Page 11 of The Lady’s Guide to Being Snowbound with a Scottish Laird (The Lady’s Guide to Love #9)

Finlay hummed to himself as he busied about the kitchen, piling the breakfast tray with an assortment of tasty tidbits with which to tempt his bride.

Brucie had braved the snow, loping out for a quick run, but had sprinted back promptly, eager to receive his own meal. The blizzard had stopped, leaving a thick covering of snow blown high upon the far side of the kitchen garden, but thankfully not piled deep against the outward door itself.

Finlay had crept from bed with the first spill of dawn, to get the fire going again. Margaret was deeply asleep, her hair spilled wildly over the pillow, cheeks flushed, looking even more devastating than she had the night before.

And what a night it had been.

Despite her protests, she’d been as hot for him as he was for her. Somewhere in their third bout of lovemaking, he’d heard the chimes of midnight but had been far too preoccupied to pass comment upon it.

Hogmanay night had certainly been memorable, but ’twas all the nights and days to come that had his interest. New Year’s Day it was, and a new beginning for them both.

Returning, he entered the chamber quietly, setting down the tray at the end of the bed, while Brucie flopped straight back down before the hearth again.

Going to the window, Finlay partly pulled back the curtain, looking out at the far-reaching landscape.

’Twas hard to discern much, for the frost on the panes concealed most of the view, but there was no doubt the storm had come hard.

He could barely make out the white-crusted hills against the pale grey of the sky and the blanketed moor.

Across the room Margaret stirred slightly, turning over. As she did so, the coverlet slipped down, revealing the smooth line of her back, pale in contrast to the auburn tones of her hair.

Throwing off the shirt he’d donned for the trip downstairs, Finlay joined her once more, where it was welcoming warm and scented earthy, rich and sex-sweet.

“Morning, wife, and Happy New Year.” He rubbed his chin in the crook of her neck, then kissed his way toward her shoulder. She moaned softly, raising one hand to rub at her eyes, which gave him the opportunity to slide an arm around her waist.

“What are you doing?” She yawned sleepily.

“What I like best.” Snuggling closer, he fitted his body to the curve of hers, nestling his quickly reviving cock into the plump cushion of her behind. “And what you like too.”

Seizing the moment, he brushed his fingers downward. If she parted her legs, letting him cup her between, he’d know she was disposed to a little pre-breakfast delight.

However, she promptly twisted about to face him. “My eyes are barely open and you’re trying to make free with me. Can you think of naught else?”

He chuckled darkly. “With you lying next to me, what else should I be thinking of?”

Grabbing her bottom, he pulled her to him, that she might feel the size of his cock rubbing against her belly. The graze of her nipples to his chest sent another rush of blood, and he hooked his knee between hers.

“Really, Finlay!” Screwing up her face, Margaret made a sound of exasperation. “You might let me have a drink of something first, and I could do with making use of the chamber pot.”

“There’s one behind the screen.” He nodded to the corner, then followed the sway of her rump appreciatively, as she took herself off.

Beneath the covers, he gave his erection a few comforting strokes. ’Twas a shame to waste it, but his cock might have to be patient. He couldn’t be having Mags think he was only interested in mounting her.

He heard the tinkle of her stream against the pot and smiled to himself.

By God! I’ve got it bad. Even listening to her piss is making my bawbags ache.

Splashing commenced. His housekeeper had clearly thought of everything. A pitcher of water must be on hand.

Margaret emerged looking somewhat calmer, though there was something awkward in her expression too. ’Twas to be expected, he supposed. They’d gone from not having spoken for all these months to him riding her senseless. ’Twould take some getting used to.

He continued to watch her, for the front view was even better than the back, admiring the sway of her breasts as she leaned over to select a piece of clootie dumpling. She carried it back to bed and wriggled under the covers again. “What’s in the pot?”

“Cocoa.” Pushing down his desire to breakfast on every inch of her luscious body, Finlay went about pouring some into the single cup. There was only so much room on the tray, and they could easily share.

She took it from him almost shyly, then, quite unexpectedly, pressed her mouth to his.

Though the kiss was no more than a brief brush of lips, joy speared him. ’Twas all it took, to make him doe-eyed for her—the small promise that, just perhaps, she wanted him as much as he did her.

He helped himself to a slice of the dumpling, and they ate in companionable silence, accompanied by the crackling of the fire—now safely guarded—and the heavy breathing of a recumbent Brucie.

“I remember sitting in the kitchen as a lad while the clootie was being mixed, all for the chance of making a wish when it came to my go with the spoon.” He licked his thumb thoughtfully. “Everyone had their turn, of course, but I was given the honor of dropping in the lucky farthing.”

“’Twas the same at Balmore. Except Alastair and I used to fight over who added the coin. Father solved the problem by saying we could add two.”

“Wise man.” Finlay nodded. “He was a good sort your dadaidh. A sad day it was when he passed.”

“Yours too,” Margaret said quietly.

“At least I had him a wee bit longer than yourself. I only wish he could have lived to see…you know, the wedding.” His father had proclaimed more times than Finlay could remember that his blessing was upon the pair of them and, he couldn’t help thinking, if his father were still alive, things would have turned out differently.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have felt the need to spend so much time away from Dunrannoch if the place hadn’t been shrouded in grief. He’d let down not just Margaret but his mother, in that respect—and his father too.

A right sow’s ear I made of it all.

Finlay didn’t know why he’d brought up the wedding. Referring to the day on which they’d declared their vows was dangerous ground.

However, Margaret answered calmly. “He was always one for a gathering.”

“Aye.” Finlay smiled. “When I think on him, ’tis always with him laughing. He liked to see others enjoying themselves.”

“And your mother most of all. The way he looked at her…” Margaret gave a small sigh.

“They were happy, right enough.” The memory made Finlay ache inside, though in a way that felt fitting. His parents had been a love-match through and through—something he’d been adamant about for himself.

He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

She set down the cocoa cup. “I’d love a hot wash. If I go down and fetch back a full kettle, how long will it take to heat on our fire, do you think?”

“Nay need. It didn’t take much to get the embers in the big kitchen stove going again. Jamie must have banked it well. While making the cocoa, I left a good-sized pot of water to heat, thinking you’d likely be wanting a bath of some sort. It shouldn’t be far off boiling by now.”

She looked startled, but then gave him the widest smile.

“Nothing fancy, mind you. ’Twill be easiest to tip it straight into the tin bath kept down there. Topped up with cold water, it should be deep enough to sit in.”

“Well done, Dalreagh. You’ll make a lady’s maid yet. Perhaps you’d like to help me dress my hair afterwards?”

“Whatever the Countess of Dunrannoch wants, she shall have. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires; diamonds even, if they’re small ones.” He gave a wink.

She rolled her eyes. “Nothing of that sort! Something warmer to wear would be enough. Might Lorna have some clothes still here?”

“Perhaps…” He hoped the twinkle in his eye didn’t betray him. He’d a surprise waiting for her, which he was certain she’d like far better than some dusty old things left by his mother…but that could wait until later.

Laughing, he pulled her over to lay upon her stomach and slapped her arse playfully.

“But I don’t think I want you dressed just yet.

Once the bath is ready I’ll carry you down as you are, then back up again afterwards, straight to bed.

That’s if I can hold out long enough. Watching you foaming up the soap may turn me bestial again. ”

“Daft bampot!” Twisting about, she drew him down for a proper kiss.

He wondered if he’d ever been happier. ’Twas madness to think how he’d wasted the past year.

“Now, off you go.” She pushed him away. “I plan to eat more from the breakfast tray while you’re gone.”

“Keeping your strength up, wife. Good thinking.” He swung out of bed, donning the shirt once more.

My wife.

His heart swelled with pride.

He was a lucky man, and he supposed he had Alastair and Ailsa to thank for it. He’d been given a second chance to show Margaret how much she meant to him, and nothing was going to stand in his way this time, to make sure she was secure in that love.