Chapter 24
No amount of exhaustion or pain could take away from the joy of this moment. Two days had passed since the battle on Dunvegan’s shores. Days of cleaning up the mess of war, tending the wounded, sending out missives, and hardly a chance to rest.
Rest would come in the grave, Lachlan knew, and he hoped it was many years from now.
Isabel’s hand slipped into his under the table, where they sat on the dais. There was a bruise on one of her cheeks, a mark from Kerr’s attempted abduction, but her other cheek was flushed pink with joy.
“Husband,” she said, giving him a smile that Lachlan painted in memory to pull out on nights when he was forced to be away from her side.
He was not delusional enough to believe that as a Guardian of Scotland there wouldn’t be times they were separated.
But for right now, all he wanted was to get her alone.
“Wife,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips, and pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles.
“I never thought I’d be so happy to hear that word,” she said with a smirk.
From across the room, three of his hound dogs leapt to their feet, pulling their attention to what might be a fight over a coveted bone.
But the dogs didn’t move, they seemed more startled than anything else, and then Lachlan spotted the culprits.
Freckles and Zeus, chasing each other in the rushes.
“We might soon have a few more ferrets,” Lachlan teased.
“A welcome addition.” Isabel’s grin widened, and he couldn’t agree more.
From the long trestle tables below, Angus started to pound his hands on the wood, followed by Elsa at his side, and then James and the rest of his warriors. Angus stood, cup in hand, and elevated his ale toward the dais where Lachlan and Isabel sat.
“To the bride and groom,” Angus shouted.
A chorus of cheers, and clink of ale mugs echoed in the rafters.
Lachlan raised his cup, as did Isabel, but rather than sip, he leaned in for a kiss, savoring the taste of his wife’s lips on his. Soft, plush, and my God, when could they go upstairs to consummate the marriage in earnest?
The cheers from his people grew louder, the pounding on the table making the walls themselves feel as though they were rumbling. When he finally pulled away, he stared into Isabel’s bemused blue gaze, satisfied with himself.
“If I may also propose a toast.” Callum’s voice echoed through the room. “Before, Ewan here takes over.”
There was a moment of Lachlan’s two best mates elbowing each other for space before Callum continued.
“When we were lads barely out of leading strings, Lachlan was given the heavy duty of presiding over his clan. Dealing with loss and becoming a man at the same time was an incredible burden, but one in which this man has welcomed, and the clan has prospered for.”
“Here, here!” Ulrich shouted.
“I still recall the moment Lachlan declared he would never marry. Of course, we all knew he was full of shi–” Ewan elbowed him hard in the ribs, “steam. And look at him now, our Wolf of Skye with his own she-wolf at his side.”
“Did ye see the way she stabbed Kerr?” Ewan shouted. “To the Wolfess of Skye!”
Isabel let out a burst of giggles at that. “The wolfess?”
“A fitting name for my bride,” Lachlan said.
“I think I rather like it.”
The pounding of wood, clink of pewter mugs, and shouts of elation continued, and Lachlan took that opportunity to stand. He was ready to take his wolfess to bed. But as he stood, Ulrich did too.
“I have had the privilege of leading men beside two great MacLeod men. Your father, and ye. Your father would have been proud, my laird. Verra proud.”
Lachlan’s chest tightened with emotion, and he nodded, then stepped from the dais to pull Ulrich against him, with a hard pound to the man’s back. “He’d be shocked ye’ve lived this long. Blessed by the fairies, are ye, my dear friend.”
Ulrich grinned. “Only if the fairies come in the form of ale!” And he raised his cup to his mouth to take a long gulp.
“Shall we give them one dance before we…” Isabel glanced toward the stairs.
“If we must.”
“I think we must. And then ye must sweep me away and not let anyone follow.”
Lachlan grinned. “No way in hell am I letting them into our bedchamber tonight.” He signaled to the musicians to strike up a lively Scottish tune, and then he swept her into his arms. “We dance!” he called, and the rest of his clan stood too, the music carrying their feet.
And as the song closed, and he attempted to abscond with his wife discreetly, every eye was on them, with nearly as many bawdy lines tossed their way.
Isabel could feel the blush on her cheeks all the way to her toes as they were sent scurrying up the stairs, her in Lachlan’s arms, chased by the crowd.
It was only Callum and Ewan who stopped them from ascending the next round in the stairwell, declaring they’d guard the stairs until morn if need be from the raucous crowd.
With the door closed, and the distant bawdy calls a dull echo, Lachlan set her on her feet.
“Ye are the most beautiful bride,” he whispered, his lips on her ear as he kissed her cheek and then her lips.
“And ye are the most handsome groom,” she murmured against his lips, teasing the tip of his tongue with her own.
Lachlan groaned deep in his throat. “I’ve been wanting to get ye alone since I saw ye on the steps of the kirk.”
“I dinna think Father Ryan would have liked that.”
“Likely no’,” he chuckled. “But now, we can be alone whenever we wish.”
“I like the sound of that.” Isabel wrapped her arms around Lachlan’s shoulders, her fingers toying with the neat leather thong holding his hair back in a queue. She tugged at the ties, feeling his hair come loose and wild around his face. “My wolf.”
He growled and gave a light nip to her neck as his hands gripped her rear, lifting her up, and she wrapped her legs reflexively around his hips. “Be careful, lass, I might eat ye up.”
“Devour me, wolf,” she demanded.
“Zounds, do ye even know what ye ask?”
She didn’t really, but the way his voice deepened, and the hungry look that came into his eyes made her perfectly aware that whatever it was she had asked for was exactly what she wanted.
“Do ye want a glass of wine?” he asked as he set her on the edge of the bed.
Isabel shook her head. She’d had a glass downstairs already and did not want to be fuzzy in the head for what was about to happen. Instead, she kicked off her shoes, pulled up the hem of her gown to reveal her hose and pulled the ribbons that held them in place.
Lachlan watched her as she removed her hose exposing the length of her legs to his hungry gaze. And as she tossed the second one to the floor, he dropped onto his knees before her, hands running up and down the backs of her calves.
“I’m going to worship ye,” he said, his voice low, tight.
Isabel nodded, because she couldn’t find the words, and even if she had them, she was pretty certain her ability to speak had been taken away.
Lachlan slowly pressed her knees apart, skimming his palms up her thighs until her skirts were at her hips, and then he dipped his head between her thighs. Heat touched her core as he kissed her, and Isabel grabbed hold of his shoulders, bucking forward. Was this… Did people…
But again, she was at a loss for words, and Lachlan pressed a hand to her chest and pressed until she collapsed onto the bed. He put one leg over each of his shoulders, and spread her wider, his tongue devouring her just as she’d unknowingly asked.
Isabel collapsed into a puddle of pleasure, sounds escaping her throat she didn’t know she could make.
With every stroke, she lost more of her sense, at the same time her body ignited into nothing but sensation.
The pure heat of his tongue, his lips, left her body bowing, seeking more and more, until she reached the precipice of a cliff, and dove off into rapture.
Every inch of her shook as she cried out her release, her fingers curling into the coverlet, her knees pressing to Lachlan’s temples.
When she finally came down enough to blink open her eyes, Lachlan stood before her, undressing, revealing inch after inch of his magnificently muscled body.
Between his hips, his arousal stood hard, thick, and an urge to taste him took hold.
She pushed herself up to sitting, then stood, her hands stroking over his belly, his hips as she turned him, and he let her. Then she gently shoved him to the bed.
Lachlan’s eyes widened in surprise as she took up his previous stance and knelt before him.
She didn’t ask before she pressed her lips to the tip of his manhood but instead let instinct take hold as she kissed him, licked him, took him into her mouth.
The guttural moan in the back of his throat, his fingers threading into her hair, told her she was doing it right.
But just when she thought she’d found the rhythm of it, he bid her stop.
“No more,” he croaked. “Or else, I’ll no’ be able to finish with ye.”
Isabel cocked her head, her lips swollen, confused.
But she didn’t have time to ponder as he pressed his lips to hers in a feral kiss that swept away all thought.
Lachlan’s fingers fumbled with her gown until the air kissed her skin, his lips wrapped around one nipple and then the other.
And then he was pulling her down onto the bed with him.
The heat of their skin touching sent shivers of pleasure over her as he slid his body along hers.
He rolled on top of her, and instinctively she wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his shoulders, and kissed him with everything she had.
Half a breath later, their bodies were one as he drove deep inside her, the both of them crying out in pleasure at their joining.
Lachlan thrust slow and steady, then harder, faster, then slower, teasing her and building up a delicious pressure inside her body.
He rolled to his back, pulling her with him, so she straddled him.
“Ride me, love,” he demanded.
At first, she wasn’t quite sure, but with his hands on her hips, she rocked back and forth.
Then up and down, until she found a rhythm that took on a mind of its own.
She cried out in shock and pleasure as a climax seized her, riding him faster, as wave after wave of pleasure careened through her limbs.
Lachlan’s fingers dug into her hips, and he bucked upward, thrusting deep as his own release conquered his body.
When the ripples of pleasure subsided, Isabel collapsed on top of her husband, breathing in his heady scent.
If only they could remain abed forever in this one blissful moment, making love forever and ever.
“Ye’re everything I ever secretly dreamed of,” he said, stroking the dip in her lower back.
“What is it that ye secretly dreamed of?” Isabel grinned, pressing her palm to his chest and feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath.
“A woman with heart, but also strength. With intelligence and cunning, but also empathy for others. A woman who could stab a man one moment and make love tenderly the next. She seemed like a far-off mirage, a fantasy. And then ye demanded I no’ die, and ye admonished me as ye healed me.”
“And I had no problem stabbing a man.”
“Aye,” he grinned. “I rather liked witnessing that.”
“And making love… I never knew it could be this way. That it would be so full of pleasure.” Heat suffused her cheeks as she said the word, as images of what they’d just done played gleefully in her mind.
“Perhaps I should show ye again.” Lachlan rolled her onto her back, his elbows holding up his weight on either side of her shoulders.
“Aye, I think ye must,” she nodded, serious. “I dinna want to forget.”
“Och, lass, ye’ll never forget, I swear it. As long as I’ve breath in my body, ye will know daily what making love is like.”
“I love ye, Wolf of Skye.”
“And I ye, my wolfess.” He nuzzled her neck, biting gently at the crook, until she squealed in delight.
The world outside their bedchamber might have been full of dangers and strife, but for now, behind the closed door, nestled in their love nest, Lachlan and Isabel could forget for at least a few hours, that anything was amiss.
Bliss had a way of erasing pain and laying the ground for hope.