon a few inches. “Leek and potato soup to accompany the fish.”
“Wonderful.” Camden placed his hand at the small of Bethea’s back and swiftly ushered her from the kitchen. “Trout and soup are no’ what I’m hungry for,” he fairly purred into her ear.
Lord. Just hearing his voice pouring over her like warm honey unhinged Bethea’s knees.
“Och, young love.” Mrs. Newberry’s chuckle lengthened into the paneled corridor.
Good heavens, did she know what Bethea and Camden were going to do?
Clasping her hand in his, as eager as a schoolboy about to embark on a grand adventure, he pulled her to the stairs. She giggled, when at the top of the landing, he swung her into his arms.
“Camden,” she admonished, her voice bubbling with mirth and adoration. “Someone will see.”
“Aye,” he concurred, wi
th a sinful grin and equally wicked wink. “And likely hear, too, if I am as skilled as I think I am.”
She went hot to her toes and wondered precisely what he meant, though she had a fair notion. Rather than succumbing to embarrassment, Bethea quite looked forward to whatever would cause such a reaction.
“Yer chamber or mine, Wife?”
“Och, I…”
“Mine,” he decided succinctly, striding swiftly along the corridor. “’Tis farther from the kitchen and servant’s quarters, for I mean to make ye cry my name as ye come undone.”
That sounded very spectacular, indeed.
Looping her arms about his neck, Bethea giggled again. “’Tis no’ even twelve of the clock yet. What will the servants say?”
“‘About bloody time,’” he growled, lowering his head to nuzzle her throat. “And I have to agree. I’ve wanted this since I kissed ye at The Boar and Brew. Nae, before. When I danced with ye at the Hogmanay celebration.”
She grinned and kissed his corded neck, earning another rough sound from him. “Mmm.”
He smelled divine: spices, and musky male, and the outdoors.
“Stop that, or I’ll no’ make it to my chamber, and I’d no’ take ye against the wall our first time.”
She arched her neck, searching his eyes. “Is that possible?”
“Aye, ’tis.”
“Och, my.” Bethea tried to envision exactly what that might entail. The image was quite erotic. “I think I should like to try it.”
“No’ this time,” he denied firmly. “This time, I’ll have ye naked and in my bed, in my arms so I can worship ye in the manner ye deserve. I’ll take my time, introducin’ ye to passion, mo ghoal.”
Her nipples pebbled and damp heat pooled between her legs. “Perhaps no’ so verra much time, Camden. I fear ye may have married a wanton.”
“Praise God and all the saints,” came a smoldering, delighted rumble from deep within his broad chest.
Somehow, while balancing her weight in his strong arms, he managed to open his chamber door and promptly kicked it shut behind them once inside. He strode straight to the huge bed centered on one wall across from an unlit fireplace. Sunlight streamed in the wide windows, bright rays of warmth and golden light.
Bethea didn’t pretend maidenly bashfulness or chagrin. She wanted this joining. Wanted to be naked and see Camden stripped bare, too. Yes, virginal uncertainty niggled, but she’d not focus on that. He would show her what to do, and she welcomed the forthcoming instructions.
She presented her back. “Unlace me, please.”
“With pleasure.” With an adeptness she didn’t wish to ponder, Camden soon had her gown sagging low on her shoulders. He brushed a hot kiss on her neck, then flicked his tongue out to taste her.
“Delicious,” he murmured.
A gasp escaped her, but she only angled her head, seeking more.
With a throaty laugh that promised all sorts of wonderful things, he set her from him, and stripped her gown down her arms, past her hips, and let it pool at her feet.
Between hot, wet kisses and fumbling fingertips, they stripped the clothes from each other until they stood gloriously nude before one another.
“My God,” he breathed, his ravenous gaze devouring her.
Aye, indeed.
Her core tightening, she licked her lower lip.
Camden was a magnificent male animal—all sleek muscles and sinewy contours. A thick mat of pitch-black hair covered his chest before narrowing into a vee. His manhood, proud, rigid, and pulsing every little bit, jutted from a thatch of matching black hair at his groin.
Bethea’s heart flipped over in her chest. This man was her husband, and hers to touch any time she wanted. To bed anytime she wanted.
Her feet carried her forward, and she caressed his face with her fingertip, then pressed her mouth to his chest. “Make me yers, Camden.”
He needed no further encouragement. In a trice, they were upon the bed, and he was playing her body like a fine-tuned instrument. She gasped and panted, urging him on, growing tauter and tauter until she felt she’d shatter.
“Och, aye,” she cried when he captured a nipple in his mouth while sliding his fingers amongst the damp folds of her sex.
“Ye’re perfect, mo stór,” he rasped against her aching breast. “Utterly Exquisite.”
He was her darling, too. For now and forever. Until the craggy Highland landscape melted into the ocean, and purple heather stopped blooming.
His shaft pulsed against Bethea’s thigh as she clutched him to her.
“Camden, I dinna want to wait. Please.” She slid her hands down and flattened them against his tight buttocks in a silent plea. “I need ye now.”
He nudged her thighs open with a knee, his hair swinging forward. Passion hardened the angle of his face, yet tenderness glinted in his eyes as he settled between her length, his turgid staff at her entrance.
“I love ye, Bethea.”
Tears sprang to her eyes.
“And I love ye, Camden. So verra much.”
He entered her, slowly and steadily, his immense length stretching her most erotically and deliciously. “It feels so good,” she moaned into his mouth.
She tensed as a sharp, stinging pain announced he’d breached her maidenhead, but with gentle strokes of his fingers and tender kisses, he soothed her. “I promise it will only be pleasure from now on.”
Instinctively, she angled her hips, and then he carried them away, soaring higher and higher with each powerful stroke, until her world collided with the sun and stars in a brilliant burst of exquisite pleasure.
As she floated back to reality, he gave one hard, final thrust, going rigid as he called her name and spilled his hot seed into her womb.
Several blissful moments passed, wrapped in each other’s arms as her heart and breathing returned to their normal cadence.
He rolled off her, taking her with him until she rested partially atop his torso. “Ye are mine for all time now, Bethea.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bethea awoke sometime later and stretched like a contented cat until she realized Camden was no longer in bed. She knitted her brow, patting the cool sheets beside her to make sure.
Aye, he was gone.
Disappointment flooded Bethea as she towed the bedding up beneath her arms and lay her forearms over the folded edge. Nonetheless, a smile teased the corner of her mouth. Camden made love to her again, this time with her on top before they’d both drifted to sleep.
Camden whispered all of the tantalizing, naughty ways he wanted to take her, and even as satiated as she was, her body tingled in renewed anticipation.
The entire household likely knew they’d spent the afternoon in bed, and for the life of her, she couldn’t bring herself to feel a jot of mortification. She yawned and grasped the bedding to toss it back and go in search of her husband when the chamber door swung open.
Dressed only in a kilt, shirt, and stockings, and wearing a grin that would strip the clothing from a woman in a thrice, Camden carried a tray.
Not a doubt remained that every servant, as well as the guards, knew what they’d been about.
“I thought ye might be hungry after our bed sport,” he said, shutting the door with the heel of one foot.
“Aye.” Ravenous, in truth.
Bethea first fluffed the pillows and then sank into them, running her appreciative gaze over her husband. It was amazing what treasures clothing hid. Such a shame too, for she could quite easily gaze upon and explore Camden’s naked form for hours—days—and never grow bored.
He set the tray on a table and then, as if it weighed no more than a downy thistle, lifted the piece and brought it to her side of the bed. A sensual smile curving his mouth, he brushed several locks of hair off her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her. “How are ye feelin’?”
She reflected for a moment. “Only a wee bit sore, but that’s to be expected the first time.”
“Aye.” He handed
her a piece of cheese and a slice of apple. “It will nae hurt again. I worried that perhaps I was a wee bit too large for ye.”
“Och, that wasna a problem.” Good God, was that sultry, siren’s voice hers? It was then that she noticed the three letters on the tray as well. Before she said anything more to puff up his already inflated manly pride, she raised an eyebrow, and she pointedly looked at the correspondences. “Have ye read them, then?”
Cutting a glance at the tray, he surprised her by shaking his head. He’d not tied his hair back into a queue, and he appeared every bit the marauder he’d been accused of being.
“Nae. Whatever those letters say affects ye, too. We should read them together. I want to do everthin’ with ye, lass. Make all of our decisions and choices as equals and partners.”
If Bethea hadn’t already been head over heels in love with him, that declaration would have catapulted her into loving him. But as she already adored him, his vow just sealed her love.
She cupped his jaw, reveling in the slightly rough texture. “Ye are so verra different than any man I’ve ever kent.” As much as she loved Keane, she couldn’t conceive of him waiting to read a correspondence addressed to him until Marjorie awoke from a passion-induced nap.
Patting the mattress, she scooted over, making room for him. “Come, sit beside me. I miss touchin’ ye.” She glimpsed a length of muscular thigh visible below his bunched kilt. “I find I quite like gazin’ at ye, too.” Feeling incredibly bold, she grazed a fingertip up the length of his hairy thigh, edging ever nearer his engorged shaft.
His kilt pulsed upward, and she jerked her attention to meet his sizzling gaze. “Careful, lass, or we’ll have to delay readin’ the missives a wee bit longer.”
Bethea bit her lip, trying to decide which she was more eager for, and at last, settled on the letters first and another rousing romp in bed afterward. “I saw a picture once, in a book at Trentwick Castle that Keane hasna idea he owns, of a man, takin’ a woman from behind.”
His blue eyes dark as the sky before dawn, he cocked a raven eyebrow, the planes of his face becoming more defined with his arousal. He touched his beautiful mouth to hers, and she seriously reconsidered her previous words.
To Marry a Highland Marauder Page 12