Chapter 31
“Ye came back!” Kristin practically shoved Arran out of the way to reach Victoria. “I kent ye would! Och, braither, did I nae say that ye’d be a fool to sit on yer arse and do nothin’?”
Rolling his eyes in partial defeat, Arran nodded. “Aye, ye did. I’ve never been gladder to have got off me arse.”
Any hope he might have had of sneaking Victoria into the keep without being noticed had evaporated the very instant they had come back through the gates.
Like the welcome parties that usually preceded soldiers returning home, Kristin, his mother, and Neil had been waiting at the gates.
Almost as if they had known he might attempt to deny them their jubilant salutations to Victoria.
“So, you are the one responsible for this unexpected rescue?” Victoria said to Kristin, withdrawing her arm from Arran’s to hug the woman. “For an awful moment, I really thought I would have to return to England.”
“As did I,” Kristin gushed, while Ruby, forever in her mother’s arms, attempted to grab at a lock of Victoria’s dark brown hair.
We’re going to be here all day…
Arran had specific plans for Victoria, and none of them involved her being monopolized by the rest of his family and the people who had grown fond of her.
They could enjoy her good cheer later once he had shown her just how much he loved her.
But how could he explain that to his mother and sister, particularly, without embarrassing his beloved with the indelicacy of his intentions?
To his surprise, it was Victoria’s father who saved his plans from ruination.
“My Lady,” he said to Sophie, “I do not suppose you could do me the charity of helping me back to the healer’s quarters, could you?
And I believe that I may need paper and ink and a quill, if such things could be found for me?
I have a very important letter to write to my youngest daughter. ”
Arran’s mother seemed to understand. “Kristin, be a dear and fetch the things for letter writing for Victoria’s father. Give Ruby to Neil for a while; you know how he dotes on her.”
“The last time I let him carry her, he took her to the trainin’ yard,” Kristin protested.
“What of it?” Sophie countered. “One day, she will be out there, trainin’ with a sword in hand. She should get accustomed to the noise and activity while she’s still little. Now, go on—the quicker ye fetch everythin’, the quicker ye can have Ruby back in yer arms.”
“Why can a servant nae…” Kristin began, then seemed to realize. “Oh. Right, I see how it is. I get ye back together and I have to wait to celebrate. Is that it?”
Sophie sighed. “Dearest, just fetch the writing things.”
Kristin flashed a glare at Arran and pouted a little as she handed her baby over to the man-at-arms, who, indeed, seemed delighted to be left in charge of the sweet child.
“Anyone would think I’m still a bairn, nae a maither in me own right,” she muttered as she wandered off into the keep.
Meanwhile, Sophie took Victoria’s father by the arm, the two of them slowly following in the footsteps of Arran’s sister. Which left Neil and Ruby, both of them staring at the returned couple expectantly.
“Go on, then,” Neil said with a smile. “Kristin will be back to hound ye if ye daenae go now, so ye’d best make yerselves scarce before she does. The lass is swift when she wants to be.”
Arran offered Victoria his arm and said softly, “Come, lass, let me help ye carry yer belongings back to yer chambers.”
She took his arm, her eyebrow raised as she whispered, “But I do not have any belongings.”
“Aye, I suppose ye daenae.” He smirked and pulled her forward; by the time they reached the main doors, they were running.
They did not stop until they came to the door of Victoria’s guest room, which, from now on, would permanently be hers. Somewhere that was entirely her own, to decorate and do with as she pleased.
“Welcome back,” he said, leading her into the room.
The moment the door closed, he kissed her.
Victoria clung to Arran, her mouth fierce and searching as she kissed him in return, unable to get enough of the man she loved.
She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and ran her fingertips through his long hair, letting the wavy locks glide over her hand, and lightly raked her fingernails across his muscular back, feeling every sculpted line.
The way she had been raised dictated a life of reserve and propriety, but she cast that all out of the window as she kissed him harder.
She was not a lady of the ton anymore, but a lady of Scotland, of MacLeon.
No longer a Diamond, but granted the most precious title of all: the woman who had Arran Murray’s heart, and had given hers to him in return.
“I daenae ken what I would have done if ye’d truly left,” he murmured against her mouth as he walked her backward, further into the room.
She moaned in the back of her throat. “Do not even think of it, my love. I certainly do not want to.”
“So, ye’d rather be distracted?”
She nodded, smiling as she pulled his head down to kiss him with all the passion that she possessed.
A gasp parted her lips as her shoulders bumped against the wall, his tongue taking the opportunity to dance with hers, while his hands smoothed over the curve of her waist and gripped her hips.
He pressed her into the wall, his own hips slowly moving in a way that stirred her up into a frenzy, awakening all the crackling nerves that worked together to create pure euphoria.
She felt the hardness of him, remembering her curiosity; there were things she had read about, of course, but, as she had learned, what was in books rarely compared to reality. Especially when it came to Arran, for the reality was so much better.
Arran pulled back for a moment, his eyes feverish with desire. “Before we continue, I need to ken that ye understand…”
“Understand what?” she murmured, her hands sliding over the muscle of his broad chest.
“That ye’re mine,” he replied with a sultry smile. “And that, when I told ye that I loved ye, it wasnae just a confession.”
She frowned a little. “I… what do you mean?”
“It was a proposal, love,” he replied. “I want ye to be my wife, if the idea isnae offensive to ye.”
Her heart soared, relieved laughter spilling from her lips. “Nothing would make me happier, my love. I would gladly be your wife.”
“Well then, wife, let me see if I can make ye a little happier,” he said, his mouth returning to hers in a fierce crush, as if spurred on by the force of his own gladdened heart.
As he kissed her, he reached for the wide ribbon resting below her bosom, untying it and dropping it to the floor.
The rest of her dress followed, leaving her in nothing but her stays and a petticoat.
Not one to be outdone, she reached for his shirt in return, pulling it free of the waist of his kilt, marveling at so much muscle as she brought the garment up and over his head, inadvertently revealing him bit by bit.
His bruises had faded, and his cuts had all but healed, which almost seemed metaphorical as she moved to undo the belt of his kilt.
In turn, he easily undid the knot of her stays and pulled the laces apart to free her from the undergarment, all with just the power of his intuitive touch; he did not need to turn her around to look at all.
A few moments later, they were naked in front of each other, Victoria’s gaze flitting downward to see what she had only imagined before.
Oh heavens…
She doubted she had ever seen a more impressive, more intimidating sight, that hard flesh standing proud and enticing.
Before she could satisfy her curiosity with an exploring touch, he kissed her once on the mouth, then began to kiss his way down her body: a blazing trail down her throat and over her chest, his mouth pausing to close over the peak of her nipple, where a gentle suck sent her back into the realm of immediate pleasures.
The rest was all anticipation that she knew he would not leave unsatisfied.
He kissed lower still, sinking until he was on his knees, his mouth grazing a tingling line along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
He paused, gazing up at her with a sly smirk on his lips. “Is this what ye want?”
“Yes,” she panted desperately. “Yes, my love!”
With a smile that he pressed against her inner thigh, he lifted her leg over his shoulder, and his hands slid up the back of her thighs to support her if the wall was not enough. She tilted her hips in anticipation, still ever-so slightly concerned that this might all be a dream.
The first brush of his exploring tongue was both the undoing and the making of her, as a rush of electricity sparked upward from that bundle of nerves between her thighs.
The second stroke of his tongue, gliding through the slick folds of her before tasting that swollen bud, sent a fresh wave to bolster the first, until her entire being became the splintering forks of a lightning bolt, crackling through every vein and limb as if she were half-mortal, half-divine.
“Yes, my love,” she moaned, arching her back off the wall, hungrily needing more of that feeling.
He was every bit as masterful as she remembered, his tongue a thing of magic that could conjure up such exquisite ecstasy, transforming her into a new woman, a bolder woman who did not think twice about enjoying herself, savoring every moment with delicious satisfaction.
“Oh, my love…” She murmured, luxuriating in each roll of that gifted tongue, each curl and suck, each circling and fluttering flick. “Yes… oh, yes…”
He seemed to know exactly what she liked the most, as if he had some way of reading her body and giving it precisely what it craved.
When she wanted him to be slower, he slowed.
When she wanted him to be quicker, he sped up.
When she wanted pressure, he sucked. She did not know how he did it, but perhaps some things were better left mysterious, a thing that did not require examination, just pure enjoyment.