Page 70 of Wed to the Highlander
Chapter 23
They rode double on Flint. Duncan’s strong, sure-footed gelding carried them easily. Maggie nestled against her husband’s chest, his arms steady around her as they climbed the winding path. He picked his way carefully, hooves squelching in the softened earth.
The warm day of a week ago had turned into a winter thaw in the middle of February. Taking advantage of it while they could, Duncan had ordered a picnic, just as he’d done all those months ago.
They crested the rise, which opened into a high meadow. It was still too early for primrose and narcissus, but crocuses dotted the field, violet and white, pushing through last season’s decay.
“This is a perfect spot for a private picnic,” Duncan said as he reined in.
“And no aspens,” she replied, harkening back to the long-ago day.
“Why do you think I picked this spot?” he said as he dismounted and lifted her down.
“That seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Does being married to me drag on so?”
It was a year to the day since they’d taken their wedding vows. “I don’t mind time dragging when I get to spend it with you.”
He smiled in the midst of spreading out the blanket. “Fine answer,mo chridhe. Do you ken that today marks seven weeks since Jamie made us three?” Brushing a hand over the fabric to smooth it, he stretched out and patted the space next to him invitingly.
“I remember something happening around that time—vaguely.” When he grabbed her hand and pulled her down, Maggie laughed softly, the sound catching in the breeze. She curled her legs beneath her, close but not quite touching. “It feels longer. And shorter. All at once.”
“You’re confused, which comes with lack of sleep.”
“Not so much since Lillie is helping care for Jamie.” Lillie, a housemaid, had come as part of her mother’s entourage months ago. But Duncan’s cousin, Callum, a kind, steady, robust Macpherson, caught her eye, and she married him before Christmas. “Thank you for that suggestion. Jamie loves her.”
“It was purely selfish,” Duncan said as he unpacked the basket’s simple fare: cheese, oatcakes, lemon tarts. “I was becoming jealous of my own son monopolizing your time.”
Maggie poured two cups of the elderflower cordial Lillie had tucked in, with a wink, her fingers brushing his as she handed him one.
When the food was gone and the sun had dipped low enough to cast golden light across the meadow, Duncan leaned back on his elbows, watching her.
“You look braw,” he said. “And rested.”
She arched a brow. “Braw?”
“Aye. Healthy. Strong. As if you could knock me flat if I said the wrong thing.”
She laughed again, but her gaze softened. “That’s from lugging a MacPherson bairn around. But I do feel…more myself today. As though I’ve returned to my body.”
He reached for her hand, thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed me, too,” she said then added, quieter, “and you.”
There was no rush. No urgency. Just the slow, deliberate leaning toward each other, the kind that came from years of knowing and weeks of waiting.
His kiss was gentle at first, becoming hungry as her fingers curled into his shirt, grounding herself in the familiar shape of him.
When he tumbled her onto her back on the blanket, she stiffened slightly.
“What is it?” he asked, noticing.
She hesitated then admitted, “I’m not who I was. Not exactly.”
“You’re a mother now.”
“Yes, and my body has changed,” she admitted. “I’m softer. My hips…wider. I don’t know if you’ll still—”
