‘Cold,’ Morven said patiently. ‘You have no gloves on. It’s nippy.’
‘Ni…Lord, no, it’s not even freezing. It’s the summer.’
It was obvious his idea of what summer should feel like didn’t equate with hers.
‘But you told me to snuggle in the blanket as it was going to be chilly,’ Morven pointed put. ‘And it is. So why do you say that for you it’s warm and tell me that for me it will be the opposite?’
Fraser turned his head and winked at her. ‘You’re a Sassenach.’
A few hours later, as what passed for total darkness—a deepening of the general gloom—fell, they turned into the stable yard, without meeting a single vehicle on their journey. Even in the villages they passed through it seemed the occupants had decided to be indoors, and many farms didn’t even have a solitary lamp burning. They could have been the only people in the world.
Before Fraser had time to draw the vehicle to a halt, grooms swarmed around them, taking hold of the horses and urging Fraser to let them cope. He nodded his thanks and swung Morven down from the curricle as the first big fat drops of rain fell. ‘We almost made it. Here it comes. Can you run?’
She gave him a withering look and caught up her skirts. ‘Watch me.’ She turned and ran for the castle with Fraser hard on her heels. By the time they entered the house, the weather had worsened and both were soaked, and out of breath.
‘I need to exercise more,’ she puffed and waggled her finger as Fraser winked. ‘Stop that.’
‘I didn’t say a word,’ he protested as he helped her out of her pelisse. He of course was hardly out of breath. ‘Not a word.’
‘You didn’t need to, you had that gleam in your eyes.’
He chuckled. ‘I live in hope.’
There was no answer to that. Morven smiled and curtseyed. ‘I will see you later.’ His shout of laughter followed her as she left the room and hoped her manner of walking didn’t convey her confusion.
The hot bath that had been drawn for her was more than welcome. Morven sank into its warmth, rested her head on the rim and pondered over the day. Sadly, the lack of positive news was a setback, but the unexpected enjoyment of Fraser’s company gave her more food for thought. She sighed as the sound of rain on the windowpane created a miserable companion. Now she had to wait for the chance to speak with him, later. She finished her bath, dried herself and dressed in warm, dry clothing.
When they had eaten a few hours earlier, the shutters were closed, heavy curtains covered them and more candles than usual had been lit in the dining room. However, the fire smoked, the windows rattled and water dripped from the sills. Maids padded the gaps with plaids, but nothing could be done to stop the swirls of acrid smoke that hit the back of their throats. Evidently the wind was in the wrong direction. Lady Napier and the duchess coughed and Murren looked worried.
Fraser had taken advantage of the dismal atmosphere to suggest they all retire to the small lounge and sit in a room where hopefully the fire wouldn’t belch back into the room. Once he saw them settled he excused himself to, he explained, attend to some papers his factor had left for him. However, not before he promised to get the chimney swept again and a joiner to check the fittings of the window frames.
Morven had watched him leave the room, drank the obligatory cup of tea morosely and then pleaded fatigue, glad to escape to her suite as early as possible. Unfortunately, that meant she ended up in her tiny sitting room several hours before the time Fraser had promised to join her to talk over their day, and plot what best to do.
For the fourth, or was it the fifth time she looked at the clock, sure it must have stopped. Even if he used the secret stair, Fraser would have to wait until the occupants of the castle were abed. Morven laughed at her fancifulness. How secret was secret with servants? Therefore, logically, Morven supposed he wouldn’t arrive much before midnight. She cursed the fact she’d forgotten to ask for extra water or wine in her room. Now she needed to wash the taste of smoke away. The carafe left for her was already empty. She could ring for some but it seemed hardly fair to make someone else work due to her own lack of foresight.
Morven made her mind up. She’d slip into the dining room and take the carafe of wine she knew would be there.
The corridor was lit by a few sconces, which lifted the blackness somewhat and created small pools of pale flickering light. Never afraid of the dark, and with a good sense of direction, it was a matter of minutes for Morven to pass Lady Napier’s sitting room, and reach the darkened dining room. Just enough light drifted through the open doorway for Morven to see the carafe on the sideboard and lift it, along with a jug of water. Sadly both held no more than an inch or two of liquid. She mixed them together and with the jug deposited back on the sideboard, took hold of the bottle and began to retrace her steps. As she reached Lady Napier’s sitting room once more the door opened.
Morven shrank into a window alcove that housed a large Grecian urn and slipped behind a long green velvet curtain. Behind her, strands of ivy tapped on the wet windowpanes and she shivered. Hopefully whoever was about to walk along the corridor would hurry up and go past. If she were fanciful she could imagine those fronds as large tentacles reaching out to grab her. She was not, she told herself firmly, fanciful.
‘So you see, my dear, it is imperative neither of them know what we are up to. It would be the worst thing imaginable. I feel so ashamed of my past behaviour, but maybe I can atone for it now.’
‘But…’
Morven stiffened and strained to hear. Surely that was Lady Napier and Morven’s sister talking? Morven held her breath and waited to discover what else was said.
Sadly not much as their footsteps and their voices faded away as they walked past her hiding place and towards the main staircase and their bedchambers.
‘I don’t like it.’
Morven would swear it was Murren who spoke.
‘Can you think of anything better? Now, not one word to anyone,’ Lady Napier said firmly. ‘It needs to be completed before the children get back and are all over the place. You want this to work don’t you?’
‘Of course I do, you know that, but…’
But what? Morven couldn’t catch the end of the sentence. Evidently the pair had gone out of hearing. She waited for a few more seconds and slid out into the corridor thence to retrace her steps into the turret and her rooms. Who were Murren and Lady Napier discussing and why? What did her godmother have to atone for? It was such an extreme word.
She poured the small amount of watered wine into a goblet then stirred up the embers of the fire and enjoyed the sudden blaze. Then with a sigh of resignation, she sat down in a large armchair next to the hearth, curled her feet up under her and sipped her drink. Hard though it was to admit it, even to herself, Morven accepted she could not influence whatever happened next with regards to her and Fraser’s “is it isn’t it” marriage.
The wine in her glass was almost gone and the elegant carriage clock tinkled midnight as the door from the stair opened and Fraser slipped in, carrying a large basket. He nodded to the door, which opened onto the corridor. ‘Is it locked?’
Morven shook her head. ‘I had no idea which way you would enter.’
‘Fair enough.’ He put his basket on the floor. ‘One moment.’ He locked the door and turned to smile at Morven. ‘You look comfortable. No don’t move, I’m not exactly here on a formal visit, am I?’ He wore no jacket or waistcoat and his shirt hung loosely over his pantaloons. His feet were clad in house shoes and raindrops glistened on his hair, which looked as if it hadn’t seen a brush for a sennight.
She laughed and shook her head. ‘What is formal I wonder? Although I must say you look somewhat dishevelled.’
‘I’ve been collecting information.’ Fraser nodded to her glass. ‘And supplies. We seem to have the same idea.’ He opened his basket and took out a bottle of Burgundy, what seemed like a whole chicken, jointed, and some bread and cheese. ‘You hardly ate at dinner, and I
thought this might be welcome whilst we talked.’ He pulled out the cork and indicated the wine. ‘Do you want some?’
Morven laughed and indicated her nearly empty goblet. ‘Yes please, my foray resulted in less than a glass full.’ Her tummy rumbled as she surveyed the largesse he’d brought with him, and sighed in happiness. ‘Do you know, I haven’t had a midnight feast since my schooldays? This will be welcome. All I managed was to get a tiny amount of wine and water from the dining room. Oh and such a strange thing on my way back here.’ She finished the rest of her wine and held her glass out to Fraser to refill it. ‘Thank you, well I was…’
‘Hold on a second, love.’ He poured himself a drink, took out a simple checked tablecloth from his basket and spread it over the console table next to her chair. ‘Let me set out our food and then we can concentrate on news…yours and mine.’
Morven looked at the spread with satisfaction and picked up a leg of chicken. ‘That sounds good to me. Do you want to go first?’ she sniffed. ‘Do we have goats in here?’
Fraser broke off the end of a long crusty loaf and a piece from the wedge of cheese. ‘I’ve been hobnobbing with Archie Retson, the factor. He was with the sheepdogs. Hence the damp look and smell of wet canine that surrounds me.’
Morven snorted. ‘I thought there was a distinct aroma of animal in the air. You, to put it crudely, stink like a midden. However, I’ll let you off. Do you want a towel?’
‘Too late I think. I had a cursory dry down in the scullery before I raided the pantry for us.’ He wrapped the bread around the cheese and took a hefty bite, swallowed it and drank some wine. ‘That’s better. So, to recap. We may or not be married. If we are it might only be in Scotland and not England. You agree?’
Chapter Six
Morven sighed. ‘From what I can gather, it seems it all hinges on what Tam Curtin said, to us, how we replied and who if anyone was listening.’
‘That is it in a nutshell. As far as I can ascertain from the meagre amount of information we gleaned, there doesn’t need to be any paperwork if it seems to be that we knew what we were doing, and did it of our own free will. Even a hand fasting could cause problems. Although I can’t see it as legal in England it can be here.’ Fraser shrugged and his powerful shoulders rippled the linen of his shirt. ‘Complicated is an understatement. Plus Archie has been told that venison will be needed aplenty soon.’ He stretched his arms high above his head. ‘Not a usual thing, believe me.’
Morven’s mouth went dry. She wished he wouldn’t do that. Her body responded as if it had heard a clarion call. Now she was a mass of aroused nerve ends, who wanted…wanted what? She wished she knew.
‘And so we have to wait until the gypsies appear?’ How long would that be? Icy tentacles slithered down Morven’s back as she contemplated the weeks she would need to be resigned to waiting before she knew her status. She was not particularly patient by nature, and she ached to discover what these feelings and tingles she had whenever she was around Fraser might amount to. ‘You wouldn’t think that one silly, fun-filled afternoon would have so many potential pitfalls would you? I suppose we need to think about all those end results and plan accordingly?’ She sniffed back a sob. ‘Oh hell, I’m sorry, but Lord, Fraser, we were so innocent.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You were; I should have known better.’
Morven looked across at him. His expression was sombre, his eyes shadowed. He looked years older than his age.
‘Do you regret that day? That summer?’ she asked anxiously and winced at her tone. Needy didn’t begin to describe it. Nevertheless, if he said yes she would be devastated. Even though things had turned out the way they had she could not rue anything.
Fraser put down his glass, added another couple of small logs on the fire and stood in front of her. ‘Not for one second. Come here, love.’ He tugged her by the hands until they stood chest to breast and hugged her tightly. ‘Morven, it was what we both wanted. Hell, as I said I was devastated when it seemed you didn’t care enough to even answer my letters. I was a shadow of myself for months. Now we both know that my missives didn’t reach you, and we can only speculate who caused that. There’s no point in looking back now and saying what if. Now we need to decide how we want to move forward. My feelings haven’t changed, if anything they have grown stronger. I regret my rigid stance, my inflexibility and my refusal to see what stared me in the face.’
‘What?’ she asked softly. ‘What did?’
‘Our love.’
Morven relaxed, leant on Fraser’s chest and relished the thud of his heart beneath her breast.
‘It is still there isn’t it?’ she said with a satisfied sigh. ‘What we had was more than just friendship.’
‘Oh yes.’ He pressed a feather-light kiss on her head and she moved her face just a little until her lips touched his body where his shirt opened. His skin was warm, covered with wiry hair and undulated as he groaned.
‘Ah, love.’ His grip was almost painful as he rubbed his hands over her bottom and clenched the skin there. Her thin gown was no impediment to the heat that seared her as he caressed her. Morven bit back the moan of arousal that rose and cleared her throat instead.
‘Ah, love, what. Stop? Go on? Recite Shakespeare?’ Morven said huskily. ‘For me it would be ah, my love, do not stop. Touch me, remind me what we had.’ She shuddered. ‘I want to feel it all again.’
Would he oblige? Until that moment, Morven had no idea how strongly she needed to experience Fraser’s touch once more. But what if he did favour her sister?
Do not go there; trust him. Trust your feelings. You know he couldn’t, surely? She remonstrated with herself. He would have said so. Hadn’t he indicated the opposite? If nothing else Fraser was an honourable man. She had to believe in the way she felt and the way he reacted. And see.
Fraser tilted her head back so she could look into his eyes and notice how they shone in the lamplight. ‘Truly?’
‘Oh yes,’ Morven said honestly. ‘Everything and everyone has come up lacking these last years. Now I know why. I wanted to discover if what we had still works.’
‘Oh I think it will.’ He let go of her and turned her around so her back rested on his chest. In the large mirror on the wall next to the hearth they were both reflected in the glass. Light and dark shadows moved as the fire flared and the logs caught. Her skin gleamed and his shirt shone bright.
Fraser’s hand slid over her back and up again and then the laces that criss-crossed her spine loosened and the sleeves of her gown slid down her arms. Morven wriggled to release her arms.
‘No, don’t do that.’ He rubbed his hands over her bare shoulders and drifted one long finger down to stroke the swell of her breast. ‘Wait and watch.’
She waited. And watched their images as he edged the neckline of her gown downwards to bare her breasts to their gaze.
‘Perfection.’ He began to stroke and knead each rounded pale globe until her nipples stood out in pleasurable pain.
Morven gasped. ‘I want…’
‘Oh so do I,’ he purred the words in a deep growly and downright seductive voice. ‘So do I. Even so, wait and watch. Slowly, love. Unfurl for me.’
She was more likely to explode if he didn’t do more. ‘I’ve done that,’ she panted and grit her teeth as Fraser laughed softly. ‘I’m wide open and waiting. If I unfurl any more I’ll unravel.’
‘No, you will be perfection, believe me. And you will be even more wide open and receptive. Later. For now though.’ One hand stayed on her breast and the other inched her skirts upwards.
With her arms still pinioned to her sides she couldn’t help. It was impossible to move except her feet from side to side. All she could do was watch as first one ankle, then the other and then her knees were revealed.
Her skin was on fire and she thought a cool breeze would help to douse some of the heat. Instead it inflamed her more.
Fraser blew in her ear and nibbled the lobe. ‘Watch, love. Watch yourself
splinter and break.’
Even before she realised what he had done, he’d used both hands to secure her skirts round her waist. Then one palm cupped one breast and the other hand stroked her quim. Every muscle in her body tightened. He dipped one finger inside her wet channel and she mewled as sensations shot through her. His chuckle was deep, dark and dangerous.
‘Oh I think we can do better than that, don’t you?’ Fraser purred. ‘Do not move.’
She didn’t have time to wonder why. As fast as his hands left her body, he moved around her, twisted the armchair so its back faced the fire and propelled her to lean against it.
‘What a beautiful sight, love.’ Fraser stood to one side of her so she could see in the mirror what he admired so much. Her, with mouth slightly parted—in awe perhaps—rosy cheeks and breasts, her arms pinioned by the bodice of her gown and her skirts tucked around her waist. Her dark muff shone with arousal, and goosebumps dotted her sweat-sheened skin.
‘Perfection, love. Except maybe you need to be aware of more.’
‘If I experience any more I might expire,’ she said softly. God she was so on edge one touch could topple her into the sensual abyss that awaited.
Fraser chuckled. ‘Oh I don’t think so.’ He knelt at her feet and winked. ‘You might scream but luckily we’re too far away from any other rooms to bring people rushing.’ He bent his head and took her nub in his mouth.
Morven arched into him and bit back a scream as he suckled.
Fraser lifted his head a scant inch from her mound. His breath tickled her sensitive skin as he spoke. ‘Scream, love, show me you want this and more.’ His tongue flicked over the entrance to her channel and then dipped inside a little to gather up the juices there.
She writhed and his hands clutched her hips to hold her where he wanted her.
Then the assault on her senses increased threefold as his tongue laved, his teeth grazed and his lips sucked and caressed her. Her mound, her channel, her thighs and her clitoris all received equal attention. Fraser used his thumbs to press and stroke her skin as he increased her arousal. She began to sag as pulses throbbed and nerves jumped.
The Scottish Lord’s Secret Bride Page 8