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“ ‘Tis possible,” Robena murmured distractedly.
What were they talking about? Was the Gray Lady also the piper so many Oliphants had been complaining about in the last years? Or was tonight just the night for excising spirits?
Wynda hugged her sister once more. “Be safe,” she commanded, and Robena responded with a flippant smile and wave as she shooed them out the door.
Once in the corridor, Pherson fully intended to ask his new wife what exactly that had been about. But she took his hand and smiled in that naughty, promising way of hers, and he forgot the question.
“Are ye ready, husband? I have all sorts of plans for us.”
The way she said it—naught at all like her sister—shot a bolt of pure lust to his cock. Since he was already holding her hand, he shifted it until her palm pressed against the front of his kilt.
“I’m ready, Wynda,” he growled. “Lead the way.”
It turned out there were quite a few entrances to the secret passages.
* * *
She couldn’t recall ever being sohappy.
“I love it when ye smile like that,” Pherson growled, reaching for her after he’d lit the candles on the mantel. “Like ye’re ready to burst.”
“Aye, of course,” she quipped nonchalantly, linking her fingers behind his head. “My daughter called me ‘Mam’.”
“And is that the only reason ye’re happy, wife?”
She pretended to consider it. “I told ye I finished moving my things in here today, did I no’? Coira helped me.” Her desk was placed near the window where—aye—there’d be plenty of natural sunlight. “And Craig didnae laugh at my new design for the hook over yer hearth, and agreed to work on it in between his other commissions.”
Pherson growled as he rocked his hips forward, so she couldn’t miss how hard he was. “And are those the best reasons to be happy at this moment?”
She smiled. “Have I told ye how fine ye look tonight, husband?” He’d allowed Wren to braid his hair this afternoon, then tied the braids back in a queue at the base of his neck. “The Oliphant plaid makes yer shoulders look bigger, I’m certain of it. And the scar over yer eye is quite appealing.”
Apparently mollified, Pherson’s expression eased into arrogance. “I care naught for my appearance, but I’m glad I’ve made ye happy.”
“Ye ken what would make me happier?”
He raised a wicked brow.
“If ye took all yer clothing off and kissed me.”
Since she was already standing in his arms, she figured she could forgive him for pulling her pelvis against his.
He sent her a lustful grin. “Counter proposal: I kiss ye, then take both of our clothing off, then kiss ye again.”
Oh, St. Tiffani help her! She was already breathless with anticipation.
“I-I find yer counter proposal acceptable. One kiss.”
“One kiss,” he growled, before his lips claimed hers.
As always, when Pherson kissed her…Wynda’s mind ceased its constant whirling. His touch, his presence, calmed her, focused her, in a way naught else could.
Of course, what it focused her on was how bloody much she needed his hands on her skin, but still…
She moaned as his teeth caught her lower lip, the faint sharpness only serving to heighten her pleasure.
Then his lips were on her jaw, her neck, trailing hot kisses across her skin as one of his hands worked the pins from her hair and the other cupped her arse.
Distracted, she lifted her hands to her head to help him…and he used that as an excuse to transfer his attention to her breasts.
