by Fiona Faris
He wrapped his arms around Georgiana, enveloping her in soft warmth. She was wrapped tenderly in a woolen blanket, with a fire roaring in the grate.
She let her head rest against Ethan's shoulder, one arm around his hard, flat waist. After a moment, Georgiana's other hand snaked up and into Ethan's hair, her fingers running through his scalp as she sighed with contentment. Ethan shuddered, gasping, more out of surprise than anything else; he was worried that Georgiana, already weak, would suffer even more fatigue by insisting on sitting up like this. But she didn't seem to be affected… instead, she seemed to be comforted by the feel of his hair under her gentle fingers. Sighing, she closed her eyes, but Ethan could tell – mostly by the fact that Georgiana's fingers were still stroking his hair – that she wasn't asleep.
They sat like that for a long time.
* * *
Ethan returned from his sojourn to the kitchen with a fresh pot of steaming tea the next day to find Georgiana sitting up in bed. She looked discontented, clad in a well-appointed embellished red silk dressing gown that was certainly not part of her wardrobe. Ethan raised an eyebrow, wondering if his stepmother could possibly have…but no, the thought was ridiculous. She caught sight of the tray in his hands and pouted half-heartedly.
"Do I have to eat? My stomach is heaving so."
"I see ye're feeling better," Ethan replied mildly, setting the tray down and placing a hand on Georgiana's forehead.
"Perhaps you can just try to eat a little bit…? For the baby’s sake if not your own."
Georgiana snorted indignantly but said nothing, continuing to pick at a bit of loose wool in the blanket. She cleared her throat, somewhat awkwardly, and mumbled.
"Speak up, my dear, I couldna quite catch that," Ethan said cheerfully.
"I said, thank you. I don’t know what I’d have done if-” she cut herself off abruptly, clutching her neck.
"Well, I didna have a choice, did I? I canna live without ye, so it was save ye or die." Ethan smiled, stroking Georgiana's hair with his free hand. There was a pregnant pause. Georgiana took a deep breath.
"I can’t live without you either," she said slowly. "When I thought you were dead…I gave up. I gave up on life…on our baby…I’m so sorry, Ethan."
"No. I am sorry. Tis my own fault ye were in that position to begin wi’, Twas my brother that kidnapped ye. I have a lot tae answer for."
"Well, I suppose the important thing is that we are both still here, still alive…even little Montgomery’s alright." Her hand went to cover her stomach.
"Montgomery? Oh no, ye’ll nae name my son such a thing. Here ye must be starvin’ and light heided. Eat some food before making any decisions." Ethan sat down on the bed, facing Georgiana, who was still stroking his hair with one hand while the other was still held captive. He gestured with his head towards the food.
Georgiana reluctantly released his hand and reached for the plate, cutting off a chunk of bread and stuffing it in her mouth before taking a sip of tea. Ethan watched her fondly, his hand still stroking her hair lightly.
“How does yer back feel the noo?”
“It is better. Doesn’t even sting…unless I move suddenly. I think it’s healing.”
“It does look better. The welts have closed.”
“Mmm.” Georgiana’s attention was mostly on the food. Ethan let her eat as he watched fondly. It was a relief to see her so near to recovery. Very soon, they could go home.
She put the plate and cup aside and reached for Ethan again. “Won’t you stay with me, Ethan? Hold me?”
He smiled. “Anything ye want.”
“Come here.”
"Feels… good." Her fingers twitched against Ethan's hair, and Ethan bit back a moan. A strange glint came into her eyes as she purposefully stroked, and this time Ethan couldn't hold back the moan. Georgiana gasped at the sound.
"Ethan… please, I need you. I need to know that you’re safe and alive, and so am I -" something clicked in her throat, and she swallowed as fingers ran gently through her hair.
"Georgiana," Ethan sighed, his eyes meeting hers, "Are ye sure? Yer back? Aren’t ye in pain? I can wait."
"I don’t want to wait…" Georgiana whispered, closing the distance between their lips.
Neither could tell who groaned – perhaps both did – as Ethan's tongue tentatively touched Georgiana's teeth as she plundered Ethan's mouth. With a simple push and a serpentine twist, Georgiana had Ethan pinned to the sheets. She straddled him, pushing aside his shirt, so she could lay her hands flat on his chest. She began to put open-mouthed kisses along the fair column of his exposed throat.
Georgiana moaned as Ethan ran teasing fingers along the edge of her hair. Her tongue flickered out, tasting the sheer arousal in the air between them, as she deliberately stroked Ethan's hair, slowly and sensuously. Ethan threw his head back and keened.
It was more than just feeling the warmth on his fingers; Georgiana could feel the tingle of energy as Ethan moaned, control slipping. She was momentarily distracted, burying her face in Ethan's neck, breathing in the smell of clean sweat, licking the vein that pulsed fast and hard under her tongue, glorying in the way Ethan shuddered and cried out gibberish in Gaelic. She gripped his shoulders, kissing him hard.
Georgiana was beginning to feel as though she was having another fever dream because surely this couldn't be real. She was drunk, drunk on the sight and feel of her husband. The scent of soft, wispy hair brushing against her skin and smelling of Heaven, the sounds Ethan made as she tasted his sweet skin - she was drowning, and she didn't want to surface.
There was no going back after this, but if she was honest, she didn't want to. She gazed at Ethan before shutting her eyes, not because it was too bright, but because she wanted to simply feel that it was real and give herself over to pure sensation.
With a single motion, she had divested herself of her dressing gown. Ethan gasped, his kilt no hindrance to his arousal as he moved under her, thrusting hungrily into her. She sank her teeth into the unmarred skin of Ethan's shoulder to hide her moan, and to mark him. Hers - alive and well - hers to have and to hold, in sickness and health; to do decadently enjoyable things to. She had the proof of it in the raised red flesh of his throat.
As they moved together, she could not help moaning and had to keep her eyes open now to drink in the look on Ethan's face. That expression of pure rapture that was arousing her. Ethan's eyes were shut, head falling backward, mouth open as though surprised. Ethan was literally glowing as he thrust upward… a perfect foil to Georgiana's own joy and relief.
She was lost in the sight of Ethan and the sensation of him beneath her, fitting together so perfectly, and the way it felt when they moved together.
Ethan himself had lost all coherent thought and was lost in the overwhelming sensations, in Georgiana's intense silver eyes, in the tension coiling in his groin, and he reached towards Georgiana by pure instinct, touching and stroking.
She gave a strangled cry, her fingers twisting almost harshly in Ethan's hair, inadvertently pulling on his scar, before quickly reverting to gentle stroking as Ethan gasped, their bodies still moving together.
Georgiana leaned down, pressing her lips to Ethan's before tentatively touching them to his wound. An affirmation of life and love. Her lips moved against the scar making Ethan shudder, an animal cry escaping his lips as his body was wracked, and he came undone. Georgiana was momentarily blinded by the emotions swirling through her, and Ethan looking like that… oh. The sensation washing over her drove her, too, over the edge.
She collapsed on her lover before rolling to the side, sweaty, sated, both of them panting and still slightly dazed. Languidly, she pressed kisses against the salt of his skin, savoring the taste of sweat as she licked it away. Ethan, eyes still unfocused, purred contentedly, before taking a deep breath.
"That… was…"
"Shut up," Georgiana mumbled, face burrowing into the juncture of Ethan's neck and shoulder as she held her husband cl
ose, cuddling contentedly.
Her Ethan.
She silently repeated it a few times.
Hers.
Ethan gently threaded his fingers through Georgiana's damp chestnut hair as he kissed her sweaty forehead. He smiled into her skin. "I take it ye're feeling better, then."
"Mm," Georgiana responded softly, reaching blindly for the covers, sweeping the woolen blanket up to their shoulders before pulling Ethan even closer. "This how you treat all your patients? In that case, I'm still sick." Her eyelids felt heavy, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep, curled around Ethan.
"Really, my dear," Ethan murmured, his arms encircling Georgiana's shoulders and slim hips. He didn't need to say anything more; there was no need. "Sleep… ye still need to rest."
Georgiana didn't reply, already asleep.
Ethan smiled, sighing contentedly. The rain was once more lashing the windows, and he could almost smell the recriminations circling them; the despair in the air – sooner or later, he would have to confront his father but not yet. The stormy sky did nothing for the drab walls of the sickroom, so different from the homey feel and chaotic domesticity of their own bedchamber back in the fortress, but at the moment, Ethan did not miss his home.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ethan emerged from the sick room, closing the door behind him, to find his father waiting for him.
“We need to talk,” the man said, his face looking grey and old.
Ethan nodded stiffly and followed his father to the study. He impassively accepted the glass of uisge that Barclays poured him and then sat down in the chair, an eyebrow raised.
“Ye have tae ken I hadna any clue what Lachie was doing in yer cottage.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. His father shook his head. “I indulged that boy too much. Gave him too much freedom. Allowed him tae get awa’ with anything. Tis my fault. I know it.” He choked, bending over his desk in grief.
“Is he deid?” Ethan asked baldly, knowing he was aggravating a wound.
Barclays shook his head slowly. He sighed, looking up at Ethan with watery green eyes, so similar to his own, yet so different. “He isna deid, but he isna awake either. He lies on his bed, hovering between life and death. Yer doctor was kind enough to look at him. He says he has done all he can.”
Ethan nodded, glad to know that at least he did not have his brother’s blood on his hands. Not yet, anyway.
“What will ye dae noo?” he asked, wondering if his father would continue his son’s vendetta. Barclays just stared at him.
“Ye are my only living son…” he mumbled.
Ethan shook his head. “I dinna think I have ever been yer son. Only an unfortunate by-blow that ye couldna get rid of.”
Barclays scrunched his eyes closed and winced as though he was in pain. “I willna deny it, son. I havena done well by ye. I just ask for the chance to make it up to ye.”
Ethan snorted, looking away. “There were times I dreamed of hearing those words oot o’ yer mouth. I would ha’ done anything for it. But the noo?” He shook his head. “I have a wife tae protect and a bairn on th’ way. I canna get involved in yer intrigues. I just want tae be left alone.”
“A wife ye stole from my son! A son who should ha’ been his!” Barclays snapped.
Ethan’s mouth twisted. “Aye. There’s the faither I ken. I didna steal her from anyone, for she is not a thing to be taken. I made my case, and she agreed to go along wi’ me. She chose me.”
Barclays dropped onto his seat, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Ye’ll do whate’er ye want. Ye always have.” His voice was low and bitter.
Ethan breathed in deeply. “I’ve always done what I must.” He got to his feet. “We’ll leave as soon as we can.”
He walked out without another word, grinding his teeth against the anger beating in his chest.
The nerve of that man. How dare he?
He headed for the door, uncaring of the pouring rain, just needing to get as far away from the Buchanans as he could. The doctor was with Georgiana, and Ethan knew he would stay until he came back. There was an unspoken rule that she was never to be left alone. All his men were aware. He looked up at the sound of a carriage and heaved a sigh of relief. He had sent Fergus home to get their transport five days ago, and here he was. That meant they could leave right away and did not have to spend another night under his father’s roof.
A movement to his side startled him, and he turned quickly, hand on his sword, to see his stepmother standing beside him, looking out at the carriage.
“I suppose ye will be leaving us now.”
Ethan gawped at her. He had no recollection of his stepmother ever saying so much as a single word to him.
“Aye, ma’am. We will leave today, don’t ye worry.”
She sighed deeply. “Ye ken, they will take the hoose, do ye no? We havena got two coins tae rub together. Will ye have yer father living on the street?”
Ethan looked away with a wry grimace. He should have known that if Sally Buchanan wanted to speak with him, it would be a money grab. After all, it was well known how much she loved to shop in all the London shops.
“I’m sure ye’ll find a way to save yerselves.”
She turned to face him sharply. “He is yer father.”
Ethan shook his head. “Even if I wanted tae help. I havena any money. I am but just a bastard.”
“Yer wife-”
“Dinna speak her name, ye hear me!” Ethan growled.
“What my son did was despicable. But he did it oot o’ desperation. He wished only tae get us oot of debt and claim his rightful bride. Surely ye can understand tha’?”
“I understand that she was whipped with a belt. I understand that he put my baby at risk. I find that I canna sympathize too much wi’ him.”
“Aye, but he is paying fer that. The doctor doesna think he will wake ever agin. We dinna hae anything tae dae wi’ that. We didna even ken.”
Ethan nodded, still grinding his teeth. “Maybe ye didna ken,” he shrugged, “I canna ken tha’ for sure. And ye gave us shelter when we needed it. So if there is anything I can do to help ye, I shall try.”
“Thank ‘e. that’s all I ask.” She nodded stiffly at him and then returned to the house. Fergus came up to him, having apparently waited for her to leave before approaching. He lifted an eyebrow in inquiry, and Ethan shook his head in reply. He was not ready to talk about it.
“Ye’ve brought the carriages. That’s guid. We can leave.”
Fergus smiled ruefully, “That eager are ye?”
Ethan shook his head, “We’ve been here tae long.”
Fergus nodded and went back to the horses, rubbing them down. They probably could not go far tonight, but far enough to find an inn and rest the horses. He went back to the house, footsteps echoing a fast staccato beat on the bare stone. He burst into the sickroom as if he was escaping from marauders.
“Time tae go.” He announced and crossed the room to pick up Georgiana’s ruined gown. “Ye canna wear this. I’ll go tae see if Fergus brought anything. If not, I shall have tae borrow something from herself.”
“What’s the hurry?” Georgiana asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “Do ye nae want tae get to hame?”
“Of course I do. But it feels as if we are stealing away in the night. We must stay and thank our hosts properly.”
Ethan rolled his eyes and sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “Fine. I shall go and tell them we’re leaving first thing in the morning.”
Georgiana nodded. “Good. Now go and see if Fergus brought me clothes.”
* * *
It was not his first time in Scotland. He had been here in ’45 and had seen with his own eyes the evil that men could do. But now it was different, and yet much the same. He was still filled with the same sense of fear, trepidation, and helplessness as he had then. He was still surrounded by watchmen but feeling quite alone.
His wife’s hand covered his own.
No. Not quite alone.
They were coming upon Daltern, the blue waters of the lake glistening before them. Across the water, ripples of light wound their way in waves before they broke apart.
The water was not as clear as his own lake back at Bellingwick, more cloudy than blue. The winter sun made him squint across the loch, but it was far from warm, and he breathed in as much as he could of the bright air into his deep and broad chest.