She felt overwhelmed by the wonder of it all and she was certain that Duncan shared her feelings. They didn’t talk or banter or analyze. They didn’t need to. It was all between them as they sat close together and imagined life thundering like the sea.
* * *
THEY RETURNED to the castle in time for lunch. Duncan and Sam ate quickly then went their separate ways. He went to the studio while Sam busied herself in the kitchen making the potato salad while Old Mag followed the hired cleaning help from room to room, pointing out their shortcomings. Sam ladled the potato salad into a huge earthenware bowl, covered it securely with plastic wrap, then somehow managed to find a place for it in the packed refrigerator.
From there she went to her office where the mountain of paperwork seemed to have grown while she was away. She checked for messages. Still nothing from Lucky or her sisters. Not that she expected to hear from them yet. Lucky wasn’t due back from his vacation for another two weeks, about the same time Martie and Trask would come home from their vacation. And as for Frankie—well, Sam wouldn’t hazard a guess. Her flighty little sister could pop up anywhere at anytime. The world’s rules had little to do with the way Frankie lived her life. Or at least that was how it had always seemed to Sam.
She wasn’t sure exactly why she’d asked her mother to join them at the party but she had. Of course, Julia had written immediately, saying she didn’t know if she could fit the party into her busy London social life. She’d just have to see. Motherhood had never been Julia’s strong suit, and, until recently, Sam hadn’t spent much of her emotional energy wishing things had- been different. Her pregnancy, however, had lowered her emotional defenses and she found herself thinking about her mother more often than she had in the thirty-two years that went before.
Wishful thinking, that’s what it was. Wishful thinking that had absolutely nothing to do with reality.
They’d decided to bypass a hot dinner tonight. It seemed to Sam they all had enough to do without worrying about that. She wandered into the kitchen around eight o’clock and fixed herself a sandwich and milk. There was no sign of Duncan anywhere. Even his studio was dark. Not that she would have had time to pose for him tonight. She needed to bathe and condition her hair and draw up a last-minute list of all the other things that needed doing before the party began tomorrow.
She washed her plate and glass, dried them, then put them away in the cupboard. Satisfied that the kitchen looked orderly and clean enough for Old Mag, she went upstairs.
* * *
DUNCAN LANDED his new Cessna at the strip outside Glenraven a little past ten o’clock. Summer days in the Highlands were long and beautiful and the sky still held more than a memory of light. He’d spent the late afternoon and evening in Glasgow, searching for the perfect wedding ring for Samantha. He’d finally found it, a beautiful circle of silver and gold, and he’d waited while the jeweler painstakingly inscribed it with Sam’s initials and Duncan’s and the date of their wedding. It was a sentimental gesture and he knew it. A gesture that came with an element of risk attached to it, but for Duncan, it was time.
She needed to know it was about more than the baby. That wasn’t what had drawn him across the Atlantic in search of her. She called to him, his bride did, to the deepest and most forgotten part of his heart.
He would give it to her tomorrow night after the party. After the guests left and the music faded away.
When it was only the two of them and the future stretching before them. A future he’d stopped believing was possible until she came into his life.
* * *
SAM TOOK a long warm shower. She took her time afterward, enjoying those wonderful heated bath towels, the slippery feel of her body lotion, the delicious slither of her nightgown as it slid over her shoulders and breasts. She’d never considered herself a particularly sensual person but lately she seemed to be almost unbearably aware of her body, of how it moved and felt. Things she’d never thought of before, like the coolness of the sheets as she climbed into bed and settled in. Her belly felt heavier than before. When she lay on her side, she could feel the shifting weight within her.
Her baby, she thought. Their child. It all seemed so much more real to her than it had when she woke up that morning. She’d pinned the sonogram picture to the bulletin board behind her desk, but she really didn’t need to look at it anymore. She had every shape and shadow memorized, from the tiny feet to the little thumb already firmly in his or her mouth. The doctor had been unable to determine the baby’s sex, but Sam found it honestly didn’t matter either way. She finally understood the expectant parents’ prayer. “Just let the baby be healthy. That’s all we ask.”
A breeze fluttered the window curtains, and she caught the scent of heather mingled with lavender and mint and all the other fragrant herbs in Mag’s garden. The combined smells were so heady and evocative that she almost felt dizzy from them. She placed her hand against the swell of her stomach and closed her eyes. The bed was soft and welcoming. The night air was magnificent. Her baby was growing stronger with every day that passed. Tomorrow they’d open their home to the townspeople and her life as one of them would be finally launched. If only it were that easy to launch a marriage.
* * *
DUNCAN HID THE RING in his studio, tucking it behind a piece of marble he had earmarked for his next study of Samantha. He liked the heft of the ring. The warm gold and cool silver would wrap themselves around her finger, reminding her of the commitment they’d made to each other. Of the life they’d pledged to share.
At least, that was his hope as he walked up the pathway to the castle.
Old Mag and Robby were sitting at the table as he entered the kitchen.
Mag sent him a look. “It’s about time you be coming home.”
“He doesn’t have to answer to you, old woman,” Robby said. “Only I have that privilege.”
Duncan grabbed a piece of shortbread from the plate in the center of the table. They spent a few moments talking about tomorrow’s party then he asked, “Where’s Samantha?”
“Don’t ask me,” Mag said. “I will not spy on your bride.”
“He didn’t ask you to spy on her,” Robby said, his voice rising in exasperation. “All he asked is—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Duncan said, starting to laugh. “I’ll find her.”
She wasn’t in her office. He checked the library, figuring she might be watching the television, but she wasn’t there either. Disappointment washed over him. He’d hoped to find her still awake.
He started up the stairs to the bedroom. He wondered if she had any idea how much he looked forward to the hours they spent together in his studio each night. The way her mind leaped from subject to subject. The powerful beauty of her face. The lush glory of her body. The whole splendid package.
The lights were off in their room, same as every night. He went into the bathroom, showered, then, naked, opened the bathroom door to find the lights on in the bedroom and his wife sitting, propped up against the headboard, looking straight at him. There was nothing coy about her look. Her gaze moved over his body slowly, deliberately, moving from his face to his chest, from his belly to his legs.
“We’re back where we started,” she said finally, her voice a little husky. A lot enticing.
The last thing he wanted to do was misinterpret her meaning.
He walked toward the bed the same way he walked toward it every night when she was asleep, her body curled away from his, lost somewhere in her dreams.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said, throwing back the covers.
“You didn’t wake me up,” she said. “I heard your car in the driveway.”
“I went to Glasgow for the afternoon,” he said, climbing into the bed beside her.
“Business?” she asked, her tone light and casual.
“Partly.” He met her eyes. “Will you be leaving the light on, lassie?”
She looked away briefly then back again. “Do you want
me to?”
There was no denying the invitation. He leaned toward her, aware of the sweet scent of her body. She didn’t move. Her gaze held his steadily. Completely.
“Are you sure?”
Her eyelids fluttered shut for a second. “I’m sure.”
She was in his arms in a heartbeat. He pushed aside the straps of her silky nightgown and pressed his mouth against the warm curve of her shoulder as fierce emotion swelled inside his heart. He heard her soft cry and then felt the gentle touch of her hand as she stroked his hair with the softest fingers. She smelled like soap and rain and woman and he eased the gown from her body, kissing his way downward. He worshiped her belly, its fertile roundness, worshiped it with the palms of his hands, his fingertips, his mouth.
She was so soft, so delicately made that he felt himself holding back, not wanting to overwhelm her with the intensity of all that she made him feel. He kissed his way over her belly’s swell until he felt the brush of her soft tangle of golden curls against his mouth.
She moaned softly. He hesitated, but she moved against him in a way that told him everything he needed to know.
* * *
ALL SAM KNEW was that she never wanted this to end. She was pure sensation. Her skin was alive with it. She registered his presence in every cell and fiber of her being. His smell, his heat, his power—all of it. Everywhere.
And it wasn’t close to being enough.
She wanted to feel him inside her, deep inside. She wanted it more than she wanted to draw her next breath. She could feel her defenses shattering, hear the sound of her heart as it cracked open, and there was nothing she could do but let it happen. All she wanted to do—all she could do—was reach out to him, snake her hands along his shoulders and back, let the heat from his body burn her palms. His muscles rippled where she touched and her power over him only made her want him more.
He was so beautiful to her, so wonderfully male, that she couldn’t find her voice. She felt herself opening to him, shameless in her desire to be touched and caressed, to feel the wet warmth of his mouth and tongue against all her secret places. He did magical things to her, sent her spiraling to heaven and back again in the blink of an eye, in an eternity.
And then suddenly it wasn’t enough. She yearned for him in body and soul. She wanted to be overpowered by him, covered by his welcome weight and warmth, filled by him.
A second later he moved his way up her willing body, kissing, stroking, worshiping, until their mouths were only a kiss away. He touched her lower lip with the tip of his tongue and a shudder of intense pleasure rippled through her. She could taste her essence on him, sweet and salty, forbidden yet somehow familiar.
His body was big and strong and warm, and in the room’s silence she thought she could hear the sounds of their hearts beating. He started to say something but she pressed her fingertip to his lips. “Don’t talk,” she whispered. “Not now.” Talking would destroy the magic and she wanted very much to believe in magic. If she didn’t, she might remember all the reasons this wasn’t right. Why she had no business being here in this strange country, with this man she barely knew. How she wished it could be so much more than it was.
* * *
HIS BRIDE’S BODY trembled. Duncan could feel the restless energy building inside her as he touched the slope of her breast with a gentle hand. Such powerful beauty. He wanted to worship her the way the pagans had worshiped the earth in all her richness and fertility. He wished he had the ring with him now, to tell her finally all that she meant to him. Had meant to him from the first moment he looked into her eyes.
But he was too far drawn into passion’s heart to stop now. There would be time tomorrow for what needed to be said. Tonight was for pleasure.
Warm skin to warm skin. Heart to heart. The power of touch shocked them both to their marrow and for an endless time all they did was look into each other’s eyes.
He had never done this before, really looked at a woman the way he was looking at her. Before, he always saw the topography, the play of light and shadow, the swell of muscle and architecture of bone. He saw all of that in her and so much more. He saw straight through to her heart.
And no one had ever made Sam feel the way he did. Shy and bold. Terrified and safe. Wanting it all now, everything, in every way possible. She was greedy for him, hungry to gather him into her, and so she moved beneath him, her hips rising and falling, rising and falling, until he understood all that she’d been trying to say.
He positioned himself between her thighs, caressing her lightly with his hand, making sure she was ready for him. He was all coiled muscle and heat, and it would take very little to push him over the brink.
She made a small sound then, a low moan deep in the back of her throat, as she drew him into her body. A primitive sense of possession, of fierce, blood-hot victory, swept over him and he began to move, slowly at first then faster, waiting each time for her to pick up the tempo before he changed it again.
And she did.
Every time. In every variation.
They moved as if they’d been together since the dawn of time, the kind of seamless erotic lovemaking that inspired poetry, and when it was over they lay there together for a very long time, as the silence around them grew more charged.
She wanted to say something but couldn’t find her voice.
He wanted to tell her but couldn’t find the words.
In deep and plangent silence, they fell asleep.
Chapter 13
Sam’s mother called at eight the following morning to convey her regrets that she wouldn’t be at the party that afternoon.
Sam, who had been in the middle of drying her hair, found it difficult to hide her annoyance. “Mother, we’ve both known you weren’t coming from the day I sent you the invitation. Why did you wait until the last minute to tell me?”
“I don’t like your attitude one bit, Samantha. I’d hoped I would be able to rearrange my schedule and join you but I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I wanted to meet this man you’ve found yourself married to.”
Sam sat on the edge of the bed and switched the phone to her other ear. “Is everything okay, Mother?” she asked politely.
Julia was silent.
“Mother?” Sam raised her voice. “Is everything okay?” she repeated. She and Julia weren’t close but she did love her mother despite everything.
“Darling, I didn’t want to go into this,” Julia said.
“Mother, if there’s something, please—”
“I had an eye job two weeks ago,” Julia said. “I’m still bruised.”
Sam stared at the phone the way people on television sitcoms liked to do. “You had an eye job?”
Julia’s laugh was amused. “Darling, this isn’t my first. Just the first one you’ve heard about.”
By the time Sam hung up the phone, she had learned more than she’d ever wanted to know about eye jobs, face-lifts and liposuction. To think she’d always thought her mother’s stunning good looks were the result of great genes and good nutrition.
She felt vaguely depressed as she went into the bathroom to finish drying her hair. Truth was, she’d been depressed ever since she woke up that morning to find Duncan long gone. His pillow was smooth. The covers had been pulled into place. For a second she’d wondered if she’d dreamed the entire wonderful interlude of the night before, but there was no denying the gentle ache between her thighs, the well-used feel of her body.
She finished arranging her hair in a sleek braid then walked into the bedroom to dress for the party. She wasn’t entirely certain what you were supposed to wear to a summer party in the Highlands but figured she couldn’t go too far wrong with a sundress in a buttery shade of yellow. Besides, it was one of the few things that still fit her comfortably and left enough room for her to breathe. Next week she would have to ask Duncan if he would take her to Glasgow or Edinburgh so she could shop for some new clothes to see her through the rest of her pregnancy.
Her dress was draped over the bed, its soft yellow folds drifting gracefully across the pure white sheets. A wave of heat flared deep inside her body as she remembered the passion they’d shared less than twelve hours ago.
If it was that good, then where is he?
She hated when that nasty little voice of reason popped up with one of those unanswerable questions. She had been terribly disappointed to wake up and find him gone and his side of the bed already cold.
There’s a difference between sex and love, Sam. You’re old enough to know that.
Or was she? The line had blurred for her last night, making her feel more vulnerable than she ever had in her life. She was glad the party was today. With a crowd around and lots of music and dancing, there wouldn’t be time to think. She reached for her sundress and slipped it over her head.
“Lassie?”
She spun around, the dress sliding down her body, and saw Duncan standing in the doorway. For a second she thought she was dreaming or that somehow, some way, she’d managed to step through some portal in time to the days of warriors and lairds. If she’d ever harbored the notion that there was anything remotely humorous or effeminate about a man in a kilt, the sight of her husband in Stewart plaid put that idea to rest.
He was, in a word, magnificent.
“Duncan!” she said, letting her surprise mask the wild rush of desire. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You didn’t frighten me,” she said, struggling with the zipper of her sundress. “You surprised me, that’s all.”
He motioned for her to come closer to him. She didn’t move.
“Come here, lassie,” he said, his voice a rough caress. “I’ll zip your dress.”
She’d spent many years zipping up her own dresses but still she went to him like a docile child. “Have you been up a long time?” she asked as she felt his hands against her spine.
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