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“I , Murdo Alastair James McTavish, affirm before the whole clan, and our guests, that I shall love, cherish, and honor ye, Clara McTavish, until I draw my last breath.”

Murdo stared into his wife’s eyes, and his heart soared as they mirrored his love.

“When the sun has grown cold and faded into nothingness and the mountain has crumbled into dust,” he added, “my soul will still love ye, for eternity.”

He took her hand, and they turned to face the guests, who burst into applause.

James appeared at his side, resplendent in the McTavish plaid, having just been anointed as laird.

“My clan!” he said. “Neighbors, friends, allies—today we forge ahead into a new life. A life of strength and honor. Where we honor each other, serve the land, and love as we were meant to love. And with my brother and his wife on my left-hand side, and my faithful ghillie on my right”—he gestured toward Duncan, who stood at the front of the crowd—“we’ll ensure that Clan McTavish remains strong and honorable forever. ”

He raised his hand in salute. “To strength and honor!”

“Strength and honor!” the company cried in unison.

“And now, we celebrate,” he said. “Eat, drink, dance, love. And most of all… live .”

He clapped his hands, and a piper began to play, filling the great hall with a lively air. The guests cheered and the dancing began.

To one side, Murdo spotted his wife’s parents. He took her hand and led her toward them.

“Yer Grace,” he said, bowing to the duke, “and Duchess. I’m glad ye came.”

The duchess focused her sharp gaze on Murdo, and icy fingers caressed the back of his neck, to match the frost in her eyes.

“I confess a reluctance to visit here again,” she said. “I came to see whether my daughter’s being treated in the manner she deserves.”

Murdo’s cheeks warmed as he recalled the duchess’s last visit.

“Words cannot express my regrets at what happened when ye were here before,” he said. “I can only assure ye that I love yer daughter with all my heart. I honor yer ferocity in championing her.”

She arched a perfectly formed brow, and he shuffled from one foot to another, in the manner of an errant schoolboy awaiting a thoroughly deserved thrashing from his housemaster.

“My ferocity ?”

“Mama,” Clara said, unable to disguise her mirth, “you said you’d be kind.”

The ice melted a little, and the duchess extended her hand. Murdo took it and brushed his lips against her skin.

“Ye honor Clan McTavish by gracing us with yer presence, Duchess.”

“I abhor foppish gallantry…”

“My love,” the duke warned, smiling.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I suppose I can suffer gallantry this once from the man who proclaimed so beautifully that he loves my daughter.”

She drew Murdo into an embrace, then lowered her voice to a whisper.

“Give me cause to believe you don’t love Clara, and I’ll bite off your manhood.”

“I-I… What?” Murdo stammered.

She withdrew and gave a genteel smile before exchanging a look with the duke.

“ There , Harcourt,” she said. “Didn’t I promise to be gracious?”

Clara giggled and squeezed Murdo’s hand.

He suppressed a surge of desire at the image her mother’s words had elicited in his mind.

Last night, his wild, passionate wife had kneeled before him and taken him into her mouth, while he succumbed to pleasure, only wincing once when she grazed him with her teeth.

He glanced at the satisfied expression on the duke’s face. Perhaps the mother was as equally without restraint in the bedchamber as the daughter.

Ye’re a lucky bastard, Yer Grace.

No—they were both lucky bastards.

“Will ye be dancing tonight, Duchess?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin!” she replied.

“Harcourt and I shall enjoy watching the young people—and I can keep that lovely young girl company.” She gestured to Marsaili, who sat by the fireplace, cradling her swollen belly, the deerhound at her feet.

Marsaili glowed with health and happiness as she tapped her foot on the floor in time to the music.

“Marsaili’s dancing days are over,” Murdo said, “at least until the spring.”

The duchess approached Marsaili, and at first, fear filled the young woman’s eyes, but the duchess’s natural friendliness put her at ease and the two women were soon deep in conversation.

Murdo brought his wife’s hand to his lips.

“ We can dance, my love, can’t we?” he said.

“It would be my pleasure, husband,” Clara said. “But you must enjoy the moment while it lasts.”

“How so?”

She gave a shy smile. “I fear, husband, that my dancing days will soon be over also. At least until the summer.”

Murdo’s heart soared with hope. Did she mean…?

Clara stood on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. Then she placed her hand over her belly and smiled.

With a whoop of joy, Murdo lifted her into his arms.

“Careful, my love!” she said, laughing, and he set her down.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Do ye wish to sit?”

Her laughter increased. “I’m not an invalid, Murdo. I’m merely carrying your child.”

“But I must be gentle with ye.”

“Not too gentle, I hope,” she said, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “It’s well-known lore that a woman’s appetite for her husband increases when she’s expecting his child. I’m anxious to know whether there’s any truth in it.”

“Anxious, are ye?” he said, his manhood stirring at her saucy smile.

“Oh yes,” she said. “Any rational soul will tell you that a theory must be tested on a frequent basis. Nightly, at least.”

“Perhaps in the daytime also.”

“Is that a promise , husband?”

“Aye,” he said, a primal growl reverberating in his body at the thought of claiming her. “The kitchens will be warm just now, and the table is sturdy enough even for our lovemaking.”

“But the guests!” she said, her face turning scarlet. “We cannot leave James to deal with them alone. He needs you.”

“Later tonight, then,” he said, fire igniting in his blood. “But for now, let me dance with my beautiful wife, the woman who completes my soul—my greatest gift from the Lyon’s Den.”

He took her hand and pulled her into the company, relishing the happiness that now filled his home, his heart soaring in anticipation of the night ahead, and the life to follow.