Page 9 of Wed to the Highlander (Impromptu Brides #2)

The hour was growing late. Mostly stragglers filled the dining hall now. Dozens of conversations at once were replaced by the soft clink of silver being cleared.

Duncan stood and offered Maggie his hand. “Come, mo chridhe . It’s been a long day.”

She slid her fingers into his, warm and sure. As they climbed the stairs, silence stretched between them—not strained but heavy with anticipation, and for her, uncertainty.

He paused outside their chamber door. “You’re quiet again.”

“I’m nervous,” she admitted, meeting his gaze. “And a little overwhelmed.”

“Understandable,” he said gently, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “But there’s no cause for fear.”

She hesitated. “You’re done waiting.”

His gaze darkened, though his voice remained soft. “Aye, Maggie. We’ve delayed long enough.”

A breath caught in her chest—not from alarm but from the shiver of awareness that followed. There was no menace in his words. Only longing.

“We’ll move at your pace,” he added, voice low. “This will be the cherishing part of my vow to you—the first of many.”

He opened the door and motioned for her to enter first. The fire crackled bright, warming the chamber, and the bed had already been turned down. Noticing something on one of the pillows, she crossed to it. It was a pouch filled with crushed herbs.

“Another charm?” she asked.

Duncan locked the door and crossed the room. He took the small bag from her, sniffed, then poured a bit out in his palm.

“What is it?”

“I’m not an expert on herbs or charms, you’d have to ask one of the women, but I believe it’s a mix of raspberry leaf and nettle rose.”

“For luck, too?”

“Not quite. It’s believed that raspberry leaf can strengthen…appetites and can help speed conception.” He angled her an amused glance as he tucked the herbs away.

Understanding struck at what kind of appetite he meant, and she huffed a dry laugh. “It’s a little unsettling that so many have a vested interest in the success of our marriage bed.”

“The last year has been hard,” he admitted as he set the bag aside, more serious. “Don’t hold it against them. They mean well.”

“Including Isla and Agnes?”

He didn’t answer for a beat then slid an arm around her and pulled her close. “I refuse to speak of anything negative on our wedding night.”

It was unofficial. They’d been wed for two days, but this would be their real wedding night.

“I always imagined I’d be wittier and more worldly once I was a wife. But I’m at a loss at what to say.”

“Maybe we say nothing at all.” His green eyes held hers—lit with desire and something quieter… devotion, perhaps.

“You want to consummate and make it official,” she said, more statement than question.

His mouth lifted faintly. “I want to be close to you. That takes many forms. One of them happens to be exquisite.”

Heat rose in her cheeks, but she didn’t flinch, holding his gaze. “My mother isn’t a shy, retiring flower. She told me what to expect,” she whispered. “I just need to know you want to be here for me. Not because the clock is ticking toward your birthday.”

“Maggie…” he breathed as his big hands cradled her face gently.

“Even without my grandfather’s diabolical demand from the grave, I would have married you.

Because I want you and no other. To hold you, to kiss you, aye, to make bairns with you, and to wake up beside you for the rest of my days.

I want your snark and your wit, to be soothed by your laughter, and undone by your fire.

It’s been over a year since I spoke to your brother about my intentions—tragedies and delays made acting on them impossible—”

“You spoke to Andrew a year ago?”

“He has known my intentions for a while, which led to some awkward conversations, as you can probably guess. But I meant I spoke to James.”

She blinked, remembering him telling her two things could happen at once. “A year is a long time to wait.”

“Aye.”

“You’re a patient man.”

“’Tis easy when you ken the reward for that patience is the bonniest woman in all of England and Scotland,” he said, touching his mouth to hers. “Still at a loss for words?”

“No,” she breathed against his mouth. “But I think I’m done with talking.”

“As am I.”

His lips claimed hers, and no more was said.

The kiss began tenderly but deepened quickly, hunger curling between them as they savored and discovered one another.

She trembled, her breath coming fast when he broke away and turned her gently.

His fingers worked the row of buttons down her back, undressing her with care, whispering quiet praise for every inch of her he revealed.

When her gown pooled at her feet, her skin prickled—not from cold but longing.

Duncan’s lips lingered over the bend of her neck, his hands mapping her curves through her shift. She turned to face him, her heart pounding like a drum.

“I have never…” She faltered, the words dissolving as heat flooded her cheeks.

“Aye, Maggie. I ken that well,” Duncan murmured. “I’ll go gently.”

She inclined her head, whispering, “I want gentleness… but yearn for more.”

He drew nearer, his warmth seeping through the thin linen. “Tell me what you desire, lass.”

She longed to discover him as he had her. “I want to see you. And to…” Her voice faltered, but the tenderness in his gaze, and his steadfast patience, gave her courage. “To touch you…all of you…”

“You’ll have your wish.” He pressed a tender kiss to her lips then let his hands fall to his sides.

With a swiftness that surprised her, she undid his buttons and pushed aside his shirt, revealing bulging muscle, smooth skin, and a dusting of burnished hair.

Her fingers ached to test its texture. Unlike his restraint, she didn’t delay, her hands spread across his chest, feeling the rise and fall, now quickened beneath her touch.

Curious, yearning, and emboldened, she wanted to see and touch more of him.

She tugged at the linen covering his broad shoulders, but the snug fit thwarted her efforts.

Duncan didn’t leave her to struggle, he shrugged free and tossed the shirt aside.

With him bared to the waist, her hands roamed—along his powerful arms, across the strong lines of his collarbones, down the planes of his chest, and over the ridges of his middle.

When her fingers brushed his leather belt, her courage wavered.

Her gaze lifted, uncertain. “I thought I could,” she whispered.

Duncan inclined his head and guided her to the edge of the bed. Then, deliberate and unhurried, he undressed the rest of the way. His gazes never left hers, watching her watch him.

When he stood before her in his full naked glory, her breath caught in her throat.

He was magnificent. Her gaze lingered on what was newly revealed—the length of his legs, the strength in his thighs, and the bold evidence of his desire for her. Never had she seen such a man—not in painting, nor in marble. And there was so very much of him.

Warmth bloomed low in her belly. Not from fear or shame, only wonder.

“You are…” she began, then stopped, words deserting her once more.

His mouth curved in a tender smile. “I’m yours,” he said simply. “Lie back.”

She complied with nervous eagerness, her shift clinging to her skin, her hair spilling across the pillows.

He joined her, bracing himself with one arm, the other trailing down her side.

His hand slid beneath the hem, his touch warm as he drew it upward.

Then, as if by magic, he whisked it over her head.

His lips found hers as he shifted above her. Her hands rose to his shoulders, fingers tracing the muscles that flexed beneath his skin. Her thighs parted unbidden, yielding to the weight of him.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t assume. But he explored places that made her blush as much as tingle. He learned her, inch by inch, responding to every sigh, every tremble. Soon, unable to lie still, breathless, hungry, and eager to unlock long-held secrets, she couldn’t wait any longer.

“Duncan…”

His voice low and thick, he murmured, “I ken your desire, lass. I’m a large man—in all ways,” he warned. “But I’ll take care.”

She was ready to welcome him, but when she felt the daunting press of him, more than she thought she could bear, she tensed.

Panic dimmed her desire. “Wait,” she whispered.

He stilled immediately, his forehead resting against hers. “We stop if you say so. Always.”

She nodded, breathing hard. “I want this. I do,” she insisted.

He kissed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “I’ll guide you, Maggie. Just relax and let me in, little by little.”

He moved with exquisite care, easing into her with shallow strokes. The first stretch burned—sharp, unfamiliar. She clung to him, and it started to ease, then there was a pinch of pain.

“You’re perfect,” he crooned, his deep burr soothing as he sank in farther and stilled. “That’s all of me.”

“Good because I think you’ve run out of room.”

He propped on his elbows. With his hands gently framing her face, he gazed down at her. “We’ll wait until you’re used to me inside you.”

His face was strained, and she could tell the slow pace was difficult.

“How long will that take?”

He laughed softly. “A lifetime, if we’re blessed. I never want you to get used to me—never bored, never dulled by routine. I should have said we’ll wait until the pain eases.”

“It has.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I actually feel like I, uh, need to move.”

His grin was slow and devastating before he kissed her deeply and thoroughly. He said into her mouth, “Now for the best part. But we’ll start slow.”

He moved inside her, and the discomfort ebbed, replaced by a strange fullness, and a heat that began to pulse. Pleasure bloomed slowly. A flicker at first then building to a wave. She arched into him, her hips rising to meet his, voice catching in a soft moan.

Duncan shifted, bracing her thighs with his forearms, and moved deeper. Still keeping to the reserved pace, but with growing urgency. His open mouth found her neck, her collarbone, her breast. Every kiss was a promise of more. Every thrust a claiming.

She unraveled—bit by bit—until she was no longer the nervous virgin. She was Maggie the woman—wanton, alive, and wholly his.

When pleasure crested, she teetered at the peak, startled, awed, a bit uncertain, then the tether keeping her on earth snapped, and she flew. Her fingers tangled in his hair. His name tore from her throat at the sheer immensity of feeling.

Duncan experienced something, too. His body shuddered, he tensed above her, then a groan, raw and nearly primordial, rolled from his throat as he spent hotly inside her.

Entwined in a tangle of limbs and breath, bodies damp, the sheets kicked down around their ankles, they held one another. Maggie marveled that she could feel his heartbeat as well as her own.

“You’re mine at last,” he whispered, brushing hair from her brow.

She smiled, dazed and flushed. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, lass. It gets better.”

“I don’t see how. Except… I could do without the first part. You’re very big.”

He kissed her shoulder. “I warned you.”

“You did, but I think it’s more comparable to an erupting volcano. You can’t truly appreciate the power until you’ve experienced it.”

His chuckle grew into a belly laugh.

“Why are you laughing?”

“A rather apt metaphor, don’t you think? Since I erupted in you.”

“Duncan!” she gasped. “That isn’t at all what I meant.”

When he didn’t stop laughing, she shoved his shoulder. To which he responded by rolling with her in his arms, and, with her atop him, his fingers twined in her hair, kissed her. It turned rapidly from playful to amorous, which took care of his hilarity.

Later, when the lamps had been extinguished and the fire dimmed to embers, they lay entwined—her cheek over his heart, his hand curled possessively around her hip.

“This wasn’t the dream,” she said softly.

“But it’s ours now,” he replied. There was a moment’s pause. “I want you to be happy here, Maggie. And I’ll do what it takes to make that happen.”

Her eyes lifted to his. After today, with his care, consideration, and tonight, which completely overwhelmed her, from the passion to the laughter—like before, when they were just friends, minus being naked and the bawdy talk—she was nearly convinced their marriage wasn’t just a strategy.

Duncan didn’t promise with words. He pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair—and held her, at ease, as though he had the rest of his life to prove to her it wasn’t.