Page 33 of Highlander’s Wrath

“Come, me dear child,” he said. “There is something the master of the house wishes to ask ye.”

As if in a dream, Coira gave her hand to the clergyman, and they walked to the massive fireplace where an entire tree trunk was blazing in the grate. Laird Barclay stood there; wee Colban stood beside him, holding a small package in his hands.

Father Abercromby said, “Here she is, Hamish, Colban. The lady who has taught our clan so much more than how to count and how to read.”

Laird Barclay was not looking at Father Abercromby. His eyes were locked on Coira’s face. He bowed, taking her hand in his own, and then knelt down before her, saying, “Coira McDonald, will ye put aside that name forever and become Lady Barclay?” His grey eyes softened as he looked up at her, and his handhold grew stronger. “I love ye, ye ken, Coira. And if ye leave this castle, it will go hard on us if we were to lose ye...because, I—we...Colban and I—both love ye and need ye more than words can say. Will ye marry me this day?”

Coira felt as though there had been ice and snow wrapped around her heart that was slowly melting in the warmth from the fire. The listless frustration that had been locked inside her was suddenly set free, and she knew it would never return while she had this man by her side.

She looked down at Colban, who looked fully as anxious as his father did beside him. But they must know...they should have always known what her reply would be!

“Yes, I will marry you this day, Hamish,” she said.

“Yay!” Colban cried out and immediately tore open the package he had been holding and gave her the ring that had been carefully wrapped inside it, saying proudly, “This is for ye...Mither!”

When she thought back on the day, Coira realized she had neither partaken of the feast nor could she remember much else of the festivities. It had all passed in a blur.

After her reply to Laird Barclay’s question, the household had erupted into a frenzy of happiness. Casks of ale and whisky had been broached, huge bowls of spiced punch and platters of delicious pies had been brought up from the kitchen, and some musicians in the corner had struck up a reel.

Father Abercromby had held up his hands for silence. “The ceremony will nae take long, friends, but I bid ye have a quaff or two of the whisky an’ ale whilst the bride prepares herself.”

Agnes brought a wreath made out of holly and placed it gently on Coira’s head, saying, “There’s a matching bouquet too, madam, but I will give it to Colban to hold for ye.”

Father Abecromby then produced his book of sermons and clapped his hands together for everyone to assemble around the couple.

It was a beautiful ceremony. Short, but very sweet, or at least that’s how Mistress Elliot described it to her friends down in the village when she visited them in spring.

In a daze, Coira had repeated the words Father Abercromby told her to say and held her breath until Hamish said the same words as he stood tall and strong beside her. Only once the ring was on her finger, and the staff were cheering at the words Father Abercromby had uttered—husband and wife—did Coira relax and begin to believe it all to be true.

Husband and wife had sat on the dais in the great hall, accepting the best wishes from the servants and raising their glasses whenever anyone was inspired to hold their tasse aloft to offer up a toast. Coira could only swallow the veriest morsel of food; a strange exhilaration had gripped her, making it hard to concentrate. It was only when the lanterns were lit midway through the afternoon that Coira’s excitement grew to a fever pitch.

“‘Tis growing dark,” Mistress Elliot said, “and it will serve Master Colban best if I see him to bed at the earliest opportunity. He’s been up since five bells past midnight.”

All through the feast, Hamish had smiled and laughed at the slightest good-humored remark, every now and again reaching to take her hand in his and stroking her fingers with his thumb. The gesture made Coira’s stomach lurch and turn cartwheels inside her, and the base of her hips grew heavy with anticipation.

And now it was time. The faint sound of merrymaking could be heard through his lairdship’s bedchamber door, but all the servants had gone after the womenfolk had assisted Coira to strip down to her white lace chemise, and the men had helped his lairdship remove his formal Highland regalia.

They were alone in bed together.

She had many nervous questions to ask him first, wanting to delay the nighttime and what it would bring—not from nerves, but from the knowledge that the bubble of heat inside her would burst too fast if they were to immediately fall into one another’s arms.

“How did you seek out my father’s approval?” she wanted to know. Father Abercromby would never have assisted in a clandestine union.

Hamish smiled at her with his lopsided grin. “I wrote him a letter and sent a rider posthaste to London with it, lass. Waiting for yer faither’s reply was the most agonizing two weeks of me life!”

She wriggled closer to him, relishing his heat and his masculine scent. Hamish obliged her by wrapping his arm around her and pulling her closer.

“What did my father say?”

“Besides ‘yes’? Strange as it may seem, both yer mither and faither did nae seem too surprised by me request. They did say it would go hard with one Marquis down there in England, but we need no’ worry our heads about him.”

She giggled and turned on her side so she could wrap her leg over him.

“The poor Marquis of Wandsworth. He was the most estimable gentleman, although I have no doubt he would have flung his sword down at the battle and run for the hills instead of ripping off his shirt and charging toward the enemy like you did…”

There was a pregnant silence after Coira’s statement. She realized she had let it slip that she had disobeyed him and followed him to watch the battle. She screwed up her eyes and waited for the storm to break over her.

It did not come. Laird Barclay took a few deep breaths and then relaxed, saying, “Och, Lady Barclay, I believe I fell in love with ye when ye showed yer temper could match me own. But let us have no more fightin’ in this home, Coira...or disobedience!”

He pulled her closer to him, and when she opened her eyes, he was staring at her face with such a tender expression, her heart skipped a beat.

Their kiss began just as tenderly, light as the touch of a rose petal, then slowly growing harder, deeper, more passionate, more intense. They were turned toward each other, their arms intertwined, running through hair and over skin, and everywhere their fingers touched seemed to light up and burn with a fierce power. For a few moments, Coira held her breath, and when she did, the pleasurable sensations coursing through her body mounted to a fever pitch.

“Oh, oh, Hamish, I love you so much,” she gasped. “I want to show you how much. I belong to you forever and ever.”

Laird Barclay buried his face in her neck, kissing her chin, cheeks, and that delicious spot at the back of her ears where the hair stopped and the skin began. His touch made Coira cry out with ecstasy, not having the words to describe how his actions were making her feel. His mouth and tongue moved down to her breasts and the hard pink peaks of her nipples. It excited Hamish beyond words to know that everywhere his mouth touched was now his for all time. This wonderful woman had touched his life so deeply, and now she was giving herself to him just like he had been dreaming for months, ever since he had laid eyes on her.

She was panting now, unable to hold back her desire. He knew the time had come for them to join their bodies together before the golden moment was lost. For Coira, there was momentary discomfort, but it faded fast; she was too overwhelmed by her passion to feel much else besides the urgent pulsing deep inside her. It mounted and throbbed and finally reached its peak. It was then she knew her life would never be the same again.

The final act of giving and receiving love bound them together for all time.