“I pledge my love to you, and everything that I own,” he started, his voice full of emotion. “I promise you the first bite of my meat and the first sip from my cup. I pledge that your name will always be what I scream aloud in the dead of night. I promise to honor you above all others. Our love is never-ending, and we will remain, forevermore, equals in our marriage. This is my wedding vow to you.”
There were tears clogging Bridget’s throat as she repeated the vows, and once the simple gold band was slid onto her finger, it was official. She was Irvine’s wife and Lady McPearson.
Irvine leaned in, and they shared a kiss before he pulled back, his eyes smiling. “I love ye, Bridget McPearson.”
“Och, I love ye, Irvine,” she breathed, tears in her eyes. “Thank ye.”
He grasped her waist, heedless of those cheering around them. “For wot, love?”
“For lying tae me.” If he hadn’t, she would never have felt this happiness she was feeling now.
“Then ye’re welcome.”
After hours of well wishes and revelry, Bridget found herself in her husband’s arms.
“Are ye ready tae retire, love?” Irvine asked, his breath tickling her ear.
Something warm pooled in her midsection. Her wedding night with her husband.
“Aye.”
He grinned and took her hand, leading her to the stairs. They walked hand in hand up the steps to the chamber, the laird’s chamber, that would become theirs together. When Irvine pushed open the door, Bridget stepped in. She had not been in his chamber until now but found it very spacious, with a small sitting area near a large fireplace and the biggest bed she had ever seen, piled high with furs. The room was warm, and so were her cheeks as Irvine shut the door.
“Are ye thirsty?” he asked, crossing the room to the small table that held a tray of wine.
“Nay,” she answered. “I’m not.”
He eyed her from across the room. “Are ye nervous, love?”
She absolutely adored it when Irvine called her love. “A bit.”
Irvine made his way back to Bridget and took her hands. “Ye’re trembling,” he said softly. “I’m not going tae hurt ye, lass.”
“I know,” she answered. “I just dinnae know wot tae do.” Merdia tried to have a conversation with her last evening, but both of them ended up laughing because neither Bridget nor Merdia knew about this kind of thing.
Irvine chuckled, sliding his hands up her arms. “We will figure it out together.”
Bridget arched a brow. “Ye dinnae know wot tae do?”
“Not with someone I care for,” he answered, pulling her to him. Bridget sighed in contentment as he brushed his lips over her cheek, and she breathed in his scent. She wanted to be close to him, to have him touch her in places like he had the night in the hut back on the farm.
When his hands roamed to the back of her dress to work on the laces that held it together, she spread her hands over his chest. Irvine let out a rumble and pushed the dress over her shoulders until Bridget was stepping out of it, clad in only her shift. Irvine stepped back, his eyes roaming over her body until she was well aware of every place that his eyes touched.
“Ye’re lovely,” he murmured, unstrapping his ceremonial sword from around his waist. “Mah lady.”
“Mah laird,” she answered, the words feeling complete.
She was complete in his arms.
Irvine stripped his tunic, and she caught a glimpse of his muscular chest before he pressed her against him, his mouth on hers. Suddenly something broke loose inside Bridget as she thrust her hands in his hair, realizing that she didn’t need to know what to do.
Her body was telling her what to do.
Somehow they made their way to the large bed, and Irvine laid her upon it, gazing down at her. “If there is anything ye dinnae like,” he started as his hand slid up her bare thigh, “then let me know.”
Bridget gasped. “Dinnae stop, Irvine.”
“Och, lass,” he murmured as he pushed the hem of her shift up past her knees. When Bridget was bared to him, she swallowed.
