His Convenient Highland Wedding

With one thrust, he filled her. Every muscle in her body went rigid, but there was only the one stab of pain and that soon dulled to a throb. Flora hadn’t uttered a sound and she was proud of that, keen to please her new husband. Lachlan started to move then, slowly at first, and, once she became accustomed to the rhythm and to the sensation of being filled, emptied and then filled again, she began to relax and even started to enjoy what was happening. His thrusts quickened, and his breathing, too, and she found her fingers digging into his shoulders, her legs clinging to his hips. She opened her eyes and the sight of him moving above her and the feel of him inside her...pounding into her...knowing it was him...it brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes.

And then he was done. With one final thrust and a groan, she felt a gush inside her and he withdrew.

Leaving her empty and confused.

They lay side by side, each on their backs, not touching. Lachlan’s breaths were harsh in the silence of the bedchamber and Flora tried very hard to suppress her own quickened breathing, so as not to disturb him.

At last, Lachlan moved. But it was not towards her, to take her in his arms and to tell her he was pleased with her, that she had done well—the response she had hoped and longed for. He rolled away from her, throwing the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed as he sat on its edge.

‘Thank you. I hope you will not be too sore. Next time there will be no pain. Goodnight.’

He stood up, walked to the fireside, grabbed his dressing gown from the chair, shrugged it on and left the room without another word.

Flora gazed up at the ceiling for a long time, willing herself not to cry.

* * *

In the morning, Flora roused from her sleep as Muriel entered her bedchamber and quietly opened the curtains. She sat up, stretched her arms high and yawned, surprised at how rested she felt. The past few days—ever since she had learned she was to marry Lachlan McNeill—had been a time of ever-increasing dread but, now, all she could feel was relief that the worst was over and it had not proved near as bad as she had feared. In fact, there had been a few times—the barest of glimpses only—when she thought that lying with Lachlan might be something less to dread and more to look forward to, shameful though that admission might be.

‘Good morning, milady.’ Muriel came to the bedside and pulled the pillows high against the headboard. ‘I’ve brought you tea, eggs and toast. And the master ordered water for you to have a bath.’

She cocked her head at a short bark from the next room and went to the door. Bandit scurried across the room and launched himself on to the bed.

‘A bath?’ Surprise gave way to embarrassment and Flora felt her cheeks redden. She buried her face against Bandit’s familiar sturdy body.

‘Ah, whisht, milady.’ Muriel beamed as she shooed Bandit from the bed and set a loaded tray upon Flora’s legs. ‘There’s nae need for blushing—it was your wedding night and a warm bath will set you right for the day.’ She gestured to the window, where Flora could see clouds scudding across a bright sky. ‘If the rain stays away, it’ll give you the chance to get to know your new home.’

Flora did not know quite what to make of Muriel’s forwardness. Mother would never have allowed such familiarity from a servant, but Flora welcomed it...it would be pleasant to have someone to simply talk to. Flora swallowed hard, past sudden emotion that clogged her throat. She was lonely. And she had been for a long time, with Father unforgiving over her failures and Mother and her siblings following his lead, as always. She might have earned their approval at last, by this marriage, but they were not here. Here there were only strangers. Including Lachlan, despite the intimacy of last night.

Muriel could never be a friend as such, but she could provide company, with her warm smile and her friendly chatter.

‘I should like the opportunity to explore,’ said Flora. ‘Is...is Mr McNeill at breakfast?’

‘Och, bless you, no, milady. He’s away off to the distillery, but he’ll be back for dinner, he said. He works verra hard. You can ask anyone. It’s no wonder he’s so rich.’ She lowered her voice. ‘They do say he made much of his money abroad, milady.’

There was companionable chatter and there was gossip. And the latter needed to be discouraged, no matter how curious Flora was about Lachlan’s past.

‘Did you work here at the castle before Mr McNeill bought it, Muriel?’

‘I did, milady. I was born in Lochmore village. Da’s a fisherman and Ma cleans the fish and mends nets, but they wanted better for me, so Ma’s sister, who worked for the Duchess, got me a job here as a housemaid when it was leased out and I worked my way up.’ The pride in her voice was unmistakable. ‘I never dared believe I might be a lady’s maid, milady, but I worked hard and here I am.’

Her smile faltered. ‘Mrs Dalgliesh says I’m on trial and if you’re not satisfied with me she’ll hire a properly trained lady’s maid. You will tell me what you want, milady, so’s I can prove myself?’

‘Yes. Of course I shall tell you.’

If only it was as easy to tell Lachlan what I want. The thought came out of nowhere, reminding her just how much the past year had robbed her of her confidence.

Muriel beamed again. ‘I’ll fetch your bath water, milady,’ she said and left the room.

Flora ate her breakfast, pondering the enigmatic man she now called husband, last night never far from her thoughts. The marital act was not what Mother had led her to fear, but she found herself baffled by the entire procedure. Was it acceptable for a lady to actually enjoy

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