Page 52 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
Declan didn’t respond. He only moved his tongue faster. His fingers brushing her breast with skill.
The trembling built to an explosive release. A tremor tore through Isabelle. Her entire body shuddered. She moaned so loudly, she thought the entire castle might hear, yet in that moment, she did not care.
“Oh, Declan,” she moaned over and over again.
A delicious warmth came over her.
She felt him lick her softly, drinking her juices. She lay back on the table, unable to do anything else. The flood of pulses and vibrations continued to flutter within.
If this iswhat’s meant to happen between husband and wife, then I look forward to the day of consummation.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Isabelle stirred beneath the soft furs, her body sinking deeper into the warmth of the bed. When she reached out her hand, she felt only the coolness of empty sheets beside her. Her lashes fluttered open, and she blinked against the dim morning light filtering through the tall, narrow window.
“Declan?” she whispered.
She sat up slowly, clutching the coverlet to her chest. The faint scent of him lingered in the air—woodsmoke, leather, and a trace of whiskey. Her heart gave a small twist as she glanced around the chamber, half expecting to see him at the washbasin or fastening his boots.
The silence pressed in, broken only by the soft hiss of the dying embers in the hearth. She sighed, wondering if she had gone too far the night before, surrendering to his touch, his voice, his fire.
Her fingers brushed over her bare shoulder as she rose from the bed, the memory of his hands upon her skin still vivid. It had not been just passion; it had been something deeper.
“He’s a complicated man,” she murmured under her breath, “and I’ve likely made things worse by lettin’ him close.”
She moved quietly about the room as she looked for her robe. Finding it, she tied the sash around her waist and stood before the window, watching the mist roll off the loch beyond the castle walls. Her heart tugged at the thought that perhaps Declan regretted it, that perhaps he had already thrown himself into his duties to avoid her.
“Foolish lass,” she chided softly, her lips curving into a faint, self-deprecating smile. “Ye’ve gone and lost yer head over a man who doesnae trust easily.”
A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts.
“Enter,” she called, her voice composed though her heart still fluttered.
The door opened, and in came Sarah, balancing a large tray filled with the scents of a hearty morning meal.
“Good mornin’, me Lady ,” the maid greeted cheerfully, bobbing a quick curtsy as she set the tray down upon the table.
Isabelle smiled kindly, stepping toward her. “Good mornin’, Sarah. Ye’re up bright and early, I see.”
The maid’s grin widened as she lifted the linen cloth from the tray, revealing a meal fit for a laird’s household—a plate of oatcakes, smoked haddock, thick slices of bannock, fried eggs, and a small bowl of honeyed porridge. Beside it stood a steaming pot of tea and a dish of berry preserves.
“Me Laird said to bring ye a hearty breakfast,” Sarah said, her tone carrying a hint of playfulness that made Isabelle’s cheeks flush crimson. “Said ye might need it after a long sleep.”
Isabelle’s jaw dropped slightly, her eyes widening before she tried to compose herself. “Did he now?” she managed, her voice soft but edged with mortification.
Sarah nodded, arranging the dishes neatly. “Aye, me Lady . The Laird’s thoughtful that way.”
Isabelle cleared her throat, pretending great interest in the oatcakes to hide her embarrassment. “Aye, thoughtful indeed,” she murmured, her tone dry enough to make Sarah bite back a giggle. “Tell me, Sarah,” Isabelle continued after a pause, “have ye seen the Laird this morn?”
The maid folded her hands before her apron and nodded briskly. “Aye, me Lady . Last I saw him, he was in his study. But the man doesnae stay still for long, always off to some matter or another.”
Isabelle smiled faintly, picturing him hunched over his maps or pacing near the fire, issuing orders to his men. “That sounds like him,” she agreed quietly, more to herself than to Sarah.
“I’ll return in an hour to help ye dress for the day,” Sarah said, backing toward the door. “Would ye like me to prepare the green gown or the blue one, me Lady ?”
Isabelle considered for a moment then replied, “The green, I think. It’s fitting for the Highlands.”
Sarah curtsied again. “Very well, me Lady . Enjoy yer meal.”
