Was there a part that bored or that you didn't really like in the book? *

Even a character, a scene, or anything. You could say no if nothing bothered you.

Which was the part you liked most in the book? *

Even a character, a scene, or anything that you enjoyed.

Do you like retellings of popular movies, e.g. 10 things I hate about you? *

• Yes! I especially love reading them adapted to historical settings, it's very interesting!
• Not really. I don't like retellings at all.

You would prefer a story about? *

• A laird's daughter and a peasant.
• A laird/laird's heir and a low-born lass.

Anything else you'd like to share? *

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Three Months Later

The tiny kirk was filled to overflowing and excitement was in the air as the crowd awaited the arrival of the bride. Beside the altar with his brother, Maxwell fidgeted, stepping from one foot to the other.

Everard watched him, grinning. “Dinnae fash lad. She’ll be along soon enough. Patience.”

Maxwell huffed. Patience was not one of his virtues. It had been a long three months since their betrothal, and he chaffed over the time it had taken. Waiting for his sister to be able to travel with his newborn nephew had caused a delay. But Aileen – and Raven – had insisted his sister should be the bride’s sole attendant. The banns had been called and now, at last, the day he’d been longing for had arrived.

The heavy oaken door of the chapel creaked open and a sudden hush fell over the assembled guests as they craned their necks to see the bride as she walked down the aisle.

Maxwell swallowed a giant lump in his throat at his first glimpse of Aileen on her father’s arm, as she followed Raven toward her waiting groom-to-be.

He’d never seen such beauty as Aileen MacAlpin in her wedding gown.

Her arms were laden with wild white roses, sprigs of purple heather, and dog violets. The fragrance filled the kirk and he breathed it in, his heart pounding, his palms damp and clammy.

Aileen’s hair flowed in a glorious cascade down her back to her waist, violets and roses woven through her red-gold tresses. She wore a gown of sky-blue silk over a white silk embroidered underskirt.

When she smiled up at him as it was as if the heavens had opened and taken him in.

Scarcely aware of the words spoken during the long ceremony, he could only wish for the nuptials to come to an end so that he and Aileen would be husband and wife.

Father Henricus had sailed from Iona three weeks prior and had stayed as a guest at the castle. He’d seemed a jolly enough fellow, fond of his ale and whisky as were most priests, and he’d kept them amused with his stories and anecdotes. But today he seemed determined to drone on indefinitely.

Maxwell ventured a wry smile at Aileen, who smiled back conspiratorially, her eyes sparkling.

At last, the mass was over and they made their vows before God and the congregation. It was the happiest moment of Maxwell’s life, when he slipped the gold ring onto Aileen’s finger.

They walked down the aisle past rows of smiling faces. Once outside the kirk, the crowd headed into the castle, where a grand feast was to be held in the great hall, while Maxwell and Aileen made their way to the slipway.

Alone beside the water, they held the chosen oath-stone in their joined hands, symbolizing their unbreakable union.

“I pledge me love and protection tae ye and our children tae come, fer all the days I live on this earth and beyond.” His hand tightened with Aileen’s over the stone.

Gazing deep into his eyes, she repeated the words he’d spoken. The vows were for protection, not obedience, as Maxwell understood Aileen was no meek, submissive, woman who would ever take orders from him.

Once they’d both spoken their pledge, they hurled the stone into the waters of the Bàgh á Chaisteill, where it would remain until the end of time.

Aileen turned, as if to return to the castle, but Maxwell placed a gently restraining hand on her arm.

“Come wi’ me across the Bàgh milady. There is something I wish tae show ye.”

She looked at him askance. “But… our guests?”

He chuckled. “There will be time enough fer our guests. They’ll be feasting and drinking and scarcely notice our absence fer an hour or so.”

She protested. “But Everard and Raven will have tae deal with our absence.”

“Aye. They’re aware of what I’ve in store and they’re happy with it.”

He pulled up the same small boat they’d journeyed in since Torridon and now, on their wedding day, it was to take them on one more journey. Aileen stepped aboard, leaving the sail furled as Maxwell took the oars, turning the boat toward the village. The boat skimmed across the bay and in a matter of minutes they arrived at another small jetty on the main island.

Waiting, as they stepped out of the boat was a stable-lad, holding a fine bay horse decked out in flowers and ribbons, matching Aileen’s.

She took all this in, amazed. “How did ye ken?”

“I had good words with Raven and Mildred and they made sure all the arrangements were attended tae.”

She took the horse’s bridle, marveling at the flowers tumbling over its mane and adorning the saddle.”

“Come.” While Colban, the young groom, held the horse steady, Maxwell helped her onto the its back. Once she’d made herself comfortable, Maxwell leaped up behind her taking the reins.

They clip-clopped through the cobbled streets passing throngs of well-wishing villagers waving and smiling and tossing wild roses in their path as they passed.

They left the scattered houses behind and continued past open fields for a mile or two before turning into a smaller road. Passing through a pair of iron gates, they continued along a tree-lined avenue for several minutes, eventually arriving at a large stone house.

Aileen looked at him, one eyebrow raised in puzzlement. “Whose house is this we’re visiting?”

After tethering their steed, they entered the house through a heavy timber door and confronted a stone staircase.

Aileen looked around. “I think there is nae body in this house. It has nae furniture.”

“Wait,” Maxwell put a finger to her lips. “Ye shall see.” He took her hand, leading her up the stairs.

There were three further rooms, the door to one room lying open.

He took her in his arms and transported her into the room. It was filled with the same kind of fragrant flowers she’d carried in her bouquet. At the center of the large room was a four-poster bed hung with velvet drapes. A fire blazed merrily in the fireplace.

“Yer bridal room, milady.”

Aileen gave a laugh of delight. “Why, ye’ve arranged all of this in secret fer this day. But ye’ve yet to tell me whose house this is?”

He chuckled. “Why, ‘tis our house, lass.” Then his faced clouded. “D’ye like it? If ye wish, we will live here and ye shall choose whatever ye wish tae furnish it with.”

“I believe I dae like this house, MacNeil, more than any other house I’ve ever seen. I cannae believe ye’ve kept this secret fer so long.”

Lowering her onto the middle of the bed among the flower petals, he brushed a kiss on her lips.

“Years ago, I had a mind tae build a house and live here one day. Once Everard became the laird, I bought this land and commenced building.”

“Go on.”

He continued his tale. “The house sat here lonely fer years, only needing a few small touches tae finish building. It was only when ye said ye’d wed wi’ me that I set tae work tae make it suitable fer a home where we can spend our days.” He brushed her lips with another kiss.

She snaked her hands around his shoulders and along his broad neck, untying the leather thong at his nape and allowing his dark hair tae flow freely tae his shoulders.

“Is that the best kiss ye can manage, husband?”

“Mayhap I can improve on that wee taste.” He lowered his eager mouth to take hers, in their first kiss as husband and wife.

His hands worked their magic, untying the laces on the back of her dress and lowering it from her shoulders so that he could run his fingers over her satin skin and layer it with kisses.

He huffed at the sight of her stays. “Ye’ve nay need fer these instruments of torture. Shall I help ye tae remove them?

He kissed her some more as he unlaced the stays and drew them off. Now she was bare to the waist and he took no time at all to cup her firm breasts, his fingers seeking the hard little nubs so that he could roll them between thumb and forefinger.

She moaned, arching herself against his busy hands, her head resting on the flower covered pillow.

“Ye approve me plan?”

She pressed her nakedness against him. “Mmm. I think…”

Before she could finish her sentence, he buried his head in her sweet-scented breasts, licking and suckling, tasting each in turn, so that she groaned loudly.

“Ye’ve still tae discard yer kilt, husband, and ‘tis time ye took me petticoat.”

He was quick to oblige and, in a trice, he’d unbuckled his kilt, stripped off his shirt and hauled off his boots. Then he turned his attention to her petticoats, sliding them slowly down so that her mound and her bare thighs were revealed to his eyes.

He ran a finger across her mound and along the folds of her quim, making her writhe and groan and mutter his name under her breath.

“I wish ye tae scream me name as loud as ye wish fer there’s nae body tae hear ye.” He teased her folds open with his finger. “Why, lass, ye’re so wet and ready fer me.”

She moaned and lifted her hips to encourage his finger in its exploration. He leaned in and circled her sensitive nub with his tongue and licked and suckled at her folds while entering her with first one finger, then two, then a third finger.

He groaned loudly. “I cannae wait any longer. Take me shaft in yer hand.”

She seized his magnificent, granite-shaft, sliding her hand from the hilt to the tip and down again.

He was wild with the longing for her that seemed to have been consuming him forever. Now, at long last, she was his. The very thought brought ripples of pleasure coursing through him so that he could scarcely tell where he was or whether it was day or night.

“Enough, wife.” He gasped. “I must have ye. Now.”

He rolled over, his tip poised at her entrance as she bucked under him.

“Is it right fer ye now?”

For an answer, she reached down, guiding his shaft and lifting her hips and bending her knees so that she took him inside her with one swift move.

The sweet scent of roses teased his nostrils as he buried his head in the long strands of bright hair that tumbled over her shoulder and spilled across the pillow.

He raised himself on his elbows, gazing into her green eyes as they flickered shut, their hips rising and falling in an age-old rhythm that brought intense, intoxicating pleasure taking him to heights of primal sensation he’d never experienced.

Beneath him, he felt the beginning of Aileen’s spasms tightening her velvet sheath around his shaft.

It did not take long before she screamed his name, raking his back with her nails, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

Then it came. The inevitable, exquisite moment of rapture as he spilled his seed inside the woman he loved with all his body and soul.

Afterwards, she laughed, a sound of pure delight and joy, holding him as if she’d never let him go.

“I wish tae hold ontae this perfect moment forever.”

He nodded. “Dae ye think we could forego our wedding feast and stay in this place this night?”

She pondered on this. “Mayhap we’d be needing food and drink.”

“Nay bother. Young Colban is waiting wi’ the horse. I’ll send him tae the village fer good fare that will bide us until the morrow.”

Laughing, she reached up to kiss the tip of his nose, while he took her hands and kissed her scars. “Would it cause a scandal if the bride and groom didnae appear fer their wedding feast and the cèilidh tae follow?”

“Aye. Nae doubt we’d be the talk of the Islands fer years tae come.”

“Well, that’s as good a start as any tae our married life.”

They were both laughing as he rolled her over and kissed her lips.

The End

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