Highlander's Dark Seduction Read online

  Rebecca swallowed the too-hot tea in an effort not to bring it all up on the poor baby in her lap as she recalled that day, shooting a narrowed glance at her sister in law for reminding her.

  “Up with your foot,” instructed Elinor, Emily’s partially deaf older sibling who had knelt in front of Rebecca, holding an embellished silk stocking, her pretty face alive with expectation. Rebecca hastened to comply, placing one hand in Frances’s for support the other still holding the baby, and focused on calming the furious blush that was currently warming her cheeks.

  Calmly, Frances procured a fan from somewhere and began to wave it about Rebecca’s face.

  “Thank ye,” she murmured.

  To that Frances gave a placid nod.

  Rebecca sighed and shifted back towards Emily. Chuckling, she reached into her bejeweled purse, resting on a nearby table. She extracted a delicate, frilly bit of ivory lace, a robin’s egg blue ribbon threaded through it and held it out to Elinor.

  “Before anything else dear sister, fasten this to the bride’s limb if you would be so kind.”

  Smirking, Elinor did as Rebecca bid her, sliding the garter up underneath Rebecca’s shift and corset until it stretched tight, mid-thigh. Emily wiggled her eyebrows, a gesture most unexpected from a lady of her station. “That’s something blue.”

  Rebecca’s face grew warmer, despite Frances’s redoubled efforts to fan her. “Ah, how very nice of you,” she squeaked.

  “Your husband will take it off later,” Emily imparted, sneaking a flask from the purse and pouring a generous serving of what smelled like whiskey into her own tea.

  “I—I am aware,” she managed to reply, timorous.

  Emily gave Rebecca a bald look - it was a little knowing and commiserating – before she drank deeply from her teacup. In an effort to forestall the discussion of particulars, Rebecca turned to her friends. Having finished with the second stocking, Elinor stood.

  “I also want to thank ye again, especially you Miss Caldwell, and you Frances, for helping me.” Smiling shyly at them, she reached out, not really used to having female companions and friends and each grasped one of her hands. She pulled them into an enthusiastic hold, which they readily returned.

  “I could not think of anywhere I would rather be, than helping my very dearest friend and mistress prepare for her wedding day,” answered Frances, a bit wobbly. Elinor sniffled in agreement.

  “Alright,” Elinor said after they had all held each other for a long moment, “back to your finery.”

  Wiping her eyes, she stepped towards the makeshift folding screen that stood at the back wall of the dressing room, over which Rebecca’s many remaining garments had been flung. Returning with a corset and her pierced silk petticoats, Elinor handed the former to Rebecca to slip over her head, before stepping into the latter, with the assistance of both women. She gave the baby back to her mother so she could dress up.

  Frances tied the petticoats’ laces, along her back.

  Emily let out a pensive sigh. “It is going to be a beautiful day, Rebecca. Sunny and pleasant. But back to my point; the wedding night.”

  But presently it was she who became distracted, at the sight of Rebecca’s modest, elegant bridal garb. The gown Elinor and Frances were now easing her into was far more a fitted bodice that had a modest flair in the skirt and bearing a train, but was unadorned except for the ruched lace that lined her bosom and at the hems and gave her a soft Grecian look. The neckline fell to just below her bosom, its soft ivory color framing her tanned and freckled face quite becomingly.

  “We must do this proper”, her now and future husband had beseeched her, his voice so rough with longing that she could not find it in herself to deny him.

  Before long, she was dressed. Frances smoothed the cuffs of her tapered sleeves, straightened a few creases from her snowy skirt, then leaned back with a sigh of satisfaction. Emily gazed at her, eyes misty. Gently, Elinor took Rebecca by the shoulders and turned her towards one of the mirrors.

  The train of the gown flowed out like a glistening ivory stream behind her. A tiny bit of padding provided a small bustle in the skirt, which gave her a more of a waist with the creamy charmeuse ribbon around it. She smiled into the mirror, as she watched Emily rise, put the baby down on the bed, and retrieve from a table her night pearl earrings, an inheritance from her mother. One at a time, she handed them to Rebecca.

  “There. Something borrowed.” she mused, pulling Rebecca’s hair down from its bun before braiding and pinning the tresses into a low chignon at the nape of Rebecca’s neck. The black pearls caught the light, gleaming silver-violet on her ears. Elinor held out the veil, and Rebecca fastened it over Rebecca’s hair; it clung close to the crown of her head like a cap before fluttering down to the floor around her.

  “Oh, Rebecca,” Emily said when she was done. “You are…”

  The thought remained unfinished, Emily seemingly unable to find the words. Rebecca reached for her hand, and together they stood staring at their shared reflection, savoring the moment.

  “He is lucky to have found you, your brigand,” Emily choked out.

  “As am I,” answered Rebecca, and to that, Emily squeezed her hand, then released it. She stepped away and returned with a pair of white kid gloves and white brocade slippers.

  “My wedding gloves,” she said, nodding at them. “Something old.” She marveled at the perfect fit as she pulled them on reverently.

  Now she was dressed for the part. And in truth, she had butterflies in her belly. Her heart was certain however that she was ready to be a wife, ready to be married, ready to embark upon her life with Chris.

  “Frances, Miss Caldwell, might you give us a moment?” Rebecca turned to them with a watery smile.

  “We had better be dressing before today’s events get underway,” Frances said, nodding graciously, and with one last embrace between the women, they departed.

  “Now, the talk.” Their eyes caught in the mirror; Emily’s lip was twitching, her tone dry. “Need I even give you the particulars? Or are you… already acquainted?”

  Rebecca slapped her arm lightly, pouting at her sister in law. “Do not tease me today, I am nervous!”

  From a hidden pocket in her skirts, Emily procured uncorked and sipped from a flask, which she then passed to Rebecca.

  “Well… have a sip of this, and take a seat,” she said, bemused. “Do not worry about a thing, we shall get you through this wedding if it’s the last thing we do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The friar stood in the front of the church, watching Rebecca walk towards them, escorted by her brother. He still walked with a slight limp but his back was straight and he stood tall, proud to escort her to her husband.

  Rebecca was embarrassed because her cheeks hurt from smiling. She knew she was glowing and she could not hide it. The only thing that consoled her was the manner in which Chris watched her come, his own smile wide and open. Onesmus stood by his side, a pleased smile on his face and she wondered at the strangeness of their lives.

  Beaming the brightest of all was of course Friar Sam. He seemed to have taken everything that had happened as a personal victory judging by his general air of happiness. He stepped forward, taking her hand from Alexander’s arm and handing it to Chris with flourish. A ripple of laughter ran through the attendants.

  “Dear friends,” he said turning to the congregation, “We are gathered here today to join in matrimony two wonderful people; Rebecca MacTavish and Christopher Horatio Ellis…”

  Horatio? Rebecca thought with surprise.

  They were no sooner away from the gathering than Chris swept her into his arms.

  "Let’s escape to the South Wing, its empty of anyone," Rebecca purred in his ear, before sinking her teeth lightly into it.

  "I like the way you think, wife," he growled, sweeping her up as he headed for the stairs. The sounds of revelry could be heard even this far away from the orchard, where the celebrations were ongoing. The cl
anging of pots and pans was audible from the kitchens as serving girls and boys carried and returned plates of food and flagons of wine and ale. It had been a good party, a magnificent celebration but now he just wanted to be alone with his bride.

  He managed to get her inside a bedchamber and throw the lock before she slid in front of him and he pressed her hard to the wall, her legs on either side of his waist. The hungry kisses they shared were full of biting, dominating passion, as they felt the intense relief of success turn to desire.

  Rebecca's low growl of want finally made him let go of her long enough to get her clothing off of her, leaving her bare to the cool air. He paused long enough to rake his eyes over her body, then knelt to kiss her, his tongue and teeth knowing just how to play over her soft, enticing flesh, to take in all of her in ways that made her moan and arch her back. When he pulled her leg up over his shoulder, she pressed back to the wall, hips arcing forward to meet his mouth.

  The cry of pleasure he evoked from her was low and husky, as he slid his tongue along her folds, tasting the wetness already there mingled with the musk of her natural scent. She ran her nails over his scalp and neck as he started to lick and suckle, his tongue flickering from her nub to her opening in maddening rhythm.

  "More," she coaxed, locking both hands behind his head. He rumbled at her eagerness, using both his hands to hold her by her behind. When he penetrated her with his tongue, and she cried out again. Her cries grew louder as she rocked, her body demanding more than ever from him before she felt the first crest of pleasure. When he felt her start to come, he moved his attention to her clit, sucking hard as he caught it between his teeth.

  "Oh god yes!" She all but thrashed against his face and the wall, her entire body shuddering with the strength of the orgasm he caused.

  When he was sure she had taken all she could, he slid up her body, half smiling as she claimed his mouth. The man allowed his wife to push him back toward a chair, her fingers nimbly undoing the laces of his breeches. He knew she wanted to be fully in control of their loving, and it suited him to allow it. When he sank down in the chair, hips forward on it, and she straddled him, his eye lit with lust for the way she slid down on his length.

  "Such a ravenous girl," he rumbled, hands caressing up her back.

  "Too long, husband…too long without ye inside me, touching me," she said in a throaty purr. "I need ye." Her mouth played at his jaw, making him growl with the teasing caress of her breath on his skin.

  His nails bit into her skin as he gripped her hips, thrusting up to meet her body. She closed her eyes, head thrown back as she rode him, taking the rhythm that would satisfy them both, her hands gripping his shoulders. She slipped into another climax after only a few minutes, proving her need by clinging to him.

  Still wanting her, still hard with his own desires, Chris gripped her by the ass, standing with her still joined to him, unceremoniously laying her back on the bed. With a growl, he took over the rhythm, dominating her body with his. Every thrust he gave spoke of his strength, while the hand caressing at her breast showed the love he felt. His wife bucked up into him, gasping for breath at times as he kept her constantly on the edge.

  "Please!" she finally begged, wanting him to let go, wanting him to take his own release and give her one final climax. His smile was pure wickedness as he withdrew from her completely, running a finger over her mouth when she cried out in shock. A stinging smack on her hip was all the prompting she needed, knowing just what he wanted now. With a press up against him, she slid off the bed and turned her back to him, leaning over and looking over her shoulder at him wantonly. Her fingers curled around the edge as he retook her, his chest to her back as he grunted at the different sensations caused by their change in position.

  "Yes, wife…" he said in a pleased rumble, gripping the woman's slender shoulders as he began anew. She mewed softly, feeling the man rock her against the desk. When he slid one hand between her and the desk, finding her curls, she let out another small cry, nearly breaking over again. His harsh breathing just before he bit her shoulder was all it took to warn her, and they both came in a breathless cry, slowly sagging on the desk.

  It took some minutes before he could move them both back into the chair, his smaller wife curling into his embrace, as they enjoyed the aftermath of their reunion.

  The party lasted for three days before it began to wind down. As the revelers came down to breakfast on the third day, plans began to be made, to put up some crofters’ huts to accommodate the new tenants with friar Sam trying to organize them into working groups.

  “Will you be staying awhile, Friar?” Alexander asked as he poured himself a cup of tea.

  “Not for too long now, I am needed elsewhere but for a few more days at least.”

  “That’s good. It’s a long journey and I expect you will need time to recover from all the revelry,” Alexander laughed as he sat down next to the friar. The man of god smiled, looking up as Chris entered the room. There was a general cheer of welcome from everyone in the room. It was the first time he had emerged from their chambers. Emily and Frances had made sure they had food and water but otherwise, no one had seen hide nor hair of either Chris nor Rebecca.

  Chris raised his hand in acknowledgment, a happy smile on his face. “Have you nothing to do but wait around for me to come down in search of food?” he asked the room in general.

  He was greeted with ribald replies and hooting. Friar Sam smiled at him. “I am glad to see you well and happy, young Christopher.”

  “I am glad to see me happy and well too,” Chris replied with a grin as he poured himself some tea and selected a pie to eat.

  “Where is my sister?” Alexander asked.

  “I left her asleep. I fear I exhausted her.”

  Alexander waved his arms as if shooing Chris away, “I did not need to ken that!”

  Chris laughed. “My apologies.” He stuffed a pie into his mouth and chewed, still grinning. Alexander shook his head at him, and then went back to his meal. The friar leaned forward to catch Chris’ eye. “I would speak to you in private sometime soon.” He said.

  Chris nodded. “Perhaps after breakfast?”

  The friar leaned back, “That would suit.”

  They walked together in the garden to enjoy the spring sunshine. It had rained early in the morning and the grass and leaves were still dripping with moisture. Chris took a deep breath, savoring the bracing air.

  “What did you want to speak with me about, friar?”

  He took a deep breath. “I have something I need to tell you.”

  “All right.”

  “Your parents, their names were Peter and Freya, is that not so?”

  Chris stared. “Possibly. It was a long time ago and I hardly recall.”

  “Those were the names of the people who raised you. Peter and Freya Ellis. Your father worked a farm and then in the mines. When he died, your mother married the foreman. That was when you disappeared.”

  “He didn’t like me.”

  “Who?”

  “The foreman. He beat me. My mother simply watched. I ran away.”

  The friar nodded. “I see.” He sighed, “Well, that foreman died two years ago and your mother was left without a means of supporting herself…she came to see Lord Branson.”

  Chris glanced at him, “Why would she do that?”

  The friar stopped, staring at a drop of moisture hanging off a leaf as if fascinated. Chris suspected he did not want to look Chris in the eye. “Your mother said she needed help. To find you.”

  Chris laughed. “And why would the lord care about that?”

  “Because of what she told him. You see, your mother used to work in the manor house. She was a lady’s maid to the lord’s wife before she died in childbirth. She told the lord that the baby died too.”

  Chris frowned, staring at the friar. “Was she a midwife too?”

  “No. The midwife was delayed and by the time she arrived, the baby had been born and the mo
ther was dead.”

  Chris narrowed his eyes at him. “And from that statement, I deduce that the baby was not in fact dead?”

  “Close to it. For sure, the baby was blue when the lord viewed him. He certainly looked dead.”

  “So you’re saying my mother stole a baby?”

  “I am saying…your mother is not your mother.”

  Chris froze, staring at the friar in astonishment. “What do you mean?”

  “Freya Ellis stole a baby from the nobleman, she kept that baby for her own. According to her, her late mistress asked her to. The intention was to prevent whomever Lord Branson remarried from mistreating you.”

  “Lord Branson did not remarry,” Chris said almost by rote.