Chapter Fifteen

Late the next afternoon, in the much-mussed four-poster bed of the One-Eyed Hare Inn’s Scottish Night bridal chamber, Lucian, if not his bride, decided they’d tupped enough.

Leastways, they’d ravished each other enough for one full night and most of the next day.

He did want to sire children on Melissa and if they kept on like this, his best ‘Highland bits’ be worn off.

Never in all his years had he made love to a woman so many times in such few hours, really.

He just couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

And each time he spent himself, collapsing on top of her, it seemed he hardly blinked and his damned manhood was again raging hard and aching to be plunged deep, deep inside her.

Equally maddeningly, he couldn’t stop kissing her. She was a heady, provocative vixen and he almost wondered if she’d spelled him.

As a good Highlander, he knew such magic existed.

He bluidy well knew it, for hadn’t they met through the machinations of a meddlesome crone?

Sakes, he could still see the old woman’s flashy red plaid shoelaces. The twinkle in her bright blue eyes would stay with him all his days. He could even hear her cackle, though he had to admit it was wholly without malice. Whatever she’d done to bring them together, she’d meant well.

She wished them only good, he was sure.

He certainly wasn’t complaining. Still, it was uncanny how she popped up out of thin air.

The gods help him if she should appear now.

He and Melissa were gloriously naked, as they had been pretty much since entering this room last night, after their marriage declaration ceremony at the inn’s standing stones.  

The only exception had been very early this morning when he’d dressed to nip downstairs for a hamper of food. Breakfast viands and enough other good Scottish fare to last them for lunch and dinner, and any snacks they might want in-between. That necessity aside, they’d indulged their hunger for each other.

He wanted her again now, but she was sleeping.

Enjoying a well-deserved rest. Even so, she tempted him. In her slumber, she’d rolled onto her side, drawing up one knee, and so freeing the whole of her womanly sweetness to his view. He shouldn’t look, he knew. Madness waited there, his fierce craving for her roaring to life each time he peeked.

To his shame, that had been more often than he wished to admit.

As a result, he found himself pacing the lovely room, hard as granite and aching. So he went into the little bathing recess and, hoping not to waken her, stood before the wash basin and splashed icy Scottish water on his sore Scottish cock.

Aye, his bonnie bride would be the end of him.

She was too damned desirable.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, seeing to his relief that she’d shifted her position again. And praise all the gods and ancients, this time an errant bed cushion had tipped over and courteously hid her womanly charms from view.

Lucian exhaled, pulled a hand down over his chin.

“Am I wicked?”

Lucian jumped, then spun about to find her sitting up in the bed.

Afternoon light slanted through the windows, gilding her hair and – he should have known – falling just as dangerously across her full, round breasts. Naked, naturally. And with lots of good and cold Scottish air also pouring into the room, her pert pink nipples were pleasingly puckered. Enough ‘p’ words to damn him.

Pert, pink, and pleasingly puckered.

He stared at her, all sensible thought rushing south to gather in his undisciplined loins. He couldn’t even recall her question. Only that he’d whipped around to see her in the bed, a bare-breasted she-goddess in all her lush, beckoning glory.

“So I am wicked.”

Now he remembered.

“Wanton, too,” she said, her sweet curves gleaming in the golden light. “You chose unwisely if you wanted a proper wife.”

“I did no’ want a wife at all.”

“And now I have trapped you.”

“Precious lass, you will no’ need long in my hills to learn that a Highlander is nae man to be trapped.” He released a heavy breath, not mentioning that they could be seduced.

Enchanted, bewitched, and besotted.

Still…

“We dinnae do things unless we chose to do them,” he said. “Now, when we want something…”

She tilted her head, her breasts jiggling with the movement. “You just said you didn’t want a wife.”

“I wanted you.”

“Even though I am wanton and wicked?”

He laughed, then paced to the open window and drew a great breath, needing air.

“Sweet lass…” He turned back to her, not caring if she saw his jutting manhood. “You are no’ either of those, though you are something that starts with ‘w.’ You are wonderful.”

She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “So you do not regret bringing me here with you? Making me your wife?”

“Did you no’ hear me?” He looked at her, then wished he hadn’t for, from his present angle, her upraised knees gave him another delectable peek at her womanly curls.

Pretending not to have noticed, he struggled to keep his gaze on her face.

“Can it be that English lassies, even half-English ones, stuff wax in their ears?”

“I just wanted to be sure this is about more than this.” She flicked a hand at the mussed and tangled bedsheets, the gesture making sense of her not so clear words.

“You could have crooked your finger and had every woman in London diving into your bed.”

“And none of them would have been you.” He crossed the room and climbed into bed with her, drawing her into his arms. “I doubt a one would have possessed the cheek to attend a London ball with unbound hair. Nor would they have the daring to stand tall against a woman like Lady Clarice, knowing fine what villainy she is capable of.

“Lastly,” he finished, “how many London ladies do you know who would shun spending time and money on new gowns and other frippery so that they could dedicate all their days, their lives, to tracking down and rescuing aged carriage horses?”

She didn’t answer, but when he peered down at her head on his shoulder, he saw that her lashes looked wet.

“You, sweetness,” he replied for her. “That woman is you, and I would have carried you here with me on my shoulders if need be. I wanted you for my own that much, that badly.”

“Oh, dear.”

“No’ ‘oh, my?’” Lucian used his thumb to brush a tear from her cheek. “Nae crying, lassie. But you’d best listen closely as I’m more a man of deeds than words. I dinnae speak my heart easily, but the truth is, you are perfect for me. I could’ve helped you rid yourself of your stepmother at Cranleigh. You could’ve kept your old horses there, or if you’d wished it, I would’ve welcomed them at Lyongate, with or without you.

“But I wanted you in the bargain – in my heart, my life.” He leaned in then and kissed her. And when, a good while later, he pulled away, he laughed and lowered his head, kissing her again.

“See what you do to me,” he said when they finally broke for air. “I need you plain and simple.”

~*~

But do you love me?

Truly so?

Melissa kept those words to herself. She had enough of her mother in her to not want to risk jinxing any of the beautiful things Lucian had said to her. He truly cared for her, she could tell.

She just needed to be sure.

And she wanted that assurance to come from him. Not because she’d poked and prodded him.

That wouldn’t count.

So she snuggled against him, resting her head on his shoulder and letting her fingers drift back and forth over his chest hair. She was tired, much as she wished she wasn’t.

Tupping, glorious as it was, was also exhausting.

Almost slipping back to sleep, her eye caught the framed painting of the inn that hung on the wall opposite the bed. The image was beautifully done, the colors of gloaming almost lit from within so that the painted inn seemed to glow, as if it’d been captured and frozen in the breath of the artist’s memory and not through the skilled sweep of a paintbrush and oil.

The painting also depicted the inn at an earlier date. She suspected late medieval.

Her worries forgotten, she pushed up on her elbow to look at Lucian.

“You were going to tell me about the inn’s name,” she reminded him. “It is unusual.”

“Ahhh, the legend, aye.” He smiled and leaned back against the pillows, drawing her with him. “It’s a famous tale hereabouts and goes way, way back, clear to the days of Robert the Bruce and his greatest enemies, the English.”

“Oh, dear.” She stiffened.

“You needn’t worry, sweet.” He turned his head to kiss the tip of her nose. “That was centuries ago. The early fourteenth, to be exact. Those were troubled times, especially in these parts, so near to the border with England.

“There were frequent raids, men on both sides harrying each other. And too quickly things worsened, the raids turning into flat-out attacks with all the attendant misery. Rape, pillage, and murder, the burning of homes and villages.”

Melissa could imagine and it made her heart hurt. “The inn was here in those day. I saw the date on the sign.”

“Well observed,” he said, and slid his hand down her side, his fingers gently stroking her hip. “The inn was new then and famous for its hare stew. Of course, the then-proprietor was greatly worried that the English would attack and burn the inn, just as they were doing throughout the countryside.

“And so it came that English warring parties did begin appearing in the area. But they mostly wanted food for the huge armies England’s Edward was sending north.”

Melissa blinked. “The inn had to serve them? Or did they just take what they wanted?”

“Neither.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Aye, well…” His stroking fingers reached her female curls, began toying with them. “Remember I said the inn was popular because of its hare stew?”

She nodded, trying to focus on the tale, but part of her –that part of her- was starting to tingle and warm, roused by his seductive caresses.

“Where there’s hare stew served up daily, there will be a lot of hares hopping about.” He trailed the tip of one finger along her center, and then back up again, causing pleasurable sensations to stream through her. “The English wanted the hares. In such great number as they were, the poor creatures would fill many English cookpots, and the bellies of lots of English fighting men.

“So they came for the hares?” She shuddered, her heart breaking for the medieval hares.

“They did,” Lucian confirmed.

“Oh, then just stop there.” She sat up, frowning. “I do not want to hear more. You know how much I love animals.”

“I do know,” he said, pulling her back down. “I also know you will love this story.”

She wasn’t so sure.

But she settled against him, wickedly and wantonly parting her legs a bit, so inviting him to continue his delicious strokings. If she had to hear a sad tale, she might as well get some enjoyment out of its telling, and she did love what he was doing to her. Indeed, she might make him promise to caress her this way every morning, afternoon, and evening.

She would like that.

But he was talking again, now explaining how the hares objected to being chased by Englishmen...

“For even though they were hares and not men,” he explained, “the hares were Scottish, and very aware of loyalties.”

She slanted him a look. “You are making this up.”

“I am no’.” He spread the whole of his hand over her, squeezing rhythmically. “But it is a legend – keep that in mind.”

She began rocking her hips against his hand, unable to help herself.

“I told you I am wicked,” she said, gasping when he started circling the edge of his thumb over that special, oh-so-sensitive spot.

“You are perfect, so just enjoy,” he said. “The legend, and my hand between your legs.”

She shivered, his blunt words exciting her.

“So what of the upset Scottish hares?” She looked at him, hoping that if she held his gaze, she wouldn’t whirl away to that glittering edge of pleasure he sent her to so often.

She did want to know how the inn came by its name.

“Well…” He took his thumb from that special place and just stroked her lightly again. “It happened that one of the hares had exceptional eyesight. He was also very intelligent. And so he discovered that if he held a foot above his eyes, he could spot the English soldiers much faster, and at a greater distance.

“This advantage was a tremendous help to the hares,” he explained. “Unlike rabbits, hares live aboveground, without burrows. It was crucial that they knew of an enemy’s approach. Only so, did they have time to find hiding places.”

He looked at her. “So this hare took it upon himself to roam the countryside, watching for the English.”

“And he was successful?”

“He was.”

Melissa smiled, liking the story now.

“Each time he raised the alarm, the hares would scatter. And so the foraging English left emptyhanded. Eventually they stopped coming this way altogether.”

“And the inn name?”

“Given in the hare’s honor, of course.” Lucian kissed her brow, then the top swell of her breast. “At a distance, his trick with his raised foot let folk believe he had only one eye.”

“Did he?”

“No one really knows,” he said. “What matters is that the ‘one-eyed hare’ singlehandedly rid the area of English warriors, thus saving many homes and also the inn.”

Melissa’s throat thickened. “What a wonderful legend.”

“So it is.” He smiled. “And your eyes are glistening again, so I’d best not tell you that the medieval innkeeper and every family for miles around declared that no hare hereabouts would ever again land in a cookpot.”

He kissed her brow. “That has remained so all these years.”

“Oh, my,” she said, a tear leaking from her eye. “That’s why there are so many hares everywhere.”

“I imagine so,” he agreed.

“I knew I’d love Scotland.” She melted against him, her gaze on the ceiling. “A place where inns are named after hero hares and guest room ceilings are painted with stars.”

“It is special, I’ll no’ deny.” He rolled on top of her, bracing himself on his arms. “But no’ so fine as you.”

“You are a gallant,” she said, opening her knees. “You also want to tup again, don’t you?”

“I want you again, aye.”

“Then have me,” she urged him.

He gave her a slow, devastating smile. “Och, I will. At least a dozen more times before we leave here in the morning, and a thousand times again once we reach Lyongate.”

“Only a thousand?”

 He laughed. “So we add greedy to your list of sins.”

She bit back her own chuckle. “And you have none?”

“More than I can name, though one stands out.”

“Is that so?”

She didn’t believe him. He was perfect.

“Indeed,” he admitted, reaching down between them, preparing to claim her. “I haven’t yet told you that you are the first and only woman I have ever loved.”

Oh, Lucian, I love you so much, too, she started to say, but couldn’t because he kissed her.

So she returned his kiss with the whole of her heart, knowing her passion spoke louder than words.

And apparently they did because he went still and looked at her. “Did you just say you love me, lass?”

“I did, and I do.” She smiled at him through a mist of tears, not about to wonder how he’d really heard.

It would seem there truly was magic in Scotland.

And hadn’t she known it all along?