raucous voices replacing the bowstring tension.
Mac's warmth flowed through his kiss, down through Isabella's body, loosening every limb. Isabella needed him, the reassurance that he was here and solid, protecting her and her children from harm.
Mac skimmed his fingertips over her cheek. 'Let's seek someplace a bit more comfortable, eh, lass?'
Isabella smiled, loving his low voice and the promise in it. He put his arm around her waist, hand cupping, and led her on to their wing of the house.
Relief made Isabella giddy, wild need for Mac warming her blood. Instead of turning in at their bedchamber, a decorous married woman ought, Isabella broke loose from Mac's hold and ran on up another flight of stairs to his studio.
In the early days of their marriage--and again when they'd first been reunited--they'd made love in Mac's studio, shamelessly naked on the couch, or on drop cloths on the floor. Young, innocent Isabella had learned to be wicked and wanton with the decadent Mac Mackenzie, and she wanted that wickedness tonight.
Mac vaulted past her, boots thumping, and put himself between Isabella and the studio door. 'Where are you going?'
Isabella touched a paint splotch on his cheek. 'I thought we could reminisce. You know, about old times.'
Mac started to smile. He loved reliving their first days together, when he'd stolen her from her debut ball at her father's house, eloped with her that very night, and had her in his bed before dawn.
He deliberately erased the grin and pressed his back to the studio door. 'Our bedchamber's warmer, my love.'
'Your studio will be plenty warm, if Bellamy has had his way.' Mac used to grow too absorbed in painting to feed the fire, but Isabella had put in place instructions for Bellamy to check it and stoke it if necessary.
'Bellamy will have gone to bed by now,' Mac said. 'Or joined in the repast. I imagine he's exhausted.'
Isabella's eyes narrowed. He was speaking a bit too glibly. 'Mac, why don't you want me to go inside?'
'Because I think the bedroom will be more comfortable, love, that's all. We'll want to sleep after, cuddle under warm blankets. Not be stiff and cold in the studio.' He leaned his arm on the doorframe, blocking it.
'You are a bad liar, Mac Mackenzie.'
Isabella darted under his arm, going for the doorknob and the key in the doorplate. Mac had his hands on her arms, whirling her around and pinning her to the wall next to the door before she saw him start to move.
He leaned to her, copper-colored eyes dark in the shadows. 'A liar, am I? Thought I was a rogue.'
He pressed Isabella against the wall, her bustle squashing against the molded trim of the wainscoting.
Mac brushed her hair from her face with his thumb, then he drew back and gave her a slow smile, his eyes half closing.
'I've smudged paint on you.' He brushed a kiss to her cheek, warming with his breath. 'Remember, when you first came to my studio? We had paint up and down your arms, and found some on a very interesting place on my backside.'
'At our house at Mount Street,' Isabella said. Mac's studio had been at the very top of the house, their aerie away from the world. 'I loved that room.'
'As did I, lass.' Mac touched another kiss below the paint smear then to her lips.
The kiss turned long, dark, passionate. Tongues flickered, lips met. Mac slid his hand up her waist to rest over her corseted breast.
Isabella wrapped one arm around her husband, palm going to his kilt-covered backside. He had such beauty, firm male flesh over a body of honed muscle. She loved to watch him paint, when he'd bare himself in all but his kilt and paint-speckled boots. His athletic body would move as he worked, sunlight kissing his skin and the faded plaid of his kilt. He'd pause, arm wiping sweat from his forehead, smears of paint decorating his face.
As she kissed him, Isabella let her other hand travel along the cool wall, walking with her fingers until she found the key in the door's lock.
* * * * *
Chapter Six
A strong grip seized her and yanked the key out of her grasp. Mac took a step back, holding up the key, his smile triumphant.
'No, ye don't, Sassenach.'
Isabella put her hands on her hips and let out an exasperated breath. 'I went inside yesterday.'
'I was ready for ye then.' Mac backed away, holding the key out of her reach. 'I'll let you in again when I'm done.'
Her curiosity grew. 'What is it, Mac? What are you hiding?'
'It's a surprise.'
'You know I love surprises. Tell me now.'
Mac laughed, the velvety sound she'd fallen in love with. 'If I tell ye, it won't be a surprise, will it?
You'll find out. Come Christmas.'
'A Christmas present, is it?'
She walked toward him, hands behind her back, swaying a little. Mac studied her as she came, gaze raking from her pushed-forward breasts to her moving hips.
'Aye. The perfect gift, I'm thinking.'
'What is it?'
'Can't tell you.'
Isabella lunged for him. Mac whirled away, still clutching the key. He ran down the stairs, Isabella after him, then he made for a tall window on the landing and tucked the key on top of the cloth-covered cornice, well out of Isabella's reach.
She halted, her breath coming fast. 'You know I can always ask Mrs. Desmond for the key.'
'But you won't.' Mac stepped to her again, slipping one hand around her waist and pulling her against him. 'You'll save it for Christmas.'
'I'll consider it.'
'You will.' Mac's face was an inch from hers, soft in the shadows. He gave her a slow kiss, full of desire.
'You're highhanded.'
'I am, wife.'
His mouth came to hers again, brushing fire. Isabella opened her lips for his, seeking him, wanting him. Mac had been able to make her crazed with need since the night she'd met him, when he'd strode so casually through the crowd at the ball in her honor, where he'd not been invited. Wild, daring Mac had turned her world upside down from that night to this.
He slid his hand to the nape of her neck, holding her, while he thoroughly kissed her mouth. He stepped into her, boot nudging between her high-heeled lace-up shoes.
Isabella hung on to him, her body pliant, knowing he'd never let her fall. Never. Even when they'd been apart, those horrible years when they didn't speak to each other, Mac had been there, from afar, making sure she was all right.
He broke the kiss, his breath heating her skin. Isabella laced her fingers through his and tugged him along the hall to their bedchamber. She kissed him again as they nearly fell inside the door to the warm and welcoming room and its wide, embracing bed.
*** *** *** Ainsley rested her hand on Gavina's back, the bassinet on its stand pulled near the big bed. She leaned her hip against the bed's mattress, unable to move from her daughter to get into the bed as Cameron had ordered her to.
Her daughter, her beautiful daughter, had nearly been lost. Gavina lay on her tummy in the bassinet, her head turned toward her mother, eyes closed in exhausted sleep. Ainsley reached out and smoothed one of the
