Page 21 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“You don’t think it best that we now abstain from our pleasures until after we’re married?” She looked serious, damn it. As though she might actually mean it.

“Why would you think it prudent for us to deny ourselves what we have enjoyed so often?” A tinge of horror crept into his voice. “It has brought us closer, don’t you think, Jane?”

“It has, my dear, but we would simulate the true consummation.”

There was a twinkle in her eyes that he didn’t like at all.

“If we withhold our physical pleasures until after we are wed, it will seem more as if it is our first time together.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Since I can scarcely remember that long ago.”

“Wench,” he whispered fiercely. “I am certain you would be as severely bereft as I should we forgo our lovemaking for even a night.”

Laughing, she tossed her head. “I think you are correct, Kinellan.”

He growled. “Don’t tease me about that. Anything else, but not you.” He nuzzled her neck again, drinking in the hint of roses that always seemed to cling to her. Sweet but not cloying. His body stirred restlessly down below. What he wouldn’t give to sweep her out of the Great Hall and up to her chamber, disrobe her, and plunge his face in between her naked breasts. Inhale the heady rosebud fragrance, then—

His cock had eagerly enjoyed that fantasy, but Gareth must not indulge in it further. At least, not now. There was a bonfire yet to enjoy, complete with toasts and dancing and carousing. Perhaps the carousing portion of the evening could be done in their private apartments and not the ground or worse up against a tree. No, he was a married man, almost. Such adventures were best left to the younger gentlemen.

“As soon as the bonfire is over, I’ll let you know if I’m teasing or not, my dear.” Mischief in her eyes, Jane took a long drink of wine, not removing her gaze from Gareth’s face.

Inwardly, he groaned. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable evening unless he missed his guess. He might run and dunk himself in the icy waters of Loch Kinellan. Thought of the cold, murky waters should have sent a chill racing down his body. Tonight, no such luck.

* * *

“Tonight we proclaim anew our fealty to not only our clan, but to the Seton family as well,” Gareth intoned, thankful the speech was coming to an end. Such things were necessary to remind his kinfolk of the dignity and gravitas that should be afforded the family of which they were a part. Thank God it occurred only once a year. “My grandfather, the Sixth Marquess of Kinellan, began this tradition of having the family meet each year on this land”—he gestured to the fallow field in which the bonfire was set—“to remind us of who we are, and from whence we came, as a Seton and as Scotsmen and women. Let that allegiance never die.”

The crowd gathered closer around the roaring fire that lit up the night, waiting for the final part of the familiar ceremony.

“Clan Seton!” Gareth drained his glass, raised it high, then threw it forcefully into the heart of the brightly burning logs. The glass shattered, sending a shower of sparks flying up as the final drops of wine exploded.

“Clan Seton!” The deafening chorus rose into the night sky as all within range threw their glasses on the bonfire as well. When the first wave had added their salute they fell back so those behind could join the rest in honoring their clan.

“My thanks again to all who attend this gathering and an invitation from myself and my bride-to-be.” He held out his hand and Jane stepped confidently to his side. “Lady John and I wish for you all to remain our guests until we are wed this coming Friday, in Castle Kinellan’s Great Hall. Everyone is welcome, although we understand if there are those who must travel home before that day.” He turned to the group of musicians, set well away from the searing heat of the fire. “Musicians, strike up! Let us have dancing until the dawn’s light, if anyone is still standing by then.”

A great cheer arose from the guests and the fiddlers and pipers began a brisk Scottish reel.

“As we are so far north, Kinellan, that the sky never gets much darker than this dusky blue. How can you say it isn’t dawn now?” Jane laughed and took his arm.

“Ah, but that is what allows me to end the party whenever I wish, my dear.” Gareth laid his hand over hers, relishing her soft smooth skin, and led her toward the dancing throng. “For the dawn is ever approaching, is it not?”

“Clever man.” She gave his arm a sharp pat. “I just hope you are clever enough to end the festivities before we are completely exhausted from the dancing.” Her gaze met his and she licked her lips, making his cock surge upward. “There are better ways to expend so much energy.” She rose on her toes to whisper in his ear, her warm breath heating his flesh. “We do have a nursery to fill, remember.”

Eager as ever, his cock agreed with her, bumping insistently against his small clothes. If he wasn’t careful, it would tent his kilt.

“Minx,” he whispered back. “Come, let us dance this next and we will see if I cannot spirit you away for a while at least.” He glanced toward the distant tree line. Last year Lathbury had told him how he’d taken Fanny into the woods during a harvest festival. Nine months later she’d given him an heir. Perhaps a tête-à-tête in these woods would make that history repeat itself with them.

He seized her hand and pulled her into the rousing Scottish reel just beginning. They circled around, set to each other, then heyed up and down the set. The lively music set such a fast pace, he and his partner seemed hard-pressed to keep up.

“Getting winded already, Kinellan?” She laughed as she blew out a sharp breath when they became the bottom couple and had a moment to rest.

“No more than you, my lady.” He grasped both her hands and swung her in a circle, faster than the dance called for, so he got two spins completed before the final chords of the dance sounded.

Laughing and gasping for breath, Jane managed to call above the din, “You are a lunatic, Kinellan.”

Before he could make a retort to her quip, Lathbury swooped in between them.

“I must dance with the bride-to-be, Kinellan. I insist upon it this instant.” Lathbury might be his best friend, but he knew Gareth’s possessive disposition well enough to raise an eyebrow by way of requesting permission.

“By all means,” he replied, kissing Jane’s hand before relinquishing it to his friend. “My bride claims to have an abundance of energy. See if you can tire her sufficiently that I will be able to spirit her away from here without too much trouble.”