The Laird’s Christmas Kiss (The Lairds Most Likely 2)

Elspeth made a drowsy sound and rubbed her cheek on Brody’s shoulder. The wool of the plaid he’d flung over his shoulder was soft beneath her face. She drew in a deep breath redolent of hay and horses, and the delicious scent of the man she’d married. “A little. Mostly just happy.”

He didn’t immediately move to dismount, just tightened his hold on her. “You were a beautiful bride, mo chridhe. I cannae tell you how I felt, when you walked down the aisle toward me this morning and promised to be my wife.”

She smiled at the memory. She’d felt like her heart had spent the day dancing. It had been a perfect wedding, with family and friends and everyone delighted for the bride and groom. Any ill feelings lingering from the scene in the library had faded to nothing over the last few weeks. Even Hamish and Diarmid had expressed their approval of the match, once they saw that Brody was deeply in love and set to stay that way.

Elspeth and her mother had reconciled soon after she accepted Brody’s proposal. Today, Elspeth had been touched to see the redoubtable Lady Glen Lyon shed a tear when her daughter emerged from the vestry with her new husband to walk through the church as man and wife.

“You could try to tell me,” she said, loving this ability to tease him.

In the days when she’d loved him from afar, she’d always felt utterly inadequate in comparison to superb Brody Girvan. Over this last month, they’d become equals. He was no longer the plaster god out of reach on his pedestal, and she was no longer the adoring acolyte, worshipping at his altar.

In fact, they’d managed to conquer the distance between them so effectively in the castle’s hidden corners that she was astonished she’d come to church today as a virgin.

Brody was much more interesting and complex than the cipher she’d created in her imagination. A lifetime of discovering every facet of his nature stretched ahead of her. What she knew so far was warm and funny and passionate, with a streak of chivalry as wide as the Irish Sea. She looked forward to learning more about the passion tonight.

What a lucky girl she was.

“Och, I’d need to be a poet to do the moment justice.” When she didn’t speak to release him from the obligation, he sighed and kissed the top of her head. Even through the paisley shawl covering her hair, she felt the tenderness of his lips. “You’re a demanding wench, Elspeth Girvan.”

Her new name still thrilled her. She placed her gloved hands over his where they clasped her waist, holding her securely on the large horse. “You like that.”

Their encounters since his proposal might have been frustrating, but they’d also proven educational. His need for her built her confidence that she was a desirable woman and even better, that the man she loved craved her to the point of madness.

“Aye, I do.” He paused. “When you wed me, I thought I’d feel like I won a great victory.”

“You didn’t?”

“Aye. Aye, I did. But that wasn’t the most important part.”

“What was?”

“Mostly I felt thankful. And determined to do right by this treasure that life saw fit to grant to me. And love. Most of all, I felt love.” His embrace tightened, and his voice lowered to the beautiful bass baritone that always made her shiver with longing. “I love ye, lassie. I’ll love you until the day I die.”

He paused, then went on with a fond impatience that coaxed a choked laugh from her. “Don’t tell me you’re crying again.”

“How did you know?”

“I always know.”

He did, she’d discovered. She sniffed. “You are a poet. That was lovely.”

“Och,” he said with charming bashfulness. “You’re a daft wee thing.”

“Daft with love,” she said.

Brody slid down to the ground and raised his hands to pluck her from the saddle. He looked the complete dashing Highlander in his green and blue kilt. After the ceremony, he’d changed out of an elegant black coat that would grace any drawing room in London. Her wedding dress had been one of Sandra’s creations, a simple gown in heavy silk the color of champagne. She’d also changed her clothing for the long ride up into the hills. Now she wore the rich purple riding habit that Marina and Fergus had given her as a wedding present.

As Brody set Elspeth down before him, she caught the glint of laughter in his green eyes. “Of course now what I mostly feel is randy. We have a wedding night ahead of us, and the Good Lord above knows why we’re hanging around in a stable, when we could be inside doing wi

cked things to one another.”

His earthy remarks made her laugh again, and she rose on her toes to kiss him. His lips were a delicious mixture of warmth and cold and tasted of winter air and Brody. “Don’t take too long settling Perseus.”

“Stay there. I’ll be back soon.”

“Stay here?”

“Aye. You’ll see why.”