by Lauren Smith
She couldn’t very well wait in his chambers completely naked, but she assumed he would insist upon her removing her nightgown once he arrived.
The sound of footfalls outside the door made her tense. She curled her fingers into the fabric of her nightgown.
Lachlan entered. He carried a delicate decanter of wine and a pair of glasses. He froze when he saw her standing there by his bed, barefoot, her hair unbound, wearing nothing but her nightclothes. He blinked and then gave his head a little shake.
“I thought you might wish for a drink.” He gave the decanter a slight whirl and she nodded. A drink would help calm her nerves.
“Yes, that would be nice.” She fidgeted for a moment before sitting down in the chair next to his desk. He poured two glasses and, after slipping one glass into her hand, drank his in two long gulps. He refilled his glass and brought it to his lips.
“Lachlan…” she began, noticing his hands shaking a little. Was he nervous? The thought was laughable. The worldly Scotsman, nervous on his wedding night?
“I…” He chuckled and set his glass down. “I am a wee bit…” He didn’t finish, but his cheeks darkened to a ruddy shade beneath the candlelight.
“You’re not the virgin, I am,” she blurted out, and then covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a nervous laugh. Lachlan approached and played with the strands of her hair with his fingers, making her shiver with a secret thrill.
“I’ve not been with a lass that I cared about the way I do you.” He brushed her long dark hair away from her neck. She reached up and touched the pearls at the same moment he did. Heat flared between them when their hands met.
“You care about me?” the words that escaped her were barely above a whisper.
His short nod was followed with a smile so faint she almost wondered if she’d imagined it.
Daphne held her breath a long moment before she replied, “I feel the same about you.”
His look of boyish wonder as he cupped her face and gazed into her eyes melted away every concern she’d had about marrying him.
“I doona deserve you, lass. But I swear on my bones that I will strive every day, with every breath, to care for you and make you happy.” There was an almost violent flash of pain in his eyes. She threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him. She slipped off the chair and they tumbled onto the floor, Lachlan holding her in his lap as he leaned against the bed’s frame.
Daphne breathed in his comforting, enticing masculine scent and pressed her lips to his neck. His hands tightened around her waist as he held her very still. She examined his face, the hard jaw with a hint of stubble, his blue eyes now as dark and endless as the surface of a lake.
She trailed her fingertips down his nose to his lips, memorizing every curve, every faint line, even the barest hint of freckles on the bridge of his nose, which she hadn’t noticed before. He was beautiful physically, but there was something else, a nobility in his face that seem to come from within. It had nothing to do with bloodlines or titles, but a nobility of the soul. She realized she trusted him more than she had ever trusted anyone except her mother. Her father’s crimes had cost her much, including her trust in others, but now, for the first time, she felt like she could trust another person. She could trust in Lachlan.
I want to give him everything, all that I am.
“Are you ready to go to bed?” she asked, stroking his lips. He moved one hand up and down her back, the way a man would calm an untamed horse.
“Aye. Are you?” he asked. Worry marred his face until she nodded.
She slid off his lap and they stood, smiling hesitantly, both embarrassed.
“Why don’t I take off my shirt?” He stepped back and reached over his head to pull off the white garment. Once exposed to view, his bare chest made her mouth run dry. He tossed the shirt away and lifted one of her hands to his chest, placing her palm over his heart.
“I am yours, lass, look your fill. Touch.” He stroked the back of her hand. “As you will.”
Daphne explored him, marveling at the muscled plains of his abdomen and the corded steel of his arms, awed that something so beautiful could be hers. Then he unfastened his trousers and removed his shoes. She stepped back with wide eyes when she saw his fully bared body. He was unashamed and waved her closer with a coaxing hand. He stepped back and leaned on the edge of the bed, inviting her near.
“I doona bite,” he chuckled when she drew close enough. She placed one hand on the top of his hard thigh, a secret delight surging through her when his muscles leapt beneath her fingers.
“Now for you.” He reached for the front of her nightgown, unfastened the buttons at her breasts and then lifted the gown over her head.
When she stood naked before him, she stiffened, her nipples pebbling in the cool air. He parted his knees and gently pulled her to stand between his thighs so he could touch her. He cupped one breast, and his rough, calloused palms sent delightful tingles through her. She clenched her thighs as wetness grew between them.
Lachlan plucked one nipple, the gentle tug making her hiss out a soft moan. She arched her back, clutching his shoulders as she offered him her other breast. He bent his head and fastened his mouth to it, kissing, sucking, nibbling until she couldn’t stop from trembling. Everything he did was thrilling, even frightening, but exquisitely wonderful. She reached for his erect shaft, needing to touch him as intimately as he was touching her, but he caught her wrist.
“There will be plenty of time for that, lass, but not yet. A man needs to pleasure his woman thoroughly before he sees to himself.” He slid his hands down to her bottom and lifted her onto his lap. His shaft slid between her wet folds and she whimpered as a hard edge of need rolled through her. She needed him to do something to her, to ease the hunger she barely understood.
“Lachlan, please, I want you to—”
“Shhh…” He kissed her hungrily, their lips melding as he clenched her buttocks and rocked her against him in his lap. She arched, her knees sliding on the bedding on either side of his slender hips. Daphne was desperate to feel him inside her, even though she was afraid he wouldn’t fit, that he was far too big, but her hunger was stronger than her concerns. They broke the kiss and she implored him with begging eyes to give her what she needed, what they both did.
“Aye. You’ll be the death of me, wife.” He fell back on the bed with her before he rolled them over so that she lay beneath him. Her knees gripped his hips, trying to close even though his body lay between them. Blood surged from her fingertips to her toes.
He lowered his mouth to hers, and his kiss burned like morning light through the darkness of her weary soul and she surrendered everything to him. The unexpected pinch she felt as he slid inside her faded beneath the fire of his kiss. He spoke to her between kisses as he withdrew and thrust back inside her. She recognized the words, the Gaelic from the wedding ceremony.
“Two souls made one, two hearts made one. Let none tear asunder what the heavens have brought together.” She closed her eyes as the tension building inside her broke in a sudden crest. The pleasure was as pure as it was explosive. Daphne gasped in sweet agony. She clung to him, her inner walls fluttering around him and she pressed frantic kisses along his cheek, lips and chin as he thrust twice more and collapsed on top of her, his weight heavy but welcome.
Lachlan kissed the shell of her ear, smiling as he lifted his head to gaze down at her. A deep peace settled inside her, as if she stood in a meadow at dawn, with the birds beginning to chatter softly, sunlight beginning to bathe the ground, and a breeze rustling the grass.
There was something about a beginning. It seemed to fill one’s soul with hope, with love. What she and Lachlan had shared this night was a new dawn, a beginning all their own.
Lachlan brushed stray wisps of hair back from her face and swallowed hard. “How do you feel?” he asked.
Daphne smiled, feeling like her whole body could float away. “As though you gave me wings to fly.”
Wi
th a chuckle and a glint of mischief in his eyes, he nuzzled her cheek. “I’ve not even showed you the best parts.”
“Oh?” She couldn’t possibly imagine that what they had just done could get any better.
“Aye, there’s a few hours yet before we should sleep. And I know just how we can pass the time.” He kissed her, and she was swept away by his embrace, his touch and his passion. Lachlan had given her the one thing she longed for above all else. Happiness. She would cling to it as long as she could.
Chapter 9
“You’re in love with her.”
Lachlan tensed. He and Cameron leaned against the short wall of the terrace. Before them, in the field between the gardens, Daphne and Eliza played with a sheepdog that belonged to one of the tenant farmers who had come to speak with Lachlan’s groundskeeper.
“No, I like her. She’s a bonnie lass and—”
“You can lie to yourself, old friend, but never to me.” Cameron’s teasing tone softened, “I know you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve love, not after losing William, but you’re wrong. You deserve her. You deserve joy in your life. It’s what he would have wanted for you.”
Cameron touched Lachlan’s shoulder. The truth of his friend’s words seemed to reverberate through his body with the sound and clarity of the bells hanging in the tower of the Kirk of Huntley.
He loved Daphne.
He should’ve known the first time he spoke with her that she would leave a burning imprint upon his heart and soul. Lachlan was finally seeing things clearly. It mattered that her father had driven William to his death, but she was not her father. His sins were not hers, and would never be hers. She was a victim, just like William, yet she hadn’t surrendered, hadn’t given up, even when she had reached the end of her rope. She’d agreed to marry a stranger, and done her best to fit in here. She had even fallen in love with him. Even now, without knowing it, she had changed him, dragged him kicking and screaming from the hollow hole in his heart and forced him back into the light of the living, How could he not love her?
Daphne tossed a red ball and the sheepdog scampered across the lawn, stumbling to a stop as he nearly tripped over his prey, then clutched it in his mouth and returned it to her. He shook his black and white coat and pawed the ground before dropping the ball, his tail wagging so hard that his whole body shook. Even at this distance, Lachlan could see the joy on Daphne’s face.
“There it is again,” Cameron said. “That love-struck look you made fun of me for when I first told you I planned to marry Eliza.”
Lachlan couldn’t resist a smile. “I suppose I am owed this teasing, aren’t I?”
“Indeed, you are, and more.” Cameron chuckled. “I think it’s time Eliza and I went home. You need a proper honeymoon with your bride, and should not spend it entertaining guests.”
Lachlan grinned. “As much as I like you, I would prefer to return her to bed and not leave for days except to eat.”
Cameron slapped Lachlan’s shoulder. “Let me collect my wife. We should arrive home in time for dinner.”
Lachlan shook hands once more with his friend. As he watched Cameron walk away, he realized he’d neglected their friendship for too long. William’s death had robbed him of so much: his joy, his friends. Marrying Daphne was already bringing his life back into focus. He wouldn’t let the things that truly mattered escape him again.
Lachlan remained on the terrace, watching Daphne chase the dog, who now barked excitedly and dodged her in a game as old as time. The heartache in his chest was nearly gone, something he never thought possible.
“My lord?”
Lachlan turned away from the terrace. His groundskeeper stood there before him, hat in hand.
“Yes?”
“The farmers said the black fallow deer herds are in need of thinning. I thought we might give them permission to go shooting on our lands, if you approve.”
“Of course. You’ll see to it they get the meat they need?”
His groundskeeper nodded, then laughed. Lachlan followed his gaze back to the field. Daphne held the dog’s front paws, making him stand on hind legs. The furry beast was licking her face enthusiastically.
“Oh, I’ll see to it. You got a bonnie bride to tend to quickly, or else you might be replaced in her affections.” The groundskeeper chuckled as he walked away.
Lachlan leaned against the stone terrace railing and watched his bride. Her hair blew loose in the breeze, her face flushed. She waved at him and he waved back, a boyish giddiness growing inside him. After so much darkness, so much pain, he had a moment of pure contentment.
Daphne left the dog and walked up to the steps.
“It’s a wonderful day. Come and walk with me.” She held out her hand.
He descended the stairs and took it, loving how their fingers intertwined, and headed toward the gardens. Once there, he tugged her against his body, delighting in her gasp and sigh as he covered her mouth with his. Daphne gave freely of herself and he whispered soft words of encouragement against her skin when she clung to him. The velvet warmth of her kisses cocooned him inside a private heaven that he never wished to leave.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed before they broke apart. That single kiss had seemed endless. He never knew that simply kissing a woman could fill him with such pleasure.
Lachlan grasped her hands and grinned. “Let’s go inside and continue this.”
She giggled. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”
As they walked back to the house, Lachlan had to stop himself from whistling. In the distance, he heard the crack of gunfire.
“What’s that?” Daphne asked, looking over the fields beyond the castle.
“The farmers are hunting deer. The herds need thinning. I have quite a few on Huntley lands, and I let the tenants hunt during the winter to keep the poor beasts from starving. The extra meat will be a welcome for the tenant farmers come wintertime.”
“Can I meet the tenants?” she asked. “I would like to know as much as possible about your life here.”
“Our life,” he corrected.
“Our life,” she echoed with a blush.
“I can take you to meet them tomorrow.” Lachlan paused as he reached the door and stole one more kiss before he gestured for her to precede him.
“Lachlan?” His mother’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
Moira stood in the hallway, her face pale. She clutched a piece of paper. She stood only a few feet from his study, or rather, William’s study. Moira’s eyes darted to Daphne, a mixture of horror and pain so stark it made him suck in a breath.
She knew.
“Moira, are you all right?” Daphne let go of Lachlan’s arm and started toward her. Moira retreated a step as though Daphne would attack her.
“I need to speak with you, alone.” Moira told him, refusing to look at Daphne.
“Lachlan, should I…?” Daphne began.
“Go upstairs to my chambers and wait from me.” He moved toward his wife.
“But—”
“Go.” He pushed her gently toward the stairs.
Once he was sure Daphne had reached the upper floor, he escorted his mother into William’s study and closed the door.
“You hid this from me.” His mother shoved the paper at his chest and he caught the slightly crumpled letter. “I found it locked in his desk drawer. You knew, didn’t you? William never locked those drawers, but you did.” Moira’s eyes were rimmed with red as she looked at him, then she collapsed into a chair in front of William’s desk, her head bowed.
“I couldn’t let you know the truth.” He set the letter down on the escritoire, his throat suddenly tight. Why hadn’t he burned the letter? He should have, but he’d foolishly been unable to let go of it. They were William’s last words and he couldn’t let go.
His mother lifted her head. “He said he was involved in something with Sir Richard Westfall. That’s Daphne’s father, isn’t it?” It was less a question than an accusati
on.
“Yes.” He wanted to lie to her, but he couldn’t.
“You knew before you married her, didn’t you?” Moira sniffed. Tears trickled down her cheeks. His mother’s agony cut through him hard enough that he could feel his heart bleeding.
“Aye. I knew.”
“But ...how could you? The daughter of the man who-- Why? Did you think to find some justice in it or did you have other designs for her? What were you thinking?” her words crumbled into a breathless inhalation as she fought off a sob.
“I married her to hurt her, to hurt him. I didn’t love her, mother. It was a marriage arranged from spite and vengeance. I wanted to make her miserable. It was my only way to hurt him, through her.” A great weariness settled on him.
“What?” Moira’s voice cracked. “You brought her here for that? Lachlan, I want her gone, I can’t have her here, not when...” she choked on a sob and wiped her eyes. “She’s a sweet girl and she doesn’t deserve to suffer your vengeance. She’s not her father, can’t you see? Living with a man who despises her isn’t fair to her, not when she’s innocent of her father’s crimes. You must send her back to London. Annul the marriage.”
“It’s too late for that,” he whispered.
His mother stared at him, horror filling her face. “Then you must live apart.”
Lachlan was silent for a long moment. “No. I can’t send her away. Because… I love her. I love her wildly, Mother. I don’t care about her father, not anymore. I want to look forward, not dwell in the past. She’s the only thing that matters to me now. William would not have wanted me to forsake my love if he knew how happy I could be.”
Moira rose from the chair, her blue eyes dull and her lips trembling.
“You should have told me.” For a long moment they stared at each other, a chasm growing between them, one that he feared he could not repair. Then she turned her back on him and left.