Lyon's Bride and The Scottish Witch with Bonus Material (Promo e-Books) (41 page)

He might never be hers completely. He would leave. But for tonight, she could pretend that all was how she wanted it in the world. His arms were around her and that was all that mattered.

Their kiss deepened. Their tongues met and teased each other. Their hands began pulling at laces and buttons.

Why was it that whenever she was with him, she was so needy for his touch? He had set his brand upon her.

Harry spread out the fur blankets. The patch of moonlight from the window fell upon them as he brought her down to lie beside him. Their fingers intertwined; he covered her with his body. His weight felt good upon her. She cradled him with her legs. He positioned himself, kissed her cheeks, her nose, her ears, her mouth . . . and slid into her.

The first moments of their joining were always overpowering to Portia. She adored the feel of him, the connection. It was as if their souls were mating and not just their bodies.

Harry began moving in her. He whispered in her ear, telling her how lovely she was, how desirable, how perfect.

Didn’t he understand? Her love for him transformed her from plain, sensible Portia to a creature of light and being. She offered herself wholly and without reservation.

She took from him in the same manner. She circled his waist with her legs, bringing him deeper.

They were moving harder, faster. He held himself up over her. Sweat formed on their bodies. He held nothing back. Portia would not have it any other way. She strove with him, a spiral sensation beginning to form within her. It began where they were joined, growing tighter and tighter until she could take it no more.

Portia cried out his name, pulling him even closer to her. The sense of completeness overwhelmed her. She felt as if she’d reached the highest heights in the heavens and had then shattered into a shower of stars; glorious, bold, sparkling stars.

She was not alone. Harry came with her. She felt him stiffen, felt his release. They’d been so careful, but they were not this night. This night, they were both caught up, and to have cut any of this short would have been unthinkable.

His seed was a wondrous thing. And Portia knew in this moment that they truly had become one. She would bear his child, but she was not afraid. Suddenly, her life made sense. Creation made sense. She’d found her destiny.

Harry held her fast. He rolled over onto his back, carrying her with him. His whiskered jaw felt good against her fevered cheek.

The air smelled of the fragrant night and their bodies.

She kissed his lips, the underside of his chin, his neck. His lips curved into a smile. “You are magic,” he whispered.

No hosanna could ring louder than this praise from her lover.

He brought the blankets up around them. The air might be cold, but snuggled close to him, she was warmer than she would have been in her own bed. “I swear, if I had the finest sheets, they would never feel as good as your skin against mine,” she whispered.

Harry kissed the top of her head. His arms held her as if he would not let her go and that was completely fine with Portia. She couldn’t have gone anywhere. She was spent, pleasurably exhausted.

His hand stroked and played with her curls.

No matter what would come their way, she knew she was his. It was her choice . . . or perhaps not. Perhaps they had been destined to be together.

“Harry, have you ever been afraid?” she asked.

“Many times,” he answered.

“Are you afraid now?”

The movement of his hand paused. “No. This feels right. It
is
right.”

She smiled and held him tighter. She knew she should move. She needed to return home before she was discovered missing.

But being with him like this, being in the moonlight and the night air, felt too good for her to move.

And then he was making love to her again. He lifted her up, placing her astride him. He knew she liked this. Watching the changing expression on his face as he lost himself in her made her feel bold, pagan, all-powerful.

He was her man, and she loved him.

When they were done, Portia fell upon his chest, her spent body as languid as a cat. His arms around her, she fell asleep, but not before she murmured the words upon her heart, “I love you.”

He did not respond. She had assumed he was asleep and would not know. But she had to speak them aloud. Their truth could not be denied.

A
t first, Portia thought it was the sunlight that woke her. She thought she was in her bedroom at Camber Hall and was so disoriented, she thought she was falling out of her bed—and then she realized it wasn’t the bed moving, but Harry.

She’d fallen asleep in his arms and the day, judging by the brightness in the bothy, was well into the morning.

He brought the covers around her to hide their nakedness, and that was when she realized they were not alone.

They were surrounded by a pack of dogs, their tails wagging even as they began barking and baying to signal they had found their quarry.

Chapter Fifteen

A
cold nose had nudged Harry’s neck. Annoyed, he’d pushed the nose away only to discover it was attached to a hairy muzzle with bad breath.

Jasper.

Years in the military had taught Harry to always be on guard. He was a light sleeper and he had anticipated that he would wake before dawn and see Portia safely home. He should have escorted her home after they’d made love the fourth time that night. But she had felt so good in his arms, he’d wanted to hold her a little longer, which was unusual for him. He did not sleep with the women he bedded. He preferred to keep a distance. Sex was uncomplicated, easy. Sleeping was intimate.

Last night, all barriers had come down.

Portia had been magic in his arms. For the first time, he’d understood what it truly meant to “make love.” Nor was it just her innocence that touched him. Portia always gave the best of herself, but he had held back. He knew what women wanted. He knew how to please them, but he’d never pleased himself . . . not until Portia.

He’d worshipped her, adored her. His body, even now, wanted more of her.

Harry would not see her hurt in any fashion. And he knew if Jasper and the pack were here, then Monty was not far behind.

Sitting up, holding Portia with one arm, Harry reached for the dog, but he was too late. The hound lifted its snout and began baying, a signal they had found their quarry. His fellows joined him.

“Shut up,” he growled at the dogs, striking out at the one nearest him.

The beast’s response was to grin happily, his tongue hanging out. They knew Harry and apparently liked him, even though he wasn’t overfond of the whole pack of them.

And then Harry heard Monty’s voice. “The hounds are over here,” Monty called. The voice was not far from the bothy. “They’ve found something. I think they’ve found her! Tally-ho!”

“We must dress,” Harry said, reaching for Portia’s gown. The clothes were all over the bothy’s hard dirt floor. He tossed the dress at her and went to grab her shoes and stockings. The dogs, seeing what he was about, decided to play. Jasper snatched the end of the stocking and pulled. Tug-of-war was one of his favorite games.

The other dogs joined in. The din of barking, growling, and howling reverberated around the bothy’s stone walls.

“Don’t worry about the stockings,” Portia whispered frantically, putting her arms in her dress and then realizing she had it backward.

Harry knew good advice when he heard it. He let go, and Jasper went running off through the door, several of his pack chasing him, each wanting its chance to play. Harry jumped up and scrambled for his breeches on the floor by the stool.

He had just snatched them up, bending over to pull them on, when he heard a horse’s hooves and Monty’s voice. “Here now, here now, Jasper? Where is she—?” There was a beat of silence. “Ajax? What are you doing here?”

Harry knew he would not be dressed before Monty appeared in the doorway. He was right. A shadow blocked the doorway light. Harry turned to face his friend, holding his breeches in a strategic place in front of him.

Monty stuck his head inside the bothy. “
Oh God
, Chattan.”

“Hello, Monty,” Harry said as if they had just met on the street. “Brisk morning.”

Harry had never seen Monty stunned speechless. He looked Harry up and down from his naked feet to his unshaven growth of beard and his mussed hair, and then slowly turned his head toward the mound of fur-lined blankets. Portia was hidden beneath them. Considering the amount of movement, she was apparently still trying to dress. The dogs thought it a sport to root around with their noses and climb on top of her. After all, it was her scent they had been ordered to follow.

In the distance, Harry heard Lady Maclean shouting, “That’s her shoe. That dog has my Portia’s shoe. Oh where is she? Where is she?”

“Over here, ma’am,” a male voice called.

“You have a party of people coming,” Harry said to Monty, but more as a warning for Portia. “Here, let my pull on my breeches and I’ll join you outside.”

“That would be fine, Chattan,” Monty said stiffly. He turned, blocking the door with his back.

Harry hurriedly put on his breeches. He’d just started buttoning them when the bothy was surrounded by people. Monty had organized a huge search party.

“Where is she? You said the dogs have found her,” Lady Maclean demanded anxiously. “Is she all right?”

Her voice sounded as if she was hurrying as fast as she could toward the bothy’s door. The heads of two of Monty’s stable lads appeared in the windows along with the curious faces of others whom Harry recognized from the village. They craned their necks, anxious to see all—and immediately, given the scattered clothing and Harry’s state of undress, jumped to conclusions.

Poor Portia. This was not going to be good.

The dogs were overjoyed with so much attention and very proud of themselves. They kept leaping at the windows or nudging Monty.

“Stay here,” Harry warned Portia, hoping she would listen. After all, she rarely did as he suggested.

Outside, Lady Maclean was asking more questions, this time directly of Monty. “Is she in there? Why can’t I see her? Portia? Are you there?”

His friend stood stoic in the face of his lady’s concerns, and Harry knew he was asking a great deal of his former general.

He picked up his shirt and pulled it over his head before saying to the grinning faces in the windows, “Begone, lads.” They responded to the command in his voice and stepped away, but he knew by their smirks they would have a field day with this later. He picked up his pistol and her spectacles from the window ledge and tapped Monty on the shoulder to step away.

Harry went outside. The day was a good one for late December. The sun shone and the air was crisp.

Lady Maclean appeared overwrought. Her eyes were red as if she had been crying. Portia’s sister, Minnie, was also among the search party, along with Mr. Oliver Tolliver and about everyone else from Glenfinnan. Lady Maclean’s questions came to a halt when she saw Harry.

She took in his bare feet and disheveled appearance. Her mouth opened. No words came out. Harry ran a self-conscious hand through his hair.

Grim-faced, Monty did not meet Harry’s eye.

Knowing there was only one way to salvage Portia’s reputation, Harry said, “Good morning, Lady Maclean. May I ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage?”

Her ladyship reacted as if she had not heard him. “Colonel Chattan?” she answered, a question in her greeting as if she couldn’t believe he was here.

But someone inside the bothy
had
heard. “
No
,” Portia cried.

Harry ignored the protest, moving so he blocked the door.

“I would be honored to have your daughter for my wife.” Funny but he’d never thought he would say these words. However, now, asking for Portia’s hand, they seemed like a logical step.

Sounding slightly dazed, Lady Maclean said, “Is she all right?”

“She enjoys excellent health,” Harry responded.

The stable lads snickered. Harry would “discuss” the matter with them later. He’d allow no one to mock the woman who would become his wife—and then he received a great thump in the back as Portia literally ran into him.

Harry was not expecting an attack from the rear. He lost his balance and there was enough space for Portia to squeeze her way between.

She was a mess. Her dress was sloppily laced and her curls sprang in every direction around her head, wild and carefree. She had one shoe on her stockingless feet and the other foot was bare.

When she realized how large the gathering was, her eyes widened. She gathered her cloak around her and lifted her chin.

“Hello, Mother.”

A frown etched itself on Her Ladyship’s features. For a moment she appeared ready to fly off in hysteria, and then she glanced at Monty and seemed to gain courage. “Put your spectacles on, Portia,” she said.

Whatever Portia had been expecting her mother to say, it was not that. She appeared confused and then turned to Harry, who held out his hand holding her eyeglasses. Her eyes not meeting his, she put them on, curving the wire temples around her ears.

“I’m ready to go home, Mother.”

“Yes, I imagine you are. However, Colonel Chattan has asked me for your hand and I am going to give my blessing.”

Everyone nodded. It was what was expected.

Portia shook their complacency when she squared her shoulders and announced, “Well, I will not marry him. Your blessing or no.”

Harry made an exasperated sound. He turned to her. “Portia, don’t be obstinate. Of course we must marry.”

“There is no ‘of course’ about it,” she said. “I do not wish to marry you.”

That set tongues wagging. Many a Scot was grinning at Harry’s comeuppance, and he realized she was on her way to becoming a local hero. He knew they had not liked him because he was the “English” Chattan, but he thought them silly.

Monty jumped into the fray, taking charge. “You men, we are done here. We’ve found her. Thank you, thank you. A good day’s work,” he said. “Now off you go. There’s no more to see here.”

By the expressions on everyone’s faces, they disagreed with him. But he was waving his hands, moving them on and clearing a space around Portia, Harry, her mother, her sister, and Mr. Oliver Tolliver.

Portia said to her sister, “I’m sorry, Minnie, I would not wish to embarrass you with such a scandal.”

“I’m not worried for myself, dear—” her sister said.

“And there is no reason to do so,” Lady Maclean said, interrupting. “You shall marry Colonel Chattan.”

“I shall not,” Portia answered.

“You
shall
.”

“Shall
not
.”

“One moment,” Harry said, pulling Portia aside without waiting for permission.

Her expression was tight with anger. She crossed her arms as if not wanting to touch him at all.

Was this the woman who had so sweetly given all that she had to him?

Her attitude puzzled him.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. She flinched. He refused to back away.

“We have no choice,” he said. “If we do not marry, you are ruined, and I will not let that happen.”

She studied the ground. “I will not marry you.”

He leaned down, attempting to make her look at him. “Perhaps I’m not the man you would wish,” he said, “but we haven’t fared too badly these weeks together, have we?”

She didn’t answer. His sweet Portia had gone mute.

“And this is perfect,” he continued, realizing he was going to have to convince her to save herself. “You won’t ever have to worry about money again. I can take care of your mother and set a dowry for your sister.” He wondered why he hadn’t thought of doing that already. In fact, he was eager to make Portia’s life easier.

“You didn’t want to be my mistress, and I would never have expected that of you,” he hastened to add. “But as my wife, Portia, I can offer you so much. You have merely to ask and I will give.”

Still, she said nothing.

But he was warming to the idea. What had started off as a matter of honor was taking hold as a very sound, likable plan. He wanted to care for Portia. He wanted to keep her—forever, if need be.

“There is a good side to all this,” he said. “With you as my wife, I won’t have to worry about falling in love. You understand the curse. You know I could never love you. And we won’t be disagreeable the way our parents were. We’re friends, companions, and will be watchful so that we’ll never love each other. You will never be a danger to me.”

She raised her head then. Silent tears streamed down her face. “It’s too late, Harry. I already love you.”

Her declaration bowled him over.

He didn’t know what to answer.

She knew what he was thinking because she nodded her head as if confirming she understood the dangers. And with that, she left him, crossing to her sister’s horse. She put her foot in the stirrup and heaved herself up to sit behind Minnie. She said something to her sister, and Minnie kicked the horse in the direction of home. They rode away.

Portia did not look back.

Lady Maclean heaved a sigh filled with regret. “I suppose we are done here,” she said, breaking the silence.

“I’m not done,” Harry vowed. “She needs to listen to reason.”

She’d left him
. She’d confessed that she loved him and then left. No woman had ever just walked away. Or if she had, Harry hadn’t given a care because he couldn’t remember.

“If you can reason with one of my daughters, please help yourself,” Lady Maclean answered. “I fear she’s made her choice. She would rather be ruined and the talk of the valley than with you, Colonel Chattan.”

With those words, she took Monty’s arm and together they returned to their horses. The dogs went charging after Monty.

The others walked or rode off as well.

And Harry was alone.