Chapter Fifteen
Balforss had been turned upside down with the arrival of four new guests. The staff ran themselves ragged bathing, clothing, and feeding the rescued women. Haddie, the two girls from the kitchen, and the woman from the laundry ran up and down the stairs, carrying buckets of water, armloads of clothing, and trays of food. Everywhere Caya turned, she was bumping into someone shouting down the hallway or bustling in and out of bedrooms. And everyone was talking at once.
“Haddie, I need more hot water.”
“Has anyone seen my other stocking?”
“I’ll have more tea and perhaps a little jam with my toast.”
Caya gave Morag Sinkler her green gown, as she was closest to her size. Then she washed, changed her clothes, and went below stairs to escape the chaos.
She passed the door to the laird’s study, where Dr. Farquhar and Flora were tending to Magnus’s injury. Magnus bellowed Gaelic words that sounded suspiciously like curses. It was necessary for Dr. Farquhar to shave off Magnus’s beard to stitch him up properly, and the angry Scot was having none of it.
“If ye come near me wi’ that straight razor,” Magnus growled, “I’ll ram it up your—”
Unable to hear herself think, she left the entry and wandered toward the back hallway. Her body was at odds with her mind. Too exhausted to sleep. Too weary to keep still. Too relieved not to worry. What was wrong with her?
She groped blindly through a haze of emotions. Guilt over having been the cause of the recent violence was the pervasive feeling, and yet battering away at her guilt was relief that the other women had been saved from what surely would have been a hellish existence. She felt anger, too, and resentment for her brother’s selfish behavior, and at the same time a perverse sadness for the loss of Jack. But mostly, she felt loved. Declan still loved her. In spite of everything, he loved her, and she loved him. He’d forgiven her. Could she forgive herself? After all that had happened, would she be right to marry Declan?
She woke from her thoughts standing in the kitchen, wondering how she’d gotten there. Mrs. Swenson had five pots on the boil and was cutting up three ducks for roasting. As harried as the cook was, she found a corner for her to sit.
“There now, lassie. Help yerself to scones and tea.” Mrs. Swenson resumed her work on the ducks.
“Thank you, Mrs. Swenson, but I don’t think I can eat anything just yet.”
“Poor lass. Did they hurt you?” Mrs. Swenson gasped and inspected her neck. “Did someone try to…?”
“Yes, but Declan stopped him.”
Mrs. Swenson trilled her relief, grabbed a jar of salve, and applied a gooey dollop liberally to Caya’s wound. “Such a fright ye must have had, being taken by pirates, of all things.” She stilled for a moment, then cupped Caya’s chin in her hand. “That’s an awfy sad face for a lass what’s getting married soon.”
Caya’s lower lip trembled. “After Jack and the ship and the whisky…” She swallowed hard. “After everything that’s happened, do you think it’s right for me to marry Declan?”
“Whyever would you think that?” Mrs. Swenson pulled a stool close and sat. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No. I love him. I suppose I’ve wanted to be Declan’s since the first night I saw him. But Laird John, he doesn’t seem to want us to marry. After the battle, Declan asked him again if we could handfast and he wouldn’t allow it.”
“He told Declan you weren’t allowed to wed?”
“Well, no. He said I’d been through too much and I needed to be with the other women.”
“Och, lass, that doesnae mean he won’t allow the union. The laird’s just looking after you. Sometimes men think they know us women. They think we need their protection all the time and that we need to be handled with care. They forget how strong we are. They forget who brought them into the world in the first place.” Mrs. Swenson brought the edge of her apron to Caya’s face and dabbed away her tears. “If you know in your heart that you’re ready to be Declan’s wife, then it’s time to pack your things and go to him.”
Caya searched all over the house and the grounds for Laird John. She checked everywhere. No one had seen him. Finally, she stopped Flora on her way out of Laird John’s study.
“If he’s not in the house or in the cow byre, he’s down by the old mill,” Flora said. “There’s a spot he goes when he’s hiding from me. He thinks I don’t know aboot it. Silly man.”
Caya carried her travel bag and a basket of food down to the old mill and found Laird John sitting at the river’s edge, sipping from a silver flask.
“Did Flora tell you where to find me?”
“Yes.”
“She thinks I don’t know that she knows about this place, the wee bizzum.” He took another pull from the flask and pointed to her bag. “I see you’re going somewhere,” he said. “Did it get too loud in the house for you, too?”
She set her basket and bag down and sat next to Laird John.
“You had us scared to death with worry,” Laird John said, his voice gentle like he was talking to a child. “We thought we’d lost you.”
“How can you be so kind after all the trouble I’ve caused you?”
“Your brother’s sins are not yours, lass. You needn’t atone for them. He has paid the ultimate price for his folly.”
“I’m sorry. I put everyone in danger, and Declan almost lost all his whisky.”
“Och. That was only a quarter of his stock. The rest is stashed in other places.”
“Oh.” She thought for a while and said, “That’s a lot of whisky.”
Laird John smiled. “You’ve only been here a little while, a nighean, but we’ve come to love you like a daughter.”
“I love you all, too. And I can never thank you enough for caring for me and for saving my life.”
“Then why are you leaving?”
“I’m going to live with my husband now. Declan needs me.” She squeezed Laird John’s arm. “But I didn’t want to go without your blessing.”
“I knew from the beginning you were perfect for Declan.”
“Then why—”
Laird John stopped her with a gesture. “You needed time, both of you,” he said. “Declan needed time to realize that one doesn’t win a wife in a game of cards and expect everything to unfold like in a dream. He needed to work hard for your hand. And you needed time to know Declan, to understand the man, to believe him worthy of your love.”
“I do love him.”
“Do ye understand what it means to handfast, lass?”
“Declan said it’s like a temporary marriage until a clergyman can perform a ceremony.”
“And do you want to marry Declan?”
“I love him, and he loves me.”
He leaned down and gave her a whisky-breath kiss on the forehead. “Then you have my blessing.”
…
The sun hung low in the west by the time they finished. Ian and Peter remained aboard The Tigress, guarding the newest Balforss business venture and arguing about which new name would be best for their merchant ship—Challenger or Sea Wolf.
Declan, Alex, and the vicar made the last trip to shore with the launch. His shoulders ached as he pulled on the oars.
“Vicar,” Declan said, “last night, when I told you I would wed Caya, you offered to sanctify our union.”
“Yes.”
“Caya would like that…as would I.”
Oswald’s face rippled with sadness for a moment then brightened. “With joy.”
“You’re a good man.”
Vicar James smiled. “As are you.”
“Thanks for helping.”
“You can thank me by coming to church regularly.”
Declan and Alex laughed.
“What day is it?” Declan asked.
“Saturday,” Vicar James said.
“Will you say a few words over Jack Pendarvis’s grave tomorrow?”
“Of course. We’ll see him buried in the kirkyard after Sunday service.”
They reached the shore and pulled the launch onto the beach. Declan wanted a drink. He wanted to eat. He wanted to sleep. Most of all, he wanted Caya, to lay beside her, feel her skin against his, listen to her breathe.
Hamish and Fergus, God bless them, were waiting on shore to help carry up the last of the whisky. Tired as they were from the strain of the night, they offered to take Jack’s body to the undertaker and drive the wagon of casks to the Pentland Warehouse. The whisky would be safe there until Declan could find a better place to hide it.
Gullfaxi and Goliath waited where he and Alex had left them the night before. They climbed into their saddles, stiff-limbed and grunting with effort, and let the horses find their own way home in the twilight while they closed their eyes and swayed in their saddles. They didn’t speak the whole way home. He had never known Alex to remain quiet for that long. When they parted company at the juncture to his house, Alex made a guttural sound that Declan took as goodbye.
Back home at Taldale Farm, his stomach ground out a protest when he filled Gullfaxi’s feed bin. He slapped the horse on the neck. “You’re a good friend, mate.”
Stumbling through the kitchen door, he wondered idly who could have left a lamp burning so late at night. When he found supper laid out on the bunker before him, he almost collapsed with gratitude. Bread, a pint of ale, and a covered plate of warm ham and neeps. Beside it, a glass containing a fistful of gowans.
Caya.
Caya had left him supper. No doubt she was just as exhausted as he, but she had gone to the effort of seeing to his comfort. She loved him. His beautiful wife loved him. Happy tears rolled down his cheeks. He swiped them away and pulled off his boots. She’d left him water and a towel to wash his face and neck. Having no chair, he sat on the floor in front of the hearth and ate. The food tasted like love.
When he finished, he wasn’t certain he had the strength to climb the stairs. The fire had been banked for the night. He considered curling up in front of the kitchen hearth. But he knew he wouldn’t like waking on the cold kitchen floor, nor would his sister like finding him there tomorrow morning.
He got to his feet, collected the oil lamp and, with eyes half closed, he shuffled through the dining and drawing rooms. When he reached the stairs and grasped the bannister, he paused. Something was different. Someone had left a cloak hanging on the newel post. Had Caya forgotten her clo—
Declan turned his gaze upward and climbed the stairs to the second floor in a dreamlike state. The door to his room was ajar. He pushed it all the way open, his heart thumping hard in his chest. The oil lamp’s soft yellow light shone on an angel asleep in his bed.
He set the lamp on the bedside table and watched her for a long while. She stirred, sighed, and opened her eyes. When she saw him, she sat up and patted the pillow. He still wasn’t certain if she was real or just a trick the fairy people had played on him.
“Come to bed.”
She was real. Declan eased himself down on the edge of the mattress, and said, “Will you forgive me?”
“Forgive you for what?”
“I’ve been stupid about the dream, a right ass. I love you, Caya. Even if I never dreamed you, I would still love you. How could I not?”
She kissed him then. Set her sweet lips upon his. Swiped her delicate tongue across his bottom lip and let out a soft sigh when he trailed kisses down her neck.
Caya reclined on the pillow and pulled back the bedclothes. “Come. Lay your head on my heart.”
He crawled into bed next to her. She smelled of soap and clean linen. He draped an arm and a leg over her soft body, then settled his head on her bosom.
Caya hummed a tune, the sweet sound making a soft vibration against his cheek. Words formed, ruffled his hair, and wafted through his consciousness.
And I would love you all the day,
Every night would kiss and play,
If with me you’d fondly stray
Over the hills and far away.
He closed his eyes and sank into the warmth of her body.
…
Caya woke with the skylark’s song. Cool rays of predawn light spilled across their bed. Declan lay next to her on his back, his lips slightly parted, thick black lashes resting on his cheeks, and his dark beard stubble making the chiseled lines of his face stand out. He was beautiful to her.
Sometime during the night, he had risen and removed his clothes. She admired his bare chest. Dark fur spread out across his muscles like the wings of an eagle, then trailed in a line down the middle of his belly and disappeared under the bedlinens. He was fast asleep. She could lift the bedclothes and peek…
Declan stirred, and she jerked her hand back. He rolled to his side without waking, presenting her with a tantalizing view of his smooth, muscled back and the very top of his… For goodness sake, it was Sunday.
She slid out of bed and tiptoed to her gown hanging on the door. She needed to wash and dress for church. Inside the adjoining room—the room Declan had made for her—she cleaned her teeth and washed her face in the basin.
Caya had just finished tying the garters around her stockings when she heard Declan call out.
“Caya!”
She ran to the open door connecting their rooms. Declan sat up in bed, his hair in tangles around his shoulders. He rubbed his eyes once and stared back at her.
“I thought I dreamed you,” he said in a sleepy voice. He let his eyes roam up and down her body. She wore only her shift. He’d never looked at her like that, with such hunger, and though she knew it was sinful, she liked it.
“I was getting dressed for church.”
“I’ll take you back to Balforss.” He threw off his covers and leaped out of bed, remembering too late that he was naked and bobbing about.
She stifled a nervous laugh at having glimpsed his parts in a condition similar to the last time she’d seen them.
“Och, sorry.” He grabbed a corner of the bedclothes and pulled it across his hips to cover himself.
“You need to shave first. I’ll heat some water.” She returned to her room and bent to poke up the fire.
By the heavy thump of his bare heels on the floorboards, she knew he must be dressing. The pace increased to a rapid fump-fump-fump-fump. Was he hopping up and down? The floor shook with what sounded like a horse hitting the ground.
“Och!”
“Declan?”
“I’m all right.” He thundered into her room, still buttoning the fall of his britches, hands shaking, eyes wild with panic. “Does anyone know you’re here? I need to get you back before they find you missing.”
She stood and held up her palms to calm him. “There’s no need.”
“Jesus, hurry and get dressed. I have to get you back.”
“I’m not going back.”
Declan froze. “What?”
She smiled. “I live here now. I’m your wife.”
His mouth hung open. Did he not believe her? Did he not understand her? Or had he changed his mind? “You do still want me to be your wife, don’t you?”
An odd look appeared on Declan’s face. One she couldn’t interpret. “Well now,” he said. “That all depends.”
“Depends on what?” Oh God. Was he changing his mind? Did he wake up and realize she was a fool for trying to save her brother?
“I ken you love me, but I need a wife who will trust me,” he said and took a step closer. “I ken it’s a hard thing for you to trust given all the lies your brother had told you. And me, I was wrong to take you from him the way I did. I gave more thought to my daft dreams than I did for your happiness and I’m sorry for that, but…”
“But what?” Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
“When I thought you were lost to me, when I thought I’d never see you again, I knew that I loved you more than my own life. I was ready to toss my life away to save you. That’s how much I want you, need you, love you.” He held out his hand just like that fateful morning in front of the Crown Tavern. “So, I’m asking you, do you trust me?”
Caya swallowed back her tears and slipped her hand into his. “Yes. I trust you with my life. And if you’ll have me, I gladly give you my heart, my body, and my soul. Your love is all that I want in this world. All I shall ever need.”
Declan moved so fast she had no time to prepare. Her feet left the floor, and she was in his arms, her body crushed to his hard chest, his lips covering hers, kissing her, kissing her until she nearly fainted from his passionate embrace. When at last he broke their kiss, she gasped. He nuzzled her face, and his breath roared in her ear.
“I feared this day would never come.” His voice was light and trembly. In fact, his whole body shook. He slowly released her and let her slide down his body until her feet met the floor. When she was steady on her feet, he held her by the shoulders and asked, “How?”
She cupped his handsome face in her hands. “Shave and finish dressing. I’ll tell you on our way to church.”
…
Declan listened to Caya’s story, enjoying the sound of her voice and the feel of her warm body bumping against his in the saddle. He had positioned her in front of him, her soft bum tucked snug between his legs. Occasionally—often—his thoughts strayed from her account to her round bottom.
“Declan?”
“Huh?”
“Are you still listening?”
“Oh, aye. What did my uncle do after he gave you his blessing?”
“He drove me to your house in the carriage.”
“Our house,” he stressed. Taldale was their house, together.
The closer they got to kirk, the more he became aware of the indecent condition of his body. He stopped Gullfaxi and dismounted.
“But, the church is still half a mile away,” she said.
He adjusted the front of his trousers as discreetly as possible. “I’m having trouble controlling my need for you when you’re so close, ken?”
She blushed a pretty pink.
They continued down the road, Declan holding the reins, Caya perched on Gullfaxi’s broad back.
“Are we really married?” she asked him.
He squinted up at her. “We’re handfast. That’s the same as marriage.”
Her eyebrows, so blond they were barely visible, drew together and her head tilted slightly. “That’s odd.”
“What?”
“I don’t feel like I’m married.”
He liked the playful tone in her voice.
“That’s because I havenae made you my wife, yet.”
“I thought I was your wife already. You said handfasting was the same as—”
He reached up and pulled her down from the saddle. He needed to kiss her, and he didn’t care how aroused he got. He had to tilt his head sideways to reach her mouth, as her foolish bonnet was in the way. Why do women wear these?
When he kissed her, she responded, opening to him like a flower. Oh God. He thought his heart might burst from her kisses. Would he expire altogether when they actually made love?
“I mean, I’m going to bed you.”
Her lips formed a pretty O and he kissed them quick.
“After kirk, I’m going to steal you, take you home, and make you my wife. Did you forget about that part?”
Her eyes lowered, and her color rose. “No.” She bit her bottom lip, trying not to smile.
He growled in her ear. “Good. Because I havenae stopped thinking aboot what you’d look like naked since I first laid eyes on ye.”
She drew her head back, eyes wide and gape-jawed. “Is that what you were thinking when you looked at me that night in the tavern?” She sounded scandalized, and it made Declan laugh.
“Oh, aye.”
“Shame on you.”
“I caught a glimpse of that fine ass of yours yesterday when they pulled us out of the drink, your shift all wet and clinging to those plump round—”
“Declan Sinclair, it’s Sunday, for heaven’s sake,” she scolded.
“I think aboot you naked when I’m in kirk, too.”
Caya burst out laughing and clapped both hands over her mouth.
“I’ll probably go straight to hell for it, but I’ll go gladly. There’s no man on earth luckier than me today.”
She took her hands from her mouth, and he saw her face change like quicksilver. Her chin dimpled, and her eyes welled with tears.
Alarmed, he said, “Caya, I was teasing you.”
She sniffed and shook her head. “I know. I just love you so much, is all.”
…
They waved to his uncle John, walking into kirk with a line of six women trailing him, looking like a covey of quail. When he cast a look over his shoulder at Declan, he lifted the dreaded eyebrow and then shook his head with resignation. This was perhaps the one and only time he had triumphed over Laird John’s will. The man looked tired. When did his uncle get so old? He had never noticed until now.
Declan spotted Margaret and Hamish, as well as his oldest sister, Lizzie, and her husband, Connor. He had completely forgotten he’d asked them to come to kirk when he visited them on Friday. Shite! He slapped a hand to his coat pocket. Amazing. His mam’s wedding ring was still there. It was a miracle he hadn’t lost it in all the chaos of the last two days.
He stood back when his family approached, allowing Margaret to introduce Caya to Lizzie and Connor. Caya greeted them all and then thanked Hamish, whom she’d met yesterday on the beach, for his role in her rescue.
Margaret whispered in Declan’s ear, “I wish Mam was here. She would love Caya.” A mixture of pride and profound sadness threatened to undo him. Margaret was right. His mother would have loved to be here, embrace his new wife, welcome her to his little family.
“Are you watching, Mam?” he whispered. “Do you see how lovely she is?”
They slid into the pew next to Alex. His cousin heaved a deep sigh of relief when Caya took Jemma from his arms.
“Where’s Magnus?” he asked.
“Doctor had to shave him to stitch his face. Said he wasnae going out in public until his beard grew back.”
Their shoulders bounced with silent laughter.
“Ian and Peter still aboard The Tigress?”
“I assume so. Lucy and I are taking the young girl, Morag, back to her family in Wick after services. Sorry we cannae stay for Jack’s funeral.”
“No mind.”
“I’ll hire a captain and crew while I’m in Wick and bring them back to The Tigress.”
“We’re really doing this, then?”
“Oh, aye. Da, Fergus, and Hamish want no part of it, but we’ve got their approval—the four of us and wee Peter. I ken we’re sea merchants now.” Alex glanced at the crucifix hanging above the altar and crossed himself. “God willing.”
Vicar James expressed his sorrow for the loss of Caya’s brother. “The body of John Michael Pendarvis will be entered into the ground immediately following services, after which the congregation is invited to the home of Laird and Lady Sinclair of Balforss to mark his passing.”
Caya’s head whipped around in Declan’s direction, the question in her eyes, Did you do this? He shrugged his denial. Then they both looked to Uncle John seated in the pew in front of them. The laird turned and blinked a slow acknowledgment. Caya reached out and put a loving hand of thanks on his uncle’s shoulder.
The vicar continued with, “On a happier note, it is with joy I publish the banns of marriage between Declan Sinclair and Caya Pendarvis.” James Oswald smiled at them, warm and sincere without any trace of regret. “This is the first time of asking. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it.”
After services, a stream of people alternately offered them condolences and congratulations. He hadn’t expected this outpouring of sentiment from his neighbors. Something the size of his fist had lodged in his throat, making it impossible to talk. Caya squeezed his hand and expressed thanks on his behalf, just like a wife. The reminder of what would happen when he took her home tonight spread through him like a swallow of good whisky.
Caya left his side once to say a tearful goodbye to Morag Sinkler.
“We’ll see each other again,” Morag called to her. “We’re sisters of the heart now.” The lass threw kisses and waved as the carriage rolled away.
With any luck, Morag would forget the trauma of the last two weeks and live a happy life. He wasn’t as sure about the other three, as their ordeal had lasted longer aboard The Tigress. Caya, thank the Lord, had spent less than a day in captivity. She had been shaken, saddened, and angered by the ordeal, but he was confident he could erase her bad memories with his love.
Jack’s burial was attended by few. Either people knew about Jack’s misdeeds and wanted to steer clear, or they were eager to get to Balforss for Mrs. Swenson’s victuals and Laird John’s ample supply of whisky. Either way, he was glad for the privacy. Again, Vicar James showed his kindness by offering prayers and words of comfort at Jack’s graveside. Caya cried only a little for Jack, and Declan was glad he could put his arm around her, comfort her, hold her. He would hold her forever if she would let him.
What started as a post-funeral reception devolved quickly into a celebration of Declan’s engagement to Caya. Balforss halls echoed with laughter. The women gathered around the dining table havering and serving up plates of food as fast as Mrs. Swenson and her kitchen staff could produce it. Their chatter took on a soothing musical quality that made Declan’s heart ache with joy. How odd, he thought, to feel so happy and contented it hurt.
Men crowded the laird’s study, telling jokes, repeating war stories, shouting friendly challenges. Laird John shone with happiness, not even minding that the guests had drained seven bottles of whisky and the last of his brandy. By late afternoon, Niall Ramsay had won a considerable amount of money arm wrestling anyone fool enough to take him on. Ramsay wouldn’t have stood a chance against Magnus. Magnus had arms the size of tree trunks. Why the devil wasn’t his cousin here? Ah, yes. Something about hiding his shaved face. What a numpty.
Declan and Caya spent most of the day in the middle of the two groups. They huddled together seated on the staircase in the grand entry hall of Balforss where they could see all the comings and goings of their family and guests. They shared a plate of food and sipped from the same glass of whisky for hours, as Caya didn’t like spirits, and he had no intention of putting on a poor showing on his wedding night due to over-imbibing.
Around ten o’clock in the evening, Caya excused herself and went above stairs to say good night to the remaining three women they’d rescued from The Tigress. When she returned, she took her place beside him, slumped against his side, and yawned.
“Time to go?” he asked.
She lifted her sleepy face and nodded.
“Nephew,” boomed a voice from the study. His uncle appeared at the door.
“Yes, Uncle.”
“Have ye said the words?”
“The words?” What the hell did Uncle John mean? Declan had been talking all day long. He’d run out of words.
“You have to make your vows in front of witnesses to handfast properly.” Uncle John crooked an impatient finger at them. “Come here, you two.”
He and Caya stood and crossed the entry floor to his uncle. The other guests, having heard Laird John, squeezed out of the study and dining room to crowd around them in the entry.
“Everyone,” Laird John started, “Declan and Caya would like to handfast with you, their friends and family, as witness. Declan, Caya, make your vows to each other now so that your union will be recognized by all and blessed by God.”
He hadn’t expected this to happen. He’d assumed handfastings were private things between lovers. But his laird had just given him what sounded like an order and everyone was watching.
He took both of Caya’s hands in his and gazed into her wide blue eyes. “Caya, I will give you the church wedding you deserve, but until then, I take you as my wife and promise to love you in this life and the next.”
Caya continued to smile at him until Uncle John leaned over and said, “Now you, lass.”
“Oh yes,” she said and dashed away a tear. “Declan, my love, I cherish the day you found me and claimed me for your own. I take you as my husband and promise to love you in this life and the next.”
Uncle John took the tartan sash from his shoulder and wrapped it around their wrists. “Now you are bound one to the other with a tie not easy to break. May you grow in wisdom and love, may your marriage be strong, and may your love last forever.”
For a few seconds, no one spoke, no one breathed. Then Laird John said, “I ken it’s safe for you to kiss your wife now, nephew.” The room erupted with chatter. Amid the din of cheers, well-wishes, and toasts to the newly bound couple, Declan noticed a curious smile on Caya’s face.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I just realized something,” she said dreamily. “You are the last man in the world I will ever marry.”
…
Caya dozed in the saddle, cradled against Declan’s chest, for most of the ride back to Taldale. While he put away Gullfaxi for the night, she lit two candles, left one behind for her husband, and made her way above stairs to their bedchamber. Tonight was her wedding night, and, to her surprise, she wasn’t nervous at all.
Maybe it was too much of Laird John’s good whisky, or maybe it was simple exhaustion, but she was looking forward to the feel of Declan’s rough hands on her skin. She smiled to herself while she washed and undressed. Which part of her would he touch first? At the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, she slipped beneath the coverlet and blew out her candle.
“Caya?”
“Yes.”
“Are you in bed?”
“Yes.”
“Are you asleep?”
She stopped herself from laughing. He might be nervous, and she wouldn’t want to make it worse. “No.”
“Oh.” He exhaled. “Good.”
He glided through the bedchamber door, holding the candlestick aloft. Damp ringlets clung to his forehead. He’d washed in the kitchen before he’d come to her, lovely man.
Passing the candle in front of the bed for a closer look, he asked hesitantly, “Are you naked under there?”
She pulled the sheet tighter to her chin. “Yes.” Am I being too bold?
He swallowed. “Good.”
He set down the candle, and in one rapid, yet surprisingly graceful motion, he dropped his trousers, flung off his shirt, then stood for a moment—naked, aroused, chest heaving—before lifting the bedclothes and sliding underneath.
They met full-on like two magnets—lips to lips, chest to chest, and hips to hips. The shocking heat of his body made it difficult to sort one sensation from another. Chest hair prickling her nipples. Slippery tongue swiping at her lips. Rough hands cupping her bottom. The long, hard length of him pressing into her thigh, demanding attention. She wanted to touch him there. Is that what he wanted?
She slid her right hand down his muscled flank. He seemed to know her intent for he rolled onto his back, opening himself to her. It jumped into her palm and Declan groaned with the contact. He wrapped his own hand around hers, closing her fingers tight around his stiff girth, and gently pumped. The flickering wick illuminated his face, brow wrinkled with intensity, mouth open and panting lightly between moans and what sounded suspiciously like Gaelic curses.
He raised his head and tossed away the bedclothes, exposing their bodies to candlelight. An ecstatic gasp escaped, and she clamped her lips together. Only in her wildest erotic fantasies had she ever imagined giving Declan pleasure in this way.
“Oh Jesus God, I love you, but you have to stop.” He pulled her hand away and collapsed back against the pillow.
“Did I hurt you?”
He kept his eyes closed and laughed. “No, love. It felt so good I almost came undone.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, took a deep breath, rolled to his side and aimed his large brown eyes at hers.
She grabbed a handful of coverlet to pull over her body. Without breaking his gaze, he stayed her hand and pushed the coverlet away. After a moment, he sat up for a better look, letting his eyes roam the length of her nakedness. He leaned his weight on one hand, and with the other traced a long finger around her nipples.
“I have the most beautiful wife in all of Christendom.”
Like Declan, she closed her eyes and concentrated on her own pleasure. His cool wet lips captured her right nipple and sucked.
“Oh.” She slapped a hand over her mouth.
Declan released her nipple with a kiss and rumbled in her ear. “Dinnae quiet yerself, love. There’s only me and the chickens to hear you. The chickens willnae mind, and I want to hear the sounds ye make when I love you.” He tugged her hand away from her mouth.
Through shallow breaths, she said, “Blow out the candle.”
“Nae. You’re too beautiful. I want to look at you. Just like this. Wanting me like I want you.” He nudged her legs apart with his knee. A big, warm hand slid between her thighs, covering her most private parts, and her back arched up off the mattress. Then, she lost all reason.
She had no words to describe what he did next. Only that it was exactly what she wanted, what she desperately needed. She groaned and laughed and said a few French words. She remembered shamelessly spreading her legs wider and begging for more. When she came apart in his hand, she called out his name. Many times. Loud and clear.
Once she’d recovered, Declan settled over her, his legs between hers, and guided the center of his pleasure inside her with slow, careful pushes. It was, as Lucy had once mentioned, uncomfortable at first. His progress met with resistance, and he pushed until she yelped at the popping, tearing sensation.
Declan stopped and whispered in her ear, “Now, you’re truly mine, mo chridhe.”
His pace, his heartbeat, and his breathing picked up. Like her, he made sounds of pleasure. She distinctly heard the words tight and slippery among other Gaelic phrases. Her own pleasure soared, although not nearly like it had when he’d touched her. At the last, his whole body stiffened and jerked. He panted, “I love you, love you, love you,” repeating his declaration over and over until he had at last recovered.
She wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead and held his face in her hands. “And now, you are truly mine, my heart.”
Caya woke the next morning buried under mounds of blankets and sheets. Declan’s bed smelled deliciously of him and their lovemaking. She smiled and stretched, expecting to roll to her side and snuggle against his warm, naked body. But the furrow in the mattress where he had slumbered was empty and cool. Where was he?
She sat up quick and hissed. Declan’s attentions had left her feeling a little raw this morning. She hadn’t minded at all last night. He’d been so tender, so gentle, and then, in the end, so ardent, how could she have refused when he’d asked to do it a third time?
Truth be told, she’d enjoyed their union more than she’d expected. At first, when her body had tingled and trembled in his hands, she thought she might be making too much noise. But Declan reassured her between his kisses she could cry out as loud as she liked. Even now, her nipples tightened remembering the assortment of words he’d called out just when he… She stifled a wicked giggle.
Wood creaked as bare feet thudded up the staircase. He was trying not to wake her, tiptoeing around in the next room—her room. What on earth was he doing in there? Then a long splash of water and the clunk of a bucket.
“Declan?”
He appeared at the doorway bare legged, bare chested, wearing only a kilt, and grinning like he’d just done something naughty. “Morning, love.”
“What are you wearing?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, trying to look casual. “My philibeg.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“My uniform kilt from when I was in the army. Margaret collected the laundry this morning. All my trousers are in the wash.”
A jolt of alarm sang through her body. Margaret? Doing the laundry?
“But I’m your wife now. I should take care of things. What time is it?” She clutched the sheet to her breast and scanned the floor. Pointing to a pile of linen, she said, “Quick, hand me my shift. I need to get dressed.”
Her husband launched himself from the doorway, took two long strides, and leaped onto the bed like a cat. She squeaked and scooted backward against the headboard.
“Declan Sinclair, you can’t possibly want to do it again. It’s broad daylight.”
“Oh, aye.” He kissed her forehead. “I’d take you at any hour anywhere.” He hooked a finger around the sheet and tugged it away for a peek. “Because if I wanted you before last night, I burn for you now.” He cupped a hand under her breast and kissed her until she moaned and arched into his palm.
When he released her, he tossed away the bedclothes in one sweep of his long arm. She yelped and pulled her knees up to her chin to cover herself reflexively.
Laughing, he scooped her into his arms and lifted her off the bed.
She felt weightless for a moment, and then she panicked. “What are you doing?” Had she driven her husband mad with lust? He said he would take her anywhere. Would he carry her outside and have her in the garden?
“Relax, love. I have a surprise for you.”
He carried her into her special room and set her on her feet in front of her French bathing tub. Steam rose from the water’s surface. A sacrifice of several dozen decapitated daisies floated on top.
Declan was suddenly bashful. “Margaret said every bride needs a good soak after…after…”
She kissed him. Her darling husband had no trouble making love to her. But for some reason he couldn’t find words to talk about it. He quickly shed his reserve and let his hands slide down to cup her bottom and pull her against his aroused…
“What do you call your private parts?” Her hand traveled to the stiff bulge pressing into her middle to make it clear what she meant.
He took a sharp intake of breath, closed his eyes, and went still. “Erm…that’s my cock,” he said with effort.
“I love you, husband. And I’m very fond of your cock.”
Declan’s eyes flew open. She chuckled, pleased to shock him. Caya stepped over the edge of the tub and lowered herself into the water with a sigh. “Oh, thank you. This is wonderful.”
He knelt on the floor beside the tub, cupping water, drizzling handfuls on her shoulders and down her arms. After a long while she opened her eyes. He was staring at her, adoring her. He plucked a daisy from the water and caressed her puckered nipple with the soft petals.
“I’ll be riding into town to see the chair-maker today. This house needs furniture.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“A’course. We’ll have him make whatever you like.”
“We need a dining room table with at least two chairs. Maybe four,” she said absently.
“We’ll need seven.”
She stroked his cheek. “I think four will do.”
He shook his head as if she hadn’t understood him. “Nae. We’ll need seven.” He reached into the water and placed his palm on her belly, never breaking his gaze.
Caya gasped. “Declan, did you have another dream?”
He lifted his left hand out of the water and spread his fingers wide. “Five,” he said, and then he smiled. One of his irresistible smiles. The kind that made her smile back.