My Fair Highlander

by Mary Wine

  “Ah, something that pleases ye.” Gordon reached out to capture her hand beneath the table. He gave it a soft squeeze. “I’ll have to be remembering that.”

  Large platters were brought toward them from the long tables in front of the hearths. The cook was turning back linens draped over the food to decide the order it was to be served in.

  It was far more effort than she had anticipated. While she had been bathing, there must have been a flurry of activity in the kitchen.

  Gordon squeezed her hand once again, and she turned to discover him watching her.

  “Did ye think I’d just take ye upstairs straightaway without celebrating?”

  Her cheeks heated because she had been completely focused on the next important part of marrying.

  The consummation. Her mind offered up the fact that tonight she would do far more than feel his cock. She could expect her groom to remove his clothing. That idea deepened her blush, and the warm fingers clasping hers gently stroked her fingers.

  “As much as I’m eager for that, lass, ’twould be a blackguard that did nae offer ye a wedding feast.”

  “But there was so little time.”

  He leaned in so that his words remained between them. “Aye, there was indeed, but look, Jemma, it seems that everyone is very eager to lend their effort to making tonight special for us.”

  “I did not expect such, but thank you.”

  One of his eyebrows arched arrogantly. “Have I given ye the impression that I do nae know how to celebrate, Jemma? Well, that is something that is going to have to change.”

  His tone suggested that he was more serious than teasing. Her eyelids fluttered because it was another hint of tenderness she had no idea how to accept. He released her hand and a moment later cupped her chin to raise her face. His eyes simmered with happiness.

  “I can see that it is definitely something I am going to have to work on proving to ye, for I care not for the fact that ye doubt me.”

  “There has been little happiness between us.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Aye, well, it was a wee bit of an intense moment that I found ye in, Jemma.”

  Another cheer went up, and Jemma turned to see that men were pushing the tables back to clear a large section of the floor. The moment they completed their task, couples flooded the area and began dancing. Several men and even some women were gathered together with their instruments to provide music for the dancers. There were handheld drums, flutes, violins, and Scottish bagpipes. They blended together in a lively offering of music that kept her toe tapping.

  “Do ye play any instruments?”

  “Yes . . .” Jemma stumbled over her response because she realized that Gordon was making an attempt to know her. It surprised her because she suddenly realized that she had never taken any time to attempt to talk to him, either.

  “I play the mandolin. My father enjoyed the soothing sound very much.”

  “Would ye play for me?”

  Her lips tugged up at the corners, and she had to fight the urge to lower her lashes again.

  Sweet virgin . . . she is simpering, he thought.

  “If you like. Is it possible to have my things brought from Amber Hill?”

  Gordon looked slightly uncomfortable for the first time. “Aye, ’tis something I should have seen to before, but I confess that I was distracted by ye too much to consider that ye had not even a clean chemise.”

  “Ula brought me what I needed.”

  He grimaced. “Aye, and slipped a few barbed words into me ear when she made mention of the fact.”

  Jemma couldn’t resist laughing. Just a low sound of amusement that gained her a scoffing sound from Gordon.

  “Do nae start laughing at me. That woman knows how to strip the flesh off a man without muttering a single word that ye might be able to take offense at.”

  “I have noticed that, but that is her experience rising above our own.”

  “It is that, lass, I hope ye’ll be considering that valuable.”

  Jemma suffered another jolt of shock hitting her. He hoped? So the man was not going to usurp her authority when it came to the running of the house, even if he disagreed with her choices?

  “I have never disrespected ye, Jemma.”

  She snorted and lowered her voice. “You spanked me and took my shoes.”

  He offered her a cocky smile, one that flashed his teeth at her.

  “Now that was just playing, lass. I admit that placing my hand on yer bottom was quite enjoyable.”

  “Playing?”

  Jemma kicked him beneath the table, but her bare foot took more pain from the blow than his shin did with his knee-high boots to help protect him. He chuckled.

  “Ye see? There is evidence as to what I am saying . . .” He leaned toward her and she was too curious not to do the same. There was something about the man that was far too hypnotic. “Ye like to play, too, which is why I indulge ye so often.”

  Jemma pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. “You toy with me too often, sir.”

  His expression turned sensuous, and his eyes filled with dark promise. “I’ve only just started, lass, but it would be a poor groom I am to take ye above stairs the moment the priest finished the blessing. Ye might think I only think of two things in life, fighting and riding.”

  Jemma smiled sweetly at him. “Do you mean to say that you do think of other things?” She kept her tone innocent and honey coated, exactly as her nurse had once instructed her.

  He snorted and then laughed out loud. He tipped his head back and let his amusement bounce off the ceiling. Heads turned to glance at them, and Gordon picked up his tankard and raised it toward the assembled company.

  They cheered and grabbed their own mugs, everyone tipping them back to drink long and deep. Gordon slammed his mug down and pushed his chair back.

  “Come, wife! I want to dance with ye so that ye are too tired to lead me on a chase around our bed tonight.”

  His words gained hearty approval from those who heard him, and they were happy to repeat what they heard to those who weren’t close enough. Jemma blushed as the men all cheered on their laird and the women offered her tiny smirks.

  “You are incorrigible.”

  “Aye, lass, I am.”

  But he still knew how to play, and that was something she realized she had missed. Amber Hill had been too structured, a necessity while her father was ill, but she couldn’t recall the last time she had danced anything but slow pavans.

  Gordon pulled her into the middle of the dance floor, and the music picked up its tempo. The dancing was Gaelic with some of the younger girls rising all the way up onto their toes. They pulled their skirts up to show off the quick motions of their feet, and the men roared with approval while clapping in time with the musicians. Everyone joined in, from the young to the old. Even Ula passed by, her skirts held in her hands while she wove in and out of the men. There was flirting and boldness such as Jemma had never seen in her dancing instructions. The dances were not the orderly Italian steps she had been taught in case she went to court. They were more like the ones danced at festivals outside the walls of Amber Hill.

  Gordon pulled her along, but she took to the beat of the music well, reaching down to grasp her skirts and pulling them up as the young women had done. The stone floor was smooth and cool against her bare feet.

  Ula danced by and caught her hand to pull her along. The housekeeper wove and dipped through the men while women joined them, forming a long line of linked hands. The musicians played faster, and Ula pulled Jemma toward the doorways. A snarl and growl rumbled from behind her, and she turned to see Gordon being held back by his clansmen.

  But it was done with a great deal of jesting. Gordon would frown, but he couldn’t maintain the harsh expression for more than a couple of seconds before his lips returned to smiling.

  “Here now . . . I think he needs a bath, lads!” Kerry shouted over the noise the other men were making.

/>   “A cold one!” someone else added.

  Ula pulled her down the hallway before she heard any more. The noise coming from the hall became a blur of male excitement. But it was drowned out by the laughter of the women escorting her. They giggled and crowded around her, all the time sweeping her toward the stairs, but not the set that led to her chamber. They kept going until they entered the west tower. There they took her up the stairs, passing three floors before they pulled her into a chamber.

  Without doubt, it was the laird’s chamber.

  A huge space, it took up the entire area between the walls of the tower. They were on the top floor, and the ceiling was covered with arches that made for a breathtaking view. Candles cast their flickering orange and scarlet light over the rugs covering the floor. Persian ones and also thick fur ones. The chamber itself was round, with glass windows set in all the way around it with only two-foot sections of stone to interfere. Thick curtains, which undoubtedly cost a huge amount of money, hung on either side of those windows.

  She didn’t get the chance to look at the room anymore. The older women clustered about her, gently unlacing her dress. They lifted her unbound hair up carefully while the silk and velvet garment was removed. The scent of rosemary touched her nose and the sweet fragrance of flowers. She could see the younger, unmarried girls pulling the heavy bed covering back to expose the sheets. They folded everything down to the foot of the bed, leaving only the creamy expanse of the bottom sheet. Vanora peered at it, reaching out to run her hand over the smooth surface before grunting with approval.

  Jemma blushed and felt her limbs quiver. Nervousness assaulted her in a flurry, threatening to buckle her knees.

  Vanora would be back at sunrise to look at that sheet. It was an ancient custom and one she had seen played out many times at the village that clustered around Amber Hill. When the merchant’s daughters married, the next morning there would be a stained sheet hanging from the window of the house or there would be deep disgrace for the bride and her kin.

  She didn’t fear disgrace. No, the anxiety that flooded her came from the knowledge that there would be a stain on that sheet come the morning. For all the playfulness Gordon had displayed in the past couple of hours, it was passion that had led them to this night. He would have her, and his cock was no doubt hard with hunger right that very moment.

  She sat down while someone brought a basin forward to wash her feet. Hushed bits of conversation drifted to her ears, but she was far too absorbed with contemplating her groom.

  Cool water splashed over her toes, drawing her attention to the women eagerly preparing her for her wedding night. She’d missed out on helping brides in the past few years, and she discovered that her memories were those of a little girl, because as soon as her feet were rinsed and dried she was pulled to her feet and her chemise plucked right off her.

  A soft sound of shock passed her lips. That drew more attention to her.

  “Make a path for Vanora.”

  The women tending her parted, and the old midwife crossed the floor toward her. Jemma tried to remain poised, but it felt impossible to remain still. She wanted to cover her breasts with her arms, but forced them to remain at her sides. She mustn’t act as though she had anything to hide. Gossip was a vicious thing, and brides suffered from it more than others. If she refused to have the midwife inspect the entire chamber to her satisfaction, there might be talk that Jemma had hidden chicken’s blood somewhere to stain the sheets.

  The midwife stopped in front of her, and the chamber went silent. The women behind her lifted her hair to show there was nothing hidden. Jemma forced her hands to open wide, her fingers spreading for Vanora’s gaze. It took every bit of nerve she had to remain still, but every wife in the room had tolerated the same on their wedding night, so she stood steady. She would not cringe like the pampered Englishwoman many of them called her behind her back. She would show them courage.

  Vanora took a linen square from a nearby table and ran it up the inside of her thigh, across her sex and down the opposite side before pulling it back to look at and confirm that she was not having her monthly flow. Several woman stood on their toes to see the surface of that fabric. One of them was Ula. Jemma felt her cheeks sting because her blush was so hot, but she waited for the midwife to send her to bed.

  Vanora nodded. “I am well satisfied. There will be no talk or ye shall answer to me in front of a priest.” The midwife turned to point a finger toward some of the laundresses who were standing in the back of the chamber. They were not helping at all, but there to watch with suspicious eyes. “Mind me well, for I am not so convinced that mercy is the way to instruct ye on decent behavior. Now be gone if ye have no help to offer. The mistress has tolerated far too much from ye already, but she has done so with courage. Wag yer tongues about something true for a change.”

  There was a hushed silence, but a good number of the women surrounding her turned to glare at the ones standing near the walls. The laundresses did not hold up well. They hurried out, pushing on one another to escape.

  That did not leave her alone. The chamber was still full of nearly thirty women, but the mood changed. They smiled and led her toward the bed.

  “Come now, before the men show up with the laird.”

  Someone had strewn late autumn herbs across the sheets. There were no flowers, but the sweet scent of heather and peppermint filled the air. Ula pulled up the covers to protect her modesty, and not any too soon. They heard the men escorting her groom from several floors below. They were trying to sing a bawdy tune but kept losing the rhythm because they were laughing too hard.

  No one truly knocked on the doors, they ran into them, making a racket while trying to sing out the next line of their lusty song. Two of the women pulled the chamber doors wide open to admit the pile of chanting, kilt-clad males. They snickered before thrusting their laird forward.

  “Be gone!”

  They didn’t mind him very well. The group rolled back into song, several of them swinging their mugs back and forth to help keep time. It worked rather well, and they belted out the final few lines of the song. The women didn’t care much for their tune. They began to beat the group back toward the door, and the men grabbed them to take along with them out of the chamber. Ula was the last to leave, closing the door firmly behind her.

  “Bloody lot of trouble.”

  Jemma got a good look at her groom and laughed. She couldn’t hold it, Gordon Dwyre was soaking wet from his bonnet to his boots. Water dripped from the pleats of his kilt making a ring around him. He frowned at her.

  “Ye’re nae helping matters, woman. The water was cold, and I bathed this afternoon.”

  “Somehow, I don’t believe their goal was to clean you, Gordon. More, I think, to slow you down.”

  She pushed the bedding back and stood up. His mouth shut with a click of his teeth. His expression became tight as though he was in pain, but in his eyes she could see hunger flickering. Those flames reinforced her courage. She strode slowly toward him, actually enjoying the way his eyes followed her every motion. The sonnets that she had read in a book of love suddenly made sense. This was what they meant when they spoke of not being able to look away. Gordon was devoted to her, and it was more than lust. Something else in his eyes shimmered brightly.

  Approval, yes, but there was also relief. A relief born from the experience of his first marriage that had seen him entering his chamber to discover a woman cringing beneath his bed sheets.

  “Yer more beautiful than words can express, Jemma. Thank ye for wedding me.”

  She reached up to open the first button on his wet doublet. The fabric was stiff and resisted.

  “We are well suited.” The button opened, and she began to work on the next one.

  He cupped her chin and raised her face so that their eyes met. “I wed ye for more than the facts that might have been written on a parchment, Jemma.”

  The words were tender. So tender and unexpected. Her heart eagerly soa
ked them up, refusing to allow any doubt to wipe them aside. He leaned down and kissed her. The fingers that had been opening his doublet turned into a fist that pulled him closer. She was no longer concerned about her lack of clothing; it seemed perfectly suited for the moment. What bothered her was the stiff fabric held in her closed hand. But his kiss was too delightful to postpone. She mimicked his motions, opening her mouth and tilting her head so that their lips fit more snuggly against each other. She even teased his lower lip with the tip of her tongue as he’d done to her in the past, taking a gentle pass along his lower lip. She felt him jolt, and then he pulled away from their kiss, confusing her.

  Gordon snorted. “It is not that ye displeased me, Jemma. Quite the opposite.” He stepped away from her completely, and the action allowed doubt to invade her thoughts. Her arms rose up to cover her breasts.

  “I suppose I can nae expect ye to understand what I mean.” He was busy unbuttoning his doublet with hands that moved far faster than hers had been.

  “Then try explaining it to me.” Her voice was whisper soft, and she didn’t care for how vulnerable it sounded.

  He surged out of his doublet and tossed it onto a chair. When he looked at her she gasped, because what she had thought bright about his eyes before was nothing. His eyes glowed now like the harvest moon. Hunger was a living force in them.

  “Yer boldness makes me want to meet it measure for measure, lass, and I swear I hate these clothes right now for they keep me from holding yer lovely body against mine.”

  “But isn’t it a wife’s duty to tend her husband?” Jemma wasn’t sure where her boldness came from, only that it restored her balance, allowing her to uncross her arms. One of Gordon’s eyebrows arched in question.

  “Are ye toying with me, lass?”

  “Maybe. If I am, it is something I have learned from you, I believe.”

  He pulled his belt open, and the soggy wool of his kilt slumped to the floor in a wet heap. “Good, I like to think that we shall be fine playmates.”

  Jemma barely heard what he said. His shirt was the only thing shielding his body from her gaze. Since it was wet, it molded to him like a second skin. The fabric was translucent, allowing her to see the darker hair that grew on his chest. The man seemed to be composed mostly of muscle. It ran down from his broad shoulders to a lean waist and on to powerful legs.