Epilogue
Annabel, Beatrice, Agnes, and Lottie all crowded around Jeane as they readied her for the ceremony.
Beatrice pinched Jeane’s cheeks until they were flushed and sore while Agnes and Lottie threaded foxglove through Jeane’s hair, being careful that none of it touched her skin.
Annabel was helping button Jeane’s dress which was trailing along the floor.
A knock sounded at the door.
“It’s nearly time!” Aiden called, and Jeane felt anxiety rush over her.
“What if me dress rips?” she asked Beatrice with worry. “What if I trip over the train?”
“Even if all that happens, Fergus will still love ye,” Lottie said, and Jeane relaxed slightly.
“Ye think so?”
“I ken it,” Lottie assured her, smiling as she finished pinning flowers to Jeane’s hair. “He loves ye like ye’re the moon above.”
Jeane smiled, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.
She could not be happier, having her friends crowded around her, living life in the McCloud castle with few worries. She had been living in the healer’s quarters, next to Lottie’s room, but Fergus had insisted on moving all her things into his bedchambers.
He was more than excited to consummate their union.
She wondered if he would even make it through the ceremony without trying to kiss her. She doubted it.
Jeane loved that he wanted her so much, though. It was one of her favorite things about him. She was nervous about the wedding night, of course, because she had no experience. But she knew that Fergus would be patient with her, teach her what she needed to know.
Jeane worried about her patients—Ian particularly, who needed a lot of attention to help clear his lungs. But she’d trained an apprentice just for this occasion, Mary the maid and Jeane’s friend.
Mary had a special way with children, and Jene thought she would be an excellent healer.
“How far away is the church?” she asked Aiden, and he gave her a knowing smile.
“Nae far. Fergus has a surprise for ye.”
“A surprise?” Jeane tilted her head in confusion.
What could it be? She already had everything she had ever wanted and more.
Jeane followed Beatrice and Lottie out of the castle as Annabel carried the train of her skirt. Jeane got into the carriage carefully with Annabel behind her, frowning.
“Where’s Fergus?”
“He’s already there,” Aiden said, clearly not giving her any more information. He was keeping his laird’s surprise completely secret.
As the carriage started forward, Jeane was confused. They weren’t heading toward the town at all but further onto the castle grounds.
When the carriage rumbled to a stop, Jeane saw Fergus standing in a clearing, one full of foxglove.
Jeane rushed to him, nearly tripping over a root, and saw the priest standing next to him.
Fergus grinned at her. “I convinced the priest to marry us here. I ken how much ye like nature.”
Jeane’s eyes burned with tears, but she fought them, not wanting to look a mess on her wedding day.
“Ye look beautiful, little mouse,” he said quietly and took her hands in his as was custom.
The priest placed the ribbons over their joined hands, wrapping them around their wrists but not tying them yet.
“Fergus O’Malley of clan McCloud and Jeane Forrest of clan McKay, will ye honor and respect one another?”
“We will,” they said in unison, Fergus looking down into Jeane’s eyes as she glanced at the priest.
She worried she would trip over her words, but she had practiced in her bedchambers for hours.
“Will ye share in each other’s laughter and joy and be there through sufferin’ and pain?”
“We will.”
“Will ye pledge yerselves to each other, forsakin’ all others?”
“We will.”
The priest smiled, rattling off something in Latin that Jeane could not quite make out. She had never been the world’s best Christian, but she was glad that their marriage would be recognized by the Lord even outside of the church.
The priest tied the ribbons and bade Fergus to kiss his bride. He kissed her so softly, she started to cry, tears rolling down her face.
He lifted their tied hands, thumbing tears from her cheeks.
From here, they had planned on going directly back to the castle for a feast and drinks. The priest untied their hands after the ceremony was over.
But as everyone started to mount their horses and get in the carriages, Fergus grabbed Jeane around the waist, pulling her up against his chest.
“I want ye now,” he murmured, his eyes dark as he looked down at her. “I want to claim ye, make ye mine. I want to make ye mine forever, Jeane O’Malley.”
Jeane flushed. “Ye cannae wait—”
“Ye’ve made me wait for weeks,” he groaned, and Jeane could not help but titter.
Excitement and something like fear rushed through her. What if she was not good at bedding him? What if she bored him with her inexperience?
“I cannae wait,” he said, scooping her up and planting her on his stallion. He mounted the horse behind her and took off, galloping toward the castle, passing the carriages.
Jeane giggled wildly, holding onto the stallion’s neck with all her might. It seemed in the eyes of anyone observing that this was the very first time they had ever approached the castle.
Except this time, she was full of desire, not terror.
Fergus left the horse with the stable boy and rushed Jeane to his bedchambers. All her clothes were still strewn across the room since the maids had been busy preparing for the feast.
He shoved some of them off the bed, lying her down on the furs, and Jeane’s breath caught in her throat.
“I’ve never—”
“I ken, little mouse,” he said, kissing along her neck, already beginning to unbutton the tiny buttons at the back of her dress as he stood behind her. “I will teach ye.”
She hummed, letting out a small moan as he bit down on her shoulder, finally getting the last tiny button undone.
“Damn these buttons,” he complained, and Jeane laughed.
But then her smile faded as she lay bare beneath him and he looked down at her with a shuttered, blank expression. What was he thinking? Did he find her ugly?
“Bonny,” he murmured, tracing his fingers down her sides, gripping onto her hip. She wondered if later she would have bruises in the shapes of his fingertips.
She hoped so.
One hand cupped her breast, and she did not have small ones, but his hands were large, enveloping them as his calloused palm skidded across her nipple.
Jeane drew in a sharp breath, the skin of her abdomen trembling as he cupped her other breast, doing the same thing.
“Lord, ye’re perfect,” Fergus told her, and Jeane was inclined to believe him, the way he was looking at her like she was something precious, something dear.
“Touch me,” she moaned, rocking her hips up as his hands skated down her sides.
“Be patient, mouse. I’ve got ye,” he said, his fingers dragging through her womanhood, finding her slick and wanting. He dipped two fingers inside of her, angling up just the way she liked, and she mewled out his name.
Jeane did not know how she was going to get through this without exploding with desire.
Fergus drew in a ragged breath when Jeane’s hands lit on the waistband of his kilt. He removed his fingers from her, placing his hands over hers.
“I want to see ye, too,” she pleaded, begging him, and who was Fergus to deny her anything?
He undressed, dropping his kilt to the ground and tugging his tunic over his head.
He stood there, bare as the day he was born, and she looked him up and down like he was a side of meat, and she was starving. He could not help but smirk at her.
“Ye like what ye see?”
“That’s nae going to fit inside me,” she said flatly, and Fergus could not help but chuckle.
“It will, lass. Ye stretch more than ye think. How do ye think women have babies?”
“I… I suppose ye’re right,” she said, flushing, and Fergus went back to his task, teasing one of her nipples with one hand before pressing two fingers inside her.
He stretched her out, plunging them deeper as she whimpered out his name. He could feel her fluttering around his fingers, knew she was close, and he kept moving his fingers in and out of her, even as she reached up to wrap her hand around his manhood.
He hissed out a breath and looked down at her with dark eyes.
“Ye daenae ken what ye’re askin’ of me, mouse.”
“I want ye to make love to me,” she begged, stroking his manhood to full girth, and he grunted, thrusting into her hand.
“Ye daenae have to ask me twice,” Fergus muttered and put his hand over hers on his manhood. For a few strokes, he guided her, letting her pump her fist, tightening her grip, but then his bollocks started to draw up, and he moved her hand away.
He did not want to spill into her hand like a teenager.
He guided himself inside of her, slowly pressing just the head into her tight entrance. He had loosened her up a bit with his fingers, but she still clamped around him as he slowly pushed inside.
“Oh, oh, Fergus, it’s too much—” she started, and he froze, trembling all over with the effort it took to hold back.
“Ye’re all right,” he told her softly. “Just look at me, little mouse. It might hurt for just a moment, but I promise I will make ye feel good again, aye?”
She looked up at him with those wide brown doe eyes of hers, the eyes he had fallen in love with instantly, and nodded, clutching onto his shoulders.
He rolled his hips slowly, pressing into her, stretching her out. As he pressed ever deeper, he heard her cry out and felt her nails digging into his shoulders.
He had taken her virginity. Made her his and his alone. He was the only man to be with her like this. He was her first and her last. He looked down at himself pumping slowly in and out of her. He gritted his teeth, trying not to thrust forward hard and fast the way his body wanted him to.
“Oh, it hurts,” she whimpered, and he slowed, leaning down to kiss her as he tugged at one of her peaked nipples.
“Does it still hurt, lass?” he asked, holding back, stilling, and she started to rock her hips.
“A wee bit,” she admitted. “But it feels good, too. Want more.”
Fergus groaned, thrusting into her just a little faster, and Jeane started to whimper.
There was no sound so sweet in the entire world.
Jeane could not quite understand what she was feeling. Having Fergus inside of her, stretching her, made her feel like her body was vibrating.
She whined as he started to move his hips faster, her breath catching in her throat.
“Fergus,” she gasped, and he grunted in response before speaking.
“Aye, little mouse?”
“I’m going to—” she cut herself off with a long moan as she reached her peak, pleasure growing and growing in her lower belly just before it snapped.
“That’s it, lass. Let go,” Fergus crooned, and Jeane could not believe she had once thought this passionate man cold.
Jeane moaned out Fergus’ name over and over, and Fergus started to snap his hips into her, faster and faster. His breath started to hitch. He looked down at her, panting.
“Going to fill ye up, lass. Going to make sure everyone kens yer mine.”
“Please,” Jeane pleaded, and she was not sure what she was pleading for. But she knew that she wanted Fergus to feel as good as she did right now.
Fergus nearly roared and then suddenly stilled. Jeane felt herself still fluttering around him. He stayed inside her, leaning down to plant kisses along her jawline.
“Jeane. Little mouse.”
“Aye, husband?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling up at him.
“I love ye,” he breathed, almost too quiet, and Jeane’s eyes started to tear up.
She felt so much that she did not know what to do with it. She pulled him down to kiss him deeply. Fergus growled into her mouth, his hips thrusting forward enough to make her squeak.
“I love ye too, Fergus.”
“Wife.”
“Aye.”
Fergus broke out in a big, boyish smile, and Jeane felt her cheeks would start to hurt because she kept smiling back.
Jeane had spent her life with her father, thinking that she would never know love. That she would never know happiness.
But now, her heart was so full she could not stand it. Her husband was her whole world, and she could not imagine life without him.
The End?