Page 98 of Sweet Home Highlander
Makenna threw up her arms and stood as well. “Very well. I suppose I’ll make the sacrifice.”
Julien grinned and finished his wine in one gulp to follow Niall’s sister to the floor. Aisla laughed at them, feeling the first tug of sadness all day. Though Makenna hadn’t yet spoken of returning to her husband, Aisla knew it had to happen soon. She had promised to stay at Maclaren until the wedding, but she had to have been gone from the Brodie for long enough. The man would surely want his wife back.
And with the duke now recovering from his illness, there was little reason for her to linger. She’d miss Makenna dearly, and as she and Julien joined the other dancers, Aisla had the curious notion that he would miss her as well. Not that Julien would ever admit to it, though. He would return to Paris shortly, and “get on with things,” as he’d called it. Whether or not that meant searching for another potential wife Aisla didn’t know. She found it hard to believe there were many women who didn’t long for love and passion in a marriage.
What a fool she’d been to believeshewas one of them. Lord, she’d nearly had herself convinced.
Her eyes caught on Niall, making his way from the floor and toward the table. He stalked toward her with the same secretive grin he’d worn all day whenever they crossed glances. As if he had something entirely naughty on his mind—which he likely did. Aisla would be lying if she said she wasn’t anticipating their wedding night. They’d made love countless times since the night she returned to Maclaren to propose, and yet, every time she felt some new level of wonder with him.
“I sincerely hope ye’re not in any danger of falling asleep, Lady Tarbendale,” he murmured as he leaned over and kissed the lobe of her ear. Her body leaned toward him, as if pulled by a magnetic force. The effect he had on her was inexplicable. She never stopped wanting him or craving his touch.
“I’m quite certain I’ll be too…aroused to so much as close my eyes,” she replied, her attention drifting pointedly toward the front of his trousers as he took the chair beside her. Niall’s eyes flared. He looked ready to toss her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs.
“I’m ready if ye are,” he said, and she felt a physical thrill of want pulse through her. “Bloody hell,” he growled, making her blink with surprise at the sudden shift in tone. She noticed his attention had drifted to the dancers. “Leclerc is taking too many liberties with Makenna.”
“It’s a waltz, Niall.”
“He’s a rake and she’s married.” Only Aisla’s hand on his arm restrained him from stomping to the dance floor and separating them like a mother hen. He glared at her.
“Let them be. Makenna looks happier than I’ve ever seen her, and at least Julien isn’t busy provoking any of our brothers to fisticuffs.”
Niall looked mollified at the thought, but Aisla couldn’t help noticing the undercurrent between the waltzing couple. They made a striking pair—with her vibrant, fiery coloring and his tall golden Adonis looks. If Makenna weren’t already married, she’d be worried for her sister-in-law’s sake. Julien did have a reputation for leaving wrecked hearts in his wake, and she would not want Makenna to be yet another casualty. The dance ended and each of them went off in different directions. Aisla let out a relieved breath, as did Niall.
“See,” she said. “Nothing to worry about.”
She did not remark on the fact that Julien went around the hallway toward the very exit Makenna had taken. Perhaps it was simply a coincidence.
Niall scowled. “He’s a bounder.”
She tweaked her husband on the ear. “He’s family to me, and he’s not entirely a scoundrel. He did offer to marry me, you know…if you refused to, I mean.”
“I’ll pound him into the ground.”
“There’ll be no fighting on our wedding day, Niall Maclaren. And you do have him to thank for seeing me safely here.”
“Aye,” he grumbled. “I suppose I’ll have to allow him back on Tarbendale lands in return. But that Frenchman is nae family of mine.”
Aisla laughed and looked over the crowded great hall. Her brothers, Callan and Patrick, and Niall’s brothers, Evan and Finlay, stood in close conference, the four of them loudly arguing over something or the other. But whatever the problem was, Aisla knew it would be forgotten in the next few minutes—or whenever the next round of whiskys were poured. Brandt and Sorcha were dancing slowly, their attention firmly pinned on each other now that their two young children, Aisla’s rambunctious nephew, Rabbie, and her darling niece, Gavina, had been bustled off to bed. Lady Dunrannoch and Lady Catriona were seated together with glasses of claret, whispering and giggling intermittently. Even Niall’s father, the duke, had made a brief appearance.
“They all look happy, don’t they?” Aisla murmured.
“Aye,” Niall agreed. “Though I suspect that Evan and Finlay are up to nothing good with yer brothers. I wager there’ll be a drinking contest or someaught soon, which means there’ll be brawling.”
She laughed. “As long as they keep their kilts over their knees, your mother will be pleased.”
“What aboutmykilt?”
Aisla’s mouth went dry at the lewd suggestion in his voice, her gaze sliding to his lap once more and darting away. “Behave.”
Her husband leaned over, and with a Herculean display of strength, lifted her up and into his lap in one swift movement, making her gasp. He nuzzled her neck, his right hand dancing up the outside of her thigh. “What if I dunnae want to? What if I want to start a scandal to end all scandals, in which the randy laird debauches his sumptuously pregnant wife in the grand hall during their wedding feast.”
“Niall!” she protested. “The servants are staring.”
His hot tongue swirled against her sensitive skin, making her tremble. “That’s the point of a scandal,leannan. We’re new-married.” He chuckled wickedly into her ear. “It’s no’ as though the servants haven’t heard yer screams the last few weeks.”
Aisla blushed ferociously and bit her lip. It was true that she had been pushed to the pinnacle of pleasure so much so that she hadn’t been able to control herself, but it was truly dreadful of him to mention it. She pinched his arm. “Hush, you awful man!”
“I’m only teasing ye.” He kissed her on the lips, licking sweetly, a promise of things to come. “I love ye madly, lass. And everyone here is happy because we’re happy.”
It was true—theywere. Their families had always gotten on well, but there was a palpable relief in the air now that she and Niall were together again.Properly. She thought of the wedding band Niall had made her, of the clasped topaz hands that represented more than love. It represented endurance and family, and ties that weren’t so easily severed. Seeing the Montgomerys and Maclarens together now, Aisla felt as if her two halves were finally merging seamlessly. Finally, she was where she belonged.
Aisla turned to Niall, mischief underscoring her lilting brogue. “I love ye, too, ye ken. And I’ve been ready for ye since the first time I laid eyes on ye,” she whispered, lacing her fingers with his. “Ye’ve ruined me for any other, Niall Maclaren.”
“Good, because I dunnae want to have to kill anyone.” He smothered her laughter with his lips, his gaze going tender. “Ye’re my match, Aisla. My love,mo gràidh, my heart. And I am devoted to making ye deliriously happy for the rest of yer life, if ye’ll allow me.”
Aisla beamed at her husband, the joy in her heart overflowing. “That sounds like a perfectly wonderful plan.”
