“So you named your dog Pretty Boy?”
“Aye.”
“And you named me the same.”
She stared at him, eating him with her eyes. “The dog is just Pretty Boy. Yermypretty boy.”
He let go of her wrists and grabbed her head and kissed her. A deep, long kiss, his hands not letting her move from him, owning his savage countess. Yes, he was hers, but he wanted her to be his, as well.
Her hands pushed against his abdomen so he reluctantly let go of her head and she got her mouth free to gasp, “Yer . . . yer nae angry?”
He chuckled softly. “How can I be angry, Helen? When I am getting everything I ever wanted.” He groped her bottom briefly before unbuttoning the last button on the back of her muddy dress. “And something I didn’t know I wanted.”
“What didn’t ye know ye wanted, Jack?”
He growled. “I didn’t know.” He took her dress off over her head. “That I would want.” The chemise followed. “To share a name with a dog.”
And then there was very little talking between the two wet and muddy people in the hut by the shore of the loch in Kinmarloch.
Only kissing.
Unlimited kissing.
Anddàireadh.
First Epilogue
Everyone agreed the bride was the loveliest bride in the history of Kinmarloch, if not the entirety of Scotland. And the groom was very tall.
It was a wedding most would remember well since the Duke of Dunmore himself walked the bride to her groom inside the small kirk. And many people saw the duke wink at one of the witnesses when he turned away from the bride at the altar. But only one person saw the Countess of Kinmarloch’s grin in return. That one person was the duke, of course.
Then the duke and the countess seemed to be looking at each other a great deal during the wedding breakfast which was out-of-doors a little way down the hill from the cottage which sat next to the keep. All the food and drink had been put on trestle tables. And when the fiddle began to play and there was dancing, the duke claimed the countess for his partner for every dance except his dance with the bride and the countess’ dance with the groom. And then, just before the redheaded newlyweds left in the duke’s carriage, to go to Dunmore Castle where the duke had offered to host them until their own cottage could be completed, neither the duke nor the countess could be found anywhere.
“Jack, are ye mad?”Helen sputtered. “’Tis the middle of the day. ’Tis the middle of the wedding breakfast.”
Jack had pulled her into the keep and closed the door and pushed her against one of the stone walls and was pinning her there with his body.
“I thought you looked a little sad.” He stroked her neck with his fingers.
“I’m selfish. I’ll miss Mags in the cottage.”
“You won’t be living in the cottage for that much longer.”
“Aye.”
“Cheer up, Helen. You’ll still have me.”
Yes, she would. The most beautiful man in the world. Who made her feel beautiful.
“Aye,mo luran.”
“And I’m jealous of the bride and groom. They’re going to have fun in the middle of the day. Why can’t we?”
The sounds of laughter and fiddle music filtered in. Bright shafts of sunlight came through the not-yet-repaired roof of the keep, and the gold flecks in Jack’s hair glinted. He grinned and Helen could feel his length against her and immediately an ache started in her nether regions.
Jack ran his fingers over the skin of her chest, around the lace on the neckline of the dress which she had worked very hard to get clean enough to wear to this morning’s wedding.
“I don’t remember you being averse to my touching you in the middle of the day before, Helen.” He leaned down and licked the shell of her ear. Her stomach flipped over.
