Chapter Fourteen

“Now you see why it is called the Scottish Night room.” Lucian closed the room’s door behind them.

“I do, indeed.” Melissa walked into the bedchamber, enchanted. “We could be at Cranleigh, though this is even better,” she said, looking about the well-appointed room.

“I am glad you’re pleased.” Lucian didn’t bother to lock the door.

Doing so would be an insult to the innkeeper and his staff, for the One-Eyed Hare was famed for making wedding nights as special as possible and that included no intrusions, however well-meant.

It was understood they’d have privacy.

Dod Swanney was a man of honor and kept his word, even the unspoken ones.

Melissa stopped in the center of the room and turned in a slow circle.

Undoubtedly the inn’s finest guest room, the chamber’s trappings had clearly been chosen with great care. Rich blue hangings dressed the large four-poster bed and a peat fire glowed on a small stone hearth on the opposite wall. Several framed paintings decorated the walls, each one depicting the inn at some earlier stage in its long and successful history. The wood-planked floor gleamed to a high polish and a few colorful woven rugs leant warmth.

The remaining furniture, a table with two chairs, a settle, and a humpbacked chest at the foot of the bed, were exquisitely carved of age-blackened oak and bore the same sheen as the wax-polished floor.

Best of all, being a corner room at the inn’s rear, the windows offered a sprawling view of the stone circle, the hills and moorland, while also sparing newlywed pairs the noise of the busy courtyard at the front of the establishment.

A painted border of blue-and-green tartan ran along the edge of the ceiling, and – Melissa tipped back her head, scarce believing her eyes – the ceiling itself had been painted a deep midnight blue and carried almost as many tiny, dazzling white-and-gold stars as the actual heavens. These painted stars even seemed to twinkle, thanks to the hearth fire and the flames of the two candlesticks that Lucian had lit while she’d admired the room.

“There’s a small bathing recess attached,” he told her now, opening a narrow door that she’d missed because of the corner shadows. “You’ll find an ewer and basin with cool, clean water, soap, creams, and scents, and a tub bath that, while no’ longer steaming, will surely be warm enough to enjoy.”

“A bath, too?” Melissa joined him at the bathing room’s door. “They’ve even lined the tub with linen,” she said, eyeing it.

More medieval than modern, the tub was little more than a sawed-in-two wine barrel, but the rose-scented oil someone had tipped into its steaming-indeed water, was more than welcoming.

She sighed. “I would love a bath…” She let the words tail off, unexpected shyness descending.

“I have never bathed in the same room with a gentleman,” she said, feeling the color rise on her cheeks.

“I am no’ that, sweetness.” Lucian had already removed his jacket and stood before her in his kilt and his white linen shirt. “I am your husband.”

“So you are.” She was aware of her neck also warming.

Dear heavens, she must be glowing like a balefire.

“All virgins are nervous, lass.” He strode over to her and smoothed back her hair, and then set his hands on her shoulders. “We can wait with this until we arrive at Lyongate, but I’m thinking-”

“Better now?”

He nodded. “When we leave here, I’d like to take you on a roundabout way north, giving ourselves time so that I can show you some of my favorite places along the way. I suspect you’d enjoy such a journey more if you weren’t fretting about what will happen when we arrive at last at my home.”

Melissa knew that was so, and agreed.

She glanced again at the bath, so grateful that the inn provided such a courtesy. Going naked into Lucian’s arms, and then climbing equally bare-bottomed into the great and looming four-poster with him, would be easier if she knew herself to be clean, refreshed, and scented with the bath’s rose oil.

“Well, lass?” He slid his hands into her hair, began pulling out the pins so that, she was sure, her hair would spill free as it had at the Merrivales’ ball.

“I know you are right,” she spoke at last. “And I agree,” she added, feeling most daring. “I would think about it the entire time.”

To her surprise, he laughed.

“That, sweetness, is the first time anyone has called me an ‘it.’”

Her blush deepened, especially as he was untying the laces of his shirt.

“I didn’t mean you,” she blurted, her heart fluttering as he pulled the shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his well-muscled chest and – dear heavens! – that it was made all the more fascinating by a light T-shaped dusting of glistening, black hair.

Stirring, masculine chest hair that narrowed into a thin line that cruelly disappeared beneath his kilt-belt.

“You are naked,” she gasped, staring at him. “Already.”

“I am no’ anywhere near naked,” he argued, smiling as he locked his gaze on hers. “But I will be soon, and so will you.”

“Can it not be done in our clothes?”

He chuckled again, and something in the way he was looking at her made the secret place between her legs tingle. She also felt warm there, as if she were melting.

“It can be done in many ways,” he told her, his amusement clearly at war with the smolder in his gaze. “Even so, I am a Highlander.”

“I know, but…” She felt the floor dip when he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his kilt. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” he said, blessedly not making any move to whip off his kilt. “Highlanders enjoy being naked with their ladies. It is a proud tradition of our hills.”

Melissa felt her lips twitch, also the tickle of laughter building inside her. “You are making fun of me,” she said, lifting her chin. “Teasing me because I haven’t done this before, or maybe because I am English. Or because-”

“None of that.” He crossed the short space between them in two long strides. “I am teasing you because you are so refreshingly delightful. And because” – he framed her face and lowered his head to kiss her – “I am absolutely besotted with you.”

She blinked. “You are?”

In answer, he swept his arms around her, almost crushing her to him. And this time when he kissed her, it was a rough, hungry kiss full of tangled tongues and hot, shared breath as they melded together, the deep intimacy of the kiss ripping away every last shred of her modesty and instead, sending fiery female need racing through her so that she forgot everything except how much she wanted this – how much she desired him.

“Oh, my.” She gasped when he finally released her. “I see you do care for me.”

“Care for you?”  

She nodded, knowing she now played a dangerous game, but the excitement inside her wouldn’t let her stop.

Was she a wanton?

She didn’t know, but doubted such a hankering could possess a soul so quickly, and out of nowhere. And that meant it must be him, as she had suspected all along.

“I love you,” she announced, not wanting any doubts or wonderings between them. “I suspect I have since the start. And…” She wriggled from his grasp and darted into the bathing chamber, now eager to have her bath and get on with the natural flow of their bridal night.

As fast as she could, she began undressing, thinking to jump into the tub before he could see anything.

Turning her back to him, she let her garments fall to the floor, then lifted her leg to climb into the water.

“I would bathe now so that-”

“Too late, lassie,” he almost growled, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her away from the tub. “You just told me what I’ve been hoping to hear for some time now – that you love me. Further, you just gave me a tantalizing peek of that wonderful part of you that has me so ravenous, and that means-”

“You want to do it now?” Her eyes flew wide. “Without any preliminaries?”

“You just decided the preliminaries by flashing your woman’s flesh at me,” he said, sweeping her up into his arms, against his broad, naked chest, as he marched across the room with her. “We will engage in all the foreplay you can handle later.”

“Oh, my.” She pulled back to stare at him, his words exciting her. “Woman’s flesh and foreplay? The things you say…”

And now I know I’m a wanton.

“The things you are, minx,” he growled again, lowering his head to nuzzle her neck and – she couldn’t believe it – rub his face in her unbound hair, inhaling deeply as if he wished to drown in her scent.

“You are a Jezebel if ever there was one and I hope you don’t make me spent and gray before the year is out.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked the instant he placed her on the bed.

“Because…” He leaned over her, the fierce glint in his eyes making her belly flutter. “I am so maddened with lust for you that I fear I will ne’er leave your bed. That I shall tup you again and again, from the moment we waken in the morning until the day’s light fades, and then onward through the night.”

“Tup?” It was a word she didn’t know.

How odd that her female place quivered deliciously, seemingly well aware of the term’s meaning.

“Tupping is what we are about to do, sweeting,” he confirmed her guess. He was also naked, and she hadn’t even seen him remove his kilt.

It was just gone.

No, she erred…

She now saw that he’d tossed it over a chair.

She also saw the large and hard-swollen length of him and her apparently oh-so-knowledgeable and eager womanly bits caught flame in hot, tingly readiness.

He was so beautiful in his wild, Highland glory.

“Oh, my.” Her gaze locked on that part of him. “Oh, my, oh, my…”

“Stop talking and kiss me.” Somehow he was already in the bed with her.

Equally startling, but wondrously so, he’d nudged her thighs apart and managed to roll on top of her. Now she could feel the steely heat and strength of his manhood pressing first against her butterfly-filled belly, and then he was actually nudging her, the broad, velvety tip of that part of him seeking entry, then easing ever so steadily inside her.

And all the while he kissed her, between kisses, taking a breath only long enough to tell her how much he desired her, how she ‘flamed his blood’ and how much he loved her.

She was too overcome to reply, especially as his kisses were so thrilling. Again and again, he swirled his tongue over and against hers in a deep, ongoing openmouthed kiss. He was tireless, it seemed, an expert kisser. And the hot, oh-so-sensual giving-and-taking of their shared breath proved almost too exquisite to bear. So exciting that she wondered if one could die from such intense pleasure?

If so, she just knew she wouldn’t see the morrow’s sunrise.

But she’d die happy.

That she would.

Too bad, she was killing him, too.

He wasn’t complaining and made no move to stop kissing her, but his thick, hard length was now fully inside her – she’d felt the sharp pinch and sting that could only mean he’d surged into her. He’d stilled for a moment, but he was moving again now, matching rhythm with the glides of his tongue in and out of her mouth.

And although she found this ‘tupping’ ever more wondrous, he seemed to be tensing above her and making the most frightening sound deep in his chest, as if he couldn’t bear what they were doing.

She broke their kiss. “You don’t like this?”

“I am mad for you,” he hissed, slanting his mouth over hers again, kissing her even more roughly.

Drinking her breath, his tongue seducing hers, branding her in a way that warned she’d hunger for this all her days.

She imagined they’d have many more children than Alasdair and Sally.

Two dozen or more wouldn’t surprise her.

She could do this with him forever.

As if to convince her, he slid his hand between her legs, his fingers rubbing her as his hard length plunged in and out of her. And – who would’ve believe it? – his fingers stroking and teasing her tingly woman’s flesh was just as exciting, and good, as everything else he was doing to her.    

Or so she thought until his thumb slid over an incredibly sensitive spot that sent such intense pleasure shooting through her that she bucked her hips and cried out with the sheer glory of it.  

Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my!

Had anything ever felt so divine?

She didn’t think so.

So she clutched his shoulders and hooked her feet behind his hips, aiming to hold him in place. Not just now, this moment, but forever.

She would enjoy that, especially if he kept his thumb circling so persistently round and round that deliciously exciting wee spot he’d discovered.

She really loved that.

But she loved him more and was about to say so, tingly woman’s parts on fire or not.

Unfortunately, before she could break their kiss to tell him how much she enjoyed his tupping, something broke inside her.

She went all stiff-limbed, her hips lifting even higher off their still-made bed, as her entire body shattered, splitting into teeny, tiny pieces. She seemed to spin away into nothingness, the world, and even the Hare’s lovely Scottish Night room, falling away until she was surrounded only by the immeasurably satisfying darkness and the warm, heavy weight of Lucian’s body on top of hers.

For a beat, she feared they were dead.

But then she heard his snoring.

Lucian, the dashing Black Lyon of Lyongate Hall snored to shake the walls, and perhaps even to send the ceiling’s painted stars toppling to the floor.

She hadn’t expected that, or the merriment that bubbled up inside her just listening to him.

Did he know?

She supposed he did, but she’d tactfully not mention it.

Instead, when he wakened, she’d tell him how happy she was to be his bride. How much she loved him and how glad she was that they’d found each other.

And then…

Well, then she’d address another urgent matter.

She’d ask him to tup her again.