His Heart's Home (21 page)

“Tell me,” he murmured, speaking the words huskily against Ciaran’s ear.  “Tell me you’ll be my wife.  Tell me you’ll marry me.”

Ciaran blushed a very enticing shade of red.  Duncan hadn’t let her go yet, so she was still tightly entwined with his body.

“I will,” she whispered softly.  “I will marry you and be your wife,” she giggled, pressing her face against his chest and hiding.  “Oh!  I can’t believe this is real!” she mumbled, shaking her head, but laughing as she spoke.

“What do you mean?” Duncan asked, although he had a good idea what she meant.  He stroked his fingers through her hair and waited for her answer though.

“I thought- I thought I knew what my life was going to be like,” she said softly, lifting her eyes up to meet Duncan’s again.  “I thought it would be nothing but work and suffering until the day I died, and now-” she gave her head a little shake of disbelief.  “Now I- I have hopes and dreams and- and Duncan you’ve made me so happy!” she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck for a second time.

She clung to him as though she never intended to let go, and Duncan felt a ridiculously broad smile spread across his face.  He felt
so
good-
she
made him feel so good.

“I’m so glad I found you,” he sighed, squeezing her waist, and then lowering his mouth to claim a hungry kiss.  He parted her lips, and swept his tongue into the soft sweet hollow of Ciaran’s mouth, devouring her, feasting on everything that she so readily offered to him.

“I’m so
lucky
you found me,” Ciaran purred breathlessly, fisting her hands in the fabric of Duncan’s shirt as he dotted kisses down her neck.

“Ciaran… where are the children?” he asked thickly.  It was an uncommon occurrence that they had managed to go this long during the day without being interrupted by one, or several, of the kids
. How long might that good fortune hold?

“The- the boys are out in the fields and Mary’s having a nap,” Ciaran puffed, licking her lips, and looking far too inviting for Duncan to resist.

She had said ‘yes’.

Duncan had taken Ciaran more times than he could count over the past few months, but never before had he touched her with such reverence. Life had taught him with cruel lessons how fragile and fleeting that happiness could be and he fully intended to savor the warm, perfect feeling that was welling up inside of his heart.

His lips skimmed over the delicate curve of her neck, dotting kisses against her soft skin all the way down to the edge of her bodice where her breasts were spilling out.

“Bed,” Duncan murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her gently toward the doorway. He needed to seal the new understanding between them, and he wasn’t willing to risk any interruptions. He intended to take Ciaran slowly and tenderly, without worrying about the boys coming home.

He didn’t expect Ciaran to resist, but he was shocked when she slipped her hand in his and tugged him forward faster. They were barely through the doorway before she started tugging at her skirt and stays, her fingers almost frantic until Duncan stilled her with a drugging kiss.

“Shhhhh….” He soothed, “We have all day.”
All night…the rest of our lives…
his mind inserted as he took over the task of unlacing the bodice, gradually releasing her full, soft curves into his waiting hands.

Ciaran couldn’t help it
. She didn’t want to go slowly. As much as she wanted to revel in Duncan’s achingly gentle touch, she simply couldn’t trust her good fortune. She needed to feel him
now
. She needed the reassurance that this wasn’t simply a long, impossible dream.

Duncan wouldn’t be rushed, however, and so Ciaran was left to squirm and whimper, bearing the exquisite torture of longing
- longing for something she used to hate!

Ciaran still marveled at how Duncan had turned everything onto its head. He had awakened her senses. Until his kiss, she hadn’t known how to feel. He had stirred her body into life, and sparked a craving that she doubted would ever be quenched
.

The things that had frightened Ciaran about Sean: his size, his sex, his power
, thrilled her in Duncan. There was nothing as divine as feeling the hard, smooth planes of his body bunching and flexing against her own.

“Take me,” she whimpered against his neck. “I’m yours.”

All of me…
She added inside her mind. It was a willing surrender. Every bit of her mind and body and spirit belonged to this man: her protector, her lover, her
husband
. Ciaran tingled at the thought. How proud she would be to wear his ring and to carry his name, and to bear his children.

Unconsciously, one of her hands drifted to her stomach, covering the little bulge that was patently apparent when Duncan stripped away her skirts. His eyes followed the motion. Ciaran gasped when he dropped to his knees and pressed his lips against the curve.

Ciaran’s fingers tangled into Duncan’s wavy, sandy hair, holding him closer, and stopping him when he tried to nuzzle between her legs.

She was embarrassed by the jagged spike of pleasure the thought of him kissing her
there
inspired, and impatient for something else.

“Take me…” she begged again.

Duncan looked up from where he was kneeling.  He smiled upon hearing the needy rasp of Ciaran’s voice, and his eyes sparkled with his victory.  He hesitated for a second, considering following through on a deliciously wicked idea that had struck him in his current position… but Ciaran continued to tug rather desperately on his hair in effort to make him stand, so he obeyed her silent command instead.

Once he was on his feet, Duncan received a little push from his wife-to-be as she urged him towards the bed.  He chuckled thickly, thinking he had never seen Ciaran quite this impatient before.  He liked it
.  It was a pity he could only propose once if this was the effect it had on her.

The two of them tumbled down onto the mattress together.  Duncan pinned Ciaran’s little body beneath his own and stared down at her in wonder. 
She was really his
…
all his
… he could hardly believe it was true.

Later, when it was over,
Duncan collapsed, crushing Ciaran beneath his weight, too exhausted and sated to move. He laid his head against her breasts, panting for breath, until she gently pushed him aside.

He felt like he ought to say
something
, but couldn’t think of a way to improve the silence, and so he didn’t try. He simply enjoyed the moment.

He must have been
too
relaxed, because the next thing he remembered was waking, the room around him dark, and starlight peeking in through the open window.  Instinctively, he reached for Ciaran, and frowned when he discovered she was gone.

Slowly, Duncan’s other senses returned. He made out the sound of voices in the kitchen
- obviously, the boys had returned. He sniffed the air. Ciaran was cooking. It must be close to suppertime.

Groaning, Duncan hauled himself out of bed and pulled on his clothes before making a sheepish appearance in the other room. Sure enough, his little family was crowded around the table, where Ciaran was dishing out their food.

“Oh! So you’ve decided to grace us with your presence then, Mr. MacRae!” Ciaran said. The playful tone of her voice made his heart swell with joy. Even a month ago, she wouldn’t have dared any remark so light and sassy. He was gratified she felt safe enough to tease, and hopeful that playful little spark he’d ignited would fan and grow.

“Aye, Mrs. MacRae,” he answered simply, and enjoyed the way her breath caught in her throat at his words.

“
Not yet!
” Ciaran said under her breath, flushing a beautiful pink.

Duncan caught her hand and squeezed it, “Soon.”

Ciaran MacRae
.

He repeated the name inside his head, liking the sound of it, wishing he had thought of the whole scheme before
.

Now that it
had
occurred to him (albeit with the assistance of his wretched cousin), he was simply eager to get on with it.

“So, lads,” he said to the boys, cutting himself a hunk of bread and slathering it with butter, “Has your mother told you the news then?”

There was a buzz of “no”s.

“We’re getting married!” he announced happily, “Just as soon as we can
.”

All of the boys reacted well. Truth be told, Duncan had been a little worried about Avery’s reaction. He was the oldest, after all. He wasn’t quite thirteen
- but he wasn’t a fool. Duncan suspected the boy knew more about his stepmother’s relationship than he would ever let on, but he didn’t seem to begrudge her happiness, now that his father was gone. They all chattered happily about the prospect until it was time for bed.

Duncan and Ciaran made love again that night, although much slower, quieter and more tender than before. Duncan couldn’t get his fill of the woman
. Every time he took her, his cravings grew worse.

They woke up early the next morning
, there wasn’t any alternative on a farm, and then rushed about to finish up their chores. Once again, Ciaran was forced to consign Mary to the care of her brothers as she and Duncan were going to the trading post - the place that she’d come to think of as “town”. There was a missionary priest in the area who could perform the wedding. If he wasn’t there, then the other men would know where to find him. Duncan was intent on getting married
soon
.

He was in a terrible hurry, but Ciaran refused to be rushed
. She wanted to make the day special, at least, more special than her first wedding day had been.

She shuddered when she thought back to the shame of standing before the priest, her belly so swollen that it looked fit to burst (at least she didn’t
look
too pregnant this time around) and Sean’s wife not yet cold in her grave. He had clutched her arm for the entire service, pinching harshly when it was her turn to speak. The entire ceremony had been grim and foreboding- accurately predicting how the rest of her marriage was going to be.

This time, however, Ciaran felt optimistic. She was determined to look her best, and rooted through the tiny trunk of belongings she’d brought from Carolina until she found a tatted lace cap that her grandmother had made. She pinned it into her hair, and then tied her bonnet overtop, wishing she had a pretty ribbon or  a sprig of flowers to brighten it up, but pleased by the effect of the lace when she looked into the polished piece of silver they had tacked to the wall to serve as a mirror.

“Ciaran!” Duncan groaned impatiently when she began fussing with her dress, “We’ve got to go!”

“In a minute!” she called back. She shook out the folds of her dress (only a plain, serviceable calico, but the best she had) and turned to go
, but was stopped by a knock on the door.

“Who could that be?” she mused aloud, and had her answer when Ryan opened the door. Standing on the other side was Emma Cameron, Frasure’s wife
, along with their eldest girl.

There followed a long awkward silence no one seemed willing to be the first to break.  Ciaran didn’t know
what
to say, Duncan looked like he would rather
bite out his own tongue
than speak to his cousin’s wife, and the children were of course quiet, so it was left to Mrs. Cameron to hesitantly venture to speak.

“Frasure said you were looking for
a girl to help around the house, Laird MacRae?” she stammered uncertainly, and pushed her daughter forward a step as she spoke.

“Aye, I
was
,” Duncan shrugged coldly.  “But I was led to understand your lass couldn’t possibly be spared.”

“Aye well…” Emma Cameron muttered and flushed a guilty shade of red.  “Frasure doesn’t know the first thing about running an efficient household.  If you had been able to speak to
me
, I would have been able to help you immediately, sir.”

“Really?” Duncan asked.  He raised an eyebrow, looking utterly unconvinced.  “You know, now that I think about it, I got the impression from your husband that it wasn’t that he
couldn’t
spare Molly, but that he
wouldn’t
,” he said dryly.  “I believe there was some objection to her working for me?”

Duncan watched as Mrs. Cameron turned from red to white in a matter of seconds.  He felt
slightly
bad for taking out his anger on her.  It was her husband who had insulted him so seriously after all, but Duncan wasn’t feeling charitable enough to excuse Emma her share of the blame.

“Oh, no sir!” Mrs. Cameron gasped.  She shook her head for extra, added emphasis.  “That
couldn’t
be it, sir.  You’ve- you’ve been so good to us, Laird MacRae.”  She took a deep breath and plunged on determinedly.  “I’m- I’m really sorry, sir, if Frasure has offended you.  Lord knows he would try the patience of a saint.  He certainly tries mine at times.  So I’m sure you were quite within your rights to be angry with him, but- but sir, please- please don’t turn us off our land?” she whispered pathetically.