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  Sìleas shot a look at Ian, who was glaring at Alex, as if he was not pleased with Alex for mentioning his role in this. How could Ian do this to her, on top of everything else? It was one humiliation too many.

  The awful memory flooded her vision. She must have been nine years old. Ian had told her—repeatedly—that he was “a man now” and couldn’t have her following him everywhere anymore. Of course, she had paid no heed.

  Until the day she came upon him behind a shepherd’s hut with Dina’s legs wrapped around his waist.

  Ach, he’d forgotten all about Dina. He should have warned his mother. Why did Alex have to go and invite her? Wasn’t there enough trouble in the house?

  “I’ll take Payton’s supper to him,” Sìleas said, getting up without so much as a glance Ian’s way. “Ye must be hungry, Dina. Take my seat.”

  Ian noticed Sìleas had not touched her own supper.

  After they finished their meal, he and Alex went in to talk with Payton. When Ian attempted to catch Sìleas’s eye, she abruptly left the room, leaving a cold frost in her wake.

  Ian wanted to go after her, but his father was waiting to hear what happened at the church. He showed some of his old spirit as they discussed what needed to be done next. Since his father had taken a long nap, he didn’t tire for a good long while.

  By the time Ian and Alex returned to the hall, it was empty.

  “Damn it,” Ian said. “I wanted to talk to Sìleas tonight.”

  “Talk?” Alex said, elbowing him. “I thought your plan was to take that lass to bed and make a proper wife of her today.”

  “She doesn’t make it easy,” Ian said, taking down the jug of whiskey and two cups from the shelf. “The looks she gives me could fry eggs.”

  “Ach, Sìleas is just upset because you’ve kept her waiting.” Alex patted his chest. “Ye can be sure I wouldn’t have.”

  “Oh, aye, for certain ye would be ready to jump into marriage,” Ian said, then tossed back his first drink.

  “Not me, but we both know ye are the sort to marry.” Alex drank his own cup down and signaled for more. “Ye will do no better than Sìleas. That lass has fire in her.”

  Before drinking down their second round, they clinked their cups together and chanted, “It’s no health if the glass is not emptied.”

  “What can I do?” Ian said, wiping his mouth. “She acts as if she hates me. And she’s always running off with that Gòrdan Graumach.”

  “Ye can’t let Gòrdan have her—he’s too dull for a lass with her spark.” Alex waggled his eyebrows. “I’d know what to do with that spark.”

  “This is no time for your joking,” Ian said, his irritation rising. “And I’m more than a wee bit tired of hearing what ye would do in my place.”

  “Who says I’m joking?” Alex lifted one shoulder. “Wouldn’t ye rather see her with me than with Gòrdan? Ach, she’d be wasted on a man with so little imagination.”

  “I don’t appreciate ye speaking about my wife that way,” Ian said, clenching his fists.

  “If ye are so foolish as to let Sìleas go without fighting for her, ye don’t deserve her.” Alex leaned forward, his expression serious. “And if ye don’t make her your true wife soon, ye are going to lose her.”

  “She is my wife,” Ian said through his teeth. “And I intend to keep her.”

  “Then you’d best do something about it,” Alex said. “I grew up with a bitter woman, so I can tell ye—a woman will only forgive so much before she comes to hate ye.”

  That was a depressing thought; they both took another drink.

  “Speaking of your folks,” Ian said, “when are ye going to go see them?”

  “No matter which I see first, I’ll never hear the end of it from the other.” Alex blew out a long breath. “I’ll wait until the Samhain gathering, so I can see them both at once.”

  “How many times has your mother tried to poison your da?” Ian asked, without expecting an answer. “Doesn’t it strike ye as odd that neither of them married again?”

  “Praise God they haven’t undertaken to torture anyone else. The only thing the two of them can agree upon is that I should make the same mistake. They want me to marry and produce an heir.” Alex shook his head. “Perhaps I should rescue Sìleas from Gòrdan. It would be no hardship to set to work on getting an heir with her.”

  Ian reached across the table and grabbed Alex by the front of his shirt. “I warned ye not to speak of her that way.”

  He was stopped from punching his cousin in the face by a light laugh behind him. He turned to see Dina saunter in from the kitchen.

  “Fighting over me already, are ye?” she said.

  “Don’t hurry to the cottage,” Alex said to Ian before he pushed himself up from the table. He put his arm around Dina’s shoulders and walked with her toward the door.

  Ian tipped more whiskey into his cup and swirled the golden liquid. He’d take good Scottish whiskey over French wine any day. He felt the pleasant burn as it slid down his throat. Hell, he’d take bad Scottish whiskey over the best French wine.

  What was he doing sleeping in a cold bed every night—next to Alex, for God’s sake. Sìleas was his wife, wasn’t she? She was sleeping in his room—in his bed, no less.

  They’d said vows before a priest. Surely that meant something? True, he’d been ready to give Sìleas up, but that was before he’d returned to find her all grown up.

  Lord help him, Sìleas had grown up fine.

  He thought of her full breasts, the mesmerizing swish of her skirts as she climbed the stairs, the sparkle in her green eyes, the creamy skin that showed at her throat above her gown.

  His cup was empty, so he took a long pull straight from the jug.

  He wanted to see more of that creamy skin. To smell it. To run his tongue over every inch of it. And there was no reason he shouldn’t. Sìleas belonged to him. The church had joined them.

  Damn it, he shouldn’t have hesitated. That was where the problem lay. All he needed to do now was show her he wanted to be a husband to her.

  But was he ready to give up other women? Was he ready to say she would be the last woman he bedded? He thought about it for a moment.

  Hell, yes.

  He would show her just how much he wanted her. Sìl was a fiery thing, always was. She’d be everything he wanted in bed, he knew it without a doubt. And he’d be everything she wanted. She damned well wouldn’t look twice at that Gòrdan Graumach again.

  He slammed his cup down on the table. It was time. His decision was made. By God, he was ready to commit himself.

  It was going to be a night to remember.

  CHAPTER 9

  Ian took off his boots and stepped quietly up the stairs. No need to let the entire household know his intentions. He lifted the latch to Sìleas’s bedchamber door—their bedchamber door—and slipped inside. Blackness enveloped him as he eased the door shut behind him.

  He felt for the bar and slid it across. He wanted no early-morning interruptions. Someone else would have to do the morning chores; he intended to keep Sìleas in bed late. Perhaps they wouldn’t get up at all tomorrow.

  He stood near the door, every muscle taunt with anticipation, and waited for his eyes to adjust. His cock was painfully hard already. In the stillness, he heard her breathing, soft as sighs.

  Gradually, he could make out her form on the bed. She lay on her back, with one arm flung up, framing her head on the pillow. He swallowed. He would carry this image of her from their first night together with him for the rest of his life. A wave of tenderness swelled in his chest. This woman was his to protect. His wife.

  He was ready for the responsibility.

  His throbbing cock reminded him he was more than ready for the pleasure. His breathing came in short, shallow breaths as he stepped to the edge of the bed.

  Lying with her would not be like lying with other women. This was his wife. This was Sìleas.

  The muscles of his stomach were tight, and his th
roat dry. He couldn’t wait to touch her. To remove her nightshift and run his hands over that creamy white skin for the first time. To sink his fingers into her mass of red hair as he kissed and caressed her.

  They would be naked. Aye, definitely naked. Skin to skin, with the smell of heather in his nose.

  He unwound his plaid and pulled his shirt over his head, letting them both drop to the floor at his feet. She gave a sigh as he lifted the covers and slipped beneath the blankets. With his heart thundering in his ears, he reached for her.

  He caught the edge of her nightshift, the cloth stiff beneath his fingertips, as she rolled away from him with another sigh. He moved closer and rested his hand on the curve of her waist.

  Lust roared through him like a wild beast. For God’s sake, she was a virgin. He told himself he must go slowly, but it was not going to be easy.

  He pulled her against him and bit his lip against the surge of desire that swamped his senses and tested his will. He made himself take in slow, deep breaths. He meant to savor every part of this first time: holding his wife in bed, the smell of her hair in his face, the warmth of her body next to his.

  He pushed her heavy hair to the side and kissed her neck.

  “Mmmmm.” The sound came from deep in her throat.

  He smiled against her skin as he breathed her in. He thought he might have to persuade her, but she had been waiting for him to come to her.

  “Sìl,” he whispered in her ear, “I’m going to take your nightshift off now.”

  When he nuzzled her neck, she made that low “Mmmmm” sound again, which set a fire deep in his belly. Then the breath went out of him in a rush as she pressed against him, making his cock throb against the crevice between her buttocks.

  He worked her nightshift up, anticipating the feel of bare skin. Slowly, he eased it over her hip—ahhhh. Her skin was even softer than he imagined. One more tug on the shift and his shaft rested against her bare buttocks.

  “Ye can’t know how good that feels,” he said in a choked whisper. So good, he nearly bit her shoulder. But this was going better than he expected, and he didn’t want to frighten her. So he kissed her shoulder softly, instead, and forced himself not to move against her. She drew in a deep breath that sounded so contented he wondered if he was worrying too much.

  He wished he had lit a candle. He wanted to see her, but nothing could get him out of this bed now. It was pleasurable torture to run his hand slowly up and down the curve of her hip. Of its own volition, his hand moved to cup her breast.

  Oh Jesu! The heavy softness of her full breast felt glorious in his hand. The nipple hardened and pressed against his palm—and he was a lost man. Blood pounded in his ears. His hunger was urgent, demanding. Now. He needed her under him now.

  His resolution to go slow was a lost ship in the raging storm of his lust. All he wanted in this world was to be buried inside her. In an instant, he had her on her back. His hands were on her breasts under her nightgown, and his cock pressed against the inside of her thigh while he kissed her throat.

  “Ian! What are ye doing?”

  Ach, what was he doing? He dragged himself back from the edge. A virgin. She’s a virgin.

  A virgin shouldn’t feel this good beneath him. He took her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. Her kiss was so innocent, it shook him.

  “Aw, Sìl, ye are a wonder to me,” he said.

  He ran his tongue across her bottom lip and heard her draw in her breath. At first she seemed to resist his kisses, but gradually she softened. When he urged her mouth open, she jerked back, startled, but in another moment she softened for him again. When her tongue moved against his he saw a glimpse of the heaven to come. Soon he was drowning in her kisses.

  It was all perfect. She was perfect.

  He clutched his hands in her hair.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’ll be careful. It won’t hurt much,” he whispered in her ear as he inched forward. He gasped when the head of his cock found its goal and touched her sweet center.

  “Get off me!” Sìleas shouted, and started pounding her fists against his shoulders and chest.

  “What? What’s wrong?” She didn’t answer, but she was clawing at him and squirming like a fish, so he rolled off her. “Sìl, what did I do?”

  She threw off the covers and leaped out of the bed. He caught a glimpse of long legs in the moonlight from the window before she jerked her shift down.

  She lit the candle and turned furious eyes on him. “What are ye doing in my bed, Ian MacDonald?”

  “It’s my bed, too,” he said, trying to get his brain to work. His cock was so hard it hurt him. He had been so close…

  “How dare ye come in here when I’m fast asleep and think ye can have your way with me.”

  “You’re my wife,” Ian said. “That means I can have my way with ye.”

  “So I’m your wife now, am I? Ye didn’t think so before.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts, and his throat went dry.

  “I… I’ve decided to accept the situation,” he said, his eyes and thoughts on her breasts. The skin of his palms tingled with the memory of the feel of them in his hands. “I’m ready to take ye for my wife now. Quite ready.”

  “Are ye now? And what has made ye come to this decision after all this time?”

  She was tapping her foot, not a good sign. Ach, Sìl even had pretty ankles…

  “Ian!” she said to get his attention. “I asked what made ye decide ye wanted to be married to me. I thought I ‘disgusted’ ye.”

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and gave her a slow look up and down.

  “Ye don’t disgust me now,” he said, his voice thick. “And I don’t disgust you either, judging from the way ye were kissing me.” He couldn’t help grinning when he said it, which was probably a mistake.

  “I was asleep!” She had her hands on her hips now, and her foot was tapping furiously.

  “Maybe ye were at first,” he said, finding he was enjoying teasing her, “but I don’t believe ye were sleeping when ye kissed me back.”

  “I thought I was dreaming,” she snapped. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “For not knowing, ye were doing fine,” he said, grinning at her. “Verra fine indeed.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she looked prettier still. He grabbed a handful of her voluminous nightshift and pulled her closer.

  “I know ye heard me say some unfortunate words about ye before I left, and I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. But I find ye appealing now.” He dropped his gaze to the lovely, rounded breasts just inches from his face. “Verra appealing.”

  When he looked up, her eyes were boring holes into him. He couldn’t think for the life of him what he was saying wrong now. What woman didn’t like to hear a compliment?

  “What you’re saying is that ye want to take me to bed,” she said.

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  “And that’s the reason ye want to be my husband.”

  “It’s one of the reasons,” he said, speaking carefully now. “I’ve also seen all you’ve done for my family, and how attached they are to ye. My mother is very fond of ye.”

  “So ye want to keep me because your mother is fond of me,” she said. “That would be a rare comfort to any woman.”

  The conversation had somehow gone awry. The problem was that there was too much conversation altogether. If he could just get her into bed again, he could make her forget whatever nonsense she was fussing about.

  He stood up and pulled her against him.

  “I am sorry if I can’t find the right words, but ye feel so good,” he murmured against her hair, “and ye smell so good, I cannot think.”

  She gasped when he cupped her breast. Finally, she seemed at a loss for words.

  “We are going to bed eventually, Sìl,” he said against her ear. “Don’t make me wait. I want ye badly.”

  She shoved him away. “There’s nothing special about wanting to take me to bed, Ian Ma
cDonald.” Flinging her arm to the side, she said, “Half the men in the clan could say that. At least, I don’t think many would refuse if I made the offer.”

  Blood pounded in his ears. “If ye offered? If ye offered!”

  “Ye wanting me in bed is not a good enough reason for me.” She stomped across the room. At the door, she turned and shouted over her shoulder, “You’re not good enough for me.”

  She slammed the door so hard her pretty rocks on the windowsill bounced.

  He was more than a wee bit annoyed himself. If she offered. How could she say such a thing?

  He grabbed his shirt from the floor, pulled it over his head as he crossed the room in three long strides, and took off after her down the stairs. “You are the one who wanted to be married to me in the first place. Ye can’t deny it.”

  “Just stay away from me,” she shouted back. “Or I swear, I’ll stick a dirk in ye.”

  “You planned the whole thing because ye wanted to be away from your step-da,” he bellowed, as he followed her through the hall and into the kitchen. “And I wasn’t supposed to have any say over it, was I? Everyone would get what they wanted—but me.”

  They were in the kitchen now, with the worktable between them. When he reached around the side to get a hold of her nightshift, she grabbed a skillet from the table and swung it at his head.

  “Now that I want ye to be a true wife, ye change your mind,” he shouted. “Just what did ye think you were getting into? Did ye no expect a husband to want ye in his bed?”

  “Perhaps I did expect it—a year ago. Or a month ago,” she shouted back. “Or a few days ago, when ye finally decided to bless us with your presence.”

  “I am prepared to be your husband now,” Ian said, gritting his teeth.

  “Oh, thank ye.” She rolled her eyes and patted her chest. “My heart is all aflutter over it.”

  “You picked me, and like it or no, I am your husband,” he said. “And I don’t want to ever again hear my wife talking about other men and what they’d do if ye offered.”

  That was when she caught him on the side of the head with the skillet.