The following morning, a year less a day from the very moment that Annie Sinclair had predicted that Gillian would have an adventure and wed for love within the year, Gillian wed John Erly before four lairds, an earl, and all her kin.
Gillian wore a rose-pink satin gown, not quite as dramatic as her masquerade gown, but the look in John’s eyes as her father placed her hand in John’s told her she was beautiful. He wore a borrowed coat and promised to buy one of his own since he could now easily afford it.
Cormag Robertson danced a graceful Gillie Callum at the feast, and Padraig Grant toasted the health and happiness of the bride and groom so many times he could scarcely stand. He ordered his seanchaidh to write down the true tale of Gillian MacLeod and English John so the story would never be lost to memory and could forevermore be told to children on long winter nights to help them grow up as brave, bold, and honorable as Gillian and her hero.
After the vows were said, and the celebration began, Alasdair Og settled beside his friend to discuss plans for the building of new ships, and hear tales of the fur trade. Fia firmly led her husband off to dance, giving Gillian a knowing wink. “We’ll build a new ship, call it the Warrior Maiden,” Dair called over his shoulder to John as he let his wee wife drag him away.
John took Gillian’s hand and led her out of the hall to the bailey, where a pair of garrons waited for them.
“Where are we going?” Gillian asked as he lifted her onto the back of her horse.
“To the harbor, to Dair’s ship. Fia thought you’d like privacy for our wedding night, away from your sisters, and your father, and a castle filled with four different clans. The crew is at the ceilidh, and we’ll have the captain’s cabin and the whole ship to ourselves. No one’s to come back aboard until we run up the flag.”
Gillian smiled and kissed her handsome husband. “We’ll run out of food,” she whispered, and John laughed.
John rowed them across to the ship and they stood on the deck in the moonlight. He looked around, his face pale in the bright moonlight. He frowned.
“Are you well?” Gillian asked. She could smell the salt of the sea, feel the slight roll of the ship under her.
“Just—remembering the last time I was on a ship.”
“It’s only that—a memory. Daniel wanted you to be happy, John.”
He took her in his arms, stared out at the path the moon painted over the water. “I am happy. I never thought I would be. I thought I’d wander forever, an outsider. Then I kissed a mysterious lass in the moonlight at a masquerade ball, and she unmasked me . . .”
She caressed his face, stood on tiptoe and kissed his eyes, and his nose and his mouth. She took his hand and led him down to the luxurious captain’s cabin.
John threw open the shutters on the wide windows, letting moonlight fill the cabin. “I want to see you,” he said. “I want your skin against mine, naked, no barriers, no masks, no impediments.”
“Aye,” she sighed as he undressed her. She felt his fingers trembling as he untied her laces and slid the gown and the petticoats down her body until they fell in a frothy pool at her ankles, leaving her bare before him. She stood in the moonlight and let him look his fill, not shy anymore, not with him, her husband, her lover.
“You’re beautiful, Gillian MacLeod,” he said.
She stepped out of her fallen gown and came to him, undid his cravat, worked at the laces of his shirt, kissing his skin as she exposed it. “It’s Gillian Erly,” she said, and grinned. “What a perfect name.”
She lifted his shirt over his head, tossed it away. He hopped on one foot, then the other to pull off his boots, then discarded his breeches, and he was as naked as she, save for the medicine pouch around his neck. He lifted it over his head, and she took it from him, kissed it, laid it aside. “The past is past. We’ll add new memories, the ones we make together,” she said.
He spread his arms and stood before her. “Well?”
She smiled slowly and shut her eyes, felt her body heating, growing liquid with desire. Blind, she touched the planes of his chest, his belly, the bones of his hips, his erection. “Exactly as I remember it,” she said. “I’ve dreamed of this moment, of us.” She pressed herself against him, skin to skin. “Oh, yes, this is just how I remember it.”
“Minus the pine needles,” he quipped, kissing her closed eyes.
She opened them and smiled. “Aye, but that was just part of . . . of what was meant to be. A dance you said, just steps. And now . . .” She took his hand and led him to the bed, and fell down upon soft sheets and a fine feather mattress with him. She put her arms around him and sighed contentedly.
“And now?” he prompted her to finish the thought, though he was doing his best to make it impossible to think at all. His body covered hers. Perfectly, gently, and he put a hand behind her knee to hook her leg over his hip as he entered her slowly.
She sighed and arched her hips. “And now . . . we are where we were before we were interrupted.”
“Interrupted?” he said, thrusting into her slowly, driving her wild.
“Aye. It all began with a kiss at a masquerade . . .”