"Aye. The la.s.s is like another I know." He kissed the tip of her nose.
"Be very careful, my lord. We are not yet wed."
"Nay. But Angus and Mistress Snow are below stairs now planning their wedding. And if we are wise, we will ask to share their ceremony on the morrow."
"Oh, Brice. Could we?" She caught his hand.
"Let us go below and speak to them."
She was surprised when he resisted. Before she could tug again on his hand he dragged her roughly against him and covered her lips with his.
Instantly she felt the rush of desire that begged for release.
"We will talk with them later." The words were ground against her lips.
They sank to their knees on the fur throw. His fingers moved to the b.u.t.tons of her gown.
"My men..."
"Will be invited to a wedding on the morrow. But for tonight, my beloved, just let me love you."
Love.
"Oh, Brice," she breathed against his lips.
"I love you so."
"And I love you, Meredith. So much." His fingers began to weave their magic. His lips moved over her, igniting little fires wherever they touched.
"Welcome home, little firebrand."
Home. Aye. These Highlands were now home. This man, this Highland Barbarian, held her heart.
She felt a welling of so much love. A love that would endure even beyond this lifetime. A love to last an eternity.
Author"s Note Q^ns^s^Q A quotation from John Fordun"s
"Chronicles" in Skene"s Celtic Scotland, from 1363 to 1384, states: The highlanders ... are a savage and untamed nation, rude and independent..
comely in person but unsightly in dress, hostile to the English people and language... and exceedingly cruel. They are, however, faithful and obedient to their crown and country.... That quotation fascinated me.
And as I researched, I discovered some who could have been my ancestors. I admit that I fell in love with these highland barbarians.