Page 57 of A Virgin for the Icy Highlander
Grace relaxed, and the cinders died out. “You really didn’t need to escort us, you know. We would have managed perfectly well—wouldn’t we, Ellie?”
“Och aye!” the little girl called from her corner of the squabs, excitement making her wriggle like she’d hidden Snowflake in her skirts.
Squinting over her shoulder at Ellie, Grace had to wonder. It wouldn’t have surprised her at all if the white kitten made a dramatic entrance at that very moment, confirming her suspicions with a loud meow.
“I couldnae leave ye to travel alone, however short the journey,” Hunter replied, a shadow passing over his face. “There’s peace here, aye, but ye cannae be too careful on the road.”
Folding her arms on top of the pulled-down sash window, she rested her chin on the point where they crossed. Staring at her future husband, she let the strength and majesty of him shove aside the rising unease that his words were trying to push up her throat.
If it were truly dangerous, he wouldn’t have allowed us to venture out at all. He is just being cautious. Caring.
“But what about bad luck?” she asked, a note of mischief in her voice.
He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. “Eh?”
“Don’t you have that superstition here—that it is bad luck to see what the bride means to wear to her wedding?”
He shrugged. “Sounds likeSassenachnonsense to me.”
“Then you mustn’t have heard the other superstition either,” she said, biting her lip. “The groom is not allowed to see the bride the night before the wedding, or there shall be bad luck in abundance. A most ill-fated marriage.”
With a slight movement of his wrist, flicking the reins, his horse sidestepped closer to the carriage. He leaned out of the saddle, bending his head until his breath tickled her ear, and whispered, “Nothin’ will keep me from me bride, whether it’s an hour from now or the night before our weddin’. The only thing that can is if ye continue to say that me ‘fourth emotion’doesnae count.” He brushed his lips against the shell of her ear. “So, I suppose ye could say yer good luck ended the moment ye met me.”
He pulled back, his smirk now a little more obvious as he squeezed his thighs and urged his horse forward, loping offahead of the carriage to lead the way. He removed himself from her view, where she had been admiring him so much.
Indeed, there was nothing quite so appetizing as seeing a powerful Scotsman sitting astride his horse, his bare calves sculpted, a glimpse of muscular thigh showing where his kilt had slipped backward.
The rhythm of his hips, rocking back and forth with the motion of the horse, could have kept Grace entranced for hours. It was impossible to watch him and not remember the hardness between his thighs and how it had moved against her in the meadow. Straining for her. Yearning for the moment she was truly his, on their wedding night.
Flushed, Grace pulled away from the window, letting the cold breeze sweep in to temper the heat on her face. She helped it along by fluttering her hand, only to feel a different kind of heat prickling up the side of her face: the feeling of being watched intently.
Slowly, she turned to find Lilian grinning at her.
“Quiet, you,” she mumbled laughingly.
“I did not say a word,” Lilian protested playfully, her big blue eyes sparkling with merriment.
Not a hint of sadness was to be seen from Lilian, for she was a woman of romance and daydreams. To her, a wedding to ahandsome man who might yet come to adore his wife was the very pinnacle of success.
“I think the skirts should be as long as the church!” Ellie started babbling happily, nodding as if it were the greatest idea in the world. “And wings—ye should have wings, Gracie. A butterfly bride.”
Grace smiled. “We shall have to see what the dressmaker can do, though I’m not so certain about skirts the length of the church. I will surely trip, and then I will be buried in so many layers of fabric that not even your father will be able to find me.”
“Maybe half the length of the church?” Ellie offered.
“We shall see,” Grace replied. “Indeed, we don’t know yet whether they will have anything that fits me.”
Oh goodness, what if I really end up wearing a potato sack?
She swallowed down her nerves, shaking the silliness away. She would soon be the Lady of Clan MacLogan; the dressmaker would find a way tomakea gown fit. Hunter would make sure of it.
Ayrford Village thrummed with life and noise. The buildings were a hodgepodge of fine gray stone, ramshackle wood, golden sandstone, and thatched huts that looked like a light wind wouldbe the end of them. Before long, it would expand to such a degree that it would no longer be considered a village, but a town.
Hunter liked to see the prosperity. It gave him hope that one day soon, most of the villages under his protection would have the same progression. If not in size, at least in fortune.
“Oh, it’s like a smaller version of Lockton!” Grace enthused, opening the carriage door without waiting for him.
He flashed her a disgruntled look as he slid down from the saddle and closed the distance between them, holding out his hand. “What will me people think of me if I dinnae help me own bride out of the carriage, eh?”
