Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (26 page)

She closed her eyes.

A minute later she opened them again. “Daniel?”

“What?”

“It was so…heavenly for me, but I don’t think it was as good for you.”

Another pause. “It was good. I liked pleasurin’ you. You’re very…responsive.”

Am I?

“Anything more can wait until tomorrow,” he stated.

She considered that briefly. “But you should be pleasured too. Isn’t there…well, you
said there were other things. Is there something I could do?”

He groaned. “Christ, lass, ye’re goin’ tae kill me.”

“But why? I know we can’t…do everything, but maybe there is some way I could…help.”

“You want to help, do you?”

She rolled toward him. “J-just tell me what to do.”

He groaned again. “I would, but I fear I’ve shocked you enough for one night already.”

If she were honest, she had to admit that she was a bit shocked—more than a bit really.
She hadn’t known, hadn’t realized such things were done or that she would enjoy them
so much. And it was because she had enjoyed it, because he’d brought her the most
intense pleasure she’d ever experienced, that she felt compelled to return the favor,
so to speak.

“Let me, Daniel.” Then a new thought occurred. “Or is it because I’m too inexperienced?
Because you don’t think you’ll like it?”

“Of course I’ll like it. Doona be daft, lass. Ne’er say I didn’t offer to restrain
myself.”

Then before she could speak, or perhaps before he could change his mind, he reached
out and grabbed her hand. Rather than try to tell her what he wanted, he pulled her
hand inside his drawers and curled her fingers around his naked shaft.

She gasped, while he moaned, his flesh throbbing beneath her fingers. He was thick
and rigidly hard yet indescribably soft and warm—very warm. His fingers gripped hers,
holding her in place as if afraid she might decide to rescind her offer and draw away.

But she was enthralled, curious in a way she found amazing, wanting to explore him
as he had done with her. “Show me,” she whispered, leaning over to kiss his chest,
his cheek.

He shuddered and speared his fingers into her hair, taking her mouth in a rapacious,
openmouthed kiss. At the same moment, he began moving her fingers along his length—of
which she discovered there was a considerable amount. Up and down they went while
he showed her exactly how to touch him, precisely what he desired.

Her body grew warm at the feel of him, delighting in the knowledge that despite all
his strength and power, he was vulnerable to her touch. She grew more confident, gripping
him exactly as he wished, stroking him until his hand slackened on hers and he let
her continue on her own.

She squeezed and pumped, listening to his ragged breathing, reveling in his obvious
pleasure as he called out her name.

“Faster,” he demanded. “Harder.”

She did her best to comply, working up and down his length with quick, firm strokes.
He seemed to thicken even more in her grasp, thrusting his hips inside her touch over
and over again.

Then suddenly his hand covered hers once more, pressing hard, working fast, then faster
still until his body stiffened and shook.

A wet warmth spread over their entwined fingers as he found his pleasure, a rough
cry of satisfaction on his lips.

She slumped against his chest, feeling almost as if she had found her own pleasure
again too.

They lay quietly for a long while, recovering their breaths as he kissed her at lazy
intervals.

At length, he disentangled their still-joined hands and climbed from the bed. She
made a sleepy complaint until she saw that he’d returned with a damp cloth.

He wiped her fingers clean, then dried them on the sheet. He tossed the cloth aside,
then climbed back in bed and pulled her tightly to him.

He kissed her again. “Sleep. We’ve a long, exciting day ahead tomorrow.”

She smiled to remember.

Her wedding day.

Odd how she already felt as if she’d had her wedding night.

Closing her eyes, she snuggled against him.

The last thing she knew was the sweet brush of his mouth against her forehead and
the sound of his clearly contented sigh.

M
ercedes slid a hand across the sheets the next morning, searching for Daniel, but
he was no longer in bed.

She sat up and pushed her tousled hair away from her face as she glanced sleepily
around the room, discovering she was quite alone.

For a moment, she considered going back to sleep, but then memories of the night past
slipped into her mind—first Daniel’s marriage proposal, then every delicious touch
and kiss that had come after.

Her nipples tightened in response and she glanced down, expecting to find her nightgown
unfastened to the waist. Instead, the garment was neatly buttoned.

She blinked in surprise. Obviously, Daniel had fastened it for her while she slept.
Curious that he would take care to preserve her modesty, especially considering the
eye-opening intimacy they’d shared. Then again, she was his bride-to-be and this was
her wedding day.

My wedding day!

She closed her eyes and smiled, savoring the knowledge, and the undeniable certainty
of her love. A tiny frisson of disquietude followed quick on its heels, but she pushed
it away. She’d made
her decision and she had no reservations. Whatever might happen once her family and
friends learned of her marriage, well, she would deal with it then. They would have
to deal with it as well and abide by her choice. No matter what, she would never regret
marrying Daniel MacKinnon.

So where was her fiancé? Maybe he was waiting for her downstairs.

Tossing the covers aside, she got to her feet and reached for her hairbrush. She worked
the snarls free and tied her long tresses back with a ribbon, then gathered up her
robe. She shrugged into the garment, then crossed to the door.

Sounds drifted up from below. So he was downstairs. With any luck he had brewed a
cup of tea.

But when she reached the bottom of the stairs, the person who turned to look at her
wasn’t Daniel; it was Sara Cameron instead. Robbie, she noticed, was nowhere in sight.

“Weel, there ye are,” the other woman declared with a welcoming smile as she set a
china pot on the kitchen table—the tea Mercedes had been wishing for. “I was just
wonderin’ if I’d have tae come and wake ye up, but here ye are.”

“Where is Daniel?” She crossed her arms, feeling unaccountably self-conscious.

“Och, he left some time ago. Said tae let ye sleep as long as possible, then help
ye get ready. He’s gone tae make arrangements, ye see.”

Mercedes’s lips parted on a silent inhalation. Surely he hadn’t told Sara Cameron
the truth, especially since the other woman was well aware they’d spent the night
together—alone.

Sara gave her a knowing look. “Aye, he explained everythin’ and although ye ought
tae have been straight from the first, I ken why ye thought it easier not tae say.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Imagine a broken axle standin’ in the way of true love. The major told me about yer
cousin—English, so I hear,” she added, practically spitting the word. “How the fiend
wouldn’t let
the two of ye wed even though it was yer mother’s dearest wish, and her having traveled
all the way from…where is it yer from?”

“Alden,” Mercedes squeaked helpfully.

“Alden, that’s right…and her having come to witness yer nuptials only tae die of a
fever. Ye poor wee lass.”

Mercedes bent her head, trying to look appropriately sorrowful at her fictitious mother’s
death, since her real mother was very much alive. Apparently, Daniel was every bit
as inventive as she when the occasion required.

“An’ while I don’t normally hold with runaway weddings,” Sara went on, “I can understand
why ye felt compelled. I wasn’t goin’ tae say afore, but I couldn’t help noticing
ye had no ring.”

Mercedes glanced down at her bare finger. Heavens, she ought to have thought of that
sooner.

“The major says ye made yer pledges in the auld tradition and only want tae sanctify
yer union before a proper man of the cloth. That way yer cousin can’t have the marriage
set aside. He’s gone to the kirk with Dougal and is puttin’ everything in place for
the ceremony.”

Mercedes said nothing, trying to digest the story Sara had just related.

Clearly, the other woman took her silence for distress.

“Here, now,” Sara said in a voice meant to be consoling, “I dinna mean tae turn ye
sorrowful, not on a day that ought tae be the happiest of yer life. A cup of strong
black tea and some oatcakes will put ye tae rights. Then we’ll go upstairs an’ I’ll
help ye choose yer dress and get ready fer the occasion.”

Smiling again, she waved a hand toward a kitchen chair, indicating that Mercedes should
take a seat.

Gratefully, Mercedes complied. Still silent, she began to eat.

If Sara disapproved of the fact that she and Daniel had spent the night alone in this
hut, she made no comment, nor did she send her any reproving looks. By the time Mercedes
finished breakfast, her earlier good humor had returned along with a fluttering of
excited nerves.

While Sara had talked and she had eaten, the other woman had boiled a kettle so Mercedes
could take a bath. A narrow tin slipper tub was produced, and with the front door
firmly locked, Mercedes sat in the kitchen in the tub and washed from face to feet
using a bar of Sara’s special homemade lavender soap.

There wasn’t time to wash her hair too, since it would never dry in time, but with
Sara’s help, the long skeins were brushed until they were smooth and tangle free.

Then it was time for the dress.

Mercedes had always assumed she would be married in an elaborate gown, something fashioned
of the finest, most beautiful materials available. An army of seamstresses would have
spent the better part of a year creating a majestic garment that would indeed be fit
for a princess.

Instead, she found herself inspecting the three dresses in her valise, none of which
remotely resembled a wedding gown.

“We left in a hurry,” she explained awkwardly to Sara as they stood in the bedroom,
studying the choices. “I did not have time to pack anything…bridal.”

Sara paused, her brows creased in thoughtful consideration. “If ye willna think it
too forward, I have an idea.”

Ten minutes later, Sara returned with a length of delicate lace that she said she’d
been saving for a special occasion.

“No, I could not accept,” Mercedes protested.

But Sara cast her objections aside. “What could be more special than a wedding? Here,
I’ve brought thread, needle, and scissors. If we’re quick aboot it, there should be
time to make a few alterations.”

Pledging to repay the woman’s generosity tenfold, Mercedes agreed and together they
set to work.

Daniel waited inside the small church, the vicar chatting quietly with his wife while
they waited for Mercedes to arrive.

Dougal had left some time ago to collect her, promising to return within the hour.
Opening the sporran hanging on his belt, Daniel took out his watch and checked the
time again, then returned to his waiting.

What if she is no’ coming? What if she’s changed her mind aboot marrying me?

But she wouldn’t, not after last night. Although now he was beginning to wish he hadn’t
let her talk him into waiting until tonight to take her virginity. If he’d claimed
her as he’d originally wished to do, she would have no choice now but to go through
with the wedding. As things stood, she was under no compelling obligation to keep
her promise. Certainly they’d kissed and touched and by doing so broken more than
a few rules of propriety. But on the most important point, she was still a maiden,
chaste and innocent in the only way that truly counted.

But then he remembered the breathless sound of her sighs and the intensely passionate
way she had responded in his arms. Her voice had rung out with happiness when she’d
agreed to marry him without the slightest hint of doubt or reservation.

No, she would be here.

Unless something had prevented her.

He scowled. Perhaps there had been some trouble en route. Despite the unlikelihood
of it, he hadn’t forgotten the man at the inn, who he’d suspected had been trailing
them. Had he caught up? Had he found her?

I should never have left her alone, not even in the care of the Camerons.

He would borrow a horse and ride back to their farm.

He had just turned to explain his decision to the vicar when the door of the kirk
opened with a faint bang and Dougal came inside, his five-year-old daughter’s hand
clasped in his. Sara Cameron followed next, her young son cradled in her arms. The
boy struggled, as if he wanted to be set down so he could run, but Sara just shifted
him onto one generous hip and told him to be still in a voice that put an end to the
squirming.

Then she turned back and held the door open so one last person could enter.

Relief flooded Daniel as he caught the first glimpse of Mercedes’s dark hair and slender,
curvaceous frame. And then he saw her fully and found himself riveted to the spot.

She was breathtaking, the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. She turned to face
him across the length of the aisle, her movements displaying a gentle grace that would
have put the angels to shame. Breath burned inside his lungs as he stared at her in
her wedding finery—for finery it was in spite of the hurried circumstances of their
marriage.

Her gown was a soft, tawny yellow that appeared gold in the late morning light. The
dress would have looked plain had it not been for the overskirt of intricate lace
that fell from just beneath her bodice down to the hem. More lace adorned the square
sleeves of her frock, her gold and ruby necklace a stunning adornment that nestled
sweetly in the curve of her breasts. Her lustrous sable brown hair had been swept
high and pinned in a soft knot at the back of her head. Her tresses were adorned with
fresh flowers that looked like a small crown made of yellow buttercups and wild pink
roses; she held a small bouquet of the same in her hands, the flowers tied with a
long pink ribbon. And last were a pair of delicate brown leather slippers whose toes
peaked out from beneath the hem of her lace-covered skirt—shoes he presumed that she
had borrowed from their hostess for the occasion.