Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(58)

Lie still and let him do whatever he likes, no matter how repugnant it might be to you, was the duchess’s sage advice. You are there to bear him a son and nothing more.

Celia didn’t want to think about her mother and her disparaging words. She wanted to think about Alec, his breath-stealing kisses, his fine body, his strong hands that could render a beautiful picture in a few deft lines.

Footsteps moved up and down the stairs, some hurried, one tread heavy and slow—a man’s. Celia stilled, but whoever it was kept moving, climbing higher into the house.

The candles burned to stubs. Fire warmed the small room, the night dying into silence. Celia determined to stay awake, to wait for Alec, her fingers tingling as she planned every movement she’d make when he came to her.

Those thoughts loosened her body and let lassitude take over. The next thing Celia knew, she was rising from a deep sleep, sunlight pouring through the window.

She became aware of a weight on the mattress next to her. Celia turned her head to see Alec Mackenzie stretched beside her on the bed in kilt and shirt, his arm flung over his face, a soft snore issuing from his mouth.





Chapter 19





Alec woke to find Celia bending to him, the thick braid of her dark hair falling to his chest like a silken rope.

Her face was shadowed, her eyes alight with green-brown depths. A smile touched her mouth as he focused on her, her face relaxing as though she’d watched him for some time.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

Everything wrong in Alec’s world dissolved. An angel smiled at him and took the pain away.

“Sorry,” was all that came out of his mouth. “There were no other beds in the house. Josette’s rooms are full.”

A pucker appeared between Celia’s brows. “We are married.”

The simple statement swept away his apology, as though Celia wondered at his need to make it at all.

“That we are.” Alec wrapped her braid around his hand. “But I thought an Englishwoman never shared a chamber with her husband.”

Celia studied him, searching for something Alec couldn’t put a name to. “My parents certainly do not. Did yours?”

“Aye, they slept in the same bed every night.” Alec pillowed his head on his arm. “That’s why me poor mum bore six bairns.”

“Will you tell me about them?” Celia asked with interest. “Your brothers? I’d like to know. Since I married one of them.”

She liked to say the word. Married. In her sphere, the state solved many a trouble—though it created plenty more, in Alec’s opinion. Marriage in the Mackenzie family had become a source of much shouting by their father. No one was supposed to marry without his permission, yet Alec and Mal kept doing it.

“You want to talk about a bunch of large, noisy, smelly Highlanders? On the morning after your wedding? Before breakfast?”

Another smile. “You can prepare me for when I meet them.”

Mal would tease Alec to death but welcome Celia with open arms. His father would like her too, but there would be a long period of bluster and rage before he settled down to get to know her. Will would think Alec a fool for stealing such a high-placed English aristo’s daughter, but at the same time would admire Alec’s audacity.

Angus …

“Angus would have liked ye,” Alec said quietly. “He was the best of us, the only one who could keep my father calm and happy. We tormented him because he was our dad’s pet, but Dad clung to him after Mum died. He was so lost without her, ye see, and only Angus saw that. The rest of us left him to grieve alone.”

Celia’s eyes softened. “You haven’t mentioned Angus before. Which brother is he?”

“My twin.” Alec’s heart hollowed as he said it, the grief he’d been holding at bay threatening to tear into him. “He’s gone—shot by British soldiers north of home in some skirmish no one will remember. It’s like there’s an empty space right next to me, that will never go away. Angus was always there—we fought, we disagreed—all the time—we were nothing alike. But he was always there …”

“Your twin. That explains it.” Celia’s voice was a near whisper.

Alec focused on her with difficulty. “Eh? Explains what?”

“When I drew the picture of you—that first lesson—the one you took away from me. I fancied I saw another man in the shadow behind you, as though there should have been two of you.”

Alec’s breath caught. “Aye, there was.” He trailed off, his eyes wet, but Alec held himself still with effort. The last thing he wanted was his new bride to see him weeping like a wreck.

Celia slid her arm around him and laid her head on his chest.

She said nothing, did nothing, only held him. No inane words that everything would be all right—it would never be—or that she was sorry for him. She was, but what came to Alec was her compassion, her understanding.

This from a woman raised by a cold mother, whose brother had turned his back on her, whose father was responsible for the deaths of Alec’s friends and family, even if he’d shunted the duty to others.

That such a family could produce Celia, kind and understanding, proved that God was looking out for Alec Mackenzie.

“You’re a wonder, love.” Alec brushed her hair back from her face. “Where did it come from? Your gentleness?”