Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

Grant was not a stranger to the fine manors in England, but he’d never seen a magnificent estate like Cambarelle. He gazed at himself in the mirror with the white filigree on the edge and dragged a soft towel around his neck. He dipped it in the basin again, watching the water absorb the dust from the road, and wiped down his arms.

Finally, better fed and cleaner than he’d been in days, he left the large washroom and stepped into Emma’s bedroom. It had west-facing windows overlooking a large garden, with low sofas around it, and a large bed with the blankets still mussed. The sight sent a pulse through him, and he forced himself to gaze around the room. It was far cozier than he had expected, despite it being sumptuous.

Grant admitted that he would not mind bringing some of this finery back to Banrose. But more than that, he could not wait to bring her home.

She stood by the window, the last of the fading light bathing her in bright umber. Her dark hair was half down, and as he took soft steps toward her, she reached up and pulled out the last of the pins. She shook her hair free, causing his breath to catch, and he stilled, committing this moment to memory.

“It will never be enough,” he murmured.

She turned around, her eyes twinkling with mirth and curiosity. That blue gaze that he’d happily lose himself in was filled with questions that he wanted to answer. And her lively mind was filled with thoughts that he wanted to hear.

“And lips I want to kiss every day for the rest of me life,” he said.

Emma stepped up to him, holding out her hands and smiling softly. “I would like that, too, Grant,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Shall this be our new deal? Every day, within reason, you shall kiss me.”

“Aye, I think I’d like that,” Grant murmured and bent his head.

Kissing Emma sent a wave of peace through him, even as yearning burned in his loins. He had her in his arms, but he wanted more—so much more.

And tonight, perhaps he did not have to stop, for Emma would be his wife. A thrill rushed through him as his hands smoothed down her arms. He wanted to rip that crimson gown off her, no matter how delicious she looked in deep red.

Forcing himself to pull back, he rasped out, “Ye do ken that we must get married verra soon, aye?”

“Yes,” Emma said. She took his face in her hands and gave a shy nod. “I know what you are asking. And the answer is yes.”

Grant stared at her for a moment, his chest rising and falling. As much as he’d wanted this, as much as he’d wondered why she had brought him here, rather than showing him to his rooms, he had not expected this.

“Ye always catch me off guard,” he said with a rough laugh. “Never stop.” He took one of her hands and kissed her palm. “I never realized how much I needed a bold woman until I met ye, Emma.”

“Is that so?” she asked in a teasing tone, her shyness falling away and her eyes filling with heat.

“Aye,” he murmured. “I do wonder if yer twin is the same and if that’s the reason MacLarsen married her immediately. I confess I have never felt more of one mind with the man—or more envious. I wish we were already married.”

“What if I promise myself to you?” Emma asked as his lips trailed up her wrist. He paused there, feeling her rapid pulse under his tongue, and let her words wash over him. “What if we promise ourselves to each other?”

Grant gazed at her and felt as though all the world had fallen away except for this impossible, marvelous woman. Kissing the back of her hand, he wondered if he’d ever felt more humbled, even as something seemed to surge inside of him.

“I would say aye, Emma Wells,” he murmured. “Just when I thought I couldnae fall more in love with ye…” He squeezed her hand. “Do ye happen to have a ribbon or a length of cloth around?”

Emma glanced around, biting her lip, and then her face lit up. She gently pulled back and fumbled at her waist, then loosened a thick, bold red sash that reminded him of Ronson tartan.

“Why are ye wearin’ red of all colors, lass?” Grant heard himself ask.

Earlier, when she’d come running out of Banrose Castle looking like a wild rose in the English countryside, he’d only thought of her beauty. But now… now his heart leaped when he saw her soft smile.

“It reminds me of Banrose crimson,” she said. “The tapestries at the top of the stairs where we made our first deal, the red of the Ronson family’s tartan—and of impossible wishes.” She laughed to herself as Grant cupped her face in his hand, her eyes bright with tears. “I confess I have been a hopeless watering pot since I left you. Quite the pining young lady, thinking of her knight. Perhaps I thought to draw you with a single hair—or a red gown.”

“I think it worked,” Grant commented as he shook out the length of fabric. “Hold out yer wrist.” Emma did so, and he held out his and then linked their hands. The contact sent a bolt of energy through him. “Ye may have to help me. Usually, someone else does this.”

Together, with some laughter and fumbling, they managed to wrap the crimson cloth around their clasped hands.

“Now what?” Emma asked.

Grant opened his mouth and closed it. “Ach, someone speaks. I havenae seen a ceremony like this in a long time…”

“Hm…” Emma gazed up at him. “I have an idea. I promise myself to you, Grant Miller, of Clan Ronson, Laird of Banrose Castle. You are my finder, even though I did not know I was seeking you. And you have become my heart. I’ll love you until I draw my last breath.”

A shaky breath escaped Grant’s lips, and he felt a deep joy that filled him with the kind of peace he’d only thought he could witness from afar. He wanted to kiss her, but he knew he had to speak first.

“I promise ye, Lady Emma Wells, that I will find ye—and be found. Ye are me seeker, too. I promise meself to ye, until me last breath, with this sacred vow. You are me sky, me stars, and me sun. Throughout this life and the next, I shall cherish ye with thought, deed, word, and vow.” He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her lips. “How I love ye.”

“I shall cherish you with thought, deed, word, and vow, Grant,” Emma echoed. “And I am honored to be your wife, to be Lady Ronson.”

“I am honored to be your husband,” he said.

At that, they kissed, their hands still bound, and warmth seemed to seep into the cloth. Impatient, Grant unwound it and carefully draped it over the back of a chair. Then, he lifted Emma into his arms and carried her to the bed.

“Now, to the main deed,” he whispered in her ear, and she shivered.

He gently laid her down, and when she tried to sit up and pull him down, he laughed. Pinning her down, holding her hands, he kissed her deeply and pressed his body against hers without crushing her.

Then, he pulled her higher on the bed and followed after her, not caring that he still had his boots on. He’d given them a good scrape at the door.

Emma did not seem to mind either. Indeed, as she gripped his shirt, he rather thought she would protest if he tried to stop.

Grant laughed against her lips, then began to kiss his way down her neck, his hands working at her stays. Emma was not helping as she tugged at his hair and let out sweet, perfect sighs, murmuring his name in a way that made him grit his teeth and struggle not to take her like a beast.

Finally, he loosened her stays enough to pull her dress down and bare her lovely breasts. Here, in a room filled with candlelight, his length throbbed as he gazed down at her. Dark hair spread across the pillows, ample breasts heaving, lips curled into a dreamy smile.

“Ye are perfect,” he murmured and watched her face as he toyed with a rosy nipple. She arched up, her face contorting with pleasure, and he smiled. “Do ye like how much I adore yer pretty tits, Emma?”

Emma flushed bright pink, her hands falling from his hair to either side of her. Lips parted, she seemed unable to answer, and he squeezed her nipple.

“Tell me.” He fought a smile as he gave her a stern look, and she flushed brighter. “I mean to ken every bit of yer pleasure.”

“I—oh,” she gasped as he began to play with her other nipple. “Oh, mmm.” She bit her lower lip and writhed. “I—yes!” she all but shouted. “Yes, I do.”

“I thought so.”

Grant lowered his head, letting his tongue tease the hard bud. Again, Emma let out a cry that went straight to his length. How he loved her. How he meant to spend every possible moment learning her and tasting her.

“I shall kiss every inch of yer body before the sun rises.”

“How?” Emma whimpered.

Grant laughed against her breast, causing her to jolt. “Ye shall see.”

He then dedicated himself to kissing and caressing her breasts, before dragging her dress further down and kissing the curve of her belly. She gasped and moaned with every touch, whittling away at his restraint. He kissed across her stomach, then flipped her over so he could kiss his way up her spine.

But Emma, growing impatient and losing her mind with pleasure, began to roll her generous rump against his throbbing length.

Grant pinned her then, a wild laugh escaping him, and he kissed under her ear. “Emma, lass, dinnae do such a thing, or I will take ye like a maraudin’ Scot with yer skirts hiked up, ruttin’ into ye like a beast.”

The last thing he had expected was for her to look over her shoulder at him and roll her bum against him. “Please.”

Grant froze, shaking all over, and then she did it again.

He lost his mind, snarling into her neck and tearing at her skirts, shoving them up to her waist to reveal pretty, ruffled white underclothes. He reached down and found the dirk in his boot, not wanting to waste time getting all these layers off. He carefully found a place where he could pinch the fabric and cut it, revealing pretty, milky skin.

Emma shivered and held his gaze as he slid his fingers into her.

“So, ye want me to take ye like this?” he asked, then leaned forward to kiss her neck as he kept stroking her. “The devil, who cannae wait, so lost in yer beauty and lovely curves.”

“Yes, yes, ” Emma pleaded.

His hand squeezed her bare side, and he tried to tamp down his desire. “Lass, wait, ye are an Outlander. Ye may not ken…” He pulled away and tried to breathe. “If this is too much?—”

“It’s not enough,” Emma insisted, cutting him off. “And I know—but I also want to feel . I want you.”

Grant let his hand trail down her bare back, enjoying the dips of her spine, the dimples and the rolls. Then, his fingers trailed up the back of her bare thigh, and she shivered, biting her lip.

“I thought ye wanted a gentleman.” Grant couldn’t help the teasing smile that spread across his face. “Nae a rough devil who would make ye scream with pleasure but dutifully do his duty in the dark.” He lightly smacked her rump, and she let out a yelp. “Am I right?”

Emma sat up slightly and reached out a hand to touch his face. “I want both,” she said. “And you showed me that I could have both.”

His chest rose and fell, all mirth fading away. “Emma…”

“I want the Devil and the Prince and whatever else folk do in the bedroom,” Emma added with a mischievous laugh. “But mostly, I want you.”

Grant was burning with such intense heat and need that he tore off his shirt. Emma’s eyes went wide, and she pushed her bum back as he yanked up his kilt. He gave his length a good stroke and grinned.

“Here is more and more , lass,” he grunted and wrapped an arm around her waist. Emma gasped as the head of his manhood pressed against her entrance. “And now I take ye.”

With one thrust, Grant entered her, and she let out a wild cry. Her walls clenched around him in a way that made him see stars, a hot pressure coiling at the base of his spine. He forced himself to stay still, to let her get accustomed to his girth, and she trembled against him.

Breathing hard into her neck, his bare chest pressed against her back, he savored her half-dressed state, the silk around them that seemed to accentuate her soft heat. His hand pressed into the soft mattress, along with his knees, and he adjusted himself to better take her.

“Oh,” Emma moaned and nearly bowed backward. “Do—do that again.”

“I have somethin’ better,” he whispered as he slowly pulled out of her and then slowly slid back in.

Emma let out a strangled sob, crying out his name, and ground her hips back.

“I have ye, Emma,” he murmured. “But I did promise to take ye like the devil.”

Yet, even as those teasing words left his mouth and he began to teach his wife the real meaning of pleasure, Grant sensed that he’d soon be humbled. For being connected with Emma, and the heights of pleasure he was experiencing, had never felt more sacred.

Deep down, he knew he’d never been a devil, but a man who’d lost his way—and found her in the woods.

“God, I love ye,” he said into her hair as he held her closer, losing himself in that love. “How I love ye, Emma.”