Chapter Nineteen

Three weeks later, aboard the Gael Forss

With the exception of a few trusted crew members for security—the ship was, after all, tied to the dock in Leith—he and his new wife were completely, blissfully alone. Ian had supplied the balance of his crew with plenty of coin to keep them at the tavern until dawn, allowing him enough time to thoroughly enjoy his wedding night with Louisa aboard the Gael Forss.

Ten minutes after he shut the door to his cabin, they lay in a tangle of limbs and bedclothes, spent and gasping. Their coupling had been quick and desperate. He’d waited, it seemed, for an eternity to have her again. In truth, it had only been a little over three months since that first time but for him, wanting Louisa was the same as needing her, requiring her. She was as necessary to him as the air he breathed.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his chest still heaving up and down.

Louisa stirred and stretched. “What must I forgive you for this time, husband?”

He chuckled. “I sort of raced to the finish.”

She sat up and arranged herself so that she straddled his hips. His cabin berth was too tight to sleep the two of them comfortably and far too cramped for lovemaking—or at least too cramped for the kind of lovemaking he wanted to engage in on their wedding night—so he’d made up their bed on the floor. Moonlight slanted in through the cabin window and colored her skin pale blue like a fairy. Her wedding gown was twisted around her waist, the skirt rucked up and the bodice yanked down, those gloriously plump breasts in full view. The memory of how he’d just taken her made his cock jump back to life. He’d never recovered so quickly.

She switched her hips in a circle over his hardened member and he hissed with pleasure. “I’ll make you go slower this time,” she said.

Although he’d removed his shirt before he’d taken her, he still had his boots on and his trousers around his knees. Under any other circumstances, he might feel at a disadvantage. But, at this moment, with her lowering her pretty thatch of curls onto his mast, their state of semi-undress served only to heighten the tension.

She was slippery but tight, her cunny like a fist around his cock. Fully seated, she leaned down and kissed him. The instant he slid his tongue inside her mouth, her insides squeezed and he surged upward. They both gasped.

“Is that good?” he asked.

“Oh, aye. Dinnae stop, Ian.”

“Never,” he said. Her breathing grew ragged, punctuated with soft moans and whimpers. She rode him like that until she was close. So close. “Say it, love. Say the word.”

She moaned the word cock and cried out his name. Her cunny pulsed around him as strong and satisfying as a good stroking. He bucked hard, and called out, “I love—I love—oh, God, I love you.”

Ian had no right to feel so chuffed. After all, it was his duty as a husband to please her. Still, he couldn’t help but congratulate himself on a job well done, as he watched Louisa slumbering peacefully. He, on the other hand, was wide awake. A stroll on deck was in order. He pulled up his trousers, buttoned the fall, and slipped on his coat. The November nights had taken on a chill.

The two crew members he’d retained to watch the ship sat at the bow, a polite distance from his cabin, offering him and Louisa the privacy they required. He lifted a hand, and the shadowy figures acknowledged him. The docks were deserted, quiet. Even the harbor was calm, lifting the ship gently up and down rather than rocking it side to side.

So much had changed for him since June. And the agent of that change had come in a small lavender package with fierce green eyes. In hindsight, it was all so clear. Yet at the time, he had been like a man with a blindfold tied ’round his head. So many clues ignored. The thing inside his head had known, but he’d been so used to silencing that itch, he hadn’t picked up the signals.

General Sir Thomas Robertson and his sons Nathan and Connor had given token resistance to his proposal of marriage. He’d won Nathan’s respect somewhere between New London and New Haven, Connecticut. Ian suspected the general was simply relieved his beloved daughter would remain in Scotland, and Connor…well, the fact that he and Peter had become fast friends could be interpreted as good luck or bad news depending on one’s perspective.

Louisa and Rory had formed a bond so tight, Ian often envied their closeness. She had taken to motherhood as easily and as naturally as she did wielding a pistol or wearing trousers. His son had been loved and cared for by his gran. Still, it wasn’t the same as having a mother. They were a real family now. Ian had his own little family, something he’d thought he would never deserve.

The gentle breeze carried her lavender scent, announcing her presence before she spoke.

“Come to bed, husband.” She tugged his sleeve.

He gathered her into his arms and growled in her ear, “How lucky I am to have a wife so eager for my bed.”

She curled into him, soft parts molding to his hard edges. Holding her like this, he could have lingered for hours, but his soldier stood at attention and saluted, reminding him of his husbandly duty.

…

Once inside the relatively warm cabin, Louisa and Ian shed their clothes and huddled under the blankets. He captured her with one leg and one arm slung over her. In a matter of seconds, his body enveloped hers with heat. Tomorrow morning was a momentous day, Ian’s last voyage as captain of the Gael Forss. They would collect Rory and sail to Caithness where they would open a bookshop in Thurso. She looked forward to the challenge. What made her fret was meeting Ian’s parents, Laird John and Flora Sinclair.

“Do you think your family will like me?”

“They will love you. Everyone will love you. Caya and Lucy will smother you with their friendship and I will be jealous.” He gave her a squeeze.

“Caya’s married to…”

“Cousin Declan.”

“And he’s the one who had the dream about you marrying the lass in trousers?”

Ian groaned. “Oh, aye. I’d almost forgotten. I bet him a crown he was wrong. He’ll want to collect.”

“Rory will have plenty of cousins to play with.”

“Oh, aye. Magnus and Virginia have six boys, I think. One is bound to be Rory’s age. Declan and Caya have two young ones with another on the way—or maybe two. Declan claims he dreamed they would have twins, and Declan’s dreams are frighteningly accurate. And Alex and Lucy have a daughter who’s about Rory’s age.”

“What’s her name?”

“Jemima, but everyone calls her Jemma. My brother calls her the Redheaded Tyrant. She reminds me a lot of you, actually. Wherever she goes, chaos follows.”

“Ian, if you tell anyone about the General’s Daughter from Hell, I will sit on you.”

He roared with laughter. “I’ll keep that bit to myself. I promise.” He stroked her cheek. “Dinnae fash, lass. They will love you.”

“Kiss me,” she said. “I love your kisses, Ian.” He kissed her with quick light taps, then his tongue slid along the seam of her lips parting them and sliding inside, reminding her of their recent joining. Pulse quickening, sex tightening, she twined a leg around his and slid her hand down his belly. As soon as her fingers wrapped around his silky, hard girth, he groaned and rolled onto his back, a move she interpreted as an invitation to have her way with him.

One of the more exotic illustrations she’d examined closely in the naughty sex book she’d found among her brother’s things was entitled “Penelope Plays the Pipe.” It depicted a woman on her knees with a man’s private part in her mouth. At the time, she’d thought the act ludicrous. At this moment, however, she believed it was exactly what was needed. She scooted downward laying kisses on his belly. The closer she got, the louder he moaned.

Once faced with Ian’s “pipe” she realized what monumental effort it would take to actually “play” it. But Ian lifted himself on one elbow, gave her gentle yet explicit directions until she understood what he needed. At the last, he pulled away, tossed her on her back, and brought them both to a roaring crescendo. He collapsed next to her wearing a big grin.

“I think you liked that very much, husband.”

He chuckled and gasped out, “Oh, aye.” When he’d recovered his breath enough to speak: “I didnae have the courage to ask you to do that. What gave you the idea?”

She confessed to him about her brother’s naughty picture book. Ian doubled up and laughed out loud. “Dinnae laugh at me.” She thumped him on the shoulder. “I was curious.”

He wiped away tears of laughter and gathered himself. “Oh, lass, I love you. I didnae ken it was possible to love anyone like I love you.”

Ian’s confession swamped Louisa with the certain knowledge that she was loved by this man, the person who held her heart and her future in his hands, the one person who recognized and valued her assets, compensated for all her weaknesses, and accepted her flaws. That knowledge produced in her a joy so rare it was better than acting for an audience, better than the applause of a thousand people, better than wearing trousers on stage.

“Ian?”

“Aye, love?”

“You will still let me wear trousers from time to time, will you not?”

He pressed a kiss to her mouth and murmured, “My darling wife, I will insist on it.”

Did you love this book from Entangled’s Amara imprint? Check out more of our titles here!

Don’t miss Jennifer Trethewey’s next book! Sign up for our newsletter here!