Page 73 of Bound to Her Highland Lord
“Of course nae,” she blurted out a little too quickly. “‘Tis only that I prefer to do it in private.”
Oliver leaned in closer and pressed a simple kiss to her neck, sending a rush through her that stole her breath once again.
“Believe me,” he murmured, low and heedy. “I would much rather be upstairs alone with ye right now.”
He pulled back, taking in the sight of her blushing furiously.
“But seeing as the feast has only just begun, as you say, it will be sometime before we can sneak away. Anticipating this, I asked James to start the clinking of glasses every twenty minutes.”
“Oliver!”
She tried to keep her tone full of chastisement, but failed miserably, and instead, starting giggling again.
“Who knew my warrior of a wife had such a light laugh. I should like to hear much more of it. Tell me, darling, what would make you happy enough that I could hear your giggles every day?”
“Ye could agree to spending half the year in Scotland,” she proposed.
It was the same lighthearted debate they’d been having for weeks. As a marquess, Oliver obviously had an obligation to run the lands he had, to rule them well. But Sorcha couldn’t bear the thought of going years, or even months, without seeing her family. It was not so long of a journey that they couldn’t make the trip regularly should they choose.
“Och, is that all it would take to make you happy?” he teased. “A mere forgoing of my responsibilities and duties to our people so we may jaunt across Britain any time we please?”
She blinked, a mix of surprise and delight on her face.
“What is it?” Oliver asked, gathering her hands in his. “What did I say?”
“‘Our people.’ I had yet to think of them as ‘ours’ but they are now.”
Oliver pulled her into a kiss, hot and demanding, crushing her against his chest. He gave no heed to her dress nor his doublet. He did not even bother waiting for the next time the glasses clinked. He simply kissed her as a man kissing his bride, full of promises of all the night would entail, of all their future would entail.
She melted into him, forgetting the room full of onlookers entirely, and let her hands fold into the lapels of his jacket. She held him in place and breathed him in. Some part of her in the back of her mind wondered if this feeling would ever fade, the constant desire, the blissful happiness, the hopeful outlook. She desperately hoped it would.
“Aye, darling,” he muttered against her now swollen lips, words full of brogue. “They are ours. And they are verra lucky to have ye. As am I.”
The music picked up again and Oliver swung her onto the dance floor, twirling and spinning her until her feet no longer touched the ground. Clansmen from every table joined in the revelry. Children ran underfoot, laughing and chasing each other through the joy of it all. In that moment, there were no clans, separate from each other. There was no English or Scottish side. There were only people, gathered together to celebrate the start of something magical.
It could have gone on forever, had a pounding, demanding knock on the castle door, not ceased the music and then thedancing. Lachlan and Aila exchanged weary glances. James rose to his feet and nodded to a few of the men stationed on the perimeter of the wall. Oliver moved just enough to plant himself in front of Sorcha, nearly eclipsing her with his broad shoulders.
Creaking hinges and the sound of one of the servants opening the door drifted in.
“I do not care what I am interrupting. You will let me pass! I have traveled too far to be stopped now.”
The insistent voice ushered in a sense of dread into the Great Hall. Oliver’s hand settled firmly on the dagger he wore on his belt. Sorcha reached for hers likewise. They were all so absorbed in waiting for the owner of the voice to appear that no one noticed the rustling happening on the outskirts of the room.
Pounding footsteps grew louder until the man appeared at the threshold of the Great Hall. He looked to be a simple man, clothes plain and well-worn, but just as well-kept. Bags, dark and large, hung under his eyes, proving that he had spoken true in regards to his travels. Sorcha could have sworn she had seen the man before, but couldn’t place him.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lachlan demanded, stepping forward to fulfill his role as Laird. “We are in the midst of a private celebration and ye, a stranger, come barreling in? What is yer purpose in coming here?”
“Forgive my intrusion,” he spoke, addressing the room as he scanned it. “But I have ridden a very long way in search of someone. She was supposed to be here.”
Lachlan tilted his chin up, studying the man through his lowered eyes.
“Who is the lass?”
Before the man could answer, a flash of pink, soft and dreamy, burst through the crowd, flinging itself at the stranger.
“Brandon!”
He caught her, holding Laura tightly by the waist, burrowing his head into her neck.
