Page 25 of Wed to the Highlander (Impromptu Brides #2)

The French doors to the rear garden stood open. Maggie sat angled toward them, willing a stray breeze to find her. None did. Instead, a trickle of sweat slipped between her breasts, dampening the fine muslin of her morning gown.

Her embroidery lay in her lap, needle idle, thread trailing, a tangle she hadn’t bothered to fix. She was thinking less about stitches and more about the long, hot weeks behind her and the uncertain ones ahead.

It was high summer in London. The city had settled into a languid rhythm, the streets quieter now that the season was no more than a memory. The days stretched long and airless, the evenings warm enough to keep the windows open well into the night.

Maggie wondered if she should ask Duncan about going home again. Would it even matter? Every attempt so far had been met with the same evasions. Not yet. Soon. And the dreaded—in due time.

The rhythm of London suited her; the comforts, notwithstanding the heat, were real.

She had been and would be content staying, but Duncan could never be.

His mind and heart were in the Highlands.

She saw it in the quiet that followed each letter from his kin.

She wanted to be his peace, not the reason he stayed away from it.

As the earl of Rothbury, he had English tenant affairs to settle, investment accounts to review, and committees to serve on in the Lords.

He didn’t vote by proxy now; he appeared in person.

He left the house each day, a striking figure in his Highland-cut coat.

The swath of MacPherson plaid served as a reminder of his heritage and the life waiting for their return.

It was the end of August. Parliament had adjourned weeks ago. She hadn’t been sick in months, and nothing—at least nothing she knew of—kept them here.

Despite his denials, she knew all was not well at home. She would catch him at the drawing room windows, gaze distant, shoulders taut. Whatever weighed on the stubborn man, he bore it alone.

“When is this bloody summer going to end? Being in the family way in this heat ought to be a crime,” Cici declared, fanning herself furiously as she entered without ceremony and without restraint, considering the duchess’ language.

Spotting Maggie by the doors, she waddled over—her shorter frame making her look months further along than she was. A fact she lamented often.

She plucked the embroidery hoop from Maggie’s hands and examined the tangled mess.

“Hopeless,” she declared, tossing it onto a table.

Maggie gave a prim little shrug. “Idle hands, as the saying goes.”

“There are better ways to keep them occupied,” she said with a smirk.

Cici hadn’t been shy about one of the unspoken side effects of pregnancy, an overactive libido. Maggie had experienced it too, much to Duncan’s delight, but she usually didn’t engage in tit for tat with the challenges of pregnancy, not when Cici’s tat involved her brother.

A subject change was in order, fast.

“I’ve been thinking of going back to High Glen.”

Cici’s brows shot up as she lowered herself into a chair. “This is sudden, isn’t it?”

“No. I’ve been considering it for some time.”

She hiked her skirt up above her calves in a very un-duchess-like manner, but she had long since stopped caring in the persistent summer heat. Then she resumed fanning herself. “Aren’t you worried about the ghost of Lady Anne? And the very alive Isla?”

Maggie had shared everything. After having a sister, her blood kin, try to murder her more than once out of envy, Cici believed anything could happen.

“As long as I’m not weakened by sickness, I think I can handle what they throw at me.”

“So, when do you leave?”

“In due time.”

“What?”

She waved her hand impatiently. “That’s what Duncan always says every blasted time I ask.”

Cici eyed her with concern. “So, your husband wants to stay, you want to leave, but it’s his castle? How is that going to work?”

“He doesn’t want to stay. He’s doing it for me.” She breathed out hard in frustration. “I should send him home until it’s closer to my time, but I’m selfish. I want him near.”

“Because you love him.”

“That will never change,” Maggie admitted softly.

“But he’s being selfless. Staying here for you when his head is consumed with the Highlands. And it makes you unhappy.”

“Yes,” she agreed, impressed by her friend’s keen insight. “How did you get so perceptive?”

“I’m married to a man cut from the same cloth.” Cici looked at her, tapping a finger against her lips. “I have a solution. Your laird may not approve, though.”

Maggie leaned forward. “Go on.”

“Lady Conaway’s youngest daughter is expecting.”

“I didn’t know that. It must be in the water,” Maggie muttered. “That’s the only explanation.”

“Perhaps, but my point is, the babe is due soon, and she’s off to Cambridge next week.”

Maggie waited for the rest of it, prompting, “And?”

“Your mother will be on her own. Why not take her north with you? She’s half Scot and will likely enjoy a break from this heat. And, most importantly, no ghost or jealous woman would dare cross the dowager when she’s in protector mode over her daughter and grandchild.”

She thought a moment, weighing the pros and cons, and how it could blow up in her face, then she grinned. “Cici, you’re a genius. But… Won’t you miss her?”

“Yes, but my mother is here.”

“Such as she is.” Maggie wrinkled her nose. Her low opinion of Lady Benton was only surpassed by her other daughter, Elizabeth.

“Mama is actually much better with only one daughter to focus on.”

“Who happens to be a duchess.”

Cici inclined her head and agreed, “That helps, of course.”

Maggie smirked. “Have you heard how your sister is faring with the sheep?”

“No,” Cici sniffed. “And I haven’t asked.”

“Oh, but you must. If she smells of dung, has calloused hands, and a tan from farm work, you must know.”

“You’re more vindictive than I am.”

“I have to be—on your behalf.”

“Forget about me. Worry about finding a way back to Scotland, if that’s what you want. I’ve given you the plan; now it’s up to you to make it happen. I’ll miss you terribly, though.”

Maggie gripped her hand. “I’ll miss you too. Who will insult my embroidery if not you?”

“Everyone who sees it,” her friend deadpanned.

After a beat, they both burst into laughter because it was true.

Maggie’s smile soon faded.

“What now?” Cici asked.

“I have to convince Duncan that the plan is sound. If you think my brother is obstinate…”

Cici reached out and patted Maggie’s round belly. “For once in your marriage, you hold all the cards. Take advantage.”

“Meaning…”

“Use the baby as leverage,” Cici said. “Better yet, seduce him. In the throes of unbridled passion, he can’t say no.”

Maggie arched a brow. “Oh, he could. And he probably will.”

But her grin turned sly. It was the best idea she’d heard in weeks.

***

Maggie was bathed and ready for bed, wearing her lowest-cut, clingiest nightgown. The lamps burned low, the bed turned down invitingly when Duncan joined her.

He had just shrugged out of his waistcoat when she came to him, hair loose, a whisper of rose oil dabbed on her skin in all the right places.

She splayed her fingers against his chest, relishing the contrast of solid muscle beneath the smooth, finely woven linen.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” she murmured, her eyes searching his.

“I’ve had a host of issues on my mind.”

“Issues in the Highlands?” she pressed, sliding her hands upward to his cravat and undoing the precisely tied knot.

He exhaled through his nose, surprising her by admitting, “Aye.”

“There’s trouble.”

“When is there no’?”

Her mouth curved with a small, knowing smile. “Then let me distract you with something more pleasant.” She rose onto her toes and kissed him—soft at first then deeper, coaxing.

He let himself sink into her warmth, his hands finding the small of her back and drawing her close until she pressed fully against him. Her lips teased along his jaw and down the sensitive skin beneath his ear.

“I’ve been thinking about an issue, too,” she whispered between kisses. “About us returning to Scotland.”

His hands stilled. “No.”

“Not without conditions.” Her teeth grazed his throat then soothed the spot with her tongue. “The wardrobe in our room goes, and we bury, if not burn that hideous tapestry with the laurel stag—”

“Maggie…”

She was stalling, and he knew it, using the first two to soften the blow of the last. “I thought we could take my mother with us. She’s half Scot—you know what that means.”

“That she’s stubborn enough tae frighten the devil himself?”

“Exactly. She’ll keep me healthy and see that the baby arrives safely.”

He didn’t have a response for that one. Maybe she was making progress.

“And you,” she said, her lips brushing his again, “will stop looking like a man who’s left half of himself behind in High Glen.”

“Is that what you think?”

“That’s what I know.”

“What does the dowager think of this grand scheme?”

“I haven’t told her yet, but she’s always up for an adventure. No Highland spirit—living or dead—would dare cross her when she’s protecting her daughter and grandchild.”

Duncan snorted. “Another sassenach invasion is no’ exactly what my kin are hoping for.”

Her fingers went to his shirt buttons, working them free with deliberate slowness, her voice dipping warmer. “Please…”

“Why? You’re happy here.”

“And you’re miserable,” she countered, pushing the linen aside to smooth her palms over his bare skin. “Oh, you smile for the world—wit and charm to spare—but I ken you, Duncan MacPherson.”

One brow arched. “You ken me?”

“Aye,” she teased, gliding her hands up his chest to his shoulders. “You might be standing in Mayfair, but your head is roaming the hills of High Glen.”

“Then you ken why it’s too great a risk tae take you back.”

“But the sickness has passed. I’m robust.” She dropped her hands to her belly, splaying them over the roundness of their child sleeping and growing there.

The movement tugged her neckline lower, her full breasts nearly spilling out.

It wasn’t by accident, nor was the result, his gaze shifting downward.

“Besides,” she continued lightly, “I’ll have Mama, half the Sommerville staff, and a midwife.

A veritable bulwark of protection surrounding me. ”

His eyes returned to hers. “You’re no’ persuading me.”

Her lips curved at the challenge. “Then I’ll have to try harder.”

Before he could reply, she kissed him whisper-soft, as her fingers drifted lower over the hard plane of his abdomen.

“I know when I’m being worked upon,” he murmured against her lips.

“Do you mind?” she asked sweetly, her hand continuing downward until her fingers curled boldly around the solid length of him.

His breath hissed between his teeth. “What do you think?”

“I think,” she said with mock solemnity, stroking him lazily, “that I’m very persuasive when I wish to be.”

His laugh was low and rough. “You’re playing a dangerous game, lass.”

“I’m counting on it.” Her voice dropped to a purr. “Say yes.”

“No.”

Her fingers slipped inside his trousers, closing around his hardness with clear intent.

“Yes,” she breathed.

He swore under his breath, his hands gripping her hips and hauling her flush against him. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“In a few minutes, if we continue, yes indeed,” she teased, her mouth demanding now, lips hot and hungry.

“Fine,” he growled, sweeping her up into his arms, “but if your mother frightens my clansmen, you’ll answer for it.”

Maggie’s smile was triumphant as he laid her on the coverlet, his body covering hers. “If the answer involves me over the laird’s lap, bare to the waist, with his hands all over me, I’ll take my chances.”

There was no more talk of Scotland, or mothers, or stubborn Highlanders. Only tangled limbs, eager hands, the heat of skin on skin, and the surrender of a man who would do anything to keep her safe, and a woman who had just won the most intimate of victories.

***

Wrapped in the warmth of his arms, Maggie felt the shift as the quiet Duncan returned.

Propping herself on an elbow, she glared down at him. “It’s too late to change your mind. You promised.”

“Me saying fine while you’re seducing me, is not an unbreakable vow, lass. I’ll return—alone—but I’ll be back. Every few weeks, and in plenty of time for the bairn’s birth.”

“No,” she replied.

“Aye, mo chridhe .”

Suddenly, their argument was reversed.

“The land, the people, the tentative truce with the Camerons, my crumbling castle, none of it has changed.” His arms tightened around her, his voice turning raspy. “I won’t bring you back to that chaos. You’re safe here and thriving. When your time comes, you’ll have a physician only minutes away.”

A brief silence fell between them. Then she said simply, echoing his words from earlier, “You’ll not dissuade me.”

“Maggie…”

She touched his cheek, gently. “I love you. I want our child to know you. I may not have come willingly into the marriage, but now I’m here to stay. If you’re returning, I am too. Because I’m your wife. And my place is by your side.”

He inhaled sharply, wariness tightening his throat. “It’s still a mess.”

“Then, we’ll face it together.”

He didn’t argue with her female logic. Smart man.

She felt it in the way he held her, in the silence that followed—not just agreement but the ache of a man who couldn’t bear to let go.