Page 50 of Kilgannon #1

I watched him, so well pleased with himself, and I laughed, then leaned to kiss him.

And that night, by the light of a full moon, we made love on the secluded balcony outside our room, finding our way slowly back to the intensity that had been ours in the early days.

He stood with his arms about me, his hair glowing in the dim light, and kissed me, letting his lips linger on mine, then grazing them across my jawline.

I arched my neck to receive his touch and shivered as he pushed my bodice from my shoulders.

And I kissed him in return, reaching my hands under his shirt and then undoing his belt and loosening his kilt until it fell from him.

He didn’t seem to notice the cold as he bent over me and lowered me to a pile of our clothing, our breathing becoming faster as our caresses intensified. I pulled him to me and sighed.

“Alex,” I whispered. “I love you.”

“Mary Rose,” he breathed. “I love ye, lass. I need ye to live. And I’ve missed ye so, my bonnie wife.” He kissed my lips softly. “My wife. Mary, tell me ye love me again.”

I ran my hand from his shoulder to his thigh. “Alex,” I said, though it was becoming difficult to think. “I love you. You’ll never find a woman who wants you, body and soul, more than I. Never. Now hush and come to me.” He did.

It was a tranquil summer. The Treaty of Utrecht had been signed and England and France were at peace.

All of Europe recognized that Queen Anne’s heir would be the Electorate Sophia of Hanover.

An intelligent woman, Sophia was nonetheless unsuited, most believed, to be queen of England, let alone Scotland, and her son George was held in contempt on both sides of the border.

While there had been murmurings of rebellion throughout the Highlands, few openly declared themselves, and it was difficult for me to take the Jacobite grumbling seriously.

More than one man had asked Alex to drink to the king over the water, as he waved his hand over a glass in the supposedly secret signal, but Alex dismissed it as romantic nonsense.

The Jacobus Rex engraved on crystal glasses wed received as a wedding gift raised eyebrows but not arms. Alex said it was a storm in a teacup and I chose to agree, though we both knew it could be much more.

For now Anne’s health was fine, and we pretended that the Pretender did not exist. The weather was glorious—warm and sunny, not typical West Highlands weather—and we enjoyed it to the fullest, spending as much time as possible outside.

Alex, Angus, and Matthew would disappear for the day, taking the boys and half the children in Kilgannon with them, teaching them to fish or hunt.

They would arrive home in time for the evening meal, tired and filthy, but immensely pleased with themselves.

I was pleased as well. Malcolm and Sibeal were at Clonmor, and Kilgannon had been peaceful.

That was the summer that I learned what had happened to Alex’s brother Jamie.

He had drowned in the loch in front of the castle while dozens of people watched.

Some of the men had tried to save him, but it was too late when they got there.

If Jamie had been able to keep himself afloat even for a few minutes, he’d be alive today, which was something Alex never forgot.

Since Alex had become laird, I was told, every child at Kilgannon learned how to swim.

Their cries of delight filled the warm days as they learned.

And that was the summer that I saw my first Kilgannon Games.

It was customary for the western clans to descend on Kilgannon for a week of games and contests, held in mid-August, in honor of Alex’s birthday and his grandfather’s as well, for it was that Alexander who began the games years ago.

The visitors were more familiar to me now and I even remembered many names.

The MacDonald and his family I knew, of course, and they were well represented.

Donald’s teasing of Alex was constant but good-natured.

He seemed genuinely fond of Alex, and I liked him for it.

The Macleans were here with their huge men-at-arms, determined to win every game.

I watched Morag being courted by Murdoch, and I her talk with Alex at every opportunity, laughing up into his face and occasionally touching him with lingering fingers.

I watched her touch my husband and then look to see where I was.

There were no words between Morag and me, though she whispered behind hands often enough about me, but we both knew what the struggle was that we were engaged in.

And who was the prize. And I luxuriated in my triumph when Alex would come to me and boldly kiss or caress me for all to see.

This one is mine, Morag, I said to myself, with the arrogance of a young woman who feels very loved.

And I did feel very loved. My marriage to Alex had been all that I had imagined.

I loved the physical part of being married.

Oh, making love, yes, that was amazing and not at all the duty I’d been told it would be by well-meaning women who had terrified me with their tales of endurance.

But there was more. The details of marriage delighted me.

I loved to wake and see a cloud of golden hair on the pillow next to me, to be able to reach out and touch a naked shoulder or see a long leg wrapped around a blanket, to have the freedom to savor the sight of him, to know he was mine to touch and explore when I chose.

For the first time in my life I was asked to raise my eyes instead of lower them, to touch instead of wonder, and I loved it.

The freedom was what most surprised me about marriage.

I’d been raised as all proper young ladies were, with propriety and respectable behavior as standards by which we were always measured, and I found it wonderful to be a married woman at Kilgannon.

The ring I wore and the name I bore freed me to touch my husband without fear of comment or censure.

They allowed me to talk with the clansmen as equals without the worry of reprisal, to go anywhere I chose, to choose the small details of my life.

I loved the liberties I was permitted simply because I was no longer a maiden.

Most of all I loved being Alex’s wife now that we were in harmony again.

He was as I had dreamed he would be, an attentive and husband, and if I could have changed anything, it would have been to have more time with him.

Wherever we went someone was at him for a decision or complaint, and I often grew weary of waiting for him at night when some of the crofters or tacksmen from the outlying areas would arrive with a problem.

He never told them no, he. always listened, and there were times I resented that.

He listened to my complaints as patiently as he had listened to theirs, and I grew ashamed of adding another burden to his duties.

If he thought me silly or annoying he never said it. I vowed to be more independent.

And then there was the baby. Or the lack of one.

I had conceived, then miscarried. I’d known very early that I was pregnant and had told Alex at once.

He had been delighted with the news, and when I had to tell him later that there would be no child, he had been as despondent as I.

I resolved to wait longer the next time to be sure.

The depth of my sorrow at the miscarriage had startled me.

I had not even particularly wanted a child, but the loss of it had struck something very deep inside me and I mourned silently.

I told myself that it was not unusual to miscarry and then have a healthy baby.

I had pondered it often that summer and had realized, which I never had before, that my mother’s mother had only two children, my mother only two, and Louisa none.

Perhaps there was something wrong with the women in my family.

I had never questioned that I could have children, but now the doubts crept in at night and at odd moments like this one, when I was surrounded by women with babies on their hips or with little hands grasped in theirs.

Now, standing in the middle of the boisterous clansmen at the games, I smugly smoothed my skirt over my stomach.

Perhaps I would have some news for him soon.

Perhaps this time I would be more successful.

I fought against my fear, then reminded myself that I already had two sons.

Ian and Jamie had been wonderful, and after the first tentative weeks we had all relaxed and become the family I had hoped we would.

The thunderstorm and the stories had sped that process, I believed, as well as the fact that they were so in need of a mother.

I smiled to myself as I recalled the morning I knew I had been accepted by them.

The boys had been sitting on a bench in the courtyard arguing as I walked by, and I had stopped to ask them what was wrong. Ian held Jamie’s hand out to me. “Look at his hand,” Ian demanded. “He has a great splinter in it and he won’t let me take it out.”

“Not with that.” Jamie gestured to the dirk on the bench next to Ian, his eyes dark with fear. He looked very small, sitting on the bench, one hand cradling the other.

“I wouldna take it out with that, idiot,” Ian said in disgust, and stalked away. We looked after Ian and then I smiled at Jamie.

“Let me look at it,” I said, sitting next to him and examining the grubby hand.

His dog, Robert the Bruce, now huge and perpetually curious, stuck his large nose in my lap and I pushed him away as I concentrated on Jamie.

“lan’s right, you know,” I said, looking up from his hand.

“It needs to come out or it will grow infected. How did you get such a large splinter?”

He shrugged but did not pull his hand back. “Will it hurt?”