“Lillian adores you. She meets me at luncheon and regales me with your many virtues. I suspect she may be trying to match-make. As to the boys, you had them with the groaties on the beach.” He didn’t wait for a response. He kissed her again.
Her answering passion must have satisfied him because he didn’t ask her again. Instead, he pulled her to her feet and into his arms.
“It is well this room has no settee, no hearth rug, or even comfortable chairs,” he murmured, as he kissed his way down her neck. “I need to stop this.”
“Do we have to?”
His head bobbed up. “Why, Miss Dunwood, what are you suggesting?”
For a fraction of a second, Ann feared she had misstepped, but his crooked grin reassured her. Her heart soared.
He stepped away, taking both her hands in his. “Your enthusiasm for my touch pleases me, Ann. How can you doubt it? You deserve better than an uncomfortable bench and a cold assembly room, though. I am determined we will marry. When I make love to you, it won’t be here.”
“How shall we go about this courtship then?” she asked.
He looked up at the ceiling and then back at her. “Since you asked, shall we begin with the children? I understand you promised a trek along the shore tomorrow. We can take the carriage along the firth, let the little ones out here and there to run, and then take luncheon at the alehouse in Finstown. Would you like that?”
The anxiety in his expression melted her heart.
“I would like nothing better,” she smiled. “Unless it is a walk on the shore at Ramskeld.”
Chapter Eleven
They returned from their trek late the following evening, with red cheeks and sand in their shoes. The children’s delight in baskets of shells, a starfish, and a particularly fine snail in a box tickled Ann. The boys nodded off long before they reached home, and when Alec tried to take Robbie from Ann’s lap, she shook her head, reluctant to let go of the wondrous new sensation of a little one asleep against her breast.
“Help me down, but let me carry him,” she said. “We’ve kept each other warm all this way. Let me tuck him into bed.”
With some awkwardness, he helped her down still holding the boy, who stirred before snuggling back against Ann’s shoulder. She managed to carry him up the stairs, aware of Alec’s protective presence behind her, something she hadn’t known since early childhood. His warmth accompanied her every step, his breath raising the hair on the back of her neck. A child on her shoulder wasn’t the only glorious new experience. An entire world of sensation enfolded her.
Lillian led her to the boys’ room where the nursemaid waited. Ann ignored the girl’s open arms, put the little one in his bed, removed his coat and sandy boots, and smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead.
She rose and turned to the maid. “He can sleep in his clothes one night, I think.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she feared she had overstepped and spun back toward the boy’s father, only to confront a look so tender her knees turned to jelly.
“Of course, he can,” Alec said, his voice soft and ragged.
When he reached out a hand, she took it. Wee Alex pushed by them to sit on his bed. He dropped his boots and coat on the floor and crawled beneath the covers. “I don’t have to dress either,” he said on a yawn, drawing a grin from his father. Ann thought he slept as soon as his head reached his pillow.
Lillian gave her brothers a disgusted sigh and peered at the adults, glancing at their clasped hands and up at her father. “I do not plan to sleep in this dress,” she said. A wide yawn spoiled her attempt at dignity.
Alec laid one hand on each side of her head and kissed her forehead. “Perhaps not, but you need your sleep. Good night, Angel. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Lillian nodded, followed them to the hall, and started toward her room, only to turn back to give Ann a ferocious hug. “Thank you for not letting them drop that crab on me. And for…everything.”
Before Ann could react, Lillian left, leaving her father and tutor alone at the top of the stairs.
Alec took Ann’s hand again and led her down the stairs. He didn’t pause at the landing, but pulled her into the front parlor, closed the door, and kiss her senseless. When the need to breathe forced her to pull her mouth away, she dropped her forehead to his chest and felt his chuckle echo through her. “I needed that, Ann. I struggled all day not to maul you in front of the children.”
She smiled up at him, unable to speak.
“Did you know?” he asked.
“I know I wanted you to.” Her voice sounded hoarse.
He leaned her back against the door, crushing her dangling bonnet, covered her body with his, and attempted to devour her until she wished she could crawl inside his skin.
“I should take you home. The Salters will wonder,” he whispered into her hair without letting her go.
“I have to play for services in the morning,” she whispered back, straining up to kiss him and igniting another round of frantic touching.
When he pulled away with a loud groan, he left her cold and bereft. She protested, but he cut short her protest by stripping off her cloak and the bonnet that still hung ridiculously down her back. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the settee, pausing only to remove his coat and waistcoat before joining her and pulling her sideways into his lap so she stretched across the settee. He held her close with one arm. Ann melted against him, opening for his kisses. He pulled back, watching her, and she felt his fingers on the fastenings to her dress.
“Alec?” She blinked up at him, confusion filling her.
***
The feel of Ann’s skin through the gap at the back of her dress set Alec’s body reeling with desire. You aren’t some rutting boy, he chastised himself, forcing his hands to still. Her response to his kisses gratified him, but Ann’s untutored hesitations reminded him not to hurry.
He paused and ran a finger up her neck. “May I touch you, Ann?”
If she said no, he would pull away, yet he yearned for a yes.
“May I touch you as well?” she asked to his shock and delight, caressing his cheek with a shaking hand.
He gave her lips a quick salute with his. “Please touch me; touch me anywhere you wish.” He went very still, filled with hope.
She ran her fingers down his cheeks and neck to the fastenings on his shirt and began undoing the buttons. When she spread his shirt open at the neck, she kissed the hollow and ran her hands across his chest, and Alec thought he would explode.
He knew she felt his growing erection against her hip when she cast a puzzled glance down and slid an exploring hand down his belly. He grabbed her wrist before she could reach her goal, clinging to the remnants of his control.
“You said I could touch you anywhere,” she whispered against his insistent mouth.
“My turn,” he replied, nibbling her lip and drawing a groan. He finished unfastening the buttons at the back of her dress and pulled the fabric from her shoulders. He cast a grateful prayer heavenward when he found she wore no stays.
She gasped when his hand found her breast through her chemise. When he began to rub his palm against the pebbled nipple, she melted against his shoulder, and he sped up, retaking her mouth at the same time, which evoked incoherent sounds deep inside her.
He reached to the hem of her dress and tugged. Ann shifted to free the fabric, and her cooperation destroyed Alec’s hesitation. He replaced his hand at her breast with his mouth, ran his hand up her calf to the back of her knee, and pulled her leg upward.
She gazed down at him in the candlelight, eyes glazed with lust and yet filled with tenderness and trust. The need to protect and to satisfy warred within him. His fingers danced along her thigh with feather light movements until they came to the soft curls covering her inner core.
When he covered her with his palm, she hid her face in the sensitive spot where his neck and shoulder met. “Don’t stop,” she gasped against his skin.
He slid a
finger inside her. She stilled, and he stopped kissing her hair. “Trust me,” he whispered. After giving her a moment to adjust, he began to move his probing hand and—joy of joys—she moved with him.
Her body responded without hesitation. She shattered under his ministrations, more quickly than Alec wished, convulsing in his arms. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth, as she returned to awareness with exquisite slowness.
“Alec, I—” Her voice shook; her chest heaved.
“You were perfect,” he told her. “A wonder. A joy.”
“But isn’t there more? I thought—”
“More. Yes, much more, but it will keep for our wedding night.”
Her answering smile eased the last of his fears. “Is that a proposal?”
“A poor one, I think.”
“Not so poor if I count the prelude and the crescendo.”
“We’ll make it a duet next time,” he answered, “but I think it should be soon.” He pulled away, sobering. “I don’t think I can wait for you, Ann. Do you mind a quick marriage? Sir Stirling left a special license.”
Her laughter wasn’t the reaction he expected. “Olivia told me he must acquire them in bulk. They call him The Marriage Maker in Inverness.”
“Shall we use it?” he prodded.
“Silly man,” she replied, kissing him. “We’re in Scotland. All we need is a witness.”
Chapter Twelve
Ann walked through Sunday morning in a cloud of joy, a private bubble of being well loved in a world broken apart and centered on a new reality. She slipped out of the house before the Salters came down, wanting to savor her raw emotions in solitude.
She sought her haven in the organ loft and loosened her fingers before unleashing a rhapsody of hallelujahs, her gratitude to God for His great gift, the miracle she’d discovered the night before, the hidden intimacy of man and woman. If those straggling in for services found her dramatic prelude unusual, she didn’t notice.
She came down the winding stair after the service to find Alec smiling up at her with an answering glow. Robbie, Alex, and Lillian watched her approach, as well, and she realized with a pang that private joy must be shared. They had to tell the children if they were to be married soon.
Alec must have had the same thought, because his first words were, “I thought we might walk to the gardens.” With a pang of anxiety mixed with hope, she agreed.
He led them across the road to a wall-protected garden, its famous flowers now gone into their winter sleep.
“There’s naught here this time of year, Papa,” Lillian said. “Why don’t we go for a wee bite of lunch?”
“Ann and I want to speak to you first,” Alec told her, searching Ann’s face for disagreement.
“We needed a private spot,” Ann answered. Lillian, canny child, hadn’t missed his use of her Christian name; she peered back at them with somber eyes.
Alec took Ann’s hand in his and pulled her down to a stone bench next to him with the children arrayed before them. When he hesitated, Ann squeezed his hand but didn’t speak.
“Are you going to marry Miss Dunwood, Papa?” Lillian asked, startling Alec.
“Your father did the honor of asking me,” Ann said. “But we wanted to talk with you about his proposal, because if we marry, we will become a family. All of us.”
Lillian appeared to consider Ann’s words.
“Will we stay in Kirkwall then?” Wee Alex blurted.
“Some of the time, as we do now. You have to go to school, Alex,” his father answered.
“Ann can stay in your room,” the boy said, as if that solved any problems involved.
“Lillian, what do you think?” Ann asked, unable to wait any longer.
“I would like to have you near, Miss Dunwood, but Mama…”
“We will always honor your mother, Lillian,” Ann said. “Just as we do with your music.”
Lillian nodded. “We remember her, and we do new things, as well.” While she spoke, Robbie crawled into Ann’s lap and laid his head against her shoulder, his silent response to their news reassuring her that all would be well.
Lillian brightened. “There will be a wedding!”
“Yes, and very soon,” her father said.
“But Papa, we have to plan a party. Our clothes and—”
Robbie raised his head. “Will there be cake?”
Ann laughed. “You can be sure of it.”
Love might be private, but a wedding, Ann soon realized, was a public event.
They approached Pastor Ed Salter after lunch. Once Maud stopped enthusing and telling everyone who would listen how perfect Ann and Alec were for each other and how she had agreed with Sir Stirling that they would soon see what was right under their noses, she turned to Alec. “Now Alec, Ann deserves as fine a wedding as we can manage. You mustn’t rush. The church doesn’t approve of rushed marriages, do they Ed?” Maud looked to her husband for agreement.
Reverend Salter cleared his throat and looked apologetically at Alec. “It is your second, but Ann’s first—may I say only—wedding. The banns—”
Ann thought her beloved would argue the banns but hesitated, watching for his reaction to Ed’s statement.
“Please, Miss Dunwood,” Lillian wheedled. “We need new dresses, and I want to invite my friend Miriam, and we need to plan music.”
“Flowers will be a bit of a problem, but we can manage with ribbons and greenery,” Maud mused.
Alec’s daughter nodded. “On the tables and in the church.”
Ann wanted to take Alec’s hand and flee until they were alone in the magic circle created by the two of them and their love. She looked from one set of eyes to another.
Maud was telling Lillian, “Auld Peter likes to pipe the bride out of the kirk. We won’t want to let him down. Most of Kirkwall will want to come, your father is that loved. We’ll have to plan a dinner that’s festive but doesn’t cost the moon.”
Ann caught Alec’s anguished expression. His eyes heated when they caught hers, and she knew he too longed to be alone. He would give her this wedding if she wished it, but his mind was on their private coming together, not some spectacle. Did she wish a formal wedding?
“No,” she said. She repeated more loudly, “No.” Maud and Lillian gaped at her. “Alec—that is I—we prefer that the wedding be soon. I would be happy if we wed in the side chapel with only the children and the two of you as witnesses.”
Alec and Ann allowed themselves to be dragooned into dinner with the Salters after that, during which Maud kept up a running commentary about the difficulties of a hurried wedding with Saint Andrew’s Day looming in four days—what with children’s activities to organize, concerts and pageants to prepare, and ladies’ ruffled feathers to soothe when conflicts flared over the dishes to serve. She sidestepped all of her husband’s attempts to turn the subject.
“They could marry in ten minutes, Maud. Over this dinner table.” His attempt at humor set his wife off on another rampage, leaving Ann tempted to ask Alec to do just that.
No, she thought. Simple and soon is one thing, hurried and abrupt another. It would, after all, be her wedding.
Ann caught Alec watching her. Our wedding, she repeated over and over to herself. A month ago, she worried whether Kirkwall would accept her. Now, one of their beloved citizens wanted to marry her, and Maud, at least, had been thrown into turmoil.
Ann needed to talk over the situation with Alec so they could decide together before the commotion turned to pandemonium. They could sort it out; at least, she hoped they could.
***
“But Papa, Miss Dunwood wants a perfect wedding with a new dress, flowers, and all her friends,” Lillian said with perfect feminine certainty. “Everybody does.”
Of course. Every young girl dreams of her wedding.
“But Ann didn’t say that,” Alec pointed out that evening as he tucked the coverlet around his daughter. His conscience pricked him. Ann hadn’t said a word about dreams, but t
hat didn’t mean she didn’t cherish hopes.
“She thinks you don’t want a big wedding,” his daughter argued. “She doesn’t want to disagree. Mama never disagreed.” Lillian frowned.
Dear God! No, Lucy never disagreed with me. Is Ann doing the same thing?
His daughter had developed into a perceptive little creature. “Why do you say that?” he asked, curious.
“Wasn’t it obvious? Mama always said, ‘Your papa wants it’—whatever ‘it’ was. She always said it.”
“I always asked her what she wanted, didn’t I?”
Lillian shrugged. “She told you what she thought you wanted.” She yawned. “Sometimes she fussed afterward.”
He couldn’t deny it. He tried, God knows he tried to get Lucy to assert herself or ask for what she wanted. He wasn’t a domestic tyrant. On the rare occasion she expressed an opinion, he always listened. He had wanted her to be happy; he never managed it.
“Is that what you think Ann does?”
“I don’t know, but why wouldn’t she want a fancy wedding? I would.” The girl’s eyes began to droop.
He kissed the top of her head, bringing their conversation to an end.
Bringing the ideas to a halt in his head proved more difficult. An hour later, he still paced his study, revisiting the wedding discussion. When Maud suggested they invite all of Kirkwall—he suspected she meant all of Orkney and half of Scotland—Ann said no. She had been emphatic. He was sure of that much.
She also said she preferred to be married soon, didn’t she?
He dropped into his chair. She may have said he preferred it.
Did she mean I preferred it? What of her wants and needs?
He slammed his fist on the desk.
Alec knew for certain that his fiancée responded enthusiastically to his lovemaking. He leaned back, a grin warming his insides. She must be as anxious for marriage as he. But a wedding? If she wanted the nonsense, then she should have it.
Another worry tugged at him. A wife who held her own in the bedroom was one thing; one who stood her ground at the dinner table another. He didn’t want a meek and withdrawn wife who would bore him within a year. Had he made a terrible error?
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