Chapter Twenty-One #3
She tipped her had back, closed her eyes, sighed as she let him loosen the rest of the buttons to open the bodice, drawing away the separate blouse, looking for the fastening on the skirt—she helped him find the tapes so that both pieces slid away to expose the corset cover, the bothersome stays, the ruched chemise.
The snug room was warm, his hands warmer as he turned her to work the laces at the small of her back, drawing away the stiff whale-boned canvas.
Then he spun her to face him, and she came willingly into his arms, feeling free in chemise and knickers, feeling sensuous and secret and private in the small room, in the haven of his arms, where hope, love, and forgiveness resided.
Reaching up, she tugged at his coat and waistcoat, fingering those buttons loose. In shirtsleeves and trousers, he pushed her hands away to pull her close, kissing her so deeply that she arched back with it, felt her knees weaken, moaned breathily into his lips.
When he sank to a knee to take her down to the floor with him, he lowered her to the thick Aubusson carpet of gold, cream, and blue that made her think of the beach at Caransay.
She stretched out beside him, the soft, silky carpet a cushion beneath them as he kissed her.
Sighing, she opened to the tip of his tongue, gave him hers, sighed again as he moved to sweep the shell of her ear, that feeling, tender and strong, plunging through her.
Tugging at his shirt, her fingers nimble at the remaining buttons, she pulled the linen away to slide her palms over the warm, hard curves of his chest. She traced her lips there, tasting salt and man, feeling his heartbeat close and fast. Now he streamed soft kisses along her jaw and down the arch of her throat until his lips touched her upper breast. With a gasp, she threaded her fingers into his thick hair and writhed under his caressing lips, his deft fingers.
As the fine golden chain around her neck shifted, she felt the slight weight of the gold locket against her throat, a reminder.
What she wanted so much was here now, almost full, almost—the father of her child declared, and they would be a family.
It swelled through her, the gratitude, the love, the knowledge that she could at last be free to be herself, all of herself, mother and lover and wife, island girl and baroness.
What went unsaid and yet acknowledged now, accepted now, burned through her as passion and hope together.
He had called her honest once—now she felt that. Honest, loved, safe, and complete.
Her thoughts fled as the touch of his hands brought her to the moment, the feeling of his lips coaxing a kiss, another, deeper, hungrier, even as his fingers slid warm, teasing, exploring.
She explored him too, with more boldness than before, slipping a hand under wool and linen to find him, shape him, caress.
As he groaned against her lips with the next kiss, she took him full in her hands, warm velvet over heated steel, and he sucked in a long breath.
Then she could not stop, not then, not in the next moment as he found her, too, touching the tender places only he had ever touched, that honeyed slick for him now.
Tearing at his shirt and his trousers, she rolled and shifted with him on the fat silk of the carpet.
She pushed hindering clothes, hers and his, aside, wanting desperately to surge over him, rise and sink down as he filled her, as she gasped with it and moved in a rhythm with it.
Merging and seeking, soaring and arching, she felt him move with her like waves of the sea.
Then, through some sparkling natural magic that took all thought away but one—love, love—she vanished into him as he poured into her.
Later, breathing slowed, she rested in his arms on the floor, and ran a lazy hand over his chest. Dougal gasped, swore softly, sat up. Meg pulled back to look at him.
“I must go,” he said, reaching for his shirt.
“Go? Oh—the train!”
“I can still make it if I hurry.” He tugged on his shirt, then stood.
“Stay. Take another train.” She got to her feet, taking up her abandoned corset.
“I have a ticket.” He reached for his trousers, pulling them on, buttoning.
“Let it go. You can purchase another on the Strathlin account.”
“Meg, no,” he said as he snatched up his waistcoat, shrugged it on, adjusted his shirt.
“Just this once. Or you could miss the train and take the next one.”
“That one leaves tomorrow morning.” He spun her about to help with the laces, then stood back as she dropped her skirt over her head. “Stay the night.”
He paused, frowned. “I could take the morning train and still reach the Isles by evening to hire a boat over. But I will pay my way.”
“We will talk about that and the rest of it. Stay here tonight, husband,” she said, easing into his arms.
“Are you ready to announce our marriage?” He tipped a brow. “Or do you want a ceremony first?”
“I would tell the world if I could. We should decide, though.”
“We will. For now, I will go back to my cousin’s house for the night. It is best,” he said as she began to protest. “You know it is. Go careful, love. One step, then another.”
Meg sighed. “We did just take a big step.”
“We did.” He kissed her slowly. “Next step, best gather your lacy things from the library floor before Mrs. Shaw brings tea.”
“Oh! I forgot about that!” She rushed to the door, unlocked it, and flew out.
In the morning, Dougal knocked on the door of the Strathlin house, shifting from foot to foot, remembering his arrival just the day before, his uncertainty, his caution.
Now he felt certain yet urgent, for the news he had received early this morning required immediate action.
He had to take his leave of Meg now and hurry to catch the first train heading west across Scotland.
The butler admitted him, and moments later Meg fairly flew down the stairs, hearing he was there.
Seeing the butler blink, Dougal then noticed Mrs. Shaw’s surprise as she came down the hallway.
Though no one knew of their secret marriage yet, their devotion would be more than obvious, judging by the way Meg rushed toward him, took his hands, smiled up at him.
“Why, Mr. Stewart,” Meg said, coy, blushing, beautiful.
“Madam,” Dougal said. “I must go soon. Now.” He took her shoulders, not caring what anyone thought. She was all that mattered to him, even as Mrs. Shaw suppressed a smile and glanced at Mr. Hamilton, who came round the corner just then.
“Why? I thought we would have time—”
“I have just heard that some members of the Lighthouse Commission are heading out to Caransay. They may be there before I can get there.”
“Surely they can wait a little, look at the site, and you will be there.”
He shook his head. “Sir Roderick went with them.”
“Dear God! He—is not happy with either of us. And Sean is there, and my grandparents do not know what has happened. He could tell them anything!”
“Just what I was thinking,” he said grimly. “So I have to go now. I just came to say farewell.”
“I am going with you,” she said, straightening her shoulders, her hands still in his.
“Stay here. I will see to this.”
“I am going with you. Mrs. Shaw!” she said, turning. “Mr. Hamilton—I am leaving for Caransay with Dougal—Mr. Stewart.”
“My lady,” Angela Shaw said.
“Meg, listen,” Dougal urged. “He could be dangerous this time. You cannot go, madam. I do not want you to go,” he amended through clenched teeth.
Guy Hamilton stepped forward. “May I ask the problem, sir? Madam?”
“Roderick Matheson,” Dougal said.
“He knows,” Meg said, turning toward the others. “Dougal knows now. And Roderick knows about Sean too. We have to get out there!” Her voice went thin and desperate.
“It will be fine, dear,” Dougal said.
“We need tickets for the train to Glasgow, and boat passage to the Isles,” she said. “Angela, if you please, I will need a satchel of clothing, a traveling cape, a few other things.”
“Right away,” Angela Shaw said, grabbing her skirts to rush upstairs.
“I will go to the station with you to make arrangements.” Guy hurried into the study.
“Too much fuss,” Dougal grumbled. “We can buy tickets at Waverley Station. And you can wear whatever your grandmother can lend you. We have no time. We must go.”
“I need a few things, sir. And I do not handle cash. Mr. Hamilton handles the cash and makes my travel arrangements. We need the carriage brought round, too.” Meg called the butler’s name. He appeared, nodded, disappeared.
“I hired a carriage from Glasgow to Oban already, and sent word to have a boat waiting,” Dougal said. “We will have to travel as husband and wife, though. You want to avoid scrutiny.”
“Thank you.” She smiled.
He looked up to see Mrs. Shaw racing down the stairs with a tapestry satchel in one hand, something lacy spilling from its opening. Dougal took it, thanked her, and went to the door where Meg waited. Angela Shaw helped her shrug into a traveling coat while they spoke quietly.
The butler reappeared to open the door just as Guy came toward them with a wallet that he pressed into Meg’s hands. “This should be sufficient for the trip, madam. If you need more, send word.”
“I can take care of other expenses,” Dougal said. “But thank you.” Hamilton nodded, and Dougal sensed quick understanding there.
Mrs. Shaw helped Meg don a black beribboned bonnet. “Madam, you need an escort if you are to travel with a man. Give me a moment to gather some things and I can go with you.”
“I already have an escort, dear. Mr. Stewart—Dougal is my husband.”
“Your what?” Hamilton said as he and Mrs. Shaw both stared at her. “When?”
“We are married,” Meg said, her cheeks flushed. “We were married years ago.” She looked up at Dougal, who took her hand. “We kept it secret. It was not—we were not—certain it would last.” Blushing, she glanced at him.
Hamilton lifted a bemused brow. “You two are full of surprises.”
“We can take vows in a ceremony,” Dougal said, “when the lady decides what she wants.”
“Aye, soon! Farewell, my dears,” Meg said, hugging Angela Shaw again, then kissing Hamilton’s cheek. She whirled to rush out the door as Dougal waited for her to precede him, just as the carriage came around the corner from its stable behind the row of houses.
Once inside, Dougal kissed her hand. “I am glad you are going with me after all.”
“I want to be there when you confront Roderick about the evil rumors he plans to spread. And to make sure he does not lay a hand on my son.”
“Our son. And I mean to ensure he keeps his distance. Until then, we have hours of travel ahead of us. So you can tell me about what I have missed over the years,” he said.
“I want to know about Sean’s birth, six years and some now.
I do not even know the date. Tell me all of it, what he was like as a baby and a little one.
What he said, what he did, what he learned. I missed too much. But no more.”