Channan went at once to Juliana’s valise and began unpacking with competence. She must be used to being a lady’s maid, Juliana decided, because she knew which garments to hang in the heavy armoire and which to fold away into the drawers of the high chest.
Komal walked around the room looking things over. She pushed back the silk covering on her head, showing that her hair was gray mixed with black. Channan’s hair was jet-black, and her face was plump and unlined.
Channan finished putting away Juliana’s clothes and came to unbutton her dress. Komal ignored them to approach the bed. She put her palms on the mattress, smoothing it, then she said something to Channan and laughed.
Channan laughed as well, while Juliana stood between them, bewildered. “She says you have much luck,” Channan said. “A husband so rich and handsome. The sahib is a good catch.”
Juliana blushed, which made both women laugh again. Komal brushed her hands over the mattress and talked at some length. Channan nodded and answered, then turned back to Juliana.
“She says she’ll give you a charm. So you have many sons.”
Juliana thought about Elliot wandering about the McGregor grounds in the dark, and wondered if she would have the opportunity to have sons at all. Channan must have understood her expression, because she said, “Do not worry. The sahib will be well. My husband takes care of him.”
Elliot still had not returned when Channan tucked Juliana up in bed in a clean night rail, with a wrapped brick to warm the sheets. Channan and Komal made quite a lot of noise quieting each other, then they finally slipped out of the room, leaving Juliana alone.
On her wedding night.
The sky darkened, the open windows cooling the summer air. The house grew quiet, the walls thick enough that sound didn’t carry from the floors below. Outside, the silence was broken by frogs croaking frantically for mates and wind sighing in the trees. The quiet here, when Juliana was used to the noise of the city, was deafening.
The moon rose, its silver disk broken by the trees, and shone on the bed where Juliana lay waiting. And still, Elliot did not come.
Well past midnight, Elliot heard a branch break in the woods behind him. This was followed by a loud rustling and the voice of Mahindar. “Do not worry, sahib. It is me.”
Elliot stood atop a rock that overlooked the rushing river below. Moonlight glittered on the water’s surface and also on the spires of his new house, a false castle built on the site of an ancient one.
Mahindar slipped and slid on the path, flailing for balance. Elliot put out a hand and pulled the man up onto solid rock beside him.
Of course Mahindar would come to find him. The man had made it his task in life to look after Elliot, ever since Elliot had taken Mahindar away from another planter who’d hired him as a valet then treated him little better than a slave. Elliot had visited the planter one day and found him beating Mahindar.
The planter had apologized—to Elliot—for Mahindar’s behavior, and had gone on about Mahindar’s shortcomings, until Elliot had said, “If you don’t like him, he can come to work for me.” The planter had been surprised then looked grateful. Sikhs, the planter had said, couldn’t be taught proper humility, and he’d been a fool to take one on.
Kindly Mahindar had looked upon Elliot as his savior forever after that.
Mahindar peered up at him now. “You are all right, sahib?”
“Better. How is the lad?”
“Oh, you scared the piss out of him, no mistake. But he will recover.”
“And Mrs. McBride?”
“Put to bed. My wife looked in on her before I came out, and she is sleeping, as you say, like a baby.”
“Good.” Elliot couldn’t forget the look on Juliana’s face when she’d walked into the kitchen and seen him with his knife at Hamish’s throat. Her bewilderment had turned into astonishment and then worry. But not fear. Juliana wasn’t afraid of him.
“Will you join her, sahib?” Mahindar asked.
He sounded eager. But then, Mahindar enjoyed weddings and marriages and the possibility of children. He and his wife had borne five sons, all of whom had married and now started families of their own. Mahindar liked to take care of people, which was why he’d brought his mother and Nandita, Channan’s young sister from her father’s second marriage, to Scotland with him. Mahindar had saved Elliot’s life and believed it his duty to make sure Elliot was well so that his effort hadn’t been in vain.
“You will have to share her bed in any case,” Mahindar said. “There is no other.”
Elliot jumped down from the big rock, helped Mahindar scramble down, and started along the path to the house.
When they reached Castle McGregor, all was silent within. Hamish and Mahindar’s family must have gone to their beds.
Mahindar stopped Elliot before he could make his way out of the kitchen. “You must not go to her like that, sahib. You must be presentable.”
He had a point. Elliot was dusted with soot from the train journey, and his climb in the woods had rendered him muddy. Mahindar pumped water into the kitchen sink—clean from a well—and instructed Elliot to strip to his kilt.
The water was freezing. Mahindar dunked Elliot’s head all the way in, using the cake of soap that he’d brought from Edinburgh to scrub Elliot’s hair and body clean. Mahindar had bought glycerin and rosewater soap, which had made Elliot’s brothers and sister laugh. At least it got him clean, if smelling a bit like a lady’s boudoir.
Mahindar brought out Elliot’s thick dressing gown and the Indian silk drawers in which Elliot usually slept. Elliot donned these and climbed the stairs, taking a candle himself, refusing Mahindar’s offer to light the way.
The candlelight wavered on the Gothic arches in the hall, making the place cavernous, decorative stone finials hanging like strange stalactites. As a boy, Elliot had felt a tingle of fear walking in this place, but it was peaceful to him now. This was nothing more than an old house, through which had passed its share of families—births, marriages, deaths, laughter, sorrow, lovemaking. No terror, horror, or fear so deadly it made a man wrap up in himself and weep.
Elliot pushed open the door of the bedchamber, at the same time blowing out the candle. Moonlight spilled through the unshuttered window, a beam spreading over the bed in the middle of the room.
Juliana lay on her back in the bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, but she wasn’t asleep. Elliot heard the quick breath that told him she was wide awake, never mind how tightly she’d closed her eyes.
He deposited the candlestick on the nearest table and went to the bed. Juliana lay like a princess in a storybook, waiting for the prince to waken her with a kiss.
Elliot thought of the heady taste of her lips when he’d kissed her at the altar. Her skin had been damp with warmth and agitation, the taste of her like honey on his tongue.
He rested his hand on the bedpost, leaned down, and brushed a soft kiss to the dimple at the corner of her mouth.
Juliana’s eyes flew open. She looked at him with no trace of sleep in her eyes. “Is young Hamish all right?”
Elliot straightened up, his hand still on the bedpost. “He will be.”
“I hope he wasn’t too frightened.”
“He’s recovered.” Elliot tried to move from his fixed stance and found he couldn’t.
Juliana’s color deepened, and she cleared her throat. “Are you coming to bed, Elliot?”
Her high-necked nightgown was prim, but this was the first time Elliot had seen her without the barricade of stays, bustles, skirts, and tightly buttoned bodices.
Elliot finally let go of the bedpost to untie his dressing gown and let it fall from him. He watched her gaze go to his bare torso, then drop to the silk drawers that rode low on his hips, a drawstring holding them closed. The underbreeches reached his calves, leaving the rest of his legs bare.
“An unusual garment,” she said, her voice soft.
“They’re Indian. I prefer them to English clothes.”
“Much more comfortable.” The cool air from the window touched his skin. “More practical in a hot climate.”
“I can imagine.”
Elliot remained rigidly beside the bed. He wanted her with a desire so hard it gripped him, but still he couldn’t move.
Juliana cleared her throat again. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? To think, tonight I was to a have been in a hotel in Edinburgh, with…”
She pressed her hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. Moonlight glittered on the tears that slid down her cheeks.
“With…” Her voice caught on a sob.
With Grant Barclay, damn him, the blithering fool who’d decided to improve himself with piano lessons. Elliot wanted to strangle the man, first for trying to steal Juliana from him, then for making her cry about him while she lay in Elliot’s bed.
And Elliot knew how to. Exactly how to get a man’s throat under his hands, where to press to cut off the air, to make sure Grant Barclay never breathed again…
Juliana tried to wipe away her tears. Elliot unfroze, lifted the covers, and swarmed into the bed beside her.
Chapter 5
Juliana hadn’t meant to cry, but she’d suddenly realized that she could be lying in a hotel bed with Grant tonight, instead of far from home in a run-down fairy-tale castle next to the strong warmth of Elliot McBride. What a lucky, blessed escape.
Elliot’s lips touched her cheeks, kisses taking away the tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His kisses moved to her lips. Strong, sure kisses, brushing the pad of her lower lip, tracing the curve of the upper. It was warm in the close room, warmer under the covers, and Elliot’s body in the bed drew sweat.
He licked the perspiration from beneath her lip, scraping her hair back with a strong hand. Something primal beat through Juliana’s body, erasing all Gemma’s instructions for her first coupling. This was to have been a dutiful night with Mr. Barclay—now she was with Elliot, the man she’d loved from girlhood and never dreamed she’d be with.
His lips caressed hers open, tongue sweeping into her mouth. Elliot closed his eyes as he kissed her, cradling her head with fingers, thumb caressing her temple.
The button at the top of her nightgown loosened, the placket parting. Elliot slid his hand inside, moving across her damp skin to close over her breast. Juliana arched to meet the cup of his hand, all the while kissing him, their lips parting and touching.
Elliot swept his tongue inside her mouth again, more insistent this time. He nudged her into response, making her lick across the warm friction of his tongue.
A lover’s kiss. Elliot McBride, her lover.
He closed his callused hand around her breast, caressing, kneading. Two fingers caught her nipple between them and gave it a little tug. Sensations Juliana had never experienced before spiraled around the areola, the point rising, hardening.
She couldn’t breathe. The bed was too warm, Elliot’s mouth on hers pressing her down into it. He tugged her nipple, building the sensations to fire.
Fire built from there to her heart. The collar of the nightgown grew wet with her perspiration, and she was going to die.
Juliana pushed against him. Elliot’s tongue filled her mouth, and she couldn’t speak. She tried to close her lips, but he wouldn’t let her.
She pushed again, both hands on his chest. Elliot at last broke the kiss, his lips hovering close to hers.
His half-closed eyes were dark in the moonlight, the silver gray glinting through. One droplet of sweat trickled down his throat.
“I can’t breathe,” Juliana whispered.
Elliot said nothing. He took his warm, wonderful hand from inside her nightgown, unbuttoned the rest of her placket, and loosened and opened the nightgown to her waist.
Sliding down her body, Elliot lowered his head and closed his mouth over the breast he’d stroked to life with his hand.
Breath rushed into her lungs. Here was the air she missed, but now she had too much of it. Heat raced down her body, incandescent at the beautiful point of Elliot’s mouth on her breast.
He suckled her, eyes closed in concentration. He gently squeezed her breast with his callused fingers to make the nipple rise higher, then pursed his mouth to suck and tease, nibble and tug.
Juliana squirmed under him, her heart pounding. Between her legs was a point of white-hot fire, a yearning to rub that place against him.
“Elliot, what are you doing to me?”
Elliot didn’t stop to answer. His mouth moved more insistently, making her ache, the opening between her legs widening and heating.
“I need…” Juliana bit back the words. She had no idea what she needed.
Elliot released her breast and played the tip of his tongue over the nipple. Juliana rose to him, seeking his mouth, but he lifted away, and she made a noise of disappointment.
But then Elliot slid his hand down her body to glide two fingers between her legs. Juliana sucked in a breath, her eyes widening as he touched her hottest place.
As Elliot sank his fingers into her moisture, he closed his eyes again and drew a long breath. He could scent her longing for him, honey in the darkness.
In this bed, enclosed in her heat, Elliot was safe. The empty blackness, the cold, the stifling airlessness, were gone. They couldn’t touch him here. Juliana was all that was safety, light, and warmth.
She was also a woman longing for the touch of a man, and not understanding her longing. Elliot would teach her. Whether it took a year or ten years, he’d teach her everything.
He gently thrust a finger into her. Juliana bucked against Elliot’s hand, and he closed his palm over the berry that was tightening with her need.
“What are you…?” Juliana’s words ended on a sob.
“Getting you ready.” Elliot didn’t know what endearments women liked, or how to soothe her. He only knew how to touch her, her body and his communicating in silence.
Her wiry hair curled against his hand, the depths of her hot and moist. She’d never done this before—he knew by the way she started in surprise when he began stroking her. This was a new sensation for Juliana, and it was new to Elliot, because it was her.
I’ve waited for you all my life.
In the darkness and through the hunger, he’d dreamed of her, but his dreams had been incomplete. Elliot hadn’t known the full scent of her, the warmth of her skin, the feel of her beneath him.
He withdrew his fingers and touched them to his tongue. He hadn’t known the taste of her either. Sweet nectar. He needed more.
Elliot licked between her breasts, tasting salt, then he kissed his way down her belly, yanked open the nightgown the rest of the way, and pressed a burning kiss to the join of her legs.
As she drew in a sharp breath, he tasted her, licking where he’d touched, his tongue entering where his finger had.
Beautiful, sweet honey. Elliot licked and drank, the tightness in his body easing.
Feast on her, drink of her. If I have enough of her, I will never be afraid again.
Juliana’s hands went to his hair, furrowing as he licked. Her little cries drove him wild. His body started to move, hips to roll with the rhythm of his tasting, his hardness digging into the mattress.
“Elliot!”
As her cry rang out, he felt the little pulses in her sheath, the female need, the headiest pleasure of all.
She was a virgin, and Elliot knew it would hurt going in. But she was wet and open, her body already releasing.
Elliot would love to lie here and lick her while she came into his mouth, then bring her to readiness again. And again. All night.
But his own body cried out for release, his cock so tight it ached. Elliot took his mouth from her beautiful place, untied and wriggled out of his silken breeches, and slid up her body.
He had one instant of enjoying the softness of her under him, and then he thrust inside her.
Her eyes widened, beau
tiful Juliana, her cry turning almost to a wail. But not in pain. She closed over him, wanting him, her passage so slick that the barrier vanished with one push.
Crazed with need, Elliot took one, two, three strokes inside her, before his seed released, and his shouts mixed with hers.
He kept pumping, hips moving, needing her, unable to have enough of her. Wind slapped at the window, sending the old casement banging open, and a gust of wind poured over the bed.
It cooled Elliot’s skin and made Juliana shiver. Elliot’s thrusts slowed, and he curved protectively over her.
Always protect her. Juliana was his. She’d stood in the church today and declared that she belonged to him. Forever.
The sun rose early in high summer this far into the Highlands. Juliana opened her eyes as sunshine poured in through the eastern window and brushed the body of her husband beside her.
Juliana felt odd—exhausted and exhilarated, and yet at the same time pliant and relaxed. Gemma had explained what a woman was expected to do on her wedding night—lie back, breathe deeply, and remain calm.
She’d not mentioned a man licking, exploring, touching, and drinking. Gemma had said that the first time hurt. And it had, but in a wild, need-filled way that hadn’t been pain at all.
And yet, Juliana was sore, and she knew without doubt that she could no longer be called a maiden.
Elliot slept facedown next to her, his cheek crushed against the mattress, nowhere near a pillow. His long legs poured out the bottom of the bed, the covers thrown halfway off in his sleep.
His hair was half folded, half sticking up, the light brown burnished with gold from the sun. His lashes were golden too, resting against a face that had been Scottish fair before tropical sun had burned it brown.
One broad hand lay near his face, his bent arm showing her thick muscles that came from hard work. A design had been inked on his right bicep, a flowing vine that wrapped all the way around his arm.
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