Eala blushed, intensifying Ambrose’s need. “Thanks for making me feel so at home,” she said with a smile. “I confess I am tired.”
Not too tired, he hoped as they excused themselves and mounted the stairs to his chamber. “I ken ’tis childish,” he confessed, “but making love to ye here at Kilmer is…”
She put a finger to his lips. “I understand. I feel the same. This house full of love is where we’ll live and bring up our bairns. Joining our bodies here means we’ve come home.”
Elated she understood, he scooped her up, shoved open the door to his chamber and carried her over the threshold.
* * *
“Ye can make whatever changes please ye,” Ambrose said as they cuddled together beneath the sheets.
Eala soon stopped shivering when the warmth of his body seeped into her. Even naked, he radiated heat. “Maybe I will, eventually,” she allowed. “For now, I rather like the masculine décor. Everything in this room tells me something about ye.”
“Like what?” he asked, nuzzling his nose in her hair.
“Weel,” she began, “’tis difficult to think when ye do that.”
“Good,” he chuckled, bending his head to suckle a nipple.
Determined to explain before surrendering completely to the wanton sensations running rampant through her body, she murmured, “For example, ’tisna cluttered up with all kinds of useless stuff. Ye’ve miniatures of people ye love.”
“My grandparents,” he agreed wistfully. “I wish they could have met ye.”
“From what ye’ve told me, they sound like wonderful people. They’d be proud of ye.”
“Aye,” he replied. “Especially because I’ve married a woman I love.”
“And who loves ye in return,” she whispered, curling her hand around the silken steel at the juncture of his powerful thighs. She arched her back when the promise of its thick weight caused an aching need in her woman’s place.
She didn’t have to ask. His knowing fingers soon answered her body’s silent call. She writhed as he stroked the nub he knew so intimately, inserting one finger, then two, just at the right moment. The almost painful pleasure mounted until she tumbled into blissful rapture, rendered all the more ecstatically wonderful when his manhood slid inside. He lifted her feet to his shoulders and they carried each other to heaven, his guttural shout of completion echoing in her heart.
“Welcome home, my swan,” he rasped as he collapsed on top of her.
Eala hugged him tightly, relishing the warmth and weight of the incredible man who satisfied the needs of her body and her soul. Despite the odds, her dream of a happy life in the bosom of a loving family had come true.
Epilogue
Four years later.
“The British navy has sacked and looted the Spanish port of Vigo,” the earl declared, waving a copy of theEdinburgh Herald and Chronicleas he strode into the gallery.
Ambrose and Eala’s three-year-old son climbed off his father’s lap. “I’m going to join the navy, Papa.”
“Ye’re nay old enough,” Eala replied, hoisting their fretful baby daughter onto her shoulder and patting her back.
“But I will be,” Rory persisted.
“I warned ye ’twas a bad idea naming him after my father,” Eala muttered.
“Navy men have to be brave,” Ambrose cautioned his son.
“I’m brave,” Rory replied.
Recognizing her son’s stubborn streak could result in an endless round, Eala sought to divert attention elsewhere. “What does this attack on Spain mean, Munro?” she asked.
It had taken her a while to get used to calling Ambrose’s uncle by his first name and not his title, but the earl had insisted.
“I suspect it means Spain will withdraw her support of the Jacobite cause,” Munro replied. “Or suffer the consequences the navy just demonstrated it’s capable of.”