Page 27 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

T wo days later, as the sun edged towards its zenith, Freyja, with Roisin and their grandmother, walked the short distance from Kilvenie Tower to the kirk.

Clouds dotted the sky, but the breeze was warm, and the villagers had gathered along the path to the kirk, just as they had a few days ago when Afi had made his final journey.

She blinked back her tears. This was what her grandfather had wanted, and she wouldn’t mar the moment with her grief. After all, marriage to Alasdair was something she wanted, too.

As she entered the small stone kirk that had been a part of Rum for as long as Kilvenie Tower itself, the scent of spring flowers drifted in the air, and she shot Roisin a grateful glance.

Her sister had spent most of the previous day gathering wildflowers, and bluebells and primroses filled the nave.

There were not many guests. There hadn’t been time to invite the prominent MacDonald clans that were spread across the Western Isles, never mind Isolde and William. But Miles was there, as were her grandfather’s faithful servants, as well as those who had accompanied her grandmother from Eigg.

And waiting for her by the altar, smiling at her as though she was the only woman in the world, was Alasdair.

*

Freyja grasped Roisin’s hands in the bedchamber they’d shared for the last week in Kilvenie and squeezed her fingers. “Are ye all right?”

Roisin shook her head. “’Tis yer wedding night, Frey. But I won’t be asking ye the same question since I know ye will always be all right. And I’m happy for ye, truly I am. Even though everything has happened so fast.”

Aye, wasn’t that the truth. She could still scarcely believe Alasdair was her husband, but the minister had bound them together and tomorrow they were returning to Eigg before sailing to Oban on the mainland.

Amma kissed her cheek. “Ye chose the right path,” she whispered, before straightening and smiling at Roisin. “Come, Roisin. ’Tis time to leave.”

Freyja watched her sister and grandmother leave the chamber, taking a reluctant Dubh with them, and when they closed the door behind them a deep silence filled the air. She drew in a calming breath and tugged her shawl about her, even though she wasn’t cold, despite wearing only her shift.

It was absurd to feel so nervous about her wedding night. She’d already given Alasdair her maidenhood, so it wasn’t trepidation of the unknown that caused the constant flutters in her stomach and jitters in her chest.

Yet here she was, plucking the edges of her shawl and wondering if she should climb into the bed and pull the coverings up to her chin.

It had been a lot easier in the stables, when she hadn’t time to think about what she was doing. It had all been so natural, unlike now, when everyone in the stronghold—make that the entire Isle of Rum—knew exactly what was about to happen in this bedchamber tonight.

Did every bride suffer with these thoughts? Or was it just her?

Thankfully, a knock on the door distracted her from her foolish notions and she smiled when Alasdair entered the chamber. How splendid he looked, in a fine saffron shirt that emphasized his magnificent broad shoulders and impressive biceps, with his blond hair pulled back in a black velvet ribbon.

He shut the door and strode across the chamber to where she stood beside the bed, his dark gaze never leaving hers.

“My beautiful bride,” he said, as he took her hands. “I can scarcely believe my good fortune.”

She laughed, and the nerves that had plagued her all day evaporated as spirals of pleasure warmed her blood. “I’ll be certain to remind ye of yer good fortune whenever I irk ye.”

“There will be no need. There’s nothing ye could do that would cause me even a moment’s vexation.”

“I thought ye knew me better than that.”

He dropped a kiss upon the back of her hand, and shivers of delight raced through her. “I know ye well enough, Freyja MacDonald, and I’d have ye no other way.”

“’Tis just as well, since I shall never change.”

He released her hand and plucked one of the bluebells Roisin had threaded through her hair that morning and twirled it between his fingers.

“’Tis the same blue as yer eyes.” He sounded a little awed and she smiled.

“I don’t believe that’s the reason why my sister gathered so many bluebells for our wedding. She believes they’re flowers of the fae and will bring us great joy.”

Roisin also believed both bluebells and primroses signified everlasting love, but she wasn’t going to tell Alasdair that.

It was all very well for her to gently mock her sister for her rose-hued certainties about how Alasdair really felt about his new bride, but she didn’t quite have the nerve to risk him laughing should she mention the notion of everlasting love to him.

He trailed the dainty petals along her cheek. “I don’t believe in the fae folk,” he said. “But I’m willing to believe the bluebells will bring us joy.”

“Then I trust the woodlands around yer castle are filled with them every spring.”

For a fleeting moment, confusion flashed across his face, as though he had no idea what she was talking about. Then he smiled and the only thing she saw in his eyes was admiration. “That’s something to discover for yerself.”

She sighed and traced her finger along his throat to where his shirt opened, showing a tantalizing glimpse of his chest. “There are many things for me to discover in my new life.”

“Ye’re not the only one.” He dropped the bluebells onto the bed and cupped her face. “I’ve yet to discover how exquisite my bride will look when she’s lying naked upon the bed, waiting for her husband.”

The image burned into her mind, and the breath caught in her throat. “I hope her husband is also naked in this fantasy ye speak of.”

“Certainly. But ’tis no fantasy.” Laughter filled his voice, but there was an irresistible undertone of lust that ignited sparks of flame deep inside.

“And thank God for that. I’ve dreamed of being with ye since the day we met, and I’m certain I’d have gone mad with wanting ye had we not wed this day. ”

“Well, to be fair,” she was compelled to remind him, “ye’ve already had me, Alasdair.”

“Once. And I’ve been burning for yer touch again ever since.”

She shook her head and tugged on the ties of his shirt. “Yer honeyed tongue is always a source of wonder to me. I don’t possess the knack of whispering such sweet nothings in yer ear.”

“They’re not sweet nothings.” There was an odd tone in his voice, as though she’d inadvertently wounded him.

Great Eir, maybe she had? Perhaps in the middle of one’s wedding night wasn’t the right time to say whatever was on her mind?

“I mean it, Freyja. There’s never been another woman I’ve wanted for my wife, and that’s the truth.

One tumble in the stables with ye could never be enough.

I know I should regret what happened, but I don’t.

I never will. And I hope to God ye don’t regret it, either. ”

“Ah, ye foolish man,” she said before she could think better of it. “Of course I don’t regret it. How could ye even think such a thing? The memory has kept me awake at night for this last week. There, are ye happy now I’ve bared my soul to ye?”

His grin fairly took her breath away. “Aye. And feel free to bare ye soul—and the rest of yerself—to me whenever the mood takes ye.”

“I’ll do my best but make no promises.”

“Yer best works for me.” He tugged her shawl from her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. “I do have one regret about the stables.”

“Ye do?”

“Aye. It was too rushed for yer first time. That’s my only regret, but I intend to make it up to ye, make no mistake.”

“I’ve no complaints. If I had, I’d share them with ye.”

His big body shook with silent laughter. “I’ve no doubt of that.” He unclasped his brooch and placed it on a nearby table before unwinding his plaid. “I trust ye’ll have no complaints when I take my time with ye tonight.”

Her mouth dried as he finally unwound the last of the material and tossed it across a chair. His shirt hung to his knees, but without his heavy plaid in the way, his arousal was plain to see.

She licked her lips and tried to speak but it appeared her wits had fled. How mortifying. Alasdair wasn’t even naked yet. As if he’d heard her thoughts, he grasped the back of his shirt and hauled it over his head.

Good goddess Eir. Her gaze fixed on his breathtaking cock as if she’d never seen one before in her life. To be fair, patients didn’t count and despite what had occurred between them in the stables, she’d never had the chance to see Alasdair in all his naked glory.

“Does yer unnatural silence indicate approval?” Alasdair loosened the laces on her bodice while she attempted to locate her voice. “I cannot tell by the expression on yer face.”

As he gently tugged her shift over her shoulders she hitched in a ragged breath. “I’m more than adequately impressed.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I think ye should.”

He gave a grunt of laughter before wrenching her shift along her arms where it floated to the floor in a pool of pale green. His hot gaze devoured her, sweeping from her flushed face to her curling toes, and liquid heat bloomed between her thighs in a molten wave.

“I believe I’m more than adequately impressed also.” His voice was rough with desire, and she managed a sardonic smile until he cupped her breasts, and she exhaled a shaky breath instead.

“Being naked has its merits,” she conceded, as he bent his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth. She dug her fingers into his hair and her eyes drifted shut as his tongue and lips created sweet havoc with her senses.

Slowly, he inched down her body, his hands gliding over her waist and bottom, leaving ribbons of fire in his wake. His mouth was an instrument of exquisite torture as he licked and nibbled her flesh, causing her to all but collapse beneath his ministrations.

And then he knelt before her, easing her knees apart with one hand as he wrapped his other arm around her hips. His fingers stroked her damp folds, dipping inside her heat and teasing her throbbing clit until every sense she possessed burned for release.

His hot breath was as provocative as an ethereal caress against her sensitized lips and when he pressed an open mouthed kiss on her, she gave a rasping moan.

His tongue teased and probed, and an unbearable pressure coiled through her, until she tumbled over the edge as waves of unbridled pleasure consumed her.

He swept her into his arms, swung about, and laid her on the bed. She gave a gasping laugh as he straddled her, before roughly pushing her thighs apart with his knees.

“I need ye, mo leannan.” He sounded in agony, but passion burned within the dark depths of his eyes and renewed desire rippled through her blood. “I need to be inside ye again and make ye mine.”

“Aye,” she breathed, barely aware she even spoke, and she wrapped her legs around him, delighting in how wonderful it was not to be hampered by endless lengths of gown and plaid between them.

His muscled chest with its smattering of hair crushed her breasts, and his mouth against her throat pushed her once again to the fiery edge. “Take me again, husband of mine.”

With a strangled groan he pushed inside her, and there was no sting of discomfort to distract her from the sensation of being utterly possessed by Alasdair. She panted desperately in his face, but although air eluded her, it was exhilarating, and his feral grin merely stoked her passion.

He rode her hard, slamming her into the mattress. Time lost all meaning as she convulsed around him, again and again, gasping his name with mindless abandon.

“Freyja, leannan.” His husky endearment spun through her, and she shuddered uncontrollably as he followed her over the precipice into a pleasure-fueled oblivion.