Saving the Scot, page 33
“God, I’ve missed you. The only thing that keeps me alive is knowing the boy needs me. But my heart cannae take another day without you.” The driver called again, and Ian shouted a terse, “Soon!”
Louisa saw the tear streak on his cheek then and swiped it away with her gloved thumb. She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “Let’s go see your son.”
The scene was nothing short of idyllic. Edinburgh residents taking advantage of what might be the last sunshine before winter. Groups of picnickers bundled against the chill dotted the meadow, blankets spread on long grass, ladies in their bonnets and furs, men in top hats and mufflers, children running wild, tumbling, shouting, squealing. One group of children caught her eye, the same one on which Ian’s hawklike gaze was riveted. One of them was his. She wondered if she could pick him out of the rabble. Ian ushered her closer to the bunch.
“Are you ready, love?” he asked. At her nod, he shouted, “Rory.”
One head popped up, a mop of dark brown curls with sparks of red glinting in the sun. The look of delight he sent Ian’s way made her gasp. It was Ian’s smile, the one that had made her heart stutter so many times before. Rory ran to Ian yelling, “Da! Da!” When he leaped into the air, Ian caught him and spun him around, as though they’d practiced the acrobatic trick a thousand times. Ian chuckled at Rory’s squeals of delight.
“I’ve someone I want you to meet,” Ian said, and set Rory on his feet in front of Louisa.
Before Ian could make the introduction, Rory cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows buckled together, an expression stunningly like his father’s. “Are you the pixie lady what likes to wear trousers?”
Louisa flashed Ian a look. His hand went to his heart, and his face scrunched in mock agony as if he’d been shot. Obviously, he’d said something about her to his boy. She gave Rory a warm smile. “How did you ken it was me?” she asked.
“You have green eyes. Da said you had the greenest eyes he’d ever seen.”
“What else did Da tell you?”
“He said you rescued him.” He glanced down at her hem. “Are you wearing trousers right now?”
Ian burst out laughing, then sobered instantly at Louisa’s admonishing glare.
“I’m not wearing trousers now, but I do wear them on occasion.”
“What occasion?” Rory asked, slightly awestruck.
“Whenever I play Pirates and Sea Captains.”
“Do you and Da play Pirates and Sea Captains?” Rory asked, half in disbelief and the other half delighted.
“It’s our favorite game,” Ian said and slanted Louisa a heated gaze, one so hot it set her own insides ablaze.
Just then, a woman in her mid-thirties approached. She was elegantly slender and nearly as tall as Ian.
Rory ran to her, took her by the hand, and dragged her to them. “Auntie Maggie, this is the Pixie Lady. She and Da play Pirates and Sea Captains. It’s their favorite game. Is that not right, Da?”
Auntie Maggie’s golden-red eyebrows lifted with an amused look. “Who plays the pirate and who plays the sea captain?” she asked Ian.
The features on her breathtakingly beautiful face were so like Ian’s, introductions were unnecessary, but Ian obliged.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Pendergast,” Louisa said, inclining her head.
“I assure you, Miss Robertson, I am pleased beyond measure to meet you.” She indicated their picnic blanket several yards away. “Come join me. I can tell you all about the Sinclair family, things my cloth-heid brother Ian would never dream of telling you.” She laughed and winked at Ian. “You should be apprised of all our darkest secrets before you make any permanent decisions, aye?”
Several hours later, snugged inside a cramped hack, Ian sat next to Louisa with Rory asleep on his lap like a wet sack of laundry. They were on their way back to Louisa’s house on George Street. She asked, “Where have you been these last weeks?”
“Spending time with Rory. It’s been an adjustment for the lad. We’ll stay with my sister’s family until my business here is complete.”
“And then what?” she asked.
“I dinnae ken. Rory needs me. I cannae raise him on board a ship and I won’t be getting that commission. My parents want us to live with them at Balforss until I figure out what to do.” He made a disgusted sound and dipped his head. “I can hardly expect you to marry a man with no home and no prospects.”
“Stop being ridiculous,” she said, irritated that Ian would doubt himself when she had complete confidence in him. “You are the most capable man I’ve ever known. And that includes my father. You can do anything you set your mind to, and you know it.” Her exasperated huff brought a smile to Ian’s lips. “At any rate, you insufferable man, you can have that commission if you want it. You’ve only to ask, but…” She glanced down at the sleeping boy held tightly in Ian’s arms.
“But what?” Ian asked. “Finish what you were going to say.”
“But things have changed, aye? I know because I was so certain I wanted to be an actress. Then things changed and being an actress didnae hold the appeal it once had. I think maybe being a soldier doesnae appeal to you so much anymore, either. Am I right?”
“You are.” The carriage stopped in front of her house, and Ian placed a hand on her knee. “All I want is you and Rory to be with me, as a family. That’s what feels right to me. But I dinnae ken how to do it. Will you help me?”
Will you help me? Potent words to Louisa. Infused in them were respect and trust and partnership. Everything that comprised true love in Louisa’s mind. Ian loved her exactly the way she wanted to be loved. As an equal. As his Kate to her Petruchio.
“What do you love to do the most? Aside from sailing and soldiering, that is.” He gave her his most rakish grin, and she felt a deep blush creep up her neck. She added, “Aside from sailing, soldiering, and that other thing.”
Ian kissed her quick and shrugged. “Reading books, I suppose.”
She leaned back and examined him thoughtfully. “Yes. Your system.”
His eyebrows dove together and he opened his mouth, presumably to ask her what she meant, when a sudden wash of understanding crossed his face. “A bookshop?”
Chapter Nineteen
Three weeks later, aboard the Gael Forss
With the exception of a few trusted crew members for security—the ship was, after all, tied to the dock in Leith—he and his new wife were completely, blissfully alone. Ian had supplied the balance of his crew with plenty of coin to keep them at the tavern until dawn, allowing him enough time to thoroughly enjoy his wedding night with Louisa aboard the Gael Forss.
Ten minutes after he shut the door to his cabin, they lay in a tangle of limbs and bedclothes, spent and gasping. Their coupling had been quick and desperate. He’d waited, it seemed, for an eternity to have her again. In truth, it had only been a little over three months since that first time but for him, wanting Louisa was the same as needing her, requiring her. She was as necessary to him as the air he breathed.
“Sorry,” he whispered, his chest still heaving up and down.
Louisa stirred and stretched. “What must I forgive you for this time, husband?”
He chuckled. “I sort of raced to the finish.”
She sat up and arranged herself so that she straddled his hips. His cabin berth was too tight to sleep the two of them comfortably and far too cramped for lovemaking—or at least too cramped for the kind of lovemaking he wanted to engage in on their wedding night—so he’d made up their bed on the floor. Moonlight slanted in through the cabin window and colored her skin pale blue like a fairy. Her wedding gown was twisted around her waist, the skirt rucked up and the bodice yanked down, those gloriously plump breasts in full view. The memory of how he’d just taken her made his cock jump back to life. He’d never recovered so quickly.
She switched her hips in a circle over his hardened member and he hissed with pleasure. “I’ll make you go slower this time,” she said.
Although he’d removed his shirt before he’d taken her, he still had his boots on and his trousers around his knees. Under any other circumstances, he might feel at a disadvantage. But, at this moment, with her lowering her pretty thatch of curls onto his mast, their state of semi-undress served only to heighten the tension.
She was slippery but tight, her cunny like a fist around his cock. Fully seated, she leaned down and kissed him. The instant he slid his tongue inside her mouth, her insides squeezed and he surged upward. They both gasped.
“Is that good?” he asked.
“Oh, aye. Dinnae stop, Ian.”
“Never,” he said. Her breathing grew ragged, punctuated with soft moans and whimpers. She rode him like that until she was close. So close. “Say it, love. Say the word.”
She moaned the word cock and cried out his name. Her cunny pulsed around him as strong and satisfying as a good stroking. He bucked hard, and called out, “I love—I love—oh, God, I love you.”
Ian had no right to feel so chuffed. After all, it was his duty as a husband to please her. Still, he couldn’t help but congratulate himself on a job well done, as he watched Louisa slumbering peacefully. He, on the other hand, was wide awake. A stroll on deck was in order. He pulled up his trousers, buttoned the fall, and slipped on his coat. The November nights had taken on a chill.
The two crew members he’d retained to watch the ship sat at the bow, a polite distance from his cabin, offering him and Louisa the privacy they required. He lifted a hand, and the shadowy figures acknowledged him. The docks were deserted, quiet. Even the harbor was calm, lifting the ship gently up and down rather than rocking it side to side.
So much had changed for him since June. And the agent of that change had come in a small lavender package with fierce green eyes. In hindsight, it was all so clear. Yet at the time, he had been like a man with a blindfold tied ’round his head. So many clues ignored. The thing inside his head had known, but he’d been so used to silencing that itch, he hadn’t picked up the signals.
General Sir Thomas Robertson and his sons Nathan and Connor had given token resistance to his proposal of marriage. He’d won Nathan’s respect somewhere between New London and New Haven, Connecticut. Ian suspected the general was simply relieved his beloved daughter would remain in Scotland, and Connor…well, the fact that he and Peter had become fast friends could be interpreted as good luck or bad news depending on one’s perspective.
Louisa and Rory had formed a bond so tight, Ian often envied their closeness. She had taken to motherhood as easily and as naturally as she did wielding a pistol or wearing trousers. His son had been loved and cared for by his gran. Still, it wasn’t the same as having a mother. They were a real family now. Ian had his own little family, something he’d thought he would never deserve.
The gentle breeze carried her lavender scent, announcing her presence before she spoke.
“Come to bed, husband.” She tugged his sleeve.
He gathered her into his arms and growled in her ear, “How lucky I am to have a wife so eager for my bed.”
She curled into him, soft parts molding to his hard edges. Holding her like this, he could have lingered for hours, but his soldier stood at attention and saluted, reminding him of his husbandly duty.
…
Once inside the relatively warm cabin, Louisa and Ian shed their clothes and huddled under the blankets. He captured her with one leg and one arm slung over her. In a matter of seconds, his body enveloped hers with heat. Tomorrow morning was a momentous day, Ian’s last voyage as captain of the Gael Forss. They would collect Rory and sail to Caithness where they would open a bookshop in Thurso. She looked forward to the challenge. What made her fret was meeting Ian’s parents, Laird John and Flora Sinclair.
“Do you think your family will like me?”
“They will love you. Everyone will love you. Caya and Lucy will smother you with their friendship and I will be jealous.” He gave her a squeeze.
“Caya’s married to…”
“Cousin Declan.”
“And he’s the one who had the dream about you marrying the lass in trousers?”
Ian groaned. “Oh, aye. I’d almost forgotten. I bet him a crown he was wrong. He’ll want to collect.”
“Rory will have plenty of cousins to play with.”
“Oh, aye. Magnus and Virginia have six boys, I think. One is bound to be Rory’s age. Declan and Caya have two young ones with another on the way—or maybe two. Declan claims he dreamed they would have twins, and Declan’s dreams are frighteningly accurate. And Alex and Lucy have a daughter who’s about Rory’s age.”
“What’s her name?”
“Jemima, but everyone calls her Jemma. My brother calls her the Redheaded Tyrant. She reminds me a lot of you, actually. Wherever she goes, chaos follows.”
“Ian, if you tell anyone about the General’s Daughter from Hell, I will sit on you.”
He roared with laughter. “I’ll keep that bit to myself. I promise.” He stroked her cheek. “Dinnae fash, lass. They will love you.”
“Kiss me,” she said. “I love your kisses, Ian.” He kissed her with quick light taps, then his tongue slid along the seam of her lips parting them and sliding inside, reminding her of their recent joining. Pulse quickening, sex tightening, she twined a leg around his and slid her hand down his belly. As soon as her fingers wrapped around his silky, hard girth, he groaned and rolled onto his back, a move she interpreted as an invitation to have her way with him.
One of the more exotic illustrations she’d examined closely in the naughty sex book she’d found among her brother’s things was entitled “Penelope Plays the Pipe.” It depicted a woman on her knees with a man’s private part in her mouth. At the time, she’d thought the act ludicrous. At this moment, however, she believed it was exactly what was needed. She scooted downward laying kisses on his belly. The closer she got, the louder he moaned.
Once faced with Ian’s “pipe” she realized what monumental effort it would take to actually “play” it. But Ian lifted himself on one elbow, gave her gentle yet explicit directions until she understood what he needed. At the last, he pulled away, tossed her on her back, and brought them both to a roaring crescendo. He collapsed next to her wearing a big grin.
“I think you liked that very much, husband.”
He chuckled and gasped out, “Oh, aye.” When he’d recovered his breath enough to speak: “I didnae have the courage to ask you to do that. What gave you the idea?”
She confessed to him about her brother’s naughty picture book. Ian doubled up and laughed out loud. “Dinnae laugh at me.” She thumped him on the shoulder. “I was curious.”
He wiped away tears of laughter and gathered himself. “Oh, lass, I love you. I didnae ken it was possible to love anyone like I love you.”
Ian’s confession swamped Louisa with the certain knowledge that she was loved by this man, the person who held her heart and her future in his hands, the one person who recognized and valued her assets, compensated for all her weaknesses, and accepted her flaws. That knowledge produced in her a joy so rare it was better than acting for an audience, better than the applause of a thousand people, better than wearing trousers on stage.
“Ian?”
“Aye, love?”
“You will still let me wear trousers from time to time, will you not?”
He pressed a kiss to her mouth and murmured, “My darling wife, I will insist on it.”
Did you love this book from Entangled’s Amara imprint? Check out more of our titles here!
Don’t miss Jennifer Trethewey’s next book! Sign up for our newsletter here!
Acknowledgments
Romance readers are special individuals. They are smart, they know what they are about, and they read twice as much as the next person. Most importantly, romance readers carry the belief that true love is possible, that our sons and daughters deserve to be loved and valued for exactly who they are, and that every woman can and should be the heroine of her own story. Love makes the world go ’round.
About the Author
Jennifer Trethewey is an actor-turned-writer who has moved her performances from the stage to the page. She would, if she could, live half of every year in Scotland. It’s the next best place to home. She never feels like a tourist in Scotland “because the people there always seem like they are expecting you, like you are a long-lost cousin come to visit.” Her love for Scotland has been translated into her first series of historical romance novels, The Highlanders of Balforss.
Trethewey’s primary experience in bringing the imaginary to life was working for one of the most successful women’s theater companies in the nation, where she was the co-founder and co-artistic director. Today, she continues to act but writes contemporary and historical fiction full-time. She lives in Milwaukee with her husband. Her other loves include dogs, movies, music, good wine, and good friends.
Don’t miss the Highlanders of Balforss series…
Tying the Scot
Betting the Scot
Forgetting the Scot
Discover more Amara titles…
A Protector in the Highlands
a Highland Roses School novel by Heather McCollum
Scarlet Worthington flees her home in England to Scotland to help her sister run a school for ladies. There, Scarlet begins to rebuild her confidence by recruiting a fierce Campbell warrior to teach her and the students how to protect themselves. Burned in a fierce fire, Highland warrior, Aiden Campbell, has finally healed enough to take temporary command of his clan. That’s where his focus should be instead of on the feisty, beautiful Sassenach.
A Lord for the Lass
a Tartans and Titans novel by Amalie Howard and Angie Morgan
Lady Makenna Maclaren Brodie is on the run from her clan for the death of her husband and laird. Even though she is innocent, she and her maid run to the only safe place she knows…and right into the arms of the handsome French lord she’d met a year ago. An unapologetic rake, Lord Julien Leclerc is focused on one thing—expanding his empire and increasing his fortune. However, when the widowed Makenna arrives on his doorstep in the Highlands, all bets are off.
