Epilogue Muireall #2
Fire shot from my nipple to every part of my body, and instantly, I wanted that pleasure he’d given me before.
From the wicked chuckle he released, the devil knew I wanted him.
I curled my fingers into his thick curls, as he sucked first one nipple and then the other until I was moaning and writhing beneath him, and begging him to take me.
I burned and throbbed everywhere. When he started to move lower, I tugged him up. “I want ye in me,” I panted.
“Ye’ll get me in ye, lass, believe me, but first let me pleasure ye.”
“Nay,” I replied. “First ye will claim me as yer wife, and then, by all means, bring me more pleasure.”
“Greedy wench,” he said, coming up to spread my thighs in a swift but gentle motion. “I love ye,” he whispered against my skin, the words punctuating each touch of his lips as they traveled down my neck, across my collarbone. “I love ye, Murieall. Mo chridhe. Mo bhean.”
My hands roamed up his chest to circle to his back, where I pressed him toward me. “And I love ye, husband, but if ye do nae take me now, I shall perish of need.”
“Well, I can nae have that,” he said, entering me with one exquisite slide.
My body welcomed him immediately, and we began to find a tune only we could hear.
He slid gently in and out as he lowered his head to suck my nipple as he moved.
The dual pleasure of his moving in me as he sucked my breast was almost more than I could take.
Each thrust of his hips and flick of his tongue drew me as taut as a bow, until I released with a deep thrust of his.
As hot pleasure poured through me, he growled and stiffened, finding his own release.
For a long moment, we lay together, bodies hot and slick, him pressing me into the bed, our panting breaths mingling, and simply drank each other in.
When our panting quieted, and I could feel his heart had slowed as mine had, he rolled off me, rose, went to the water basin, and came back to gently clean me.
The way he cared about me, how he showed it with such a simple gesture, brought tears to my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he said, setting down the rag on the stand beside the bed, before settling beside me, pulling the covers up to my chin, and stroking my hair as I nestled against his chest.
I smiled, blinking away the tears before they could fall. “There is nae anything wrong. I’m just happy. The way ye love me, well, it humbles me.”
“Oh, aye,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Then ye need to prepare to be verra humbled the rest of yer life, because I plan to love ye with all that I am.”
My chest ached with the love it held for him. I set my hand on his cheek and said, “I’m happy to be humbled by yer love, and ye should ken I will love ye with all that I am.”
He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch infinitely gentle. “I already ken it, lass.”
We fell silent then, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and our own breathing, gradually slowing further as sleep beckoned.
The voices of the dead whispered at the edge of my consciousness, but they did not disturb my peace.
Instead, they seemed to sing a lullaby of sorts, gentle and soothing.
As I drifted toward sleep in Munro’s arms, I thought of the frightened girl I had been, so certain that deviating from my careful plans would bring only pain. How wrong I had been. The greatest joy I had ever known had come from embracing the unexpected, from surrendering to love rather than fear.
“Sleep, mo chridhe,” Munro murmured drowsily, his lips brushing my temple. “I’ll be here when ye wake.”
And for the first time in years, I slept without a single worry about what tomorrow might bring.
Thank you so much for reading The Highlander’s Wicked Ways!
If you love sweeping epic romances that take you on rollicking adventures through the highlands and have interconnected family stories, then you’ll love my eleven-book series Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts, which starts with the USA Today bestselling When a Laird Loves a Lady!
And don’t miss my dark and sexy bestselling Wicked Willful Highlander series, starting with Highlanders Hold Grudges! He kidnapped her to save his clan, not to lose his heart.
If you’re looking for something sexy, sweet, and romantic, you’ll fall in love with my Of Mist and Mountains series, starting with Highland Hope! Sometimes the one you love is the very one you cannot have.
Sign up for my newsletter to get chances at Advanced Reader Copies, news on books, and inside scoops!
Go here > . You can also join my private Facebook group, Julie Johnstone’s Literary Wenches.
And you can find me on Instagram. See what I’m recommending on Goodreads.
Hear about my sales via Bookbub. And get news from me about my books on by following my Page.
Read below for an excerpt from When a Laird Loves a Lady…
One
England, 1357
Faking her death would be simple. It was escaping her home that would be difficult.
Marion de Lacy stared hard into the slowly darkening sky, thinking about the plan she intended to put into action tomorrow—if all went well—but growing uneasiness tightened her belly.
From where she stood in the bailey, she counted the guards up in the tower.
It was not her imagination: Father had tripled the knights keeping guard at all times, as if he was expecting trouble.
Taking a deep breath of the damp air, she pulled her mother’s cloak tighter around her to ward off the twilight chill.
A lump lodged in her throat as the wool scratched her neck.
In the many years since her mother had been gone, Marion had both hated and loved this cloak for the death and life it represented.
Her mother’s freesia scent had long since faded from the garment, yet simply calling up a memory of her mother wearing it gave Marion comfort.
She rubbed her fingers against the rough material.
When she fled, she couldn’t chance taking anything with her but the clothes on her body and this cloak.
Her death had to appear accidental, and the cloak that everyone knew she prized would ensure her freedom.
Finding it tangled in the branches at the edge of the sea cliff ought to be just the thing to convince her father and William Froste that she’d drowned.
After all, neither man thought she could swim.
They didn’t truly care about her anyway.
Her marriage to the blackhearted knight was only about what her hand could give the two men.
Her father, Baron de Lacy, wanted more power, and Froste wanted her family’s prized land.
A match made in Heaven, if only the match didn’t involve her… but it did.
Father would set the hounds of Hell themselves to track her down if he had the slightest suspicion that she was still alive.
She was an inestimable possession to be given to secure Froste’s unwavering allegiance and, therefore, that of the renowned ferocious knights who served him.
Whatever small sliver of hope she had that her father would grant her mercy and not marry her to Froste had been destroyed by the lashing she’d received when she’d pleaded for him to do so.
The moon crested above the watchtower, reminding her why she was out here so close to mealtime: to meet Angus. The Scotsman may have been her father’s stable master, but he was her ally, and when he’d proposed she flee England for Scotland, she’d readily consented.
Marion looked to the west, the direction from which Angus would return from Newcastle.
He should be back any minute now from meeting his cousin and clansman Neil, who was to escort her to Scotland.
She prayed all was set and that Angus’s kin was ready to depart.
With her wedding to Froste to take place in six days, she wanted to be far away before there was even the slightest chance he’d be making his way here.
And since he was set to arrive the night before the wedding, leaving tomorrow promised she’d not encounter him.
A sense of urgency enveloped her, and Marion forced herself to stroll across the bailey toward the gatehouse that led to the tunnel preceding the drawbridge.
She couldn’t risk raising suspicion from the tower guards.
At the gatehouse, she nodded to Albert, one of the knights who operated the drawbridge mechanism.
He was young and rarely questioned her excursions to pick flowers or find herbs.
“Off to get some medicine?” he inquired.
“Yes,” she lied with a smile and a little pang of guilt.
But this was survival, she reminded herself as she entered the tunnel.
When she exited the heavy wooden door that led to freedom, she wasn’t surprised to find Peter and Andrew not yet up in the twin towers that flanked the entrance to the drawbridge.
It was, after all, time for the changing of the guard.
They smiled at her as they put on their helmets and demi-gauntlets.
They were an imposing presence to any who crossed the drawbridge and dared to approach the castle gate.
Both men were tall and looked particularly daunting in their full armor, which Father insisted upon at all times.
The men were certainly a fortress in their own right.
She nodded to them. “I’ll not be long. I want to gather some more flowers for the supper table.” Her voice didn’t even wobble with the lie.
Peter grinned at her, his kind brown eyes crinkling at the edges. “Will you pick me one of those pale winter flowers for my wife again, Marion?”
She returned his smile. “It took away her anger as I said it would, didn’t it?”
“It did,” he replied. “You always know just how to help with her.”
“I’ll get a pink one if I can find it. The colors are becoming scarcer as the weather cools.”