Chapter 15

Dearest Delia,

I hope you do not mind me addressing you with such familiarity, but I have been speaking to Evie, whom you know so well through Emmeline, and I feel like I know you already. I am so happy to know that such a lovely young woman has joined our family and will be a sister to me. I hope you and Muir will be blissfully happy together, but if you occasionally need help in lifting heavy objects to throw in his direction, I would be glad to help.

I love my brother dearly, but he can be the most exasperating creature on earth, as I'm sure you must already know. That you have been brave and kind enough to overlook this and see the good in him tells me you have the strength of character to be everything he needs.

Welcome to the family, my dear. I am so very disappointed not to be able to share your special day with you, but as soon as my ‘happy event' has arrived and I am strong enough to travel, you may rely upon a visit from your very own sister, Georgie.

―Excerpt of a letter from Her Grace, Georgina Seymour, The Duchess of Rochford to The Lady Cordelia Anderson.

22 nd April 1850, Brabster Farm, The Highlands of Scotland.

Delia laughed as Muir swung her down from the carriage, stealing another kiss before he let her go and making her blush for the carriage driver and the footmen were grinning broadly. She knew all her belongings had been transported to the farm earlier that morning along with her new maid, Ally. Lady Morven had arranged the hiring of the girl for her, assuring Delia she was a cheerful soul, hardworking and discreet, and to be relied upon. A fact Delia was heartily glad for after her own maid had disdained to come and live in Scotland.

She took Muir's arm as he led her towards the front door, where the formidable Mrs Paterson was waiting with a face like thunder. Delia quailed somewhat but stiffened her spine.

"Ye can hire more staff if ye wish to," Muir told her in an undertone as they approached the house. "I didnae feel the need for it with just me living here, but ye may do as ye see fit, and with the house, too. If ye wish to change anything, anything at all, I dinnae mind it."

"Thank you," she said, knowing he was trying hard to make her feel at ease. Delia, however, had an idea of what the trouble was with his irascible housekeeper and wasn't about to take the easy way out. "You're very kind, but I shouldn't dream of changing anything without asking your opinion first," she said with a smile.

"Ach, ye may if ye wish, but there's nae need."

Delia might have explained why it was necessary not to make sweeping changes without a word of discussion, but it was too late as they stood before Mrs Paterson.

"Mrs Paterson, ye have already met, but I shall present ye formally to yer new mistress. My Lady Cordelia Anderson, my cook and housekeeper, Mrs Paterson."

Mrs Paterson bobbed a neat curtsy, her expression remaining one of displeasure.

"I'm sure we will get along nicely," Delia told her firmly. "There is bound to be a time of adjustment for both of us, but I have seen enough of the house to know that you manage it wonderfully well, considering how little help you have for such a large property."

"Aye, a laundry maid once a week and that little chit of MacTavish's who's nae better than she should be," she said with a sniff. "It's not what it ought to be, that much I have said repeatedly."

"Well, I'm sure we can do better than that now Mr Anderson has a wife to take care of such details," Delia said, holding her gaze, determined the woman see she was ready to help, but not to be bullied. "Once I am settled, we can discuss matters, and you may tell me all the things you feel need changing or updating. Between us, I'm sure we can put all to rights."

"Aye," Mrs Paterson said, her expression becoming a little less forbidding. "Well, there's that range, for one thing. Mrs Baillie has one which is far bigger and more modern than mine, ye ken, for his lordship updated it last year."

"Did he now?" Delia exclaimed, relieved her suspicions about where much of the woman's resentment sprang from had been correct.

"Aye, and the one I have was installed when the house was built, nigh on thirty years ago," she indignantly. "Not that anything I cook isnae every bit as good as anything that's served at the castle," she added, her chin going up.

"Oh, I should never doubt it. Muir has told me what a wonderful cook you are, Mrs Paterson, and I have tasted the truth of it myself, of course, for the picnics you've provided us with have been wonderful. The pies were especially delicious."

Mrs Paterson straightened, her chest expanding a little as her eyes warmed a degree. "It's been said I've a fair hand with the pastry, 'tis true."

"Indeed, you do, and that a cook of your calibre has not a modern range to work with, really… Muir, what were you thinking?" she said, praying Muir would understand what she was about and go along with her.

He returned a sheepish look and shrugged, and she could have kissed him.

"I didnae ken it was that important, for I have had nae complaints about the food that arrives at my table."

"That is hardly the point," Delia said, giving him a stern look. "You ought to make Mrs Paterson's life easier, when there is so much for her to do already."

Delia reached out and squeezed the woman's hand. "Don't you fret, Mrs Paterson. You make me a nice long list of all the things you believe need changing or updating, and what staff you think the house should have to run smoothly. Then I will check that against the available budget, and you may be sure I will give you as much as I can. Thank you so much for making me feel so welcome. I am looking forward to working with you immensely."

"Well, I… Indeed, as am I," Mrs Paterson said, looking rather like she might mean it, and as if she wasn't entirely certain what had just happened.

"If ye will excuse us," Muir cut in hurriedly, before the lady could gather herself. Towing Delia past the usually indomitable woman, he swept her into his arms and carried her over the threshold.

Delia laughed and then protested as he refused to put her down, heading for the stairs.

"Muir, I can walk!" she said, pushing at his chest as he climbed the stairs.

"Not on yer life," he replied, shaking his head. "I dinnae ken what magic ye just used on Mrs Paterson, but she was very near smiling at us, and that's a sight I dinnae want in my head on my wedding night, thank ye very much."

Delia snorted. "Don't be dreadful," she scolded him, though she had to admit a smiling Mrs Paterson was too disturbing to consider. "And the poor woman is just starved of attention. I don't doubt you devour everything she puts before you and never set foot in the kitchen or ask her what's for dinner. Everyone needs a bit of attention, Muir. You must take an interest and praise her efforts."

"I always say thank ye and that it was a splendid meal," Muir protested.

Delia kissed his cheek fondly. "I don't doubt it, but you may leave Mrs Paterson to me. I know just how to handle her, I promise you."

"I believe ye. I just saw it with my own eyes, though I can hardly credit it," he added, shaking his head.

Delia fell silent as carried her towards the door at the far end of the corridor and pushed it open. The room was large and had a splendid view across the land, the crenellations of Wildsyde's lofty tower just visible in the far distance. Turning her attention back to the room, Delia's gaze settled upon a huge oak bed which dominated the space, the headboard embellished with Celtic knots and thistles. It was neatly turned down with sheets of pristine white cotton and thick blankets in the family tartan laid over it. Other than that, the room was fairly spartan, with a gleaming polished wood floor, a well-worn armchair beside the fireplace, where a fire blazed, and an enormous wardrobe carved with the same thistle and knot design as the bed.

Muir set her carefully down, not letting her go. "Welcome home, Delia."

"Thank you. I'm glad to be home, here with you."

"Aye," he said, kissing her forehead before going to close the bedroom door. He turned the key, making her stomach leap with nerves.

"Yer nae afraid, are ye?" he asked, his expression one of concern as he returned to her.

Delia shook her head. "Not of you, just… just of doing something wrong."

He smiled at that, stroking his fingers down her cheek. "Ye never could. Ye ken what happens between us? Did anyone explain?"

"Luella was kind enough to offer to explain things to me," she said with a smile. "But there was no need. My sister-in-law, Emmeline, thought I ought to know such things, and she was good enough to explain everything some time ago. So, I am quite prepared."

"Well, I'm glad ye are, for I am nae. I'm feart of hurting ye," he admitted, the worry in his eyes chasing away any lingering anxiety she might have felt.

"You told me I could do nothing wrong, well, you could not hurt me, not really. I understand it might be a little uncomfortable the first time, but I know you would never do me harm intentionally. I'm safe with you, Muir. I have always known it."

There was a soft knock at the door and a shy voice spoke through it.

"My lady, it's Ally. Is there anything ye need? Can I be of assistance?"

"No, ye cannae! Run along," Muir called back impatiently. "I'll be yer maid," he added in an undertone, winking at her.

"The poor girl, she'll be mortified now," Delia scolded him as he turned her around.

"She'll get over it. Did I tell ye, by the way, how bonnie ye look in this gown? Prettier than the bride cake, and ye make my mouth water more than it did too."

"You did," she said, feeling quite smug about it. "But you are welcome to say it again, though the bride cake Mrs Baillie made was the most splendid I have ever seen. Quite magnificent."

"Dinnae let Mrs Paterson hear ye say such a thing," he murmured in her ear, nipping at the lobe before he returned his attention to her buttons. "Ye will undo all yer good work."

"I should never be such a numpty," she said, biting her lip as he moved around to look at her, his expression one of feigned alarm.

"Lady Cordelia, wherever did ye learn such dreadful language?" he demanded, one hand to his heart in mock horror.

"From you," she retorted.

"Aye, and so ye did," he agreed, smirking.

He moved behind her again and finally the dress fell in a soft whoosh of fabric. Delia stepped out of it as Muir tossed it over the chair and turned back to her, his gaze intent.

"Better than Christmas morning," he said, his lips quirking. "And on to the next layer."

With more patience than she had credited him, he undid and unhooked and unbuttoned, until only her shift and stockings remained, and it was she who was impatient. Nerves leapt beneath her skin, her every sense alert and singing with anticipation.

"Can I take this off?" he asked, reaching for the shift.

Delia nodded. "Though it seems dreadfully scandalous to be naked in daylight," she observed. "Not that I'm complaining," she added hastily.

He chuckled at that and kissed her cheek. "I think yer notions of scandal and mine are nae at all the same things, but I shall remedy that soon enough."

He brought the chemise up and over her head, tossing it aside. Delia shivered as she saw the way his gaze darkened, felt the heat of his hand upon her bare skin as he reached for her, his palms hot against her waist. "Yer the loveliest thing I ever did see, Delia, my own little love. I never felt so proud in my life as when I saw ye walk down the aisle towards me."

"Thank you," she whispered, though her heart was beating so fast, and she was so breathless that the words were hardly audible.

"Thank ye for putting yer trust in me. I dinnae take it lightly."

"I know," she said, but anything else she might have added was lost as he pressed his mouth to hers, pulling her against him. Goosebumps ran over her as the press of metal clasps and buttons touched her skin and he smiled, rubbing her arms as he felt the shivers prickle her skin.

"Get into bed, lassie. I'll be with ye directly to warm ye up."

Obediently, Delia climbed into the magnificent bed, pulling the covers over herself as she watched him disrobe. He certainly made quick work of it, considering the complications of the Highland dress, but soon enough he stood only in his shirt and Delia's mouth felt dry, her heart thudding as he drew it up and cast it aside.

He grinned at her, an amused glint in his eyes and he put his arms up and turned in a circle for her perusal. "Nae too shabby, aye?" he said, waggling his eyebrows at her. "Ye are a lucky lassie."

"Dreadful man," she said, smothering a giggle at his smug expression. "You are a deal too confident, I think."

Privately, she had to agree he had every right to be. An active life led mostly out of doors had honed his body to a landscape of rugged muscle. His chest, forearms, and legs were remarkably hairy, the hair glinting gold in the firelight as he moved to the bed.

"Ye reckon I swagger a deal too much, do ye aye?" he asked, a wicked glint in his eyes as he climbed into the bed.

"Aye," she told him. "As it happens, I do."

She held his gaze, knowing she was asking for retaliation and eager to see what form it would take.

"Let's just see about that," he growled, and leapt onto the bed, stripping back the covers she had pulled up, pouncing on her and pushing her down onto the pillows. His skin blazed against hers, the temperature so fiery she had no hesitation in clinging to him, wrapping her far cooler body about his like honeysuckle climbing a tree. She held on as his hands explored, seeming to be everywhere at once as the intimacy of their naked bodies pressing together made her mind reel with sensation.

He kissed his way down her body, lingering for a time over her breasts as his hot mouth closed over her nipples, sucking and pulling and drawing breathless sounds of approval from her that seemed to please him a good deal. After a delightful interlude, he carried on down, trailing his tongue over her skin and making her squeal by wriggling it into her belly button.

"Do you think sheep kiss before they—" Delia bit her lip, wondering what on earth had prompted her to ask such a thing at such a moment.

Muir looked up, his lips twitching. "Nae lassie. That much I'm certain of."

"Oh," she replied, disappointed, and then squealed as he returned his tongue to its previous occupation.

He laughed at the way she squirmed away from him and held her immobile as he moved lower still and kissed her inner thighs, trailed his tongue along the sensitive skin at the apex of her sex. Delia stilled, hardly able to comprehend what she suspected he might do next. Whilst Emmeline had been quite bold in explaining what her wedding night might be like—in Delia's opinion, at least—it appeared she might have left out a few crucial details. Delia gave a little cry of startled shock as Muir's tongue swept over her.

"Do sheep do that?" she demanded in outrage, before she could think better of it.

Muir gave a muffled snort and shook his head. "Nae, lassie, now haud yer wheesht and let me love ye."

Delia had no trouble complying with this demand, for any possibility of speaking a word evaporated as her brain and body dissolved into a quivering mass that could do nothing but feel.

Delia hadn't the slightest idea if this was normal behaviour for a man on his wedding night and Emmeline had simply been too discreet to explain it, or if perhaps Muir was simply being his outrageous self, she only knew she didn't care. His mouth was so hot against her sensitive flesh it almost burned, and the pleasure was close to unbearable. Delia whimpered and writhed even though his hands gripped her hips firmly, holding her in place. Her sanity unravelled as she made sounds she would surely remember with mortification. For the moment she didn't care, chasing the promise of more as something hovered just out of her grasp. She arched, her body taut with eager anticipation, holding her breath as she waited for what came next. He'd shown her this before, this glittering peak, and she careered after it, desperate for it even as she never wanted it to end.

Muir slid a finger inside of her, sucking gently at her tender flesh, and the sensation she'd been waiting for exploded through her. She cried out, clutching at his hair as something primal and elemental overtook her, sounds torn from her throat she would never have believed possible until the pleasure dissipated, leaving her boneless, exhausted, and stunned.

Delia couldn't move, her body had no substance. Indeed, she was fairly certain it had melted into the mattress. Besides which, she did not wish to open her eyes again, for if she did, she'd have to look Muir in the eyes, and she didn't know if she could.

"Still think I swagger too much, eh?" he asked, the smug devil.

Somehow, Delia found strength enough to crack open an eyelid and gazed at him dubiously. "I think you are a very bad man," she said tartly, to which he only laughed, settling himself between her legs. Delia gasped as his sex, hot and aroused, pressed hard against her still pulsing flesh. "A very , very bad man," she said, sighing and giving herself over to him entirely, for her body seemed to have decided it preferred being under his control and she was not about to challenge it.

"Nae, lassie, I only know how to please ye, and to please myself, aye. Speaking of which," he added, pushing inside her. "Relax now, mo ghraidh, and let me love ye."

Delia tried to do as he asked, finding her body less inclined to obey him now as it tightened, remonstrating at the strange invasion as he pressed farther inside.

She gasped and Muir stilled, taking a moment to stroke her back, her sides, to kiss her and speak soft words, soothing her until her muscles responded and he pushed all the way in. At first, she could not breathe, certain she would experience pain the moment he moved, but as her body adjusted, accepting him, she relaxed further, and suddenly it was easy and instinctive and she forgot to worry, or to wonder how it would be, and simply let it happen.

It seemed they fit together, like nature had always intended one for the other, making her wonder if fate had played a hand purposefully as he had suggested. For how else could this be so perfect, if it had not been meant from the start? But she could no longer consider such philosophical questions, for her body was taking over again, her mind forced into the background as feelings and sensations arose inside her, overwhelming her senses. The realisation that he was feeling the same things, that his strong, muscular frame shook with the same pleasure, the same delight he found in her that she experienced with him, was too wonderful for words. Instead, she tried to express it in her touch, her kiss, in the inarticulate sounds she gave him to show him how well he pleased her, until the peak came, and they found it together, crying out and then laughing helplessly as she wondered at the strange beauty of such an intimate act.

They slept for a while, dozing as the dimming light of the afternoon gave way to darkness. Muir loved her again, so slowly and tenderly that she almost cried, clinging to him and promising to be everything he needed while he hushed her, assuring her that she already was. When they woke again, it was late, a slim sickle moon visible through the window.

"I'm famished," Muir protested as his stomach gave an audible grumble of hunger.

Delia laughed, patting his flat belly with amusement. "Then you had best raid the kitchen. Did you not ask Mrs Paterson to provide something for us?"

He returned a sheepish grin and shrugged. "In all honesty, I've thought of nothing but my wedding night ever since ye said yes, but my brain snagged on the pleasure of it, and I did nae think so far as supper."

"Well, now you're regretting that oversight," she said, laughing at his dismay.

"Ach, and I dinnae want to leave this cosy bed and go down to the kitchen," he grumbled.

"Well, that's why it's best to be prepared. Never mind. You'll just have to hurry, won't you?" she said, making a show of snuggling down under the covers.

"Are ye nae coming with me?"

"No," she said, giving him a sweet smile.

"Yer a hard woman, wife," he said, shaking his head sadly. He slid from the bed, grumbling all the while, and picked up his kilt, wrapping it around himself with a few deft movements so it covered most of his body. Padding barefoot to the door, he unlocked it, pulled it open and gave an exclamation of delight.

"God bless Mrs Paterson!" he said, as Delia heard the chink of china. He came back into the room, kicking the door shut as he turned, holding aloft a heavy tray. "I will nae have ye saying she's crabbit, Delia, for she is a fine woman. I've always said so."

Delia shook her head at him as he set the laden tray upon the bed, shed the kilt, and climbed back in beside her.

"I never said she was crabbit, for I have no idea what it means," Delia said mildly, helping herself to a chicken leg.

Muir picked up a pie filled with minced lamb and devoured it in three mouthfuls before reaching for another.

"Is there no cheese?" Delia asked, perusing the tray once she'd finished the chicken leg.

"Nae, Mrs Paterson would nae put cheese on a tray late in the evening. It gives ye strange dreams, ye ken."

Delia rolled her eyes at him. "I like strange dreams," she replied tartly, before frowning as an idea occurred to her. "Have you ever thought of making cheese?"

"Me? Nae, why ever would I?"

"Sheep's cheese is lovely," she said, shrugging.

"Lassie, there is enough work on the farm, I assure ye. Dinnae go looking for more, aye?" he said, laughing, and then hesitated as she continued to stare at him. "Are ye serious?"

"Maybe," she said, holding his gaze. "Maybe not."

Muir turned another pie between his hands, frowning over it for a moment. "I'll ask Lyall. Happen they'll have a book on the subject in the library. Ye can take a look and… and we'll think on it. Aye?"

Delia smiled, reaching out and stroking his cheek. "Thank you, Muir."

He caught hold of her hand, turning his face into it and kissing her palm. "Ye may need to give me a kick now and then, Delia, but I promise I'll try my best not to be an ignorant lout."

She laughed at that, and they carried on their meal. Delia discovered she enjoyed watching him eat, studying him as he reached for a bread roll, pulled it in half, slapped a generous amount of butter on each side and filled it with three thick slices of ham. He took a huge bite, and Delia viewed the sight in fascination as almost half the roll disappeared. Muir closed his eyes, chewing contentedly as she watched with amusement.

"Better now?" she asked once he'd swallowed.

"Nae, I hae to clear this tray I reckon, and then…" he said, lowering his voice and stroking an invisible moustache in the manner of a theatrical villain.

"Then?" Delia asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Then I shall have other appetites to satisfy."

Delia sniggered, shaking her head at him.

"Yer nae to laugh at me when I'm being villainous," he said, picking up a chicken leg and wagging it at her in disapproval. "'Tis nae polite. A good wife would gasp and make out like she was feart of me."

"Even if I'm not."

"Especially if yer are nae feart. I have my pride, aye?"

"You are the silliest creature that ever lived, Muir Anderson," Delia said helplessly. She set her chicken aside and moved closer to him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders and kissing his cheek. "And I adore you."

He paused, glancing up at her. "Do ye, aye?"

"Aye, I love and adore ye, my daft Scottish laddie," she said, trying her best to mimic his accent and failing miserably.

He grinned at her all the same. "I love ye too, Delia, something fierce, but do me a favour, lassie: never say it that way ever again."

She snorted and shoved at him, so Muir retaliated, hauling her into his lap and feeding himself and her in turn until the tray was empty, and the other appetites he had mentioned were in sore need of sustenance.

In the early hours of the morning, they were still talking, wrapped in each other's arms, both dreaming of the days and weeks and years to come, of the plans they had made, and the life they would share together.

"I dinnae want to close my eyes. It seems a dreadful waste to miss a moment, and I cannae wait for it all to begin," Muir whispered, his voice heavy with sleep, pulling Delia closer to him.

Delia sighed, already drifting into dreams of him, murmuring contentedly as she closed her eyes, "It already has."