Page 37 of Kilgannon #1

A few moments into the meal a lean man with tousled dark hair raised his glass as he proposed a toast in English, first to the bride, then to the groom, and the hall cheered.

Bolstered by his success, he turned to face us, saying something in Gaelic and raising his glass defiantly as he glared at Alex.

The room hushed and all eyes turned to us.

Beside me, Alex stiffened and exchanged a glance with Angus, then rose and raised his own glass.

Alex spoke boldly into the silence, and after a momentary pause many guests laughed or nodded and drank.

Alex spoke again and the room exploded into cheers.

I felt everyone at the table relax as conversation began again.

Confused, I turned to Alex as he sat down, but before I could speak he smiled and said, “I’ll explain later, Mary.

Just smile at me now.” There was anger in his eyes and I smiled stiffly, then sipped my wine as I scanned the crowd before us.

The tension had retreated. Angus said something in Gaelic and Alex nodded curtly, then Malcolm made a remark and Alex smiled again, this time a real smile.

The three of them looked at each other and grinned, and the moment passed.

Hours later, well into the evening’s dancing, Alex leaned over to me. “Have ye had enough celebrating, lass?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’d like to celebrate with just you.”

“Good.” He led me through the crowds toward the stairs, calls and hoots following us.

Alex bantered with many as we passed, and I could feel my cheeks burning.

At the top of the stairs he swung me up into his arms and spoke to the hall below.

His remarks were answered with roars of laughter.

“I told them they could celebrate until we returned in the morning,” he said, carrying me around the corner. “Some of them will.”

“And? What else did you say?”

He grinned at me. “I said I had my own celebrating to do.”

I nodded, glad I had not understood. He kissed me then and I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him fully.

Still holding his lips to mine, he whirled us through the hall, then lifted his head and ran up the next flight of stairs, whooping loudly, and dropped me to my feet at the top.

When I responded by undoing the lace at his collar, he took me by the waist and lifted me against him, backing against the wall and kissing me until I gasped for breath.

Panting and laughing, I began unfastening his plaid and shirt lacings.

He laughed deeply and carried me, still fumbling with his clothes, down the hall and into our room, slamming the door behind us.

Once behind the closed door we threw ourselves at each other with abandon.

I peeled his clothes off and tossed them away, running my hands the full length of him, from his shoulders to his feet.

He watched, his eyes growing darker, and told me where to put my hands and then my lips.

I followed his direction without hesitation.

And when he groaned and stopped me to undo the fastenings of my gown, I helped him without a thought, throwing the pieces of my wedding gown aside in my haste to have him.

We found the floor and later the bedcover and still later the mattress.

Sated at last, we lay in each others arms, spent and quiet. Alex kissed my forehead and sighed. “Welcome to Scotland, Mary,” he said. “I think we’re truly married, lass.”

“Twice,” I said, and laughed.

“Twice,” he agreed, and lifted his head to survey the room.

His shirt lay across the hearth, his plaid was caught halfway on the trunk, my stockings and petticoats littered the floor, and the sleeve of my bodice hung from the footboard.

“It looks like a storm came through. I knew ye’d be an apt student, but, lass, ye have a gift for it.

” He laughed and kissed me. I felt my cheeks flush.

“Mary,” he said tenderly, “dinna feel embarrassed. What we did was good, lass. What we did was right.”

“What we did was wonderful, Alex,” I said, and watched him smile. It was amazing, I told myself, and sighed with satisfaction.

“Aye,” he said. “What we did was wonderful. And gratifying, wife. I think we’ll do.

” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Somewhere there’s whisky and wine,” he said over his shoulder as he stood, grabbing his plaid and wrapping it around him.

“Let’s celebrate that we don’t have to marry a third time. ”

“That would be terrible,” I said, sitting up and watching him move around the room. He found the liquor and poured himself a whisky and me a glass of wine, then sat on the edge of the bed.

He touched his glass to mine. “To us.” I echoed him.

“Alex,” I said, gesturing to the room. “Have you done this before?”

He sipped his whisky and looked at me over the glass. “Drink whisky? Aye, many times. Or do ye mean making wild love with the woman I love? Or do ye mean am I a virgin?”

I laughed. “You have two sons. I know you’ve made love before. No, what I mean”

“What ye mean is do ye have to be jealous of what went before, and the answer is no, ye dinna have anyone to be jealous of. And to answer yer next question, no, it was never like this with Sorcha. It wasna like this with anyone, Mary.”

“Did you make love with Morag?”

He sipped his whisky and looked at me, and my heart froze. “We were verra young, Mary,” he said. I opened my mouth to speak and found I couldn’ t. Alex had made love to Morag. “It was a long time ago,” he said quietly.

“I see,” I said, trying to be calm. He stroked my cheek.

“Mary, it’s ye I chose. It’s ye I married.”

“But you still remember her.”

He grimaced, obviously unhappy at the topic. “It’s no’ unusual for a man to remember the first—” I gasped, and he frowned. “Damn, lass, this is no fit conversation for us to be having.”

“I want to know. Tell me.”

He shook his head. “Mary,” he said firmly, “I will no’ discuss Morag nor any other woman I ever—”

I stared at him, horrified. “There were others?”

He flushed, then sat up straight and put his glass on the table.

“Mary,” he said. “I will no’ discuss this.

I’ve told ye, lass, I wasna unfaithful to Sorcha, nor will I ever be to ye.

Ever. Morag doesna tempt me, or she’d be here the now instead of ye.

It’s ye I married, Twice now. Come here, lass,” he said, pulling me to him and kissing me.

“Ye, Mary, it’s ye I wanted, no other woman alive.

Being with ye is like finding heaven. The others were a pleasant experience is all, and soon forgotten. It’s ye I married, in two countries.”

I let him lull me into tranquility with his caresses, but I never forgot that Morag had been his first. But he’d married me. Twice. I searched for another topic. “Do the people downstairs know we were married in England?” I asked. He shrugged.

“Some of them, no doubt, I took no trouble to hide it. Some of them are Anglicans, some are Presbyterians, some are Catholic. To most of them this was no more than a formality.” He glanced at me. “As it was to me.”

“I thought getting married here was important to you.”

“It is,” he said. “Marrying ye for all the world to see that yer mine is important. That’s why I did it. In years to come they’ll talk of being at our wedding.” He took a sip. “No one can ever say we were not truly married. I’d not bring ye here without them acknowledging ye as my wife.”

“I see.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Ye don’ t. What ye don’t understand is that many of them downstairs despise the English, all English, warranted or no. But the Countess of Kilgannon is a protected person. Don’t let them treat ye with anything but courtesy.”

“I know how to behave.” I could hear the asperity in my tone.

He nodded, untroubled by my reaction. “Aye, but some of them will test ye. Insist they are courteous.”

“And how do I do that? Insist that they are courteous?”

He smiled, his eyes gleaming. “Mary, ye look like a goddess. This moment ye look like an aggravated goddess. If they are rude, give them a goddess look and walk away.”

“A goddess look?”

“Aye,” he said. “Like the one ye gave Morag. Ye fair froze her with yer look.” I considered.

His mouth quirked as he watched me, and he laughed.

I began to ask a question, then shook my head.

“What now?” he asked curtly, and I glared at him through narrowed eyes.

“Very good,” he said. “The goddess look.”

“Alex,” I said, “Morag is very beautiful.”

He shrugged, his eyes dancing. “Is she?”

“Everyone thinks so. And she watches you. Constantly.”

“Everyone watched us tonight, Mary. As they will for three more days.” He grinned. “Come here, lass, and I’ll set yer mind to rest about Morag. Ye ken Murdoch loves her?”

“Which one is Murdoch?”

“Ye met him tonight. He’s big and ugly. He’s the one who follows Morag around.

” He cupped his hand on my cheek. “Mary MacGannon, Countess of Kilgannon, there wasna another woman in that room as beautiful as ye.” He traced his finger along my chin, then down my neck and to the top of my breasts.

“No one, lass, even comes close. Dinna fret about Morag MacLeod.”

“I don’t think we’ll be friends,” I said. He laughed again and waved his hand, dismissing the topic. “Alex, what happened at that toast? Who was that man?”

His expression sobered and he looked through his glass into the fire. “A MacDonald. A laird, but minor. He wanted me to toast to King James of Scotland and England.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I’d gladly drink to James Stewart and wished him safe journey and proposed long life to our Stewart sovereign.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “It means nothing. That’s why I said it. It could mean King James, it could mean Queen Anne.”

“I see. So his toast was a trap.”

“Not a trap exactly,” he said, but he nodded at me. “He wanted a declaration of position. Which I did not give.”

“And that caused all the cheers?”

“No, that was an old toast. ’ To the land of bens and glens.’ That’s mountains and valleys to ye. But enough.” He put his glass down, tossed the plaid aside, and climbed under the covers with me, kissing me with surprising appetite. And we lost another hour.

“Mary,” he said much later, as we lay entwined in spent contentment, his tone gentle. “Do ye understand what I’m trying to tell ye ?”

“About…’ ’.

“Ye are married to a Gael and yer English. I know yer proud of being English, but just as there are those in England who despise me simply because I’m a Gael, there are those here who will do the same to ye because ye are English.” He stroked a line down my shoulder.

I smiled. “Alex, I am very proud of being your wife. But you’re right, I am also proud of being who I am. If they dislike me because of my heritage, it is their difficulty, I will give them a goddess look and they will shrink.”

“Aye,” he laughed. “They will at that.”