Page 21 of Highlander’s Sweet Poison

Dusk had settled over the land when Graeme returned to Jillian’s cottage. Gemma and Elizabeth had already returned to the village, but Jillian’s home was empty. It didn’t surprise or alarm him. The woman had turned so white after the ceremony, he feared she would pass out, but she wouldn’t run. No, Jillian was strong than that.

Still, she was his wife, and he wouldn’t have her wandering the village alone in the dark, so he went in search of her. First, he went to the loch, where Gemma had said they were eating, but it was empty. The winds were picking up, the ripples on the water were growing more violent. Stopping for a moment, he realized that after this trip, he would have no other visit to Loch Moran. It was Theo’s now, and Jillian would be returning home. Any ghosts that resided here from his past, the good and the bad, would have to play here alone, without him.

It weighed down on his heart. It was the first time he realized he would have to say goodbye to the land and the water that he had loved so much. When Theo had purchased it, he assumed the man would lose it easily enough, so he wasn’t alarmed. And when Jillian was here, he knew that it was his duty to keep an eye on her, so he could come back.

But now, there would be nothing to draw him back.

“Ye have heard laughter and siphoned away blood,” he told the loch quietly. “I will miss ye.”

Disappointed that Jillian wasn’t here, he walked to the woods where she and the other lasses were captured. He’d hoped not to find her there, but he wasn’t surprised when the wind picked up the skirts of her dress, and it fluttered behind her. Tendrils had fallen out of her elegantly coiled braid and were flying in the wind, and she’d clasped her arms around herself to ward off the cold.

Before her was the worst of the damage of the fire. Trees were stripped of their leaves and were nothing more than stark branches tangling up against each other and reaching up to the sky. The trunks were still blackened with ash and soot, and they stood on the bare forest floor, no vines or bushes to blanket them.

It was an unfortunate sight, and he wondered what she was thinking. “Jillian,” he said softly. “‘Tis dark and getting cold.”

“Aye.” She didn’t start at his words. She’d already known that he was there. Turning her head, she gave him a sad smile. “I suppose ‘tis time to go home.”

“What are ye doing here?”

“Reminding myself,” she sighed.

“Of?”

“Consequences.”

Balling his hands into fists, he tried to ignore the tightening in his chest. “Ye regret yer decision to wed me already?”

“Nay, husband. I dinnae, but I fear that it wilnae be long before ye do.” She walked to his side and allowed him to put a cloak around her shoulders. They moved quickly through the village, not of anticipation of their wedding night but rather because the air was getting chillier by the minute. When they finally made it inside, her nose was tipped red, and she was shivering.

“I will light a fire, and ye can get ready for bed. Dinnae be alarmed about tonight, Wife. I only wish to sleep.”

“Why?”

“‘Tis been a long day, and we should head to the MacSeaver keep in the morning, so tomorrow will be even longer. Ye should be rested.”

Without a word, she left the room, and he got the fire started. After rubbing his hands together to warm them, he walked into the bedchamber and stood, staring, in awe.

Jillian was not in her nightdress and huddled under the covers. Instead, she was stark naked and lounging on the bed, her blonde hair spread out over the pillow, and her pale skin gleaming in the candlelight.

She gave him a provocative smile. “We both know that ye didnae have to wed me to have me, Graeme, but we are bound together, and we both know that there will be at least one enjoyable aspect of our union. I say, why wait?”

His mouth went dry. Why wait indeed?

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Immediately, he pulled off his shirt and began to undo the belt around his tartan. His gaze roamed up and down the gorgeous curves of her body while his own body hardened. She was no blushing maiden, but her cheeks did pink under his gaze, and she sucked in her lower lip shyly.

Naked, he sat down on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on the curve of her hip as he stared down at her.

Wife.

The thought was mind-boggling, and he wondered, for a brief moment, if his cousin was turning in his grave at the thought of Graeme with his hands on his wife.

Damn it, now was not the time to think of Fulton. He wanted to savor every moment he had with Jillian before the more unpleasant aspects of their marriage got in the way.

“Are ye certain?” he asked.

“Ye could have had me last night,” she whispered as she sat up. “I realize how that might sound to ye, but I havenae wanted anyone in a long time, Graeme. I am yer wife, and it will be my pleasure to provide ye with my wifely service.”