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Alasdair
The past few months have not only been healing for Ella but for me as well. I needed to see her as vibrant as I remember, that glow on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. The smile that makes me want to conquer the world, simply so that I can give it to her. I can feel the wound closing, the one that flayed me open emotionally after watching her light fade and living day in and day out with the fear it would never shine bright again. It is a relief to finally be free of the heavy burden that fear left behind. Nonetheless, I am still not ready to broach the topic of having more children. The wound hasn’t healed entirely, it is still tender, and beyond that, I’d like to enjoy our firstborn a while longer before thinking about having another.
Callen grows bigger by the day, and I do not recall ever seeing a bairn as healthy as him. Ewan, as expected, has assured me that my son is the healthiest, most handsome lad in all of Scotland, that never has he seen a babe such as him and professes to have seen many in his twenty-six years. As a proud father, I will happily take the compliment. My only concern at this point is how spoiled the little lad will be. Between Ewan, Beatrice, and more than half the staff here at Galloway, Ella and I will have our work cut out for us to ensure he is solidly grounded and grows into a man of dignity and self-discipline.
Sitting at my desk, I look over at the shelves that hold my mother’s collection of books that have become Ella’s obsession—after doting on her son, of course. It pleases me that she has found such great interest in the healing arts. But I still get gooseflesh every time I see the time-worn journals of Isla Sutherland. It is strange that they have been on that shelf, right next to my desk for so many years, yet I never took the time to read them, having never really had an interest in plants and herbs the way my mother did. But when Ella showed it to me, my breath stopped short in my chest. It was familiar, as was her name, but when she showed me the drawing of Lachlan MacLeod, I felt a flush go through my body that triggered a sharp headache around my eyes. Thinking about it now causes me to close them and rub my temples. I wish Nanna were here to help us understand so many of the inexplicable events that Ella and I have encountered. Our connection, from the moment we met in London, was quite remarkable, but here in Scotland, it is something else entirely.
Without Nanna’s wisdom and her gift of sight to help me confirm otherwise, I can only surmise that Ella’s detailed dream, where she saw Isla’s journal sitting on a table, had to be a vision from a past life. If that is true, I wonder if it is connected to her ancestry, the line that I believe is that of the Fey. Humans without faerie blood have had past-life visions for hundreds of years or more, but Ella has a connection with nature that is uncommon and a sensual passion that distinguishes her from most. How many times have our souls found each other and loved one another as deeply as Ella and I do now? How far back in time does it go? Where did it begin? I feel certain that Isla Sutherland and Lachlan MacLeod are part of the puzzle. Did our souls belong to them? Considering our reactions to the journal and his portrait, it seems likely, and that was over two hundred years ago. Does it go back further than that?
“Truly fascinating,” I quietly say to myself as I write my thoughts down in my own journal. Putting them to paper seems to help my mind sort through the strange events of my life. Faerie blood, past lives, souls reunited, the magical events of the forest and its creatures—any rational person would think me insane should I even suggest it to be true. With that, I close my eyes and say another silent thank you to Nanna for teaching me to appreciate those things in life that cannot be explained. To respect the power of fate.
The rough sketch of Lachlan enters my thoughts again followed by the longing to see an image of Isla. Was she the ethereal blonde woman with blue eyes in the vision I had? Was Lachlan consumed by her beauty and charm and spirit the way I am with Ella’s? Isla’s brief description of his reaction to her says he was, and I’m certain it did not take Lachlan long to know that her outer beauty, as exquisite as it was, could not compare to the inner. There is something special about the spirit of these women, this soul that travels through time and ensnares the men that it loves.
My blood heats at the thought of pleasuring my wife, my passionate little faerie maiden who drives me mad with her natural desire for carnal play. I think about how she has teased me over the past several weeks, pushing my limits of self-control. Her doctor and the midwife gave strict orders of abstinence, though we have not abstained from the pleasures of oral sex, something my lady wife is exceptionally talented at administering.
“Christ,” I say through gritted teeth. My cock is so stiff it’s painful. As I wonder what Ella is doing right now and where I can find her, a knock at the door startles me.
“Come in,” I curtly announce.
A maid enters. “Pardon me, m’lord. Lady Galloway asked me to deliver this.” She hands me a folded piece of paper.
“Thank you,” I say, focusing on the wax embossed with Ella’s personal seal.
There is a sense of anticipation as I break it open, knowing that today is the first day our abstinence will no longer be required. But when I read the elegant script of my wife’s hand, I feel my bollocks tighten, and my shaft begins to throb.
Alasdair,
Please come to my bedchamber. I have something special for you.
Ella
My chair slides back with a sound that echoes loudly through the silence while I tuck the note into my pocket and make haste to the staircase, not bothering to wait for my erection to subside. In the hallway that leads to Ella’s room, my steps are loud as I widen my stride to get there faster.
I stop outside her door, wondering what I will find on the other side, hoping I have not read into the meaning of her note incorrectly. The click of the latch is loud against the hollow silence of the hall, its harsh contrast extraordinarily erotic. Once inside, I face the door, not yet turning around. The hairs stand up on my neck as I sense her presence without seeing her. She’s naked, I can feel it reaching out to crackle along my skin like a strike of lightening. My fingers twitch as I wait a little longer, relishing the desire that has engulfed the room. When I turn to find her lying on the bed, her beautiful creamy skin bright against the ornate bed cover, her hand gently massaging the delicate folds between her legs, my hands ball into fists as I try to maintain control.
My steps are slow and heavy as I make my way to the bed. She watches me, her pale skin flushing pink, then red, while her fingers move faster. Lying next to her, she has neatly placed the blindfold, binding ties, and tasseled crop that we haven’t enjoyed since I left for battle almost a year ago. It’s strange to think that much time has passed, even stranger to think of all that has transpired. I push away the thoughts of fear and desperation that constantly try to dominate my mind. They certainly have no place here tonight.
Bringing my eyes back to Ella, I see hers turn black as they drift down to where my swollen cock is trapped inside my breeches. With measured control, I reach down and pick up the crop, rolling it in my hand a few times before taking a steady grip. I let the fringed leather strips tease her skin lightly as they drift across her belly, then down to where her fingers continue to rub intently against her clit.
“That belongs to me,” I say, using the tip of the crop to move her hand away from her beautifully wet cunny. She smiles at me, so I tease the inside of her thigh, then circle the plush fur of her mons with light touches that coerce the panting breaths that drive me mad. “Sit up,” I command, taking a step back to watch her get comfortable. I love it when she doesn’t know what to expect. Her desire to let me control her pleasure is easy to see, and I wonder if she understands how much she has control over me.
“So, ye want to play this way, do ye?” I ask, stinging one nipple with a quick snap of the crop.
She inhales sharply. “Yes.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” I reply.
I lean over to grab the blindfold, placing the cool silk over her eyes, relishing that familiar twinge of excitement in my gut. Once it is comfortably in place, I take a moment to admire how beautiful she is, then take her voluptuous mouth in a devouring kiss I know she was not prepared for. Her head is held steady in my hands as my tongue takes her deeper and deeper until her moans vibrate through my chest. In one quick move, I’ve got her on her feet and turn her around so that her back presses hard against me. Her head falls onto my shoulder, exposing the tender flesh of her throat, so perfect and unmarred, waiting to be marked by our passion. I cannot resist taking her delicate skin, sucking hard while I squeeze firmly on the erect points of her breasts, feeling the wet release leak out onto my fingertips.
Abruptly, I turn her around, taking her mouth again as I continue to tease her bosom, spreading her maternal essence across the fullness of her mounds. My fingers bear down, and our mouths separate as she pulls away to gasp for air. I kiss a trail down her throat and across her chest, making my way to her tight bud. My tongue plays with it before I pull it into my mouth, letting her sweet milk seep out to wet my tongue.
Without warning, I pull away and grab her hands, placing them on the bedpost. “Keep them here. Do’na move,” I say next to her ear, then move around to kiss her open mouth. “Yer milk is so sweet. Can ye taste it on my tongue?”
“Yes,” she replies against my lips.
“Good. Now, tell me if this is too tight.” I take my time, both to enhance her anticipation and perhaps a touch of fear, savoring the eroticism as I bind her delicate hands.
When I am finished, I step back to admire how beautiful she is. Pale, flawless skin, and a body that is still lush with the feminine curves of motherhood. Another silent prayer is spoken in my mind.My God, how I love this woman!My hand hovers above her skin, her heat and mine, mingling in the small space in between. She flushes again on a sigh as her back arches slightly, lifting her beautifully round arse in silent invitation. She will have to wait for that.
