Why was she here and not in England? Or was he conjuring her as he had a thousand times since the day she’d left?
“Good God, man,” Hamish said into his ear, breaking the trance that had snared him. “Isnae that yer lady wife…I mean, yer woman…er, yer mistress.”
He shot the man a glare. “Shut up, MacLeod.”
Makenna turned to see what had caught his attention and also stumbled to a halt. Other dancers collided when the music came to an ungraceful pause.
“Oh, my,” she whispered.
But Niall didn’t hear her. The music restarted as he moved slowly toward the staircase, his eyes fastened on Aisla, as though if he blinked, she might disappear. Was she some mirage conjured up by his desperate imagination? He closed his eyes for a painful second and reopened them. She was still standing there, only now she was looking at him. He could feel the heat in that coppery gaze as it met his full on, without regret and without shame…without artifice and with complete ownership, echoing the chant his heart had taken up.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
A smile lit her lips as she leaned over to the majordomo. He cleared his throat, his face tinting with color, though he wore a wide smile that matched hers. “Lady Aisla Montgomery,” he intoned. “But soon to be Maclaren again, if she has anything to say about it.”
He could hear the gasps behind him, along with the spreading whispers. One, he was sure, had been his mother’s. But Niall didn’t care. She had come.
She had come back for him.
Aisla held his gaze with every step she descended until she stood at the bottom of the marble staircase, one riser above him, putting them on eye level. He couldn’t breathe.
“Apparently, I lost a wager, and I’m here to pay my debts,” she said with a tremulous smile.
Niall was aware of all the attention. People still plowed into each other on the ballroom floor, craning their necks to get a better look, and those close by, stared unabashedly. But he only had eyes for her. Every instinct in him wanted to reach out and gather her into his arms. To hold her and never let go. But he waited, his heart in his throat, the rest of the world falling away until it was only them.
Her smile rose to her eyes, making the amber flecks in them glow with an inner light. “I’ve thought about what I would say when I saw you, and it always comes down to this: I love you, Niall Maclaren, I always have. We might have made a mess of it the first time, and we might not have been married on paper, but in my heart, I’m your wife. And I belong here, with you.”
It felt like he was floating on air. His hand lifted to touch her cheek and she leaned into the caress, uncaring of anyone but him. “Are ye proposing, Lady Aisla?”
“That depends, my love,” she whispered. “Are you accepting?”
“Aye, I think so.”
“In that case…” Then she stunned him by stepping down and sinking into a deep, elegant curtsy worthy of royalty. “Niall Stuart Maclaren, will you be my husband?”
If the world had exploded around him right at that moment, he would not have noticed. Every bit of his being was focused on the woman kneeling before him and asking for his hand. He laughed and joined her on bended knee, cupping his hand around her slender neck. “Only if ye do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
He snatched the answer from her lips with his mouth, only dimly aware of the thunderous sound of cheering and raucous catcalls in the ballroom. A delicious blush covered his bride-to-be as they rose arm in arm to face a half-scandalized assembly. He met Ronan’s approving eyes, and his mother’s teary ones. Makenna, too, was dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
“She said yes,” he announced, hauling her against him with a wicked grin. “Again.”
“For the last time!” Hamish bellowed. “For the love of God.”
Everyone laughed, but Niall agreed wholeheartedly. This time, he had no intention of ever letting her go.
…
Later that evening, an exhausted but euphoric Aisla was undressing for bed at Tarbendale. She couldn’t curb her happiness. She’d been terrified that Niall would reject her, but all of that had gone away the minute his eyes had met hers. After her solemn proposal, the rest of the evening had passed in a magical haze, full of dancing and laughter and so much love it’d felt like her heart would not be able to contain it all.
“Did it go as you expected, my lady?” Pauline asked as she unhooked and unlaced Aisla’s dress and corset.
“Better,” she said dreamily. “Oh, Pauline, he said yes.”
“Mais oui,” she said. “He would have to be blind to not succumb to your beauty.”
He’d been beautiful, too. Niall had looked so bloody handsome and desirable in his dress kilt that she’d wanted to drag him to the floor of that ballroom and have her wanton way with him. What had happened, however, was a close second. The kiss itself had been scandalous, but it was soon forgotten after Hamish got into a drunken argument with Julien about what Scotsmen wore—or didn’t wear—under their dress kilts. And then had come the proof, led of course by Niall’s unruly brothers, Finlay and Evan. Lady Dunrannoch’s ball would forever be cursed, or blessed, depending on who one spoke to, by the unveiling of three sets of bare arses.
Aisla fought back a giggle, wondering whether Niall had forgone undergarments like his best friend and brothers. Heat pushed into her cheeks at the ribald thought. They’d danced the waltz at one point, and she’d felt his swelling erection through her skirts. Her gasp had been audible. He’d shot her a racy grin, his eyes falling to her plump décolletage. It appeared that Pauline’s predictions about her figure had been true.
“What do ye expect looking the way ye do, lass? I’m only a man after all.” His voice had gone low and husky. “Dunnae fash, we’ll be doing a different kind of dancing later.”
Aisla had nearly stumbled over her own two feet, as her body had instantly responded to his provocative words. Her blood had felt as if it were on fire, pounding through her veins like liquid flame. She’d become so hot that she was worried she was going to swoon, and only the firm grip of his arm about her waist kept her upright. The warm clasp of his body against hers had upended her in other indecent ways, however.
And hours later, she tingled still with anticipation.
Pauline pursed her lips as she lifted a gossamer night rail over Aisla’s head and then handed her a robe. “I am happy to see you smiling again.”
“So am I.”
With expert hands, Pauling took down her intricate coiffure, brushing the waist-length locks. “Did you tell him?”
“No, I…”
“Tell me what?” a voice said from the doorway.
Niall stood there, his arms folded casually across his chest. He still wore his kilt, though his jacket was gone as was his cravat. His shirt was open at the throat, the small section of bronzed skin making Aisla inexplicably breathless. With a blush, the maid handed her the brush and bobbed a curtsy with a meaningful look in her direction, and then took her leave.
“What was that about?” he asked coming into the room.
“Pauline is just being Pauline,” she said as he took the brush from her and began combing her hair. “You don’t have to do that.”
But she forgot her words as he sifted his fingers through the glossy strands and lifted a handful of her hair to his cheek. “Like the softest gold-spun silk,” he murmured and inhaled deeply. “I love yer scent. Honey blossoms and ye.”
Placing the brush on the dresser and watching her in the looking glass, he lifted the hair off of her right shoulder and kissed her exposed nape. Aisla’s entire body trembled as gooseflesh sprung under his softly roving lips. His eyes wouldn’t release hers and she felt the burn of desire in them as clearly as she felt his hot mouth branding her skin.
Good God, she was going to incinerate from the inside out.
Aisla reached for the edge of the dresser to steady herself as his kisses climbed the column of her neck and then back down across the back of her nape
to the other side. She could feel his arousal prodding against her back, and it made her weak kneed, reminding her of the carnal dance he’d alluded to. Her breasts ached, every part of her grew hot, and a wicked pulse started to throb between her legs.
Niall let her hair fall, and cupped her jaw, tilting her chin back toward him and then his mouth took hers. It was nothing like the kiss in the ballroom. This kiss was explosive and possessive and raw. It took, it claimed. It scorched. Even with the awkward side angle, Aisla felt the kiss clear to her toes. And all the while, he pressed himself against her, grinding his lean hips into her buttocks in blatant imitation of the act she was beginning to crave with desperate need.
“God, I’ve missed ye,” he said, releasing her mouth but trailing wet kisses up her cheek to her temple even as his hand wandered down her chest to undo the ties to her robe. It puddled to the floor in a pile of cream silk. His eyes greedily devoured her in the mirror, seeing her rose-pink nipples rising proudly through the thin lawn and the hint of shadow further down at the tops of her legs. One hand shaped the curve of her right breast, his eyes rising back to hold hers as he rolled her nipple lightly between his fingers. He gave the second nipple the same attention, until they were both taut and aching. Bolts of delicious heat shot from her breasts to her thighs. Aisla couldn’t help her moan of pleasure, her lips parting in helpless surrender.
Finally, he turned her to face him. His eyes were like blue fire, blatant arousal burning in them. His lips were thick and wet from her mouth, and suddenly she needed to taste them again. Aisla wound her arms about his neck, and took what she wanted. She bit and nibbled at his mouth, loving the hot velvety feel of him, slipping her tongue inside to find and tease his. He growled in response and clutched her to him, deepening the kiss.
“I’ve wanted this since that last time in your chamber,” she said with a blush.
“It’s all I’ve thought of for weeks as well.”
Emboldened by his admission, Aisla dragged him toward her, feeling his body harden with passion as she palmed his firm buttocks. “I forgot to tell you I want lots of children.”
“Then we better get started,” he said with a lusty grin.
“I have something else to tell you.”
He nibbled at her earlobe, sucking it into his mouth and making her moan. “Can it no’ wait?”
“No,” she gasped, pulling back slightly out of reach of that persuasive tongue. “That thing that Pauline mentioned earlier before she left,” she said, unable to string two coherent thoughts together while his mouth was on her. “Well, you’re going to be a father, my laird.”
At her blurted revelation, Niall froze, his eyes going wide with delight, and then he kissed her so sweetly, so tenderly, that she couldn’t think. So she was taken completely by surprise when he lifted her and spun her around until she was quite giddy. Then he held her against him and sank to his knees, his head resting against her flat stomach.
“I love ye, Aisla,” he said looking up at her and then grazing a kiss on her belly. Her legs trembled beneath her night rail.
He glanced up at her, his brow creasing slightly. “How do ye feel? Are ye well?”
“I’m perfectly fine. As is the babe.”
“Perhaps we should wait to…ye ken…”
Aisla laughed and tugged on his shoulders. “Niall Maclaren, if ye leave me in such an unfulfilled state, I will never forgive ye.”
“Yer brogue is back.”
“Aye.” She grinned. “Now pay heed, leannan.”
With a teasing smile, he rose to take her lips again, his tongue luring her to madness as she lost her senses in a sea of pleasure. Every part of her was alive and yearning for him, and when he lifted her into his strong arms and bore her to the bed, she laughed in delight. He set her down and then stepped back, watching her. God, he was so handsome. So big and masculine, and she wanted him with a force she couldn’t quantify. He drew a shuddering breath, an odd look coming into his eyes. For a moment, Aisla frowned. Was he going to stop? She fought back the sudden knot in the pit of her stomach.
“Might I remind you, sir, that you’ve already said yes.”
“Aye. I am yers. I just wanted to take a moment to make sure ye were real. That I wasnae dreaming.”
“Do you dream of me often?”
His laugh was a half groan. “Ye’ve tormented me for weeks, lass. Every time I close my eyes, ye’re there, lush and beautiful. A figment of my fevered imagination.”
She rose to her knees on the bed, her heart kicking against her rib cage. “Did your dream Aisla do this?”
Slowly, she pulled on the ties to her night rail, letting the bodice drop to the tops of her nipples. She heard his indrawn breath, and let her eyes wander down his brawny body, lingering at the telltale tent in the folds of his kilt, before pulling the nightgown up and over her shoulders so that she was completely nude. She let him look his fill.
“Christ, lass,” he breathed. “Ye’re a goddess.”
“I’m yours.” She licked her lips and sat back on her folded legs. “Now undress for me.”
He complied, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and shedding it. His fingers fumbled on his shirt buttons as a popping sound ensued in his frustration, and he whisked it over his head, leaving him bare above the waist. Aisla held her breath at the magnificent expanse of his chest. She couldn’t get enough of him…not of his tight muscles, the light mat of red gold hair, or the densely compacted build of him that tapered to the waistband of his kilt. A tiny gasp escaped her lips as she clenched her thighs together. Good Lord, but he made her body feel utterly frenzied. She was on the verge of coming apart just from watching him disrobe.
Divesting himself of his kilt, stockings, and shoes, he joined her on the bed, his long, lean body covering hers. Aisla wrapped herself around him, feeling the hair on his chest brushing her sensitive nipples and arching backward. She tangled her legs in between his, the hard length of his arousal finding glorious purchase in the notch between her thighs. Niall kissed her again, wrapping his arms about her until no space remained between them. She loved the feel of his skin plastering hers and the intense heat from his body leaching into her. God, she wanted him.
“Now, Niall, please.”
He lifted his hips and positioned himself between hers, but he didn’t enter her. Instead, he moved back and forth, rubbing himself into her slick channel. All the while, his mouth plundered hers, his tongue mimicking his shallow, teasing strokes. Aisla moaned her frustration, her hips driving toward his. He was going to make her crazy! Her legs hooked around his calves and with a firm buck of her hips, she had turned them to the side in a rolling motion, and then she straddled him.
He watched her, his mouth wet and swollen, eyes dancing. “What are ye doing, my lady?”
“Taking charge,” she said and aligned herself above him.
“Is that so?” he teased, his eyes narrowing as she circled her hips in a slow spiral. “Do ye plan to do that often?”
“As long as I am mistress here, aye.”
He filled his wandering hand with her breast, squeezing gently. “My mistress, my wife, my everything.”
At his tender words, Aisla lowered herself onto his shaft, gasping as she took him to the hilt. She rolled her hips, the spectacular friction making her body tighten and convulse with pleasure. Niall held her waist, his fingers gripping hard and kneading her skin as she pulsed above him, losing herself in the rhythmic sensation of their bodies joining, parting, and then hurtling together again. He drew her down to him for a wild, passionate kiss, even as he thrust up into her. Her body started to shudder, and she could feel him tensing beneath her, too, attempting to restrain his pace so that he might extend her pleasure and find his. Aisla cried out as he pushed them both onto the cusp of bliss, and then tumbled over. She collapsed against him, her head on his chest, his frantic heartbeat matching hers as it slowed.
“I love ye,” he whispered against her damp hair. “Ye ken that?”
Aisla shifted, feeling him slide from her body. He tucked her into the side of him, and she left one leg draped over his hair-roughened thighs. She felt satiated and content.
“I’m sorry I didnae fight for ye before, Aisla,” he said after a while, breaking their comfortable silence. “In Paris. I should have told ye I was there.”
“It’s not important.”
“But it is,” he said. “I spent six years reinventing myself, and becoming a better man for ye. I should have fought harder. All of this would be for nothing without ye. I realized that the day ye left to go back to Paris.”
“I’ve changed, too,” she said. “I’ve gotten stronger in who I am, both the girl from Montgomery and the woman from Maclaren. I was lost when I came here, trying to find my place. And with the drinking, it was…”
He placed a finger on her lips. “As far as the drink, I was a fool. I’m no’ the same.”
“I know,” she said, rising to her elbows to look down at his beloved face. She kissed him softly. Gently. “And I love you more for it. I regret that we were apart, but without it, I don’t think we would have become the people we are today. You would not be this amazing, incredible, talented, resourceful laird, and I would not be…who I am.”
He smiled. “A strong, smart, beautiful, powerful woman.”
Aisla blushed, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, but she didn’t want to hide her feelings from him. He deserved to know everything she was feeling, even her emotions made her vulnerable. “I fell in love with you from the start, Niall, but I didn’t know what love truly meant then. I do now. Falling in love is easy. Loving someone with all their faults together with all your own faults, and fighting for what you have is the hard part. It’s easy to leave and to give up. Sometimes, love takes work, but it’s worth it. It’s worth the reward in the end.” She traced his cheek with her finger. “And now I know—this is where I belong.”
Sweet Home Highlander Page 30