The Highland Earl

by Amy Jarecki

  “You understand the need for a nobleman to produce an heir?”

  “Yes, though Mar already has an heir.”

  “Ah…” Papa ran a hand down his mouth, looking somewhat dumbfounded. “Notwithstanding, it is a wife’s duty to submit…ah…to her husband’s…er…needs.”

  “I see.”

  “In the boudoir,” Papa continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Do you understand?”

  “I am duty bound to submit?”

  “Indeed. Well, I’m glad we’ve had this little chat.”

  Evelyn dared to ask, “So, even if a wife doesn’t agree with her husband’s”—she couldn’t say politics—“rules, she would still be duty bound to sub…submit?”

  “You have always been such a bright young lady. I’m sure you will enjoy many years of happiness with Lord Mar.” Papa stood and kissed her cheek. “I’ll send Lucinda right in. We haven’t much time.”

  Evelyn hardly heard him. She was still fixated on the “years of happiness.” Though she knew marriage was for a lifetime, somehow the words struck a chord. By this time tomorrow, her entire life would be changed.

  And returning to the old would not be an option.

  As Papa had predicted, Lucinda managed to tame Medusa into lovely rows of ringlets topped by a coif and veil. As soon as Evelyn was dressed, Father insisted the family immediately file into the coach rather than enjoy a glass of sherry and a turn around the drawing room, or anything other than departing for the church. During the ride she felt numb, her stomach queasy. Worse, the horses traveled far too quickly.

  Once they rolled to a stop outside the enormous cathedral, everyone alighted from the carriage except Evelyn. She sat gripping a bouquet of lilies, scarcely able to breathe.

  “Evelyn?” her father called from outside.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Evelyn.” The door opened and Papa popped his head inside. “’Tis time. Come.”

  “Must I?”

  “Indeed you must.” He offered his palm. “Not to worry, my dear. All young women are nervous on their wedding day. Now take my hand. We shan’t keep the earl waiting.”

  How she managed to move from the carriage into the nave passed in a complete blur, but Evelyn wouldn’t have been surprised if later her father told her he’d ordered a pair of footmen to each take an arm and carry her to the door.

  Once she and Papa began to process down the aisle of the nave with rows of people standing and staring, Evelyn realized she wasn’t in the midst of a dream even though she felt as if she were floating. It all seemed so surreal with the two-story pipe organ playing Bach’s great fugue, swirling and building with her every step. And with each footfall, so grew her confidence.

  Dressed as a Highlander, Mar stood beneath the enormous dome. Sunbeams radiating downward from the rotunda of windows all shone on the earl, making him appear like a Scottish knight of old—one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other fisted by his side.

  “Ye are a vision,” he whispered as she stepped beside him.

  She peered up at him from beneath the shroud of her veil. “Might I say the groom is as well.”

  He gave her a wink while the priest began the ceremony. A new sensation of courage coursed through her blood as Evelyn recited her vows. And when Mar lifted her veil, she met his gaze, determined to be strong and stand by her principles no matter what may come.

  With an arch to his eyebrow, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You will never have anything to fear from me, dear one.”

  She prayed he spoke the truth.

  Chapter Ten

  Why did Lady Evelyn not come in to kiss us good night?” asked Oliver, tucked in bed with his floppy Scotsman doll.

  John tweaked the lad’s nose. “She’s in her chamber preparing for bed. I’ll ask her to come up with me and kiss you good night on the morrow, how will that be?”

  Oliver pulled aside his bedclothes. “I could go kiss her now. That might make her feel more welcome.”

  John urged him back down and straightened the quilt. At the moment, Evelyn was being readied for her wedding night by her lady’s maid. Having an affectionate five-year-old lad wander into her chamber at the moment might unhinge the poor lass. “’Tis best to move slowly for a time. I’m certain your stepmother will want your affection on the morrow.”

  “Well, I don’t want her to kiss me,” said Thomas from the adjoining bed.

  John glanced to his eldest. The lads oft disagreed, but when it came to Evelyn, he’d prefer Oliver’s exuberance to Thomas’s grumbling. “That’s no way to speak of your stepmother.”

  Tom folded his arms and rolled onto his side with his back to John. “She’ll never replace Ma. I’m just telling ye now.”

  “And we’ve discussed that she will not. I wish things had stayed the same, but they didn’t, and we’ve naught but to accept our lot and be thankful for our gifts.”

  “Is Lady Evelyn a gift?” asked Oliver, bless him.

  “Aye, a gift from God and you mustn’t ever forget it.” John placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You as well.”

  Again, Oliver pushed away the bedclothes. “Will we always have to call her Lady Evelyn?”

  “I think we ought to discuss that with Her Ladyship. Once you have brothers and sisters…”

  Thomas glanced over his shoulder. “Brothers and sisters?”

  “Eventually, aye. And they will call Lady Evelyn ‘Mother.’”

  “Och.”

  Mrs. Kerr came in with a book under her arm. “’Tis time to bid your father good night. And I have the story of Pocahontas from the Americas to tell you.”

  “That sounds riveting.” John kissed his sons good night, thankful for Mrs. Kerr’s timing. No matter how much he’d rather spend the rest of the evening with the lads, he had a duty to perform, and hiding in the nursery was no place for a groom on his wedding night.

  But he didn’t head straight for the countess’s chamber. MacVie had the tray prepared as John had requested. He first stopped and removed his periwig. The damned thing was hot and ridiculous, but fashionable and expected. He pulled the ribbon tying his hair back and gave it a quick comb. That was better.

  He picked up the tray and tapped on the adjoining door with his toe. When there came no reply, he tapped again.

  “Yes?” Lady Evelyn’s voice warbled a bit.

  “May I come in?”

  “Ah…” She sounded terribly nervous. “I am ready.”

  “Excellent.” Opening the door, he smiled and held up the tray, almost disappointed with his plan for a slow seduction—if they got that far. Evelyn reclined in bed with chestnut locks arranged across the pillows like a nymph—except she had the bedclothes pulled up to her chin.

  He held up the tray. “I thought we might enjoy a libation with grapes and cheese.”

  She clutched the coverlet under her chin as she peered over it. “You brought food?”

  “Aye. Are you hungry?”

  “I…ah.” Her eyebrows arched as if surprised he hadn’t stormed into the room and set to carrying out the imminent consummation. “Famished,” she finally said. “I was too nervous to eat.”

  He thought about asking permission to sit beside her on the bed but decided being direct might serve at the moment. He sauntered over and placed the tray on the bed. “Move over, please.”

  “I-I beg your pardon?”

  “You do not intend for me to pull up a chair, aye? Now scoot over a wee bit so I may join you.”

  “We’re going to eat on the bed?” she asked while popping a grape in her mouth.

  “Why should we not?” He gestured to the tray. “I’ve brought wine and whisky. Which would you prefer?”

  “A lady mustn’t drink whisky.”

  “Nay? Within the confines of her bedchamber, I reckon a lady can enjoy that which she pleases.” John wrapped fingers around the wine bottle and pulled out the cork. “But I guessed you’d prefer wine.”

  A hint of mischief d
anced in her eyes. “I’ve never tasted whisky before.”

  He uprighted the bottle before he started to pour. “Och, lassie. That is a situation we must remedy straightaway.”

  Evelyn looked from side to side as if there might be peepholes where dragoons were watching in wait to take into custody any whisky-swilling brides who had not yet been deflowered. “Are you sure?”

  John gave her a wink and poured a dram. “It has a wee bite, but there’s nothing better to take the edge off one’s nerves.”

  She took the glass, her fingers trembling. “W-who said I am nervous?”

  “Och, mayhap I’m the anxious one.” He guided the dram to his lips and watched his new bride’s curious stare while coaxing her to pour a sip into his mouth. Grinning, he licked his lips and took the glass from her grasp. “Now you.”

  “Perhaps a small taste.” Did she have any idea how sensual she looked, her ruby lips parted, her gaze innocent, yet sultry? Everything about this woman was as sultry as a hot summer’s day.

  Slowly, she directed John’s hand to her lips until the smallest of sips spilled into her mouth. Her eyes flashed wide as she fanned her face and coughed. “Oh my, that is potent.”

  He took a healthy swig and savored the fire as it trickled down his gullet. “Would you prefer wine?”

  White teeth scraped over a delicate bottom lip. “Perhaps a bit of cheese and bread first.”

  “Your wish is my command.” He put a slice of cheese on some bread, but when Evelyn reached for it, he drew his hand away from her grasp. He’d planned this seduction and he would damn well follow through with it. “Allow me the honor of feeding you, m’lady.”

  With a nervous giggle, she opened her mouth wider this time and John slipped the morsel inside. “Mm.” The woman’s eyes rolled back as she chewed. Holy Moses, she embodied temptation. “Delicious.”

  “’Tis Scottish cheese.”

  “Why is it different?”

  He served himself and chewed. “Highland coos.”

  “Coos?”

  “Bovine animals that say moo.” John poured another tot of whisky, but this time Evelyn plucked the glass before he picked it up.

  “Cows.” She sipped with hardly a cough this time. “I imagine there are many new words I’ll need to learn.”

  “Most everyone in Alloa speaks English.”

  “Are your lands in the Highlands or the Lowlands?”

  “A bit of both, really. I like to say the tower is at the gateway to the Highlands.”

  She gave him a curious look, as if his answer didn’t sit terribly well. And then she drank down the entire dram.

  “Ho, lassie, there’s a fire in that spirit, and the first rule is to respect it, else you’ll be burned and end up with a megrim the size of Bass Rock come morn.”

  “I think I like the way it warms my insides.” She set the glass on the tray. “Besides, you said it calms one’s nerves.”

  John stoppered the whisky bottle. “A wee tot takes the edge off your nerves, guzzling it only serves to turn the guzzler into a drunken fool.”

  As she tossed her locks over her shoulder, Evelyn’s smile seemed easier than when he’d first arrived. “I do not think I’m inebriated.”

  “Nor would I want you to be, else come the morrow you’d never forgive me.”

  She plucked another grape from the bunch. “So, Mar…am I to continue to call you Mar?”

  “If it pleases you, though when in private, I prefer John.”

  Her teeth grazed her bottom lip. “John when you’re visiting my bedchamber?”

  “Aye, for starters.” He took the grape from her fingertips and popped it into her mouth. “And you? What endearment shall I use for you?”

  “Evelyn is fine.”

  “Hmm.” He captured a lock of her hair and let it slide across his finger, the texture far silkier than he’d imagined. Drawing the end of the curl to his lips, he kissed it, again watching her eyes. Oh, yes, they grew dark.

  “Eve,” he whispered, leaning forward and nuzzling her neck. “Eve is for moments like this when you’re seducing me.”

  A bit of juice moistened her lips. Absently, she licked it away. “How can I be seducing you when you’re the one kissing me?”

  “Do you think your eyes have no effect on me? Or your lips when they’re moist with grapes and whisky?” He slid his finger along her shift’s scooped neckline. “Or knowing your unbound breasts are waiting to be suckled beneath this thin bit of linen.”

  She gasped ever so subtly—the cue John wanted before his lips trailed lower. “You see,” he whispered, untying the bow and sliding his hand inside until he cupped her breast. Large, soft, and pliable, he’d never held a breast so exquisite. “I want to kiss you here.”

  “W-w-what?”

  With his next exhale, he blew warm breath over her nipple. “You heard me, lass.” He lapped his tongue over the erect pebble, the taste making him instantly hard. As she moaned and slipped lower, he took her breast into his mouth, kneading both with his hands.

  Eve’s breath grew faster. “What are you doing to me? Heat is swirling through my insides…like…like an insatiable hunger.”

  John chuckled. “’Tis only the prelude to passion.” He looked up. “But before I can go farther I need you bare.”

  She crossed her arms. “You mean naked?”

  “Aye.” He could pull up her shift and plunge in like an inexperienced lad, but he’d rather return to his chamber and take himself in hand than act the callous buffoon.

  Expecting her reluctance, John stood, set the tray aside, and unfastened the brooch at his shoulder.

  Evelyn watched him, her eyes wide. “A-are you disrobing as well?”

  “It is only fair if I go first, aye, lass?”

  Her gaze meandered down to his sporran, exactly where he wanted her to look. It took only a flick of his fingers to remove his belt, and with that, dirk, sporran, and his kilt all dropped to the floorboards. “Undressing a Highlander takes no time whatsoever,” he said as he shrugged out of his doublet.

  “I see.”

  He spread his arms to his sides and turned full circle. “This shirt is all that’s covering me now.”

  Evelyn gripped the coverlet. “All?”

  “Have you ever seen a naked man before?”

  Eyes as round as guineas, she shook her head very slowly.

  He untied his neckcloth and let it cascade atop his pile of clothes. “Men are different, and when a man desires a woman, he grows hard.”

  “Hard?”

  “As hard as marble.” He tugged the shirt off and stood still for a moment, letting her eyes drink in their fill.

  Until a pink tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth. “I-I, I am to submit to that?”

  He stroked himself, knowing exactly what the overt display of audaciousness did to a woman’s insides. “Not until you are pleading for it.”

  “But I would never—”

  “We shall see.” He gently tugged back the bedclothes. “’Tis your turn.”

  Within the blink of an eye, John slipped her shift over her head and moved under the coverlet beside her. Evelyn froze, trying not to think about what she’d just seen. But his naked body warmed her—more than warmed—made her intimate parts stir, shocking her half to death. How could a man she didn’t love bring about such wanton desire?

  His chest moved over her as a gentle push with his hand coaxed Evelyn onto her back. His gaze dipped to her lips right before he kissed her—hot, searing kisses demanding a response. His hands caressed her breast, his thumb and forefinger teasing her burning peak. “I never want to see these bound, for they are too bonny to cover up.”

  “But—”

  Before she uttered an objection, he devoured her mouth, his knee nudging her legs apart.

  And as he kissed, his hand trailed down, down, down to where the heat coiled tightly in her belly. A heat that had simmered for days.

  Evelyn gasped as his finger slid over skin so
sensitive it made her arch her back. Everything around her faded into oblivion as his finger explored recesses as if he’d opened a window of raw desire that had always lurked dormant inside her.

  “Do you want more?” he growled, his lips moving down the center of her belly. He seemed to know more about her body than she.

  “No,” she said—almost sighed. With the single word, his finger stilled. She nearly burst. He couldn’t stop. Not now. “Yes. I-I don’t know.”

  “More,” he whispered. In the next moment, he licked her. Without warning, his tongue slid over the sensitive private place that craved more—and he knew it.

  “Mon Dieu,” she cried, running his hair through her fingers as his mouth relentlessly sucked. Tossing her head from side to side, Evelyn held on while his mouth did ungodly, delightful, sinful, glorious things to her.

  Taking in an enormous gasp, she arched up from the bed as if her entire body was about to shatter. And then it did. Unable to help herself, she dropped to the pillows while her insides convulsed in rapture. “Am I dying?”

  John laughed—at a moment like this he chuckled and swept his thumb over her quivering flesh. “But we are not finished. Not by half.”

  “There’s more?” How could there be?

  “It may hurt at first, but once this night is over, it will never be painful again.”

  She bit her lip. She’d seen the size of him. How could that fit inside her?

  He rose to his knees, letting the bedclothes slip away, revealing his shaft once more. “I promise I’ll be as gentle as possible.”

  Unable to say no, Evelyn stared at his manhood while he lowered himself over her. “But first I want to bring you undone again.”

  “Again?” she whispered. The shattering could happen again?

  And then slowly, methodically, patiently, he started anew—the kisses, the breasts, his hand between her legs. Only when she was writhing and clinging to him did he lever his member toward her.

  “Are you ready?”

  Evelyn nodded, too filled with desire to fear.

  Taking his weight on his arms, he stroked himself along her channel—back and forth, back and forth.

  Hurt? Good gracious, his rubbing drove her to the brink of insanity.