Wishing For A Highlander

by Jessi Gage

  Hoping her embarrassment wasn’t too obvious, she briefly told him about how Constance had come through standing stones from close to her time and about her and Wilhelm’s fast and fiery courtship. She skipped over the part where Constance had said that once she’d chosen Wilhelm she’d never looked back.

  Darcy took the Murray kilt and spread it on the hard floor, then blew out the lantern. In the dark, his boots thunked to the floorboards, one after the other, then the clinking of a belt buckle cut into the silence. The sound of rustling fabric told her he was unfurling his kilt and wrapping himself in it. She’d never been jealous of a piece of fabric before, but she would’ve given up a whole shelf of romance novels for the chance to be wrapped around Darcy in his kilt’s place.

  “Tomorrow, Wilhelm will show me around Dornoch,” he said as he lowered himself to the floor. His voice came from close to where she lay in the bed, so she knew he was sitting up. She could reach out and brush her fingers through his hair, but she kept her hands to herself, remembering her promise to behave. “He’ll show me where I might best serve him while we are here. I imagine ye can spend more time with Lady Constance. We should get our rest.” After a pause, he said, “Thank ye, Malina. I am content with the arrangement we have with the Murray. And I wouldna have thought of such a thing on my own. Ye have a fine mind on ye, lass.” He sighed and lay down.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she peered over the edge of the bed at her husband. When he rolled to one side and then the other and finally settled for lying on his back, she arched an eyebrow.

  “Comfortable?”

  He made that Scottish harrumph sound.

  “Come on up here,” she said, patting the bed. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

  He made no response.

  Fine. Be that way.

  She scooted out of bed and unabashedly stretched out alongside her tall Highlander. The burgundy kilt did nothing to disguise the hardness of the floor, and her hip protested when she turned on her side to face him.

  “What are ye doing, lass?” His voice was so soft and close in the darkness, it made her shiver.

  She forgot all about the hard floor. “I always imagined that once I got married, I’d finally know what it was like to spend the night in a man’s arms. Will you hold me, so I can feel what that’s like? I won’t ask for more than that. Just hold me.”

  He rolled to face her and touched her cheek. “Ah, lass,” he sighed. “How can I deny ye when ye ask so sweetly? If ’tis holding ye want, holding ye shall get. But the floor is no place for ye and your bairn. Up in the bed with ye.”

  “It’s no place for a married man, either,” she said, smiling at her small victory.

  He sighed again, a sound heavy with sentiment she could only guess at. She climbed under the blankets and held them up for him, but he was taking his sweet time.

  “Are you coming?”

  “Aye, lass. Just putting my plaid back on.”

  She bit back a huff of frustration. She determined to enjoy what little affection he would give her and didn’t want to push her luck by asking for more. Her hormones would have to learn patience; this was going to be a painfully slow seduction.

  When Darcy slipped into bed, bare-chested, but wrapped in layers of wool from the waist down, she cuddled into his open arms. All her frustration drained away as he gathered her in and the heat of his chest turned her into a melty puddle of contentment. She nestled her nose into the tuft of hair between his mounded pectorals and inhaled his scent of saddle leather and faint, masculine musk. Beneath her closed eyelids, her eyes rolled back in her head with bliss.

  Kyle had held her on sufferance when she’d demanded it of him after their all too brief trysts at her apartment, but he never held her for long, and he never gave in to her increasingly adamant invitations to spend the night. But being in Kyle’s arms had never felt like this.

  This felt…it was hard to put into words. But it reminded her of a fond memory. About six months after moving to Charleston to take the job at the museum, she had walked into her apartment with an armload of groceries and been struck with a sudden and profound sense of homecoming. She’d stood in her kitchen in her coat and scarf and shed a few tears because in that moment, she’d known that her parents’ house in Georgia would never feel like home again. She would always feel comfortable there. She would always be welcome. But she’d never again long to stay there day after day, night after night. She’d grown up. She’d moved on.

  The first hot tears of a similar realization snuck out and onto Darcy’s chest before she could stop them. He felt like home.

  She’d known him less than three days and yet being in his arms overwhelmed her with the kind of peace she’d known that evening in her apartment. This was where she belonged. And if that was true, then if she managed to find a way back to Charleston, it might never feel the same to her.

  Confusion tied her up inside. She wanted to return to Charleston. She wanted to stay with Darcy. Her heart ached with an impossible dichotomy of desires.

  Constance had stayed. She’d never looked back. But Wilhelm had wanted her.

  Darcy might have feelings for Melanie, but his life would most definitely be simpler if she went back to her time. He hoped to return to Ackergill, something he couldn’t do if she stayed with him. And he might be attracted to her, but he avoided physical intimacy at all costs. She could only conclude that he didn’t want her, at least not enough for it to matter.

  Which meant that no matter what she truly wanted, she would have to keep looking for a way home. And when she found it, she would have to leave Darcy. And her heart would break.

  Chapter 14

  Since he’d met her, Malina had felt like a wee, delicate flower to Darcy. Oafish as he was, he’d been afraid of hurting her merely by being near her. But holding her like this, in a big, soft bed in the peaceful dark, she didn’t feel so wee. The vast difference in their heights didn’t seem to matter so much when they lay down together, and the darkness hid the fragile lines of her delicate face and frame.

  She felt solid and sure in his arms. She felt like she belonged there. Like a cog rotated into a companion wheel, Malina fit him perfectly. She moved him.

  The skin of her bare shoulders cooled the sensitive underside of his forearm. Her belly, rounded and firm with the bairn inside, pressed the hard muscles of his stomach, and he lamented the thin fabric of her shift between them. Her breath ruffled the hairs on his chest, and he became jealous of those hairs for being so near to that lovely rosebud mouth. Bath fragrances from her time with the Lady Murray made their bed smell like a bower lined with blooming honeysuckle.

  He craved her kisses like the crops craved spring rains. Would she give him those lips freely if he tilted her face up and took them? He thought she would. Judging by the way he’d found her tonight–his cock throbbed beneath his doubled-up plaid at the memory–he thought his Malina would give him everything if he asked for it. And he’d take it if he could. But he couldn’t. And so he didn’t ask for her kiss or anything else.

  Instead, he merely held her, and when the feel of her, so cool and soft and trusting in his arms, had his body strung so tight he didn’t think he could bear it, he forced his thoughts to the mystery of Malina wanting him. His da had taught him that proper women didn’t much care for meeting their husbands’ bodily needs except mayhap on rare occasion, but that a good wife offered her body willingly nevertheless just as her husband faithfully provided her food, shelter, protection, and leadership. His da had said only wanton women craved a man’s attentions. “Wed a woman like that,” his da would say, “and ye’ll be a cuckold in no time.”

  Anya had been a wanton woman, which was why he’d avoided her for so long. If Malina desired him, did that make her wanton? He didn’t wish to think of her as such. With her sweetness and bravery and her selfless spirit, she was nothing like Anya. And yet she had gotten with child without a husband. Mayhap she had been wanton and she was trying earne
stly not to be any longer. Or mayhap she wasn’t wanton at all but merely wished to meet the bodily needs she assumed he had, as a good wife should.

  He should explain to her that she didn’t need to fash about that particular duty. But something in the way she clung to him told him she desired him beyond a wife’s duty.

  His Malina was a mystery, a lovely and welcome mystery.

  He couldn’t resist smoothing his palm over her silky hair. Stroking her like that, over and over again filled him with peace. Concerns about his mill and Steafan and all that Wilhelm might expect from him floated away on a cloud of contentment.

  Until he felt warm wetness on his skin where her face nestled.

  “Are ye weeping?”

  “No,” she said, but her voice caught on a sob.

  “There,” he said, “now we have both told a lie to the other. We are even.”

  Whatever had her distraught, her heart wasn’t so heavy that she couldn’t give a small chuckle. “Maybe I’m crying just a little,” she said. “It’s fine, though. Don’t worry. Get some sleep.”

  “I canna. My da told me a good husband doesna lay his head down for the night if his household isna in order and his wife isna content.”

  “He sounds like a very responsible man. Like father, like son.”

  No one had given him as much to feel proud over as this woman. “I do my best to be like him. Now tell me what’s fashin’ ye. Is it Steafan? Your eye? Are ye in pain?”

  Her head rocked on his arm. “No. It’s nothing. Really. Pregnancy can make a girl a little emotional. That’s all.”

  “Ye miss your home,” he guessed again, ignoring her excuses. “Are ye worrit over finding your box maker?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “I suppose you could say that.”

  “Dinna fash. I will do all I can to see ye home safe.”

  “I know,” she said, but she didn’t sound happy.

  After long minutes of quiet in which he thought she’d gone to sleep, Malina said, “Is it because I’m pregnant? Or too short?”

  She was asking about earlier. His heart clenched. “Nay, lass,” he said with a sigh. He tilted her chin up then, not for the kiss he longed for, but to find the moist sparkle of her gaze in the darkness. “There isna a thing wrong with you. Ye are lovely as a lily in the morning mist. Any man would be proud to have ye as his wife.”

  “Are you any man?”

  “Aye, lass. I’m as proud of ye as I can be. Never doubt that.”

  “I suppose I can live with that,” she said with a wee smile. “If you won’t make love to me, then I’ll take your pride.”

  His heart stuttered and his cock jerked at her bold words. He hoped his plaid kept the bugger from bothering her.

  “I can live with it,” she pressed on, “but it would be easier for me if I knew the reason. Is it because I’m planning to leave you?” She said the last words so quietly he had to strain to hear her.

  Guilt lashed at him; she was desperate to understand why he didn’t want to bed her.

  He cupped her face, his hand covering her delicate cheek and jaw. His thumb stroked the swollen skin around her eye. It was tight and hot with healing. Malina was wounded because he’d failed to hide her box well enough. Her injury was his undoing. It tugged at his heart and made him willing to do anything to make it up to her.

  “Malina.” Her name was a balm on his tongue. It flowed out of him as naturally as breath from his lungs. But he lost the ability to speak aught more when his eyes roved over her plump lips. They looked like velvet in the night.

  Unable to resist any longer, he dipped his head and kissed her. She tightened her arms around him with soft strength as their mouths joined. Her lush curves molded even closer to him. When she parted her lips, he delved inside, lost to sensation, oblivious to reason.

  She was sweeter than sugared custard with cream, and more decadent than dessert wine. Without him meaning them to, his hips pressed forward, seeking a connection that wasn’t meant to be. But she didn’t ken that. She pushed back, and the suggestion in her movement stirred heat low in his gut. Need racked him. An urge to make promises to her with his body had him delving deeper into their kiss. He would drown in the warm waters of her affection and die a happy man.

  His wife pulled back, breathless. “Is this really what you want?”

  Her whisper brought his sense back. His lungs devoured the air in gasps as he fought not to reclaim that sweet mouth. He needed more of her. But he made himself back away.

  “Och, lass, ’tis not what I want that matters.” He sat up and slipped out of bed, his body aching with loss.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you,” she said in a rush. “Please, don’t go back to the floor. I’ll behave. I really will.”

  The desperation in her voice made his stomach burn. So did the realization that came to him as the feel of her left his body and his mind cleared. “We canna share a bed. I’ll hold ye all ye want by day. But I will ne’er be able to lie down with ye and find sleep. You rest, now. I’ll just go for some air. When I return, I shall sleep on the floor, and ye will obey me and stay in your bed. Understand?”

  “Please don’t go. I didn’t mean to scare you away.”

  He bit back a bitter laugh at her words. “’Tis nay fear I feel when I’m with ye, lass. Sleep, now.” He left her in the dark bedroom and wondered if there was mayhap an icy loch about he might dunk himself in.

  * * * *

  The door clicked closed and Melanie fell back on the bed. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Darcy had kissed her, and she’d lost her head completely. She should have pulled back from him much sooner. She shouldn’t have asked those stupid, needy questions.

  “Why, Darcy, oh, why won’t you do me?” she mocked. “Could I have sounded any more desperate?”

  The sad fact was, when he touched her, her brain went on vacation and her hormones ran the show. Maybe it was some primal female need to be securely mated that came on with pregnancy. Whatever the cause, she needed to rein it in or she’d just keep pushing him away.

  “Think, Melanie. Think.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he’d wanted to throw off his kilt and bury himself inside her. He’d been hard as marble, and even if she hadn’t felt his arousal through his layers of wool, the way his hips had rolled forward in unconscious search of coupling would have been enough of a give-away.

  He wanted her. But he didn’t want her.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t look good to him. It wasn’t that she was pregnant. It wasn’t that she was planning to leave. What else was there?

  He had commanded her to sleep, but how could she possibly find rest when she had such an impossible puzzle to work out? How could she relax when she missed his warmth in the bed? How would she survive when she left him and it wasn’t just his physical warmth she missed, but the soul-deep warmth of knowing he would always be there for her?

  If only she could find a way to break through his barriers and make love to him so she could take the steamy memory with her when she returned to her life. Surely that would sustain her when her heart iced over without him.

  She tossed and turned, wanting to obey because she sensed that earning his trust was paramount to getting under his kilt. But with her body burning and her mind churning, she couldn’t even keep her eyes closed, let alone sleep.

  “Sleep, my patootie,” she muttered, kicking off the blankets. Darcy wasn’t the only one who needed some air.

  Wrapping the Murray plaid around her shift like a blanket, she slipped out of their room and padded down the halls of Skibo Castle. The lush, late-medieval decor tried to lure her into stopping and studying each sconce, mirror, and tapestry, but if she was going to clear her head enough to get to sleep sometime tonight, she needed the crisp air of the Scottish countryside.

  Stepping into the night, she inhaled the clean, chilly air. Dornoch didn’t smell like the ocean, like Ackergill, but like grass and loam and horses. Stars blazed above in a stunn
ing canopy of light. Though no lanterns or torches lit the outside of the castle and the moon was a mere crescent, the stars gave enough light that she could hold out her hands and make out the white tips of her short nails.

  It was beautiful here. By daylight, Dornoch bustled with the busyness of a good-sized town, and after dark, all was harmonious with the stillness that came after a day of honest labor. A place like this could grow on a girl. But it wasn’t Ackergill with its quaint village, loping fields, and towering cliffs overlooking the ocean. She’d been at Ackergill less than a full day, but she’d fallen just a little bit in love with it. No wonder Darcy wanted to return so badly. She would too, if she’d grown up there.

  She set off on a stroll, not sure where she was going. Predictably, her feet took her to the door of the barn; besides the castle it was the only other place she’d been in Dornoch.

  She pushed through the tall door, breathing in the sweet scent of hay and clean horses, thinking she’d give Rand a rub on his nose and ask if he had any insights about his master.

  “Ye are a disobedient wee thing. If ye were staying with me, ’twould be my duty to discipline you.”

  She smiled to hear Darcy’s voice rumble softly through the dark, belatedly realizing what he’d said. Her smile turned wry. “I’d like to see you try, big guy. I might be small, but I’m quick.”

  “I’m quicker.”

  She couldn’t see him, but she’d heard the lift of a smile in his voice. She itched to flirt with him and ask how he’d discipline her. With spankings? By tying her down and torturing her with his brain-melting kisses? But she remembered her earlier promise to behave, and the rush of embarrassment resulting from her failure to do so.

  “Maybe I should have stayed in bed, like you’d said, but I couldn’t sleep. I needed some air, too.” She scanned the dark for her husband, not seeing anything but the doors of stalls. If he wanted her company, he’d probably show himself. Disappointment made her sigh. “Well, I suppose I’ve gotten my air. I’ll go back.” She turned to go.