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Her words and deeds set a furnace to burn in him. Worsened by her mouth trailing down his abs, perilously close to…
“Darroch, if you want more, you cannot go there,” he alerted her.
Again, her gaze reached him. “Oh,” she lamented. “But it’s so big!”
Her comment had him flipping her on her back to show his new wife how big he could get.
Days later, Moira overlooked the herding of the cattle to the summer pasture as her husband—it still thrilled her the novelty of his role in her life—and the other men drove the animals ahead. The grass grew enough to feed them, which made it safe to guide them out of the barns. The sheep would follow shortly.
She could not even complain of feeling drowsy despite the few hours
she had been sleeping these nights. The mere memory caused her to blush furiously as hot waves moved to her middle. Passionate nights they had been, full of carnal delights she would never have dreamed. Even if she consulted the books in her library, which she was sure would inform her extensively.
She was seriously becoming addicted. To his taste, to his scent, to his caresses and to that part of him that made her so…sated. The danger he put her in could be daunting. Determined not to be controlled by it, she took what he was willing to give. Since they had this going, she might as well enjoy it while it lasted. Besides, who knew she would not conceive, a child should help her keep her head in its place as he inevitably strayed. She and her husband certainly worked hard on it. Her mind drifted away imagining what a child of his would look like, a boy with his luxuriant hair and coffee eyes…
“Moira,” the giant called behind her, startling her out of her reveries. Her head swivelled to him.
“We’re almost finished here. If you want, you can go home,” his eyes lowered to hers, the mere gesture heating her insides.
The man insisted in commanding her before their marriage, now he would make her schedule, if she let him.
“Let’s get it done and go together,” she countered.
“Aren’t you…tired?” he asked suggestively.
“Are you?” she threw back as a brow quirked up her delicate brow.
“Not even close,” he answered with a wicked glint in those compelling eyes that promised another bout of delights for later.
As they reached the manor, talking about the day’s tasks and what awaited them tomorrow, Murray stood at the entrance. “You have a visitor, my laird, my lady,” he announced. With no more, he guided them to the drawing room.
In it, sat a man in his mid-thirties clad in city finery.
“Harris!” exclaimed Moira.
The man stood up and bowed to her.
CHAPTER TEN
“I came as soon as I heard of your marriage, cousin,” he said, his brogue washed down by city life.
Here stood the official heir to the Darrochs. Were it not for the English laws of succession, he would never have become the heir. Even if several clans had their own rules for succession, including the Darrochs, her clan had to rely on the law as her brother died so suddenly. Although Glasgow lay quite far, the rumours of Harris’ dissolute life reached the Highlands. The owner of a shipping company, he possessed enough money to afford his lifestyle. Shipping proved to be in high demand as the British Empire moved products and people through continents.
She drew a mild smile. “I hope you haven’t travelled all the way just to wish me happiness.” Her dig in for the reason for his visit was not so subtle, she chided herself. “Please meet my husband, Laird Lachlan McKendrick.” Turning to the monument of a man, she said, “Lachlan, my cousin Harris Darroch, the heir to our clan.”
Both men nodded reservedly at each other before her cousin answered. “It would be enough of a reason.” Intelligent eyes roved over the couple. “But I must admit that I have ignored my role as heir for far too long. It’s time I took action.”
“Which action, exactly?” Lachlan asked with a hint of suspicion in his tone.
“First of all, I need us to gather the clan so I can address them.” It did not escape Moira that he avoided a direct answer to McKendrick’s question. Whatever he had to say, he was in his right as Laird Darroch.
Unwilling to press her cousin on the matter, she rang for Murray, “Please, prepare the Laird’s chamber for Harris,” she requested when the butler entered. “And set a place for him at the head of the dinner table.”
In no way would she obstruct his rights. Whatever he had in mind, she could not avoid a certain sense of relief he had travelled here to show an ounce of acknowledgement for his inheritance. If he decided to occupy his due place in the Darrochs, she would support him fully.
Dinner served, the three of them kept to amenities.
“What do you think he intends to do?” Lachlan asked as he entered her chamber.
