If she walks away, I don’t know what I’ll do.
He’d breathe and walk, but it wouldn’t be living.
“The nursery, when did you arrangethat?” She lifted one foot out of the water, looking at her toes.
“In the months leading up to the wedding.” He answered eagerly. “Mistress Middymuckle’s brother, Tom, is a fine carpenter, and Mistress Douglas had all the women of the house making the tapestries, from the designs I drew up. ’Twas one of the reasons I wasn’t around as much as I should have been. That, and repairs to the roof. I hadn’t realized what a state it had gotten into until my father passed away. He should have asked me for the money, to make it good, but he was too proud, I think.”
“Proud in the best way,” Margaret added.
He nodded. It was like her, to be defending his father, for she only wanted to see good in those she loved.
A pang of shame struck him again. How he must have broken her, for her to abandon her faith in him—the one she ought to have believed in most of all.
“If I make you happy, that would make him proudest ofall.” Finlay reached for her fingers, twining them with his own. They were warmer now.
She gave his hand the gentlest squeeze. “You could. Make me happy, that is.”
“Mags!” His need for her welled up so strongly that he pulled her to him, kissing her with everything that was in his heart. The fear he’d harbored melted away as she moved her mouth with his, yielding and sighing, placing her palms to his chest as he poured his emotions into the tender moment. Desire leapt between them, but also love and joy. There was no room for regret or bitterness.
“Finlay! The milk!” She sprung back at the hiss of the pan boiling over.
“Damnation!” He grabbed a cloth and moved the pan to the back plate of the stove, then began mopping at the mess.
“Mistress Middymuckle won’t be at all happy.” Margaret teased, then exclaimed, “Finlay! Your kilt!”
“What’s the bother? ’Twas only a singe, was it not? You said it might be repaired.” He craned round, trying to look.
“I’m sure it can. It’s just, from the way you’ve been sitting, it’s grown a wee bit worse.” She smothered her laughter.
Reaching back, he encountered the downy tuft of his arse cheek, sticking out through a portion of the tartan. He’d noticed a cruel draught upon his nethers when he’d dashed across the kitchen garden, but he’d had other things to think of at the time.
“Mayhap you’d count it among your first tasks, as Countess of Dunrannoch—mending your earl’s kilt.”
“Oh, aye?” She cocked her head to one side. “Or mayhap I like your kilt just how it is.” She gave a shriek as he swept her up again.
Finlay cared not for bare feet on the granite steps of the spiral leading up through the tower, nor for the state of his backside. The only thing that mattered, from this day forward, was making sure his darling wife was entirely satisfied, and he’d an idea, at least for a goodly while, that ‘twould begin in the bedroom.
CHAPTER 14
Margaret had been so cold,frozen to her bones, her heart iced with despair, but there was only warmth now, glowing from a place deep inside.
They’d been so ravenous for one another that they’d made love the first time without bothering to remove her riding habit. Finlay had simply tugged down all the underthings that were in the way and entered her in one smooth motion, riding her to a blissful peak before succumbing himself.
Then they’d taken everything off and been more leisurely in their worship of one another, except that had also ended ratherfrantically, as her passion for him had overtaken any sense of decorum. She’d pinned him to the bed and wrung every last bit of need from her body. Her tumult had been ferocious.
Finlay had rolled her over, finishing with long, slow strokes, and a look of ecstasy upon his face.
’Twas hard to say exactly what had changed between them, or when it had happened, but she was filled with such a feeling of peace, and a belief, now, that all would be well. Whether they were in the throes of delight or simply lying side by side, they belonged to one another.
“Say something lovely to me.” Margaret gave his shoulder a playful pinch.
Pushing up onto his elbow, he laid a kiss on her shoulder in return. “You’re perfection in every way. So bonny a lass that every man in Scotia will envy my good fortune, and sigh for want of such a goddess by their side.”
“Not bad.” She closed her eyes as Finlay’s armcrept about her waist, and she felt the brush of his mouth against her throat.
“I want you—in my castle, my arms, my bed, my life.” He punctuated each with a kiss, moving downwards, across her collarbone, to the swell of her breast. “From this day on we should never be apart. Where you go, I’ll follow, and where I go, you’re welcome at my side.”
“Better.” She sighed contentedly as he gave her nipple a saucy nip.
