Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Into the place I’ll be calling home now, forever.
Home, with the man I’ll be calling husband and Lord.
The darkly mysterious, famously gruff, allegedly handsome man who’s been halfway around the world fighting in wars. The man who’s now come home, and who’s paid my father for my hand in marriage.
The man I’ll be forever joined with in a few short hours, and the man who will…
I swallow thickly, pushing the wicked, sinful thoughts from my head as the carriage comes to a halt.
…The man who’ll be claiming me as his own.
The man who’ll be taking me in our marriage bed, pulling my clothes away, and making a woman out of me.
The heat comes roaring back to my cheeks as I look out the carriage window up at the imposing walls of Dungow Castle.
This is home. Its Lord is now my Lord.
…And I still can’t decide if that thought terrifies or excites me.
“Time to get married,” Cat whispers.
One of our guards opens the carriage door, and I take a breath before I stand.
Here we go…
Chapter 2
Hamish
Gods is she beautiful.
She walks like a creature from the heavens, stepping daintily out from the carriage and onto the cloth walkway I’ve ordered to be ready for her and her party upon arrival. A day of travel by carriage should have her looking bedraggled and weary, as it would have anyone looking. And yet…
I growl, my eyes locking onto her.
And yet, she looks like a goddess. She looks like a queen.
…She looks like my queen.
The sea air catches her wild, red hair, blowing it temptingly around her face. The sun crests over the western wall of the castle, striking her hair and making her look like she’s made of fire. Her dress presses tight to her small, petite body as the wind blows harder, and this time, my jaw clenches as I take in her form, teasingly outlined by the dress blown against her.
Her firm, small breasts make my pulse quicken. The way the fabric tucks tight between her thighs, pressing across the heaven that I know lies between her legs.
The devil in me hungers for her, and the man I am struggles to hang on. I can feel my cock thickening beneath my kilt, the head swelling against my thigh as I groan. My eyes travel over her form, locking on those pert little breasts as the wind hardens her nipples to points beneath the soft, thin fabric.
My balls ache, and before I can stop myself, my hand is creeping lower.
Up in my quarters in the high tower overlooking the entire castle and the sea, my vision is tunneled on to her and her only. My hand cups my heavy cock through my kilt, hefting the weight of it and grunting as I grow harder, and thicker. I grunt, tugging the kilt aside and letting my hand wrap around my bare thickness.
My eyes follow her every move, watching that red hair whip around her face, watching those soft pink lips part as she smiles courteously for the welcoming party I’ve had waiting for them. I find myself wondering if her other lips are as pink and tempting as the ones on her pretty face. I find myself wondering if I’ll find that same fire between her thighs as I see blowing wildly in the wind.
I’m older than most, marrying for the first time. And certainly, older than her, being in my twenty-ninth year to her nineteen. But while some men were here, marrying when they should and carrying on their lines, I chose a different path. I spent years in the Holy Land, fighting in King Richard’s crusades. Years in battle, being hardened, and being tested, until finally, I returned home to Dungow to start my life.
…And to find my bride.
Advisers lined women up for me, but there was never one to hold my gaze, or stop my heart. I didn’t merely want a woman, however beautiful or alluring, just for warming my bed and bearing my heirs. I wanted one that would take the words from my mouth. One who would still my heart. One that would haunt my thoughts when she wasn’t in my arms.
A year after returning home, none had done any of them. That is, until one day, I saw her. The day the gods showed me Una MacKay.
We’ve never met, but I’ve seen her from a distance. It was a month ago at the spring festival in Gowlyn. I hadn’t wanted to go, but Callum, a good friend of mine who fought with me in Jerusalem, insisted. Apparently, there was a brewer there whose ale he fancied. I’d been glowering to myself, when suddenly, I’d looked up, my eyes had landed on her, and my entire world stopped.
It was like being hit by lightning. Or struck down by arrows. It was like looking into the sun and never wanting to blink. Beautiful beyond compare, with a face that stole my heart and a figure that had my cock straining at my kilt. Callum had returned with the ales, noticed my stares, and grinned as he’d told me who she was.