Page 65 of A Dash of Scot
“I’d best be returning to Edinburgh,” Mary said.
“Ye’ve just arrived. Why no’ share some champagne and then go back to the castle with me?” Dougal said. “We’ll send a messenger to retrieve Edward, and the two of ye can be here for the wedding.”
Mary shook her head so vehemently that more hair came out of her usually tight chignon. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Edward is so busy.”
“Then ye stay for the wedding.” Dougal’s expression suggested she not argue. “I’d like to have someone from my family there, and Mary, ye’re the only sister I’ve got.”
Mary’s smile was sickly. “I supposed Edward is probably not that busy. But no champagne for me. I’ll return to Varrich and have a messenger sent.”
“Are you certain, dear? It’s quite delicious,” Mama said, holding out a glass.
Mary gave their mother a look that said she’d rather have her skin peeled off. “Ladies shouldn’t.”
One last little dig before she went.
“Sometimes, ladies should,” Anise said with a shrug.
Before Mary could start another argument, Poppy took her arm. “I’ll walk you out. What flowers do you think would be the best for the wedding?”
Mary at first looked stunned, then delighted to be asked her opinion. After all, she had an opinion on everything and was always right, at least in her mind. If that was what it took to get her excited and not combative, then Poppy was willing to defer to her for all floral decisions.
“I think myrtle, lily of the valley, a thistle and some white roses.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“It does. And Castle Varrich has its own botanical greenhouse.”
“I do remember seeing something like that when I was there.” Poppy bit the inside of her cheek as she recalled exactly where she’d seen them.
“I’ll see if we’ve got the right flowers,” Mary said, taking ownership of the greenhouse.
Poppy wasn’t going to take the bait if that was what it was. Mary had grown up going to Castle Varrich, and really had more ownership to it as far as memories were concerned, though the secret garden where Dougal had given such pleasure…well, that she would fight for.
She glanced over her shoulder at Dougal, who still stood in the drawing room, his gaze on her, and the way he looked at her made her body flush. Saints, but she loved that man so much, and to think that after trying to forget him for nearly a year, all of her dreams were coming true.
20
The wedding ceremony and the feast were over before Poppy could blink. She barely noticed the nasty looks and snarky comments from Mary. She smiled but hardly heard any congratulations from her mother and friends. All she could think about was what was going to happen after the ceremony.
What was going to happen right now.
They stood in Dougal’s bedroom in the medieval castle that had housed Mackays for generations. The wood of the floorboards was cool beneath her bare feet; her shoes were the only thing she’d removed.
“Ye are stunning.” Dougal stared at her the way he’d been doing since he’d first seen her that afternoon. A hungry, primal look in his eyes. The same one she’d seen in the garden.
One that mirrored her own hunger for his embrace.
Before she could respond to his compliment—though to be fair, she was having a hard time forming sentences—he moved closer, stroked his hand over her cheek, then leaned down and did the most delicious thing. He licked her lower lip, tugged it gently with his teeth.
Poppy sighed, stunned and excited all at once. Frissons of hot desire fired, pooling at her center, and her knees felt suddenly weak. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. When they could officially strip each other bare…
All pretense was gone. He loved her. She loved him.
They were wedded, and now it was time to get bedded.
Poppy wanted to make Dougal as weak in the knees as she was. She captured his tongue between her teeth and sucked it into her mouth. He growled, a deep, vibrating noise that caused the place between her thighs—the place he’d kissed—to pulse.
“Ye vixen,” he crooned against her mouth, and she couldn’t help but smile.
