by Amy Jarecki
“’Tis quite a ride, even for a seasoned sailor.” He helped her down. “Give us a moment to send the winch down to Dunollie, and then we’ll introduce you to the crew.”
She smiled, turning her ear. Though the men on the deck were quiet, she felt their presence and their eyes upon her. A wave of trepidation washed over her as she wondered if they knew—or if they would fear her.
But then Albert’s toenails tapped the deck. He barked, brushing her skirts and smacking her thigh with his tail.
She couldn’t resist giving his head a pat. “Och, laddie, we’re off on a new adventure.”
The winch creaked and groaned much more loudly than it had with her. She turned, praying the ropes wouldn’t snap and send her husband plummeting to the sea. But with a whoosh of air, Ciar hopped to the deck with a resounding bang.
“How did you weather the gamming chair, my love?” he asked.
“It was exhilarating, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”
“’Tis quite a height.”
“Then it is a good thing I cannot look down.”
He chuckled and turned her shoulders, whispering into her ear. “The men have assembled to greet you.”
“All bow,” bellowed Livingstone. “Welcome His Lairdship’s bride, Lady Dunollie!”
Emma clasped her hands and curtsied while those two words resounded in her ears. Lady Dunollie. Oh, how she loved them. “Thank you for your warm welcome.”
Ciar grasped her elbow and walked her down the line of men, each one taking her hand and kissing it as he was introduced.
“And finally Cook—who prepares our meals both at sea and at the castle,” said Ciar.
Emma gaped. “Truly? Who tends the hob when you’re away from Dunollie?”
“Och, m’lady, this is a special occasion. Now that you are here, my orders are to be at your beck and call at all times.”
“I will look forward to discussing menus with you.”
“As will I.” Cook kissed her hand. “And you’ll find a meal fit for a king prepared and ready for you in His Lairdship’s cabin.”
“Our cabin,” Ciar corrected.
“Would you like me to look after Albert until I’m needed, Your Ladyship?” asked Betty.
“Please,” Ciar answered on Emma’s behalf. “And you may have the evening off to enjoy the brisk Scottish air as we cruise down the eastern coast of our glorious isle.”
“Thank you, m’laird.”
Somehow, Emma didn’t think Betty would have trouble occupying her time. Not among an entire crew of Dunollie men.
Ciar placed his hand in the small of her back. “Since dinner is served, allow me to show you aft.”
“I’m famished,” she whispered.
“So am I.”
“Did you miss breaking your fast?”
“Aye—too nervous to eat.”
“You?”
“I admit to being a wee bit anxious as well. ’Tis not every day a man marries.”
He opened a door, and when she stepped inside, everything went quiet. There was no wind at her face, no rush from the sea. “’Tis so peaceful in here.”
“We’ll be underway soon and, God willing, the weather will be fair.” Behind her, he slid his hands to her waist, pressing warm, succulent lips to her neck. “Then the Flying Ceilidh will rock ye like a bairn.”
Emma turned, dancing a bit. “I think I’d rather be rocked by you, husband.”
“Mm, I adore your vigor. Ye must ken I went to heaven when we said, ‘I do.’” He took her hand and twirled her deeper into the cabin. “But first we need sustenance.”
Emma breathed in the musky scent of roast lamb. “It smells delicious.”
“I’m certain it will be.” He helped her sit in a wooden chair with a padded seat and back—far more elegant than she would have expected. “I asked Cook to ensure you are pleased this night.”
“You asked?”
“Hmm. I may have told him that his longstanding reputation hinged on this meal.”
“Oh, my. ’Tis a wonder he spoke to me at all.”
“He’s a good man. He was one of my mother’s favorites.”
Emma reached out, finding a regal setting with a china plate, silverware, a serviette, and a wineglass. Beyond was a loaf of bread. “’Tis still warm.”
“Cook misses nothing. But I requested no soup and no service. You see, wife, I wanted you all to myself with no interruptions.” Ciar’s chair scraped the floor as he sat. “Allow me.”
She placed the serviette in her lap and folded her hands atop. “I want complete details of everything before us.”
“As you may be aware, I’m slicing the bread.” After the grating of the knife stopped, he put a piece on her side plate. “You’ll find the butter on your right.”
Perfect.
“And you guessed right with the lamb—’tis a succulent rack of lamb with a ring of peas and pearled onions in the middle, swimming in rosemary sauce.”
Emma spread the butter and licked her lips. “Delicious.”
Liquid sloshed in her glass.
“And the Burgundy is from the Dunollie private reserve.”
“But from France.” She sipped. “Oh, my. ’Tis like silk on my tongue.”
“Only the best for you, mo leannan.”
Together they ate their fill, topping off the meal with a wild strawberry–and-vanilla pudding. Having supervised the kitchens at Moriston Hall, Emma knew exactly how dear vanilla was.
Emma rubbed her stomach. “I am filled to the brim.”
“Come here.” Ciar tugged her fingers. “You’re too far away from me.”
“I was just thinking the same,” she said, her heart skipping a wee beat as she slid across his lap.
He held a glass to her lips. “We’d best sample the port.”
She sipped. “Mm.”
“My thoughts exactly. But try this.” He moved his lip to hers, and as she opened for him, a delightful yet powerful liquid filled her mouth.
Kissing her, he swirled his tongue around before she swallowed. “What was that?”
“A bit of whisky steeped with port. Did you like it?”
“Very much.”
“But we mustn’t drink too much—’tis as potent as a sleeping potion.”
She took the glass from his fingertips and set it on the table, pushing it away. “I’m not yet ready to sleep.”
“Nor am I.”
Smoothing her hand from his chest to his brooch, she unfastened it. “Make love to me.”
* * *
When Emma’s sultry voice expressed the words he’d needed to hear for sennights, Ciar forced himself not to rip the wedding gown from her body and haul her to the bed. He’d dreamed of this moment for so long.
“I want this night to last forever,” he whispered into her ear. “A memory to cherish throughout eternity.”
“I will be with you forever.” Emma stood and began pulling the pins from her hair.
Ciar circled beside her, making quick work of the task. “I also gave your lady’s maid the evening off so that I could have you entirely to myself.”
A delightfully sultry smile spread across her lips. “As you said, no interruptions.”
When Her Ladyship’s coppery tresses cascaded in waves around her, he gathered them over her shoulder and inched behind her. “Have I told you how stunning you looked today?”
“Aye.”
He began untying her laces, savoring every moment. “I want to have a portrait of you painted wearing this gown so I will never forget.”
“Oh.” The corners of her mouth tightened. “If only…”
His stomach squeezed. He knew what she meant—she’d never be able to see it herself. “What would remind you most of today?”
She turned her ear to her shoulder and slid her fingers into his view. “I have the honor of wearing this exquisite ring. The stone is so smooth. It reminds me of a rose petal.”
“You are such a treasure.”
As each lace eased, a little more of her scent ensnared him—fresh, floral, and womanly. Betty had bound the stays so tight, Ciar wondered how Emma had been able breathe without swooning all this time. When he unlaced the final constricting ribbon, she inhaled deeply. He ran his hands from her long neck out to her shoulders and urged both bodice and stays to drop, fluttering kisses along her nape.
As he stepped in, her skirts brushed the tip of his cock. Even through his kilt, he was exceedingly sensitive to touch. His eyes rolled back and he worked faster, unlacing the ties at her waist and sending the skirt to the floor. His impatience grew as he released not one but three petticoats.
When at last she wore nothing but her shift, he slid his hands down her narrow waist and pulled her hips against his. A luscious, soft bottom teased his throbbing cock as she rubbed against him. Rocking his hips forward, he bit his lip and pressed harder, until his thighs shuddered.
I haven’t even made it to the bed and I’m ready to spill.
He eased away, and she turned, her eyes dark, her lips red and parted. In one motion, she unlaced the front tie of her shift and slipped it from her shoulders.
He was afraid to move; her beauty entranced him, stunned him. Good God, if his cock met the slightest friction, it would erupt. His tongue slid to the corner of his mouth as he ached to have his lips on her pert little breasts. He needed her. He needed her now.
Wearing only her hose and slippers, Emma said nothing but told him what she wanted by slowly swirling her finger around her nipple. Swallowing hard, Ciar knelt to untie her garters, putting him at eye level with her sex. His cock strained, demanding to be set free. He jerked the ribbons as fast as he could, removed her slippers and tugged down her stockings. Mouth completely dry, he brushed a finger around the triangular outline of the auburn locks that hid her treasure.
And then she opened for him, and he smelled the delicious scent of her desire. His tongue darted out and lapped her. Moaning, Emma thrust her hips forward as he swirled his tongue around her sensitive button. Gripping his hair, she rocked against him.
He slid a finger inside her slick, wet core.
“Don’t stop,” she growled, her voice hoarse, incredibly erotic.
Ciar took her cue. He slid his finger faster while his tongue relentlessly licked.
Emma’s breathing sped until she gasped. Her body stiffened, and then her thighs convulsed. Crying out, she came undone in his mouth.
Clenching his gut against his urge to release his seed, he continued to lick until her breathing ebbed.
She tugged at his shirt. “Now you.”
Chuckling, Ciar stood. “I’d hoped to last until we made it to the bed, but the journey is questionable now.”
“How far is it?”
“About seven paces.”
A wicked grin spread across her lips. “Oh, my.”
“I can make it,” he growled, scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. Gently, he rested her atop the pillows.
“But you’re still clothed,” Emma objected.
“I’ll remedy that faster than you can blink.”
Ciar unfastened his belt, dropped his kilt, and tugged off his shirt. Then he climbed in beside her. “Now where were we?”
* * *
As she reclined on the bed, Emma’s insides still quivered with pleasure. “Every night since you left Gylen, I’ve wished to lie with you again.”
“And now you will forever.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her like a man starved. “I’m so very hungry for you.”
She matched his fervor, trailing kisses along his throat. “A hunger no meal can assuage.”
His voice rumbled with a deep chuckle as he rolled atop her. His tongue danced with hers, his hard body enticing her flesh. The thick column of his manhood jutted between her thighs, making the coil of hot desire fill her again. But this time she needed him inside her.
“I’m dangerously close to spilling my seed,” he whispered.
“We have a lifetime ahead of us.” She grasped his shaft and guided him toward her. “But I need all of you this time, my love.”
He slowly slid inside, his breath ragged. He filled and stretched her, caressing the spot that would send her to the stars.
His tempo increased, and Emma gripped his buttocks to urge him faster.
“I. Cannot. Hold. Back!” His voice came out strained as he met her demands.
When she bucked against him, he thrust wildly. The masculine scent of cedar and spice drove her mad. His cock filled her. Every inch of her skin craved more until she froze at the pinnacle of ecstasy. In one earth-shattering burst, she exploded around him. “Ciar, oh Ciar, I love you, I love you!”
With a bellowing roar, he thrust deep and spilled within her. His body violently shook with his release as he panted into her hair.
When at last the tension ebbed from his muscles, he swept the damp locks from her forehead and kissed her. “You consume my every thought.”
Emma used her fingers to see his face—his beauty, his kindness. Finding not a hint of worry or tightness at the corners of his mouth, she knew he was content. “Thank you for making my dreams come true.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Standing at the estuary below Dunollie Castle, Emma took in a breath of fresh Highland air. At last they had arrived at her new home. The past week of sailing had been as perfect as if she’d existed in the pages of a fairy tale.
She sighed and swayed in place while a wind blew her skirts against the back of her legs and made her bonnet strain against its ribbons. “Perhaps I should have brought my cane.” Emma clutched her husband’s arm. “After a sennight on the Flying Ceilidh, I still feel as if I’m rocking with the ship even though we’re standing on dry ground.”
Ciar patted her hand. “Not to worry; if you swoon, I shall sweep you into my arms.”
She sniggered. “Be careful, my dearest. Being in your arms sounds rather enjoyable.”
“Och, I ought to throw you over my shoulder.”
“Is it a brute ye are now?”
His quiet yet deep and sensuous rumble made her insides flutter. “You bring out the beast in me.” As he cleared his throat, Emma sensed his change from playful to officious. “The wagons are here to haul your things above.” Ciar stood beside her, the wind making his kilt flap loudly. “It is quite a strenuous walk up a winding path to the keep from here. Would you rather I send for a pony?”
“Och, nay.” Albert stepped beside her, his cold nose nuzzling her hand. “It will be good for us to stretch our legs.”
“I think a pony is wise,” mumbled Betty from the rear.
Emma turned her ear. “Mayhap next time, but today I want to walk at my husband’s side.”
As they started up the incline, leaves rustled overhead, but the trees helped to block the wind coming off the firth. “A forest?” she asked.
“Aye, they’re turning gold and red.”
“So soon?”
“No matter how long our summers, autumn always seems to come faster than I’d like.”
Emma’s breathing grew deeper. “My, it is a climb.”
“We’re not yet halfway. Would you care to stop for a wee bit?”
“Nay. I’d run if I could.”
“Are you excited to see your new home?”
“Ever so.” She was nervous as well but said nothing. No, no, she’d be mortified if anyone discovered the unease gripping her chest.
“I think you’ll like it here,” said Livingstone.
“I do as well.” Emma turned her head toward the Dunollie man-at-arms. “But why do you say so?”
He sputtered. “Well, for starters, we’re all kin, and there is no clan in Scotland who will protect you like the MacDougall.”
She liked that, though her brother was most likely every bit as vigilant.
“And I love you like no other,” Ciar whispered in her ear.
His warm breath tickled, making the nervousness fade a tad. Emma reached up and
brushed a clump of drying leaves.
“They’re coming!” called a youthful voice ahead.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“It sounds like Scottie, Cook’s son.”
“He didn’t tell me he had a boy.”
“I’m sure there are a great many things you’ll learn in time.”
As the incline gave way to level ground, the wind picked up, and applause roared.
“Welcome, m’lady!” said a woman.
Ciar leaned in. “The serving staff has assembled to greet you.”
Emma’s palms suddenly perspired inside her gloves. “Already?”
“They’re eager to see the new Lady Dunollie.”
Emma gulped as he led her forward. “I-I am so gloriously happy to be here.”
“This is the housekeeper, Mrs. MacClarin.”
“Pleased to meet you, m’lady,” the woman said in the same voice that had called out the welcome.
Emma held out her hand and, after some mummering from the crowd, the housekeeper took it. “So very lovely to meet you as well. I look forward to coming to know you better.”
“Mrs. MacClarin,” said Ciar. “This is Betty, my wife’s lady’s maid. Please show her to Her Ladyship’s chamber. I’m having her effects delivered there directly.”
“Straightaway, m’laird,” said the housekeeper.
“Excellent, and please do take Betty under your wing.”
“Of course. Perhaps I ought to start by taking her on a tour of the servants’ quarters?”
“Fine idea.”
Ciar led Emma down the row of servants, each one offering their tidings, though something seemed off—tense, and she could have sworn she heard unpleasant whispers. Were they disappointed with her appearance? How much had Livingstone told them? Did they not know of her malady? Did they fear her?
Suddenly, she felt cold. Even though Ciar had hold of her hand, she felt alone, lost among a sea of people like she had been right after Kennan and Divana’s wedding at Achnacarry.
At the end of the line, Livingstone gave Emma Albert’s lead while her husband took her up the steps and inside the castle. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m well, why?”