Chapter Twenty Three
“Ye must tell us everything,” Esme exclaimed the moment the door to the lady’s chamber closed.
“Before we go any further, I must be hugged by my dear friends,” Fiona smiled, opening her arms wide.
“Oh, my lady,” both Esme and Abby said together while they wrapped their arms around each other.
Fiona breathed deeply, savoring their familiar warmth. “I was so worried for ye both.”
“Ye were worried?” Esme exclaimed. “I’ve been beside myself.”
After they released each other and wiped happy tears from each other’s cheeks, they crossed the room to the hearth.
Fiona closed her eyes and sighed when she sat down.
“Now, tell us everything,” Abby urged.
Fiona opened her eyes and smiled when she saw both Esme and Abby perched on the edge of their seats looking at her expectantly.
“I hardly even know where to start,” Fiona exclaimed.
“Ye look well, my lady.” Esme said hesitantly.
“I am well,” Fiona assured her.
“Laird MacLeod seems…” Abby started to say, but her voice trailed off. She glanced at her sister.
Esme cleared her throat. “What Abby means to say is that Laird MacLeod does not appear to be…”
Fiona smiled at Esme’s failure to find the right words. “Laird MacLeod does not appear to be the Devil himself?” she said to finish her friend’s sentence.
“Aye!” both Esme and Abby said together.
A slow smile spread across Fiona’s lips as she considered dragging out the suspense. But then she decided that would be too cruel a jest, especially knowing her friends’ true concern.
“Jamie is a kind, strong man, although it took some time for me to realize this.” Fiona went on to give her maids an account of the days they had spent apart, starting with the ambush.
Esme gasped. “Ye must have been out of yer mind with fright,” she said when Fiona told her about the first night she slept in the cave with Jamie.
“I’ve never been so distressed. Well, that is not entirely true. On my wedding night, I thought I would surely die from fear.”
“Even brides who do not fear their husbands, fear their wedding night. Ye must have been driven nearly mad.”
Fiona nodded. “I was, I tell ye, but then…” A smile played at her lips as her words trailed off.
“Aye,” Esme insisted. “Keep going.”
“Then I saw Jamie for the man he truly is.”
She went on to explain how their ancestors had misconstrued each other’s actions. “We realized that assumptions and naked prejudice alone have perpetuated our feud.” She smiled and blushed thinking about how Jamie had stood before his kin the day after they were wed and bade them put the old hatred to rest. “He championed me to his people,” she said, still smiling.
Abby clasped her hands together. “How romantic.”
Esme pursed her lips. At length, she said, “Are ye certain ye trust him? Ye don’t think he’s deceiving ye? Ye know what they say about the devil. He is fair to look upon and sweet to hear.”
Fiona shook her head. “Nay, Esme. Ye can tell by the way his people love him. He is a good laird and a good man.”
“And a good lover?” Abby blurted.
Esme and Fiona both gasped. Then Fiona blushed. She had yet to be truly intimate with her husband, but that was one secret she had no intention of sharing.
“Ye’ve no business asking our lady such a question,” Esme scolded.
“I’m just curious,” Abby said.
“Too curious,” Esme snapped back.
“Ladies,” Fiona interjected, her voice loud enough to be heard over her maids’ argument.
When she had Esme and Abby’s attention, she smiled. “I am a wee bit curious, myself.”
“Whatever about?” Esme asked.
“About the men I saw both of ye speaking rather intimately with in the hall just now.”
Esme blushed and dropped her gaze.
Abby, on the other hand, beamed. “I was speaking with my Thomas. I love him so.”
“Abby!” Esme scolded. “Ye mustn’t say such things. He has yet to make his intentions known.”
Abby scowled at her sister. “I did not stand on the high dais and shout of my love to the entire clan. I have not even spoken to him of my affection, but I tell ye, Esme, I love him with my whole heart.”
“Ye must think about decorum and—”
Fiona cleared her throat, hoping to put an end to the sibling argument before it got out of hand. “Who were ye speaking with at supper?” Fiona asked, looking pointedly at Esme.
“Sebastian MacLeod,” Abby burst out.
“I can speak for myself,” Esme said, scowling at her sister before she turned to Fiona. “Sebastian was very attentive to both of us while we journeyed here.”
“My lady, when Esme said ‘us’ just now, what she really meant was her, and when she said ‘attentive’ what she meant was that he hung on her every word.”
Esme did not scold her sister for interrupting. Instead, she met Fiona’s gaze, and Fiona was left with little question of her maid’s true regard for the young MacLeod warrior.
“Jamie believes Sebastian would make ye a fine husband,” Fiona said, smiling.
The pink color of Esme’s cheeks deepened. “Did he truly say as much?”
Fiona nodded. “Indeed, he did.”
Just then a soft knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Fiona called out.
A moment later, Julia stepped into the room. “If it pleases ye, my lady, I wanted to offer to help ye ready for bed one last time, so that yer maids can settle themselves in.”
“That is very thoughtful of ye, Julia. Thank ye,” Fiona said. Then she turned to Esme and Abby. “I will say goodnight, my dears.” She hugged each of her maids in turn. “I cannot tell ye how happy I am that ye are both here with me now.”
Esme glanced about the room, her brows drawn. “But where are ye going? I thought this was the lady’s chamber.”
“It is,” Fiona answered.
“Oh,” Abby said, knowingly. “Our laird has called for ye.”
Fiona shook her head. “That big, beautiful bed is yers to share. I am to share a chamber with my laird.”
Esme’s eyes widened. “Every night?”
Fiona nodded. “Aye.”
Abby giggled, and Esme rolled her eyes at her wee sister. “Should we still wake ye on the morrow?”
“Aye,” Fiona answered. Then she winked at Abby. “Only knock first.”
Abby’s giggles followed Fiona into Jamie’s chamber.
After Julia helped Fiona remove her surcotte and tunic, Fiona dismissed her and curled up in one of the chairs near the hearth, wrapping herself in the MacLeod plaid. She looked at the carvings that had once struck fear into her heart. Now, the wee demon faces told her a story. They showed how far a mother would go to protect her wee bairns.
Jamie entered the room a few minutes later. She shifted in her seat near the hearth and drank in the sight of his towering height and strong physique. As he crossed the room, lighter streaks of gold in his hair glinted in the candlelight. He slid into the chair next to hers and their eyes met. His hard expression softened.
“Ye’re thoughts are heavy tonight,” Fiona observed.
He nodded grimly. “I’ve spent much of the day engrossed in planning for the battle ahead. Yer father sent several messages with Alasdair, and I’ve had confirmation from my cousin that he will indeed send men to aid our strike.”
She shook her head. “It is all too horrible to believe. My heart breaks when I think of what happened to Adam and his father.”
Jamie reached out and took her hands. “I ken ye must still mourn for yer betrothed.”
She nodded. “I do. Adam was a good man, as was his father.”
Jamie looked at her curiously. “Did ye love him?”
Fiona remembered Adam’s youthful smile. “Nay, I did not love him, but I considered myself lucky to be betrothed to him. He was kind and gentle. My father might have promised me to an old man or a hard man.”
He reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. “Ye mean like me, a hard man.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes smoldered.
“Did Adam ever kiss ye good and proper?” he asked.
“I…I do not ken what ye mean.”
“This is what I mean,” he rasped.
His lips closed over hers. He crushed her against his hard chest. His hand stroked down her torso, then back up. Weaving his fingers through her hair, he kissed her harder. His tongue pressed against her closed mouth. She gasped, her lips parting. His tongue delved into her mouth, stroking, caressing, stirring awake a need from deep within. The heat of his body surrounded hers. His scent, warm and masculine, teased her senses. Her fingers bit into his muscular arms as his kiss deepened further. She trembled. Soft moans escaped her lips. She leaned into him as a fire within her lit and grew, burgeoning into flames of passionate heat. Unbidden, her tongue met his, tasting, stroking, wanting.
Suddenly, he tore his lips from hers and thrust her away from him, holding her at arms-length. His eyes bore into hers, fiery with passion. His breathing came in great heaves as did her own.
“That is what it means to be good and kissed,” he growled. Then, he released her arms, turned on his heel, and thundered out of the room.
Her heart pounded. Her fingers flew to her bruised lips as she stared at the now closed door.
Dear God above, she never knew a kiss could be so consuming. In his arms, the world had fallen away and all that had existed was their bodies, hot and heaving, their lips, searching and hungry, their tongues, stroking, stirring. It had felt so good, too good. The pleasure had become an ache so sweet but so severe, building a hunger within her, which she knew not how to satiate.
Her heart continued to race as she continued to stare at the door. When her pulse had quieted, and her breathing returned to normal, she retreated to the bed. But she lay awake, the ache in her body refusing to go away.