Page 62 of Taming the Highland Misfits
Finley was lost in a haze of pleasure, as he knew he was giving such intense satisfaction to the woman he had loved and desired for so long. He continued his sensual onslaught until he sensed that she was ready, then raised his head to look at her face. Her eyes were tightly shut, but as she watched her, she opened them and looked straight into his.
“Please Finley,” she gasped.
Finley was more than ready; his shaft was throbbing with arousal and was almost painfully hard. He kissed her once more then settled himself between Isla’s legs and pushed himself gently inside her. Her eyes widened at the unfamiliar sensation, but she said nothing, merely clung to him tightly. He eased himself forward until he met resistance. “Tell me if I am hurtin’ ye, Isla,” he whispered, but she shook her head.
“No, Finley,” she breathed. “Make me yours—please.” She arched her hips up to him and felt a sharp sting of pain, but it was over in a second, and then something glorious began to happen. A ripple of sensation began to wash over her, a feeling like a gentle tickle that grew stronger and stronger until it was almost unbearably pleasurable. For a few seconds, she tensed in expectation, then it exploded into a storm of ecstasy the likes of which Isla could never have imagined, but her scream of delight was stifled by the pressure of Finley’s lips on hers.
The ferocity of his climax was almost overwhelming, but the pleasure was increased tenfold by seeing the look of rapture on Isla’s face as she reached fulfilment. He kissed her in that moment because he simply could not help himself, and she clung to him while she was tossed about helplessly in the throes of the first orgasm she had ever experienced.
When it was over, Isla lay down within the circle of Finley’s arms and looked into the depths of his bright eyes. She had never felt such overwhelming love in her life. “Thank you, Finley,” she said softly. “I have never felt anything so wonderful.”
“Neither have I, Isla,” he replied, brushing away a strand of long brown hair from her forehead. “You arenae my first, as ye know, but ye will be my last. There will never be any other woman for me.”
“There will be a baby.” Isla’s voice was firm. “I know it.”
Finley laughed. “Isla—that hardly ever happens the first time,” he said.
But it did.
* * *
Nine months and three days after their wedding, Agnes Bettina McGill was born, to be followed a year and a half later by Edina Isla McGill. Agnes had Isla’s dark glossy hair and Finley’s bright blue eyes, while Edina had Finley’s reddish blond hair and Isla’s deep brown eyes. Both girls were tall for their age, and as Isla watched their daughters splashing about in the loch one day, screaming, laughing, and splashing each other, she could almost see the women they would become.
Edina would be outgoing, she thought, able to charm her way out of any difficult situation, whereas Agnes would be shyer and more thoughtful, but no less likeable for that. Her only regret was that their grandmothers would never see them, but there was nothing she could do about that. They had to look forward to a bright future.
Finley came to sit down beside her on the grass, bringing with him some oatcakes and milk for the girls, and ale for Isla and himself.
He chuckled as he watched them playing in the water. “We did well, did we no’, Isla?” he asked. “Look at those two wee beauties.”
“Indeed we did,” Isla agreed, smiling lovingly at her husband.
At that moment, both girls, having seen Finley arrive, rushed out of the water and threw themselves at him, giggling. They were, and always had been, their father’s girls, but Isla was not jealous; she loved them all to distraction.
‘Anyway,’she thought, as she felt the stirrings of their third child within her,‘you are my son, and you will be your Mammy’s boy.’
And so it was. Alasdair Finley McGill was devoted to his mother for the rest of his long life.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
Finley had been putting off going to see his mother’s grave for weeks, and it was only after Isla pleaded for what seemed like the hundredth time that he decided to give into her entreaties.
“Why do you not want to go to her grave?” she asked, puzzled. “Your mother was one of the best people I have ever met, Finley, and you loved her so much. We visit my mother’s grave often, but we have not seen Agnes’s for ages. It is so disrespectful to her memory, do you not think?”
Finley sighed deeply. They were lying in bed after Isla had had a very restless night’s sleep; she was very near her due date, and the baby was extremely active and had kept her awake for hours. She felt irritable and out of sorts, and was nearly always tired.
He wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her close. “I’m sorry, Isla,” he murmured, kissing her forehead, “it is just—that painful.”
“I know, sweetheart.” She snuggled further into his embrace, loving the smell of sleep that came from his body in the early morning. “But the girls need to know the story of their grandmother. We visit my mother’s grave often enough—why not yours?”
Finley ran his hand back through his hair and sighed deeply. “I know ye are right, Isla, but I cannae bear the sight o’ that wee stone. It’s as if she wasnae worth anythin’ better. Anyway, I havenae cleared it for months. It will be covered in weeds.”
Isla reached up to cup his face in her hands. “Your mother was loved by many people, Finley, and that is all that matters. The girls and I are going to lay some flowers there, and we want you to come with us. They will be so disappointed if you say no.”
Finley laughed softly, and looked into his wife’s deep brown eyes lovingly. “I suppose I cannae keep makin’ excuses forever, can I?” he asked.
“No, you cannot!” Isla replied. “I want both of us to be the best parents we can be, and I want them to know what great women their grandmothers were. The size of her headstone doesn’t matter, Finley. It is a priceless monument since you worked so hard to provide it for her.”
Finley nodded slowly, smiling. “My wife is so wise,” he said, his eyes twinkling with love.
