Page 60 of Wed to the Highlander

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.”