“Here, here!” Ulrich shouted.
“I still recall the moment Lachlan declared he would never marry. Of course, we all knew he was full of shi–” Ewan elbowed him hard in the ribs, “steam. And look at him now, our Wolf of Skye with his own she-wolf at his side.”
“Did ye see the way she stabbed Kerr?” Ewan shouted. “To the Wolfess of Skye!”
Isabel let out a burst of giggles at that. “The wolfess?”
“A fitting name for my bride,” Lachlan said.
“I think I rather like it.”
The pounding of wood, clink of pewter mugs, and shouts of elation continued, and Lachlan took that opportunity to stand. He was ready to take his wolfess to bed. But as he stood, Ulrich did too.
“I have had the privilege of leading men beside two great MacLeod men. Your father, and ye. Your father would have been proud, my laird. Verra proud.”
Lachlan’s chest tightened with emotion, and he nodded, then stepped from the dais to pull Ulrich against him, with a hard pound to the man’s back. “He’d be shocked ye’ve lived this long. Blessed by the fairies, are ye, my dear friend.”
Ulrich grinned. “Only if the fairies come in the form of ale!” And he raised his cup to his mouth to take a long gulp.
“Shall we give them one dance before we…” Isabel glanced toward the stairs.
“If we must.”
“I think we must. And then ye must sweep me away and not let anyone follow.”
Lachlan grinned. “No way in hell am I letting them into our bedchamber tonight.” He signaled to the musicians to strike up a lively Scottish tune, and then he swept her into his arms. “We dance!” he called, and the rest of his clan stood too, the music carrying their feet.
And as the song closed, and he attempted to abscond with his wife discreetly, every eye was on them, with nearly as many bawdy lines tossed their way.
Isabel could feel the blush on her cheeks all the way to her toes as they were sent scurrying up the stairs, her in Lachlan’s arms, chased by the crowd. It was only Callum and Ewan who stopped them from ascending the next round in the stairwell, declaring they’d guard the stairs until morn if need be from the raucous crowd.
With the door closed, and the distant bawdy calls a dull echo, Lachlan set her on her feet.
“Ye are the most beautiful bride,” he whispered, his lips on her ear as he kissed her cheek and then her lips.
“And ye are the most handsome groom,” she murmured against his lips, teasing the tip of his tongue with her own.
Lachlan groaned deep in his throat. “I’ve been wanting to get ye alone since I saw ye on the steps of the kirk.”
“I dinna think Father Ryan would have liked that.”
“Likely no’,” he chuckled. “But now, we can be alone whenever we wish.”
“I like the sound of that.” Isabel wrapped her arms around Lachlan’s shoulders, her fingers toying with the neat leather thong holding his hair back in a queue. She tugged at the ties, feeling his hair come loose and wild around his face. “My wolf.”
He growled and gave a light nip to her neck as his hands gripped her rear, lifting her up, and she wrapped her legs reflexively around his hips. “Be careful, lass, I might eat ye up.”
“Devour me, wolf,” she demanded.
“Zounds, do ye even know what ye ask?”
She didn’t really, but the way his voice deepened, and the hungry look that came into his eyes made her perfectly aware that whatever it was she had asked for was exactly what she wanted.
“Do ye want a glass of wine?” he asked as he set her on the edge of the bed.
Isabel shook her head. She’d had a glass downstairs already and did not want to be fuzzy in the head for what was about to happen. Instead, she kicked off her shoes, pulled up the hem of her gown to reveal her hose and pulled the ribbons that held them in place.
Lachlan watched her as she removed her hose exposing the length of her legs to his hungry gaze. And as she tossed the second one to the floor, he dropped onto his knees before her, hands running up and down the backs of her calves.
