His Convenient Highland Wedding

by Janice Preston

  All silly girlhood dreams.

  Silly and unimportant. I must make the best of what I have.

  At least Lachlan McNeill was a handsome man, if somewhat sombre. If only he was not such an unknown quantity.

  The door linking their bedchambers opened to reveal Lachlan, clad in a ruby-red brocade dressing gown and a pair of velvet slippers. He paused at the foot of the bed, his gaze slowly travelling the length of her body, outlined under the blankets. His brows twitched into a frown as she pressed into the mattress, trying to minimise her shape, and she forced herself to relax. The last thing she wanted was to annoy him. She trembled, her mouth seeming to shrivel until it was as dry as the herbs dried on racks in the still room at home.

  Lachlan’s chest swelled as he inhaled. ‘I will turn out the lamp.’

  When the only light left was the sullen glow of the fire that had been banked for the night, he stripped off his dressing gown. The fire at his back cast his expression in the shade but silhouetted the curve of muscles in his shoulders and arms. His wide torso narrowed to slim hips and his legs were long and well-shaped, but Flora was shocked that he appeared to be completely naked. Did he not wear a nightshirt? He toed off his slippers and approached the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, but strove to stay relaxed. He was her husband. She must learn to put her trust in him because he now ruled her life.

  He slid under the covers and, when she braved a peek at him, she saw he was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. She felt no threat from him...maybe he, too, was nervous?

  Don’t be ridiculous, Flora. He is a man. Why would he be nervous?

  But the thought gave her courage and she rolled over to face him.

  ‘Did your mother tell you about...about the marital bed?’ The question appeared to grind out between clenched teeth.

  ‘A little.’ Flora swallowed. ‘I have seen the animals,’ she ventured. ‘Mother...she told me it would hurt.’

  He turned his head on the pillow. ‘Only this once. It will not hurt after tonight. You have my word.’

  It seemed an odd thing for him to say giving her his word about something as intimate as this, as though it were some kind of business deal, but before she could dwell upon it Lachlan rolled Flora over on to her back. His warm, hard and very male body half-covered her and she closed her eyes as his mouth descended on hers.

  She tried to concentrate on other things, to distract herself from what was happening, but it proved impossible. The slide of his lips on hers was surprisingly pleasant and, when he began to kiss her neck beneath her ear, she felt a giggle bubble inside. She had to clench her jaw to contain it and tensed her body to prevent herself from squirming as her mother’s voice echoed in her head: ‘A lady must be silent and submit to her husband if she wishes to preserve his respect. Otherwise she is no better than the animals rutting in the field.’

  But it proved impossibly difficult to ignore what Lachlan was doing as his mouth traced her collarbone and his hand stroked down her side to her hip and back again, before he—She failed to stifle her squeak of surprise as his hand closed around her breast and he gently pinched her nipple. It was as though an invisible path lay from her breast to her private place between her legs. She had felt a definite jerk down there. She bit her lip and tensed.

  ‘Relax,’ he whispered. ‘I will not do anything you do not like. Did that feel nice?’

  She dared not answer. It had felt good, but what would he think of her if she admitted it? And he clearly took her silence to mean she had disliked it because he released her breast and he was gathering her nightgown, bunching it up, and then his hand was on her naked skin. He stroked her thigh, his touch warm but raising shivers in its wake—and then his fingers were between her legs, moving, and it was all Flora could do to keep still. But then, just as the urge to move near overwhelmed her, he moved on top of her, pushing her legs apart, and she could feel him nudging into her.

  ‘You’re ready.’

  What did that mean?

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ Hot breath scorched her ear. ‘I hope I don’t hurt you too much.’

  With one thrust, he filled her. Every muscle in her body went rigid, but there was only the one stab of pain and that soon dulled to a throb. Flora hadn’t uttered a sound and she was proud of that, keen to please her new husband. Lachlan started to move then, slowly at first, and, once she became accustomed to the rhythm and to the sensation of being filled, emptied and then filled again, she began to relax and even started to enjoy what was happening. His thrusts quickened, and his breathing, too, and she found her fingers digging into his shoulders, her legs clinging to his hips. She opened her eyes and the sight of him moving above her and the feel of him inside her...pounding into her...knowing it was him...it brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes.

  And then he was done. With one final thrust and a groan, she felt a gush inside her and he withdrew.

  Leaving her empty and confused.

  They lay side by side, each on their backs, not touching. Lachlan’s breaths were harsh in the silence of the bedchamber and Flora tried very hard to suppress her own quickened breathing, so as not to disturb him.

  At last, Lachlan moved. But it was not towards her, to take her in his arms and to tell her he was pleased with her, that she had done well—the response she had hoped and longed for. He rolled away from her, throwing the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed as he sat on its edge.

  ‘Thank you. I hope you will not be too sore. Next time there will be no pain. Goodnight.’

  He stood up, walked to the fireside, grabbed his dressing gown from the chair, shrugged it on and left the room without another word.

  Flora gazed up at the ceiling for a long time, willing herself not to cry.

  * * *

  In the morning, Flora roused from her sleep as Muriel entered her bedchamber and quietly opened the curtains. She sat up, stretched her arms high and yawned, surprised at how rested she felt. The past few days—ever since she had learned she was to marry Lachlan McNeill—had been a time of ever-increasing dread but, now, all she could feel was relief that the worst was over and it had not proved near as bad as she had feared. In fact, there had been a few times—the barest of glimpses only—when she thought that lying with Lachlan might be something less to dread and more to look forward to, shameful though that admission might be.

  ‘Good morning, milady.’ Muriel came to the bedside and pulled the pillows high against the headboard. ‘I’ve brought you tea, eggs and toast. And the master ordered water for you to have a bath.’

  She cocked her head at a short bark from the next room and went to the door. Bandit scurried across the room and launched himself on to the bed.

  ‘A bath?’ Surprise gave way to embarrassment and Flora felt her cheeks redden. She buried her face against Bandit’s familiar sturdy body.

  ‘Ah, whisht, milady.’ Muriel beamed as she shooed Bandit from the bed and set a loaded tray upon Flora’s legs. ‘There’s nae need for blushing—it was your wedding night and a warm bath will set you right for the day.’ She gestured to the window, where Flora could see clouds scudding across a bright sky. ‘If the rain stays away, it’ll give you the chance to get to know your new home.’

  Flora did not know quite what to make of Muriel’s forwardness. Mother would never have allowed such familiarity from a servant, but Flora welcomed it...it would be pleasant to have someone to simply talk to. Flora swallowed hard, past sudden emotion that clogged her throat. She was lonely. And she had been for a long time, with Father unforgiving over her failures and Mother and her siblings following his lead, as always. She might have earned their approval at last, by this marriage, but they were not here. Here there were only strangers. Including Lachlan, despite the intimacy of last night.

  Muriel could never be a friend as such, but she could provide company, with her warm
smile and her friendly chatter.

  ‘I should like the opportunity to explore,’ said Flora. ‘Is...is Mr McNeill at breakfast?’

  ‘Och, bless you, no, milady. He’s away off to the distillery, but he’ll be back for dinner, he said. He works verra hard. You can ask anyone. It’s no wonder he’s so rich.’ She lowered her voice. ‘They do say he made much of his money abroad, milady.’

  There was companionable chatter and there was gossip. And the latter needed to be discouraged, no matter how curious Flora was about Lachlan’s past.

  ‘Did you work here at the castle before Mr McNeill bought it, Muriel?’

  ‘I did, milady. I was born in Lochmore village. Da’s a fisherman and Ma cleans the fish and mends nets, but they wanted better for me, so Ma’s sister, who worked for the Duchess, got me a job here as a housemaid when it was leased out and I worked my way up.’ The pride in her voice was unmistakable. ‘I never dared believe I might be a lady’s maid, milady, but I worked hard and here I am.’

  Her smile faltered. ‘Mrs Dalgliesh says I’m on trial and if you’re not satisfied with me she’ll hire a properly trained lady’s maid. You will tell me what you want, milady, so’s I can prove myself?’

  ‘Yes. Of course I shall tell you.’

  If only it was as easy to tell Lachlan what I want. The thought came out of nowhere, reminding her just how much the past year had robbed her of her confidence.

  Muriel beamed again. ‘I’ll fetch your bath water, milady,’ she said and left the room.

  Flora ate her breakfast, pondering the enigmatic man she now called husband, last night never far from her thoughts. The marital act was not what Mother had led her to fear, but she found herself baffled by the entire procedure. Was it acceptable for a lady to actually enjoy lying with her husband or not? For there had been moments last night when excitement had seemed to hover just within her reach, but then Lachlan’s visit had ended with her feeling...frustrated. And lonely. That word again.

  ‘Thank goodness I have you, Bandit.’

  Bandit sat on the end of the bed, head cocked. Flora tore a corner off her buttered toast and threw it to him.

  Chapter Five

  An hour later, with Bandit at her heels, Flora went downstairs. Renney was in the hall and she smiled at him when he opened the front door for her.

  ‘It’s cool out there, milady. Shall I fetch your cloak?’

  She was clad in a dove-grey merino-wool morning robe with a blue Paisley shawl around her shoulders and a white lace cap decorated with blue ribbon covering her hair.

  ‘Thank you, Renney, but I just wish to step outside to see what the weather is like.’

  It was bright and sunny, with a brisk onshore wind. At least it was dry. For now. Having lived her entire life on the west coast, albeit half a day’s journey to the north, Flora knew how quickly the autumnal rains could sweep in. She hugged her shawl closer against the chill, but she lingered, lifting her face to breathe in the familiar salt tang, listening to the crash of waves upon rocks. She had always loved the sound of the sea and here at Lochmore, closer to the shore than Castle McCrieff, it was louder. All-pervading.

  ‘Flora.’

  The deep voice, close behind, made her start. Her pulse skittered at Lachlan’s stern expression as he clasped her upper arms, ignoring Bandit who danced around his feet.

  ‘You will catch a chill, standing around out here without a cloak.’

  Joy bloomed in her chest—he had not left Lochmore to deal with business after all. He was here, with her. There were many things she wanted to say, questions she longed to ask, but the risk of saying the wrong thing kept her silent. Better she should wait until she could determine the true character of this man.

  ‘I was told you would be away at the distillery all day.’

  He stilled, his only movement a narrowing of those dark fathomless eyes.

  ‘I was waylaid by a problem,’ he said, after a slight pause. ‘I am about to leave.’ He released her and his hand settled at the small of her back as he urged her indoors. ‘I suggest you take someone with you if you wish to wander around out here. The coast can be dangerous—there have been tales of people getting trapped by the tide and there are treacherous currents in the small bay at the mouth of Loch Arris.’ He gestured to the north of the castle and the loch Flora had glimpsed through the trees on the journey to the castle the day before.

  ‘I have grown up along this coastline and I well know the dangers,’ she said. ‘You need not be concerned for my safety.’

  They were in the hall now and, at her words, Lachlan’s hand slid from her and bowed. ‘I stand corrected. But you will nevertheless oblige me by waiting until I am able to show you the safest paths down to the beach and to that bay.’

  If she was to avoid becoming a wife who existed merely to obey her husband’s every command, she might as well begin now. Her insides quaked, but she gritted her teeth and raised a brow. ‘When might that be, do you suppose?’

  ‘Tomorrow. We will do it tomorrow. I must go. I shall see you at dinner.’

  He turned on his heel and strode through the door, leaving Flora, again, confused and a little bereft. He was clearly irritated with her. Should she have meekly agreed with what he said and kept her own opinions to herself? Dismay churned her stomach. Her mother always submitted to her father and Flora desperately did not want such a marriage, where she was afraid of even having her own opinions, let alone voicing them, but that seemed to be exactly the type of marriage she would end up with unless, somehow, she summoned her courage to continue speaking out regardless of Lachlan’s reactions.

  She heaved a silent sigh and went in search of Mrs Dalgliesh to arrange a time to discuss household matters and to speak to the cook about menus. Then she donned sturdy boots, a warm bonnet, gloves and her thick felted cloak and went outside with Bandit to explore. She would compromise for now and obey Lachlan by staying inside the castle grounds, even though the sea was calling to her and she longed to explore the beach.

  She walked the narrow paths of the knot garden and marvelled at the skill of the gardeners who had created it before leaving the old inner bailey area and walking along the driveway to the arched gateway under the tower and the adjoining gatehouse. She was curious about Mr and Mrs Fraser, who lived there, but she was disappointed. Nobody came to the door in response to her knock and when she stepped back to look, there was no smoke coming from the chimney.

  ‘Brenda’s away to her daughter’s cottage in the village, milady. Was there anything you needed?’

  An elderly man with a weather-beaten face all but obscured by a full greying beard stood watching her. She recognised him as one of the gardeners she had met the day before. Rab. That was it.

  Bandit bounced towards Rab and was rewarded with a scratch behind his ear.

  ‘No. Thank you. Except—’ she wouldn’t go there, but she couldn’t deny her curiosity ‘—where is the path that leads to the beach?’

  He scratched at his chin, his fingers disappearing up to the knuckles in the bushy growth. Flora suppressed a shudder, wondering what might be lurking in there.

  ‘There’s a gate over by the old chapel—’ he pointed ‘—if ye’re going down to the sand. Or, if you follow the wall around—’ he pointed in the other direction, indicating the outer wall as it curved around until it joined the keep ‘—ye’ll find a path and steps down to the cove at the mouth of the loch, but it’s treacherous, ye ken—slippery rocks and strong currents that’ll pull you under.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll explore that part another day.’ She glanced up at the sky. Ominous clouds were massing behind the castle, out to sea. ‘It looks like rain.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Before you go—can you tell me how old the knot garden is? I’ve seen pictures of such gardens in history books, but I can’t recall when they originated.’

 
‘Ah.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a clay pipe, sticking it between his teeth and sucking on it vigorously, despite it being unlit. ‘That’ll be young Lord Glenarris.’ He removed the pipe, waving it to emphasise his words. ‘He found out about it in a book, too. Or was it papers?’ He scratched his beard again. ‘He’s a famous plant hunter now. Goes to other countries...other continents...and brings all sorts back with him. Anyways, he found out about the knot garden—it was laid out in the sixteenth century, he said, and he had us make it like it was in them plans he found.’

  ‘Lord Glenarris?’

  ‘The Duke’s son. He was born here, at the castle. His mother...’ he made the sign of the cross on his chest ‘... God rest her soul, was His Grace’s first wife.’

  ‘Ah. I see. So it was his lordship who restored the garden?’

  ‘Aye. Fascinated, he was, even though he didn’t live here for long after his mother died.’

  Flora tried to picture the castle as it would have been in the sixteenth century, but failed. The modern wing wouldn’t exist, but had the ground between the keep and the great hall been undeveloped, or had there been another building linking the two? She pushed her conjectures from her head. Those clouds were looking very ominous and there was more she wanted to see before going indoors.

  ‘Thank you, Rab.’