Behind her, Amber held the long train of her dress and smiled at the attention bestowed upon her. Duncan looked proud and a bit stern as he stood before Brother Malloy, who seemed anxious to unite the couple in front of him. He made little rolling gestures with his fingers in an attempt to move Tara along.
But today was her wedding day and nothing was going to rush this moment for her. Nothing!
Duncan looked dashing in his kilt. She knew he owned one, and had even attempted to get him in it a time or two, simply so she could get it off of him.
Today, she was marrying a man in a skirt. Who would have figured? The thought had her hiding a grin. He wore his plaid, as did his brother who stood at his side. Even Ian bared his knees for everyone to see. They were a proud lot of men.
And she was proud to be aligning herself with them.
Duncan held his arms in front of him with clasped fingers.
Tara placed a gentle kiss on Ian’s cheek when he handed her over to his son. He beamed his approval, then took his place with Lora to watch the ceremony.
Brother Malloy cleared his throat and began,
“Lords and Ladies…” ****
It took Brother Malloy’s angry cough to separate the couple after their vows had been exchanged.
Even then, the kiss went on until the crowd clapped their approval. Only then did Duncan release Tara .
At the reception, the room lights of a thousand flames brightened the hall long into the night.
Musicians played and people danced.
Amber led the children in games and ran them throughout the rooms, keeping them entertained.
Cian plotted with friends he would one day ride with into battle. Tonight, however, he conspired with them about the young maidens they planned to corner in the yard.
Myra and Finlay toasted the couple, wishing them long and fruitful lives. Bets were placed on how soon it would take for the future heir to be announced.
Ian and Lora held hands and secretly conversed about their future grandchildren.
I pray a child comes soon. Ian spoke without words.
Not long by the look of them. Lora assured her husband. They both glanced to where their eldest son stood with their newest daughter.
Duncan stole a kiss in the middle of the dance floor.
The Keep’s females escorted Tara to the bridal chamber, previously known as his bedroom. The exit took place with as much pomp and circumstance as the wedding ceremony itself, while Duncan held back, entertained by the boasting of the men. All ranted on about how he should perform his marital duties. Or better yet, how to make sure his wife awakened on the morrow with a smile upon her lips.
Being apart from her had been torture. Her thoughts, swimming in his head, kept him in a state of constant arousal. Even during their wedding feast, she’d asked him mentally what he wore under his kilt, while she playfully placed a buttered vegetable to her lips. Slowly she swirled her tongue around the morsel of food until his need bordered on pain.
How lucky he was to have found such a seductive prize. Giggling women and maids bound down the stairs letting Duncan and the men know the bride awaited her groom.
“At last,” he said, half to himself but loud enough for those standing close by to hear.
“Much wine was poured here tonight. Go man, lest she falls asleep,” Sir William urged.
“I doubt that will be the case,” Gregor said.
The men cheered and chanted when Duncan mounted the stairs. Once outside the doors, Duncan hushed them all and waved them away.
None would dare to peek at what lay beyond.
With the excitement of a man starved for release, Duncan slowly opened the door and peered into the room.
The glow of the firelight and candles flickered shadows on the walls. His eyes wandered the room.
That was until he stepped inside and saw her standing next to the hearth in a billowing night dress. Her hair brushed free of all adornments framed her face and body.
“Hello, wife,” he managed, his voice already choking on his desire. It had been a painful week without her in his bed.
Tara watched him walk toward her, but put up a hand to halt him from getting too close. A little baffled, he slowed his pace and accepted the goblet of wine she handed him.
“Sit. I have a wedding present for you.”
Her mischievous smile had him searching her mind for the secret she held. But inside he only saw the vision of him in her head. Visions of his kilt and the constant question as to what he wore underneath. “You are all the present I need.”
She turned, took a few paces away from him, and then turned back. “I’m so pleased you think that.” Her delicate fingers traced the length of her body from navel to throat.
His mouth gaped slightly when she started pulling on the strings of her dressing gown.
He sipped his wine and sat back, enjoying her show. Never had a woman stripped for him in such a fashion. Confident in her seduction, she gently tugged at her sleeves letting a glimpse of her shoulder come through. She turned away where he could only see her backside. Her gown slipped to her waist. Underneath, she wore something else but from where he sat, he couldn’t tell what.
Her tongue darted out and moistened her lips when she caught his eye. In silent warning, he set his goblet down and leaned forward to see what she wore. He saw more flesh than dress. He could see her holding her breath, her br**sts pushed forward and scraping against only a scrap of material.
Her gown hit the floor with a silent whoosh.
Shock, passion and outright lust hit him hard. If he hadn’t put his goblet down it would have hit the floor, much like his chin.
The silk material she wore was unlike anything he had seen in the past. Small straps held it up where the material hugged her curves like a glove to a hand. Small bits of lace trimmed the edges and plunged low. But the center, Dear God, the center was nothing more than a V of material gathered at the apex of her thighs, her sex hardly concealed.
His smoldering eyes took her in and followed her hands as they traced her own form. Tara turned giving him another glimpse of her back end. His breath drew in when her hands molded to her bu**ocks.
“Do you like it?” she purred.
“Aye,” he choked out.
She came to him, stretched out one very long leg and slid her hand up its length, then placed her foot between his thighs. She bent forward to give him the full view of his present.
“I like it too,” she confided.
His hand stroked her thigh. Slowly he let his fingers journey to where the scrap of fabric met between her legs. He slipped a finger under the silk.
A sound of pleasure escaped from Tara. She trembled when he found the moisture already pooling, her desire evident on the tips of his fingers.