by Aubrey Wynne
“Ian wouldn’t follow the dissenters if their path turned violent, would he?”
“I dinna believe so. We have too much at stake here. Besides, he’s the conscience of our clan and has always spoken for the underprivileged or wrong. There’s no gentler soul in our family than Ian.” He patted her hand. “He’s no’ afraid to raise his voice, but he’d walk away before raising arms against the King.”
Fenella pushed back the unease churning in her gut. Countries were always settling disputes and dealing with discontent among the masses.
When the wagon stopped in front of the Fenella’s home, her grandmother opened the door. “Weel, if it’s no’ the prodigal son returned home. Welcome back, ye handsome oaf.”
Lachlan climbed down and assisted Fenella. His hands lingered on her waist, his nose buried in her hair. “Ye never told me about yer dreams,” he whispered before turning to greet the older woman.
“Mrs. Douglas, I do believe ye’ve grown younger in my absence. Is that a new dress?” He kissed her cheek. “The rose color is lovely and suits ye.”
“I assume that means ye’d like to resume Sunday dinners, eh?” But the crinkle of her eyes and quirk of her lips relayed her pleasure at the compliment.
“I’d be honored, ma’am,” he agreed with a bow.
“Malcolm,” she called to the boy, “come to the kitchen for a scone and some milk. I believe Fenella and Lachlan need to examine the kale in the garden. There were spots on the leaves when I last checked.” She raised an eyebrow at her granddaughter. Fenella understood the look. This was her chance to tell Lachlan of her misrepresentation, remembering her father’s words.
Malcolm scrambled from the back of the wagon, clutching his cap in his hand and trying to comb back his fiery curls with thin fingers. Fenella peeked at Lachlan through her lashes and caught his heated gaze. He laced his fingers through hers, and they walked around the house to the back gate.
The honeysuckle was between blooms, and Lachlan stopped at the arch where the thick vines intertwined with the lattice. He sat on the wooden bench beneath the shade of the bright green leaves and pulled her down beside him.
“How is it there are no flowers, yet I still smell the sweet nectar?” he asked, his nose nuzzling the delicate skin beneath her ear.
“Grandmama used some of the petals and created an oil. I wear it to remind me…” She caught her breath when his teeth nibbled at her earlobe, followed by his lips feathering kisses down her neck.
“Remind you of?”
“I have no idea.” She turned her head, and his mouth covered hers, urgent and tender. One hand cupped her cheek, his thumb lightly rubbing her temple in slow sensuous circles. The other stroked her neck; his fingers traced her collarbone while his lips massaged hers, grazing one way and then the other. A shiver went through her, the pulsating between her legs increased. His finger dipped to her neckline, pulling at the material and rubbing a calloused pad between her breasts.
Oh, heavens above. She clutched at his arms and returned his kiss. Hesitantly, her tongue met his, and she was rewarded with a deep growl. The rush of his breath against hers made her daring, the knowledge that she could force such a sound from him.
He placed both his hands on her cheeks, and pulled back, kissing her closed kids, her nose and then a final brush of his mouth against her quivering lips. It was as if lightning had struck through her core, and her body ignited. She panted, dragging in gulps of air as his cobalt gaze held her eyes. Lachlan drew in a deep ragged breath and let it out in a loud woosh.
“Sweet Mary,” he rasped. “I canna get enough of ye.” He sat back and pulled her against him, his arm around her shoulder, his cheek against her hair.
With a sigh, she relaxed into his side. “How long will you be here?”
He shrugged. “I dinna ken. At least six weeks after they return from Manchester. Ian used to come here every couple months and stay for a few weeks. With the trouble ye found in the ledgers, I dinna think we should leave so much responsibility to Colin. The business is growing.”
“So you’ll continue to share the time here with Ian?”
“As it stands, Grandda has agreed to let the arrangement continue.” Lachlan tickled her arm as his finger traced up and down its length. “I should tell ye, he wants me to take his place as chief one day.”
A sudden ache pierced her chest. “What do you want?”
“I’d make a terrible clan chief. Patience is not my best quality, as ye well ken. My younger brother Brodie is better suited.” He let out a long breath. “Grandda is stubborn, but he’s agreed to this compromise. I told him I wouldna sacrifice my life to make him happy.”
“And if he doesn’t accept what is best for his grandsons?”
Silence.
“What would you do instead?” Drat! she silently cursed. Why ask a question she might not want to hear the answer to?
“I’d make my home here and court the bonniest, long-legged accountant in Glasgow.”
Fenella glanced up just as he bent his head and kissed her again. This time his mouth was demanding, claiming hers. He had just confided to her and she should do the same. And then his lips drove all thought from her brain.
Chapter Seventeen
Feeding the Fire
Tuesday, August 17, 1819
Lachlan leaned over the basin and splashed water on his face and neck.
“How’s the wooing progressing?” asked Sorcha. She shoved a frizzy curl back under her kertch. With hands on hips, her ample chest stuck out, she easily blocked his path. “Are ye keeping the proprieties?”
“Aye, within reason.” He grinned and stepped around her. “What business is it of yers, woman? Are ye the MacNaughton matchmaker now?”
“We’ve just noticed ye’re spending a lot of time at Mrs. Douglas’s house.” Her smirk told him that he’d been the subject of more than one conversation among the clan workers.
“She’s a fine woman and didna want me to be lonely with Colin and Ian both gone from the townhouse. And she allows me to bring my hound.” He winked at the older woman. “Now if there are no more questions, I have three gracious women awaiting my presence.” He headed for the door.
“Aye, yer Calum’s grandson for sure. And just in case ye’re wondering, we all approve,” she called after him as he hit the stairs.
“I wasna, but I thank ye for the information,” he yelled over his shoulder. Why did that bit of news lighten his step? But he knew the answer. Lachlan MacNaughton was falling in love.
It was Tuesday and Fenella did not work, so he had time to stop by the townhouse, change clothes, and collect Brownie. When he reached home, low, mournful howls echoed through the halls. It confounded him how the dog always knew he was coming. The poor footman had reported she would begin pacing the entrance hall fifteen minutes before his arrival. Within five minutes, the moaning bays began. He grinned as the footman met him with a pained expression on his long thin face.
“Take heart, Alfred. I could be one of those gentlemen that come and go multiple times a day.”
“Yes, sir.” He bowed then stumbled forward, catching the railing as Brownie bounded to meet her master. “Golden-eyed devil,” he muttered under his breath.
Lachlan chuckled as he took the stairs, the shaggy female on his heels. “Yes, my sweet, ye’re coming with me this time.” He’d thought about taking the deerhound to the mill, but he’d need to train her to avoid the machinery. The constant hum and clamoring of the machines might be a problem, too. Yet, she wasn’t used to being confined and needed exercise.
He pulled on a clean shirt, wrapped the navy kilt around his waist, and buckled the belt. Attaching the sporran, he checked inside for the heather he wanted to give Fenella. He’d talk to her about Brownie. She had a knack for finding solutions to problems.
Less than an hour later, he stood at Mrs. Douglas’s front door. He held a bottle of aged scotch in one hand and rapped the knocker with the other. A thumping tail echoed the tattoo
at the door. Fenella greeted them, a bright smile curving her pink lips. She squatted down and took Brownie’s face between her hands and rubbed the dog’s jaws.
Lachlan watched her, the sun-kissed locks swept up on the top of her crown and falling against a delicate neck. From above, he glimpsed the creamy mounds straining against the bodice as she leaned toward the deerhound. A pinkish-purple gown brought out the pink of her cheeks, and short puffy sleeves exposed the alabaster skin of her slender arms. His mouth went dry. Would his reaction to her ever dim? He hoped not.
“I’m no’ sure if I should be offended or impressed that ye welcome my hound before me,” he said as he held up the scotch. “And I came bearing a gift.”
Fenella laughed. “Perhaps she’s more appreciative.”
“Weel, I’ll have to change yer mind on that later on tonight.”
They moved inside the house, and he could hear Mrs. Douglas’s voice in the parlor.
“Ye look lovely in that dress,” he whispered in her ear before they entered the room. “The color becomes ye.”
“It’s called puce, and thank you.” She smiled up at him and took his arm. “Grandmama, Lachlan and his guardian have arrived.”
“Ah, welcome,” answered Mrs. Douglas. “I see ye brought a wee something for us? That was kind of ye, lad.”
“It’s to show my gratitude for the nightly meals, ma’am.” He turned to Rose. “I hope all is well with ye?”
“The same as last night,” she replied with a smirk. “Not much has happened since then. And you?”
“I received news from Manchester today.” He sat beside Fenella on the settee. “He wants to purchase a dozen of the power looms. Says they’re better than the ones we presently have.”
“That’s wonderful. Will they be coming home soon?” asked Rose, her dark eyes bright.
Lachlan knew she had Colin on her mind. “They’ll be making arrangements for payment and shipment on the seventeenth. Today as it happens. By now, Ian will have met with the solicitor. Colin was being instructed on the machinery. We should expect them by the end of next week, though the looms will take longer to arrive.”
“I’m happy the visit was successful, but happier to hear they aren’t waiting for the looms.” Rose beamed. “Will Ian stay long after they return?”
Lachlan shook his head. “He’ll be anxious to be on his way.”
Fenella poked his arm. “I demand a rematch tonight on Spillikins. You only won because you kicked me under the table and distracted me.”
“Nay, I’d never stoop to such tricks. It’s no’ my fault ye’ve an unsteady grip, and the sticks went flying.” He covered one side of his mouth with a hand, whispering loudly, “Does she always resort to such behavior when she loses?”
Mrs. Douglas nodded. “She’s quite competitive. Comes from my side, ye ken.”
*
He did lose the game but to Rose, not Fenella. After admitting defeat gracefully, Lachlan asked if anyone would like to take a walk around the garden. It had become an after-dinner ritual, and as usual, both Mrs. Douglas and Rose declined. He bade Brownie stay as they left the house.
They walked along the small border of the garden, passing the plot of herbs and the strong smell of sage. He stopped at the bench by the honeysuckle bushes and drew her into his arms. The moon shone white against her skin, her blonde hair gleaming. Lachlan rubbed a silky lock between his fingers, longing to send the hairpins flying and sink his fingers into the soft waves. Instead, he slanted his mouth over hers and cradled her nape in his palm. Her lips were soft and pliant, her tongue tasting of sweet raisins and orange. When her fingers weaved through his hair, her body pushing against his growing manhood. A moan of pleasure rumbled low in his throat. He pulled away from her, his forehead leaning against hers.
“Do ye ken what ye do to me, Fenella?”
She shook her head. “I only know when I’m with you, my body comes alive. I-I…”
“It’s called desire, my sweet.” He stroked her arms with his knuckles, goosebumps rising on her flesh. “There’s so much I long to teach ye.”
When her eyes caught his, silver and flashing like a clear loch on bright night, he saw his love reflected there—and realized how vulnerable she was. This beautiful woman had been hurt, convinced by some ridiculous society standard that she was lacking, yet had the courage to trust him with her most valuable possession. Her heart. The words had never been spoken, but he saw it each time she met his gaze.
“Teach me, Lachlan. Teach me what my body is trying to tell me.”
“I shall give ye a lesson each time we’re together.” He murmured in her ear. “Though I admit, it’s hard enough now controlling my urges when ye’re body is pressed against mine. But if ye insist…”
With a nod, she draped her arms around his neck again. “I’m ready.”
He scooped her into his arms, sat down on the bench, and settled her on his lap. “Desire is like building a fire. It needs to be set carefully, stoked from a wee spark”—he kissed a corner of her mouth—“to a small flame.” He kissed the other corner. “Ye need to fan it, and feed the heat, ye ken.” His mouth brushed hers, once, twice, his tongue caressing the seam of her lips.
Fenella’s eyes closed; he saw her pulse quicken in the hollow of her neck. Her hands slid from his neck to his shoulders, kneading the muscle there. A sweet pain assailed him as his member hardened beneath his kilt. His lips went to that spot on her neck, caressing the visible heartbeat that revealed her need without a sound.
“Slowly, the heat increases.” His mouth trailed across her chest while his hand skimmed across her belly, up toward those creamy mounds, almost, but not quite cupping them. Then his hand moved lower, his palm sliding over the folds of her entrance with a whispered touch before returning to her stomach.
Her breath came in pants, and he continued his caress, back and forth, up and down. Fenella made a tiny mewling sound and arched her neck. The evening light glimmered against her ivory skin; her full lips were slightly parted, eyes closed, thick lashes creating small crescents against her cheek. Sweet Mary. She was exquisite.
“Then ye tend the tiny flames with care.”
His teeth tugged at her neckline and freed one perfect mound. Cupping her breast, her skin soft and warm, his thumb traced a slow circle around the growing bud. She gasped and gripped his shoulders, her body tensing. He dipped his head, swirling a path around the pebbling tip before taking it into his mouth.
“And blow on the growing fire.” He blew gently on her heated skin.
“Oh… oh, Lachlan.” Her body moved restlessly as she let out a husky moan, grinding against his manhood.
Stiff and aching, he pulled her bodice down to give the other breast the same attention. His hand stroked and kneaded her belly, dipping between her legs, cupping her heat. She whimpered, her nails digging into his flesh.
With all the control he could muster, he brought his hand back to her stomach, then pulled her dress back over her breasts. His lips feathered her neck, nibbled her lobe, and finally claimed her mouth again. When he ended the kiss, she lay against him, her chest heaving, her body trembling. He gathered her close and kissed her hair. Lachlan smiled, thinking of the easily roused passion within her and his own body’s reaction to her. There would be more to their union than lust. Much more.
“Did ye learn anything?” he asked against her ear.
Fenella nodded and opened her eyes, glazed and smoky with desire. Her fingers ran along the edge of his jaw then traced his lips. She leaned forward and settled a breathy kiss on his mouth. He held her, stroking her back while her heartbeat slowed. The stars were bright, flickering in the night sky. A dog barked in the distance; something fluttered in a nearby tree. Still he held her, reluctant to let go of this woman, this moment.
“I did a great deal of thinking while I was home. My grandparents have a bond, a love between them I have always envied. It’s my measure for finding the right mate, a lasting and satisfying marriag
e.” He shifted, setting Fenella on the bench beside him. He brushed back the tangle of curls, stroked her nape as he chose his next words. Her eyes were huge and luminous, reminding him of melted silver.
“Like Ian and Lissie have?” she asked softly.
Lachlan shook his head. “They have a bond, aye. But theirs is a different kind of love.” He struggled to find the words. “They were betrothed as children. A promise made between two clans to keep the peace. My great-grandfather, the MacNaughton chief, ended a long feud with the Craigg clan, when my grandfather married that chieftain’s niece, my grandmother. To maintain the pact, one of my grandfather’s sons was to marry one of the Craigg’s daughters.”
Fenella’s eyes widened. “But there were no sons.”
“No, so the next generation was held to the promise. When Lissie was born, Ian was the grandson closest in age, so the betrothal was set. Destiny made them best friends as they grew. She could finish his sentences, and he always knew when she needed him. When Lissie was sixteen, Grandda asked them both if they were willing.” He chuckled. “I’ve rarely seen her angry, but that question sent her into a rage.”
“So, they love each other but aren’t in love?”
“It’s hard to explain. Their souls are connected, to be sure. But the passion isna the same. They love each other as intensely as my grandparents but…” Lachlan hesitated. “Grandda still reaches for my grandmother with a hunger in his eyes. And she still giggles like a young lass when he kisses her in public. That all-consuming need has remained strong for all these years.”
“And that is what you want?”
“Aye.”
Fenella cupped his face, her gaze searching, her voice unsteady. “Did you feel such an unquenchable passion tonight?”
Lachlan kissed her, the sweet ache throbbing again as her velvet lips swept over his. “I think so, my sweet angel. I think so.”
She laid her head against his chest and snuggled against him. Her sigh was warm on his skin. “I think so, too.”