Page 93 of The Scot Beds His Wife

As she listened to the storm toss the forest about, and felt the lift and fall of the big chest behind her become slow and even, she allowed one tear to escape so as to hold back its multitude of threatening compatriots.

This.This was all she’d ever asked for. What she’d wanted since she could remember. It was what Bennett had promised for her, but had never delivered.

A home by the sea, surrounded by a lush forest. A warm fire by which to make love beneath the thunderstorms.

Okay, so it wasn’t lovemaking, because Gavin St. James didn’t make love.

He fucked.

She gave a lithe stretch and felt his arm tighten about her middle, pulling her deeper into the cradle of his body, until the hairs of his muscled thighs abraded the backs of hers even through her nightgown.

Well, she decided. He fucked. She lied. Either way, she was safe and warm and they were both pleased with each other.

For the moment, that was enough.

CHAPTERTWENTY

Finally,Gavin thought, as he checked Demetrius’s saddle and adjusted the cinch. Finally he would set foot on Erradale for the first time this morn as its proprietor.

He glanced around the empty stables, noting the hastily discarded tack and what-not that bespoke an early mass exodus. He’d hired a few hands in Strathcarron, and they were to meet him and Callum here at dawn.

He grimaced. Then grinned. Morning had dawned maybe two hours ago.

Callum had left a hastily scrawled note saying they’d tired of waiting on him, and no one dared disturb the wedding bower, so they’d gone on ahead.

It amazed none more than he that he’d slept the dawn away with his wee wife tucked next to him.

Gavin never slept past dawn. Why would he?

Especially today when Erradale—his Erradale—awaited him.

Even after he’d roused, a disquieting reluctance to leave her had kept him abed longer than it should have. He’d convinced himself that it wouldn’t have been so difficult had she not turned to him in the night, and clung to him in her sleep with all the desperate strength of a lass being chased by a nightmare.

Her arm still draped over him this morn, and her leg—the injured one—had been thrown over his thigh. When he’d moved, she’d gripped him fiercely, though she’d yet to wake, and suddenly he found he’d rather chew off his own limbs than disturb her.

She looked peaceful for once, and awfully young. The wrinkle of perpetual cynicism smoothed from her forehead. The parentheses caused by the determined set of her mouth disappeared. In the morning light, he’d had the absurd notion to wake her by kissing every freckle sprinkled like golden fae dust over her cheeks and across the adorable bridge of her nose.

He didn’t, though, for if she’d awakened, he’d have beenmuch tardierthan he was now.

It was possible he’d not even have made it out of bed, and what would his men have to say about that?

Nothing. If they valued their jobs… and their limbs.

Everyone understood that theirs was a wedding of convenience, but that didn’t mean two young, attractive people wouldn’t thoroughly consummate such a contract.

There were heirs to beget, after all.

The thought summoned another pleased tilt to his lips. If he had his way, his wee wife would be pregnant by Christmas. And if not, he’d be happy to keep trying.

Gods, but he’d never—

“Just what the hell is this?” The furious feminine demand turned his secretly pleased smile into a broad smirk. Ye gods, he’d have to stop grinning like an idiot all day, or people might get the wrong idea… That he was actually falling for his wife.

“Bonny!” he greeted. “Ye’re awake.” A swift spurt of pleasure at seeing her framed in the stable doorway was followed by an unexpected bloom of heat.

“You’re goddamn right I’m awake, no thanks to you.” Had she not required the use of a cane, Gavin had no doubt she’d have made quite the entrance. She’d hastily donned a simple blouse, a dark woolen skirt, and the wide belt she’d been married in. Somehow, she’d gotten her hands on a weathered long coat that threatened to drown her. The flyaway tendrils of hair escaping the long plait revealed that she’d not even checked a mirror before coming after him. And still, she managed to look fresh as an early-summer bloom, even in the wan gray light of a winter morn.

“You left me asleep with nothing more than a note!” she accused.