Page 34 of Wed to the Highlander
“I’ll teach you,” he said, guiding her hand and teaching her the rhythm he preferred.
Soon, she understood—stroking and squeezing.
“Now add your lips and tongue.”
With eagerness and trepidation, she bent to him, tentative at first as she licked the tip. When he groaned, well pleased, she grew bolder. He let her explore, his breath growing ragged, until he grabbed her waist and pulled her astride his face.
“Dinna stop what you’re doin’,” he said huskily as his mouth and hands claimed her, teasing and tasting. Until they both trembled, breathless and undone, clinging to each other as the last waves of pleasure ebbed.
Afterward, she lay against him, his breathing deep and steady beneath her ear. She kissed his chest then his jaw and brushed the damp hair from his forehead.
“I love you,” she whispered into the quiet.
She smiled faintly when he didn’t respond. There would be another chance to reveal her feelings. Her fingers traced his belly, memorizing every ridge as the rain began to patter against the castle stones. Soon, its steady rhythm carried her into sleep beside him.
***
Maggie woke before first light touched the glen. Duncan was already up. She dressed quickly—if she wanted more time with him, she’d have to match his erratic hours.
When he walked out of the bathing room, he stopped, surprised to see her. “’Tis early, lass. You needn’t be up.”
“I thought I’d have breakfast with you,” she said.
He gave her a faint smile. “I’ll no’ object to the company.”
He leaned in and kissed her softly, the warmth of his lips a quiet promise. She held onto it, knowing how quickly the day would steal him away.
As they walked hand in hand down the corridor and down the stairs, she noticed the early morning chill. When wasn’t it cold in the castle? But it posed a question.
“What will you do without the peat? Surely the castle needs it.”
“The weather’s warming, but spring snows are no’ unheard of,” he said. “It still turns cold at night. We can ration what’s left, but that means colder rooms, smaller cooking fires, and a less comfortable household.”
“Couldn’t we buy more?”
“Aye, or barter for it—but the price is high, and I’d rather save our coin for necessities we canna do without. That leaves chopping wood. Lots of it. And canceling Edinburgh for now.”
Her heart sank, though she kept her expression neutral. She’d begun to imagine the quiet joy of walking beside him, exploring unfamiliar streets, a brief escape from the weight of the glen and its endless demands. No messengers. No pounding at the door. Just time—precious and undisturbed. But even that, it seemed, must be sacrificed for warmth and the common good.
When they entered the dining hall, voices carried over the clink of crockery. Two of his men—Hamish and Fergus, both cousins, if she remembered correctly—stood near the hearth, speaking low but not low enough.
“This would never have happened in his da’s time,” one said.
“Aye,” the other agreed. “Maybe the laird’s mind is too fixed on other matters.”
Duncan’s stride didn’t falter as he approached. “And what matters would those be?”
Maggie held her breath. His voice was calm, but she knew that tone—quiet steel, honed by years of command.
Both men stiffened, color draining from their faces. “We meant no disrespect—”
“Then answer the question,” Duncan said. “How would you react differently to acts of nature…or sabotage?”
The second man blinked. “Sabotage?”
“Aye. Or perhaps you think the peat set itself alight for mischief?” A muscle ticked in Duncan’s jaw, and Maggie saw the moment he regretted letting the word slip without proof. “Never mind,” he said curtly. “Off wi’ you, now. The firewood will no’ chop itself.”
They exchanged an uneasy glance before hurrying out, boots ringing against the flagstones.
