An Invitation to Pleasure by Marguerite Kaye Read Free Book Online Page B

was cold and bright, the sky a wide icy-blue, the distant mountains melding with the wispy white clouds. The soft shush of the waves on the pebbled shores of Loch Fyne were peaceful, the creels stacked neatly on the jetty, the nets limp on the drying lines, for no one worked this day. They walked to church at the head of the procession from Castle Kilmun, the laird and his lady at the head of their household. Susanna wore a half pelisse over a promenade dress of emerald green with rucked sleeves, French trimming and a winged collar. The high crown of her bonnet was trimmed with an ostrich feather in the same shade as her gown, and her hair had for once obediently allowed itself to be pinned and curled just as she wanted it.
    Fergus was wearing the kilt, the tightly pleated plaid held together with a large leather belt and silver buckle into which was tucked a sheathed dagger with a chased silver handle. His hose were also plaid, and he wore another larger plaid over his short jacket, the filleadh mòr, which served as a cloak when unfolded. Today, it was formally pleated over his shoulder and kept in place with a jewelled pin. The plaid swung out behind him when he walked, showing off tantalising glimpses of muscled thigh. Though most of the men wore similar clothes, Fergus’s were clearly superior, and to Susanna’s eyes, the laird had by far the better physique.
    Her first glimpse of him as a slightly wild, slightly rough Highlander had been wholly unexpected and utterly beguiling. Fergus had a natural authority, but with the traditional Scottish dress, he seemed also to have donned his heritage. He looked every bit the proud Highland laird, as natural a part of the landscape as the majestic peaks in the distance. ‘I feel I should curtsey before you, Laird Kilmun,’ she said lightly, for she was feeling just a little overawed.
    ‘Does the sight of my manly calf please you, my lady?’
    ‘The trouble is that I suspect it pleases every one of the ladies,’ Susanna told him tartly, for she had already intercepted several admiring glances from village women.
    Fergus grinned. ‘Then in that we are equal, for I know the eyes of all the men will be upon you.’
    ‘Is my gown too fine?’
    ‘Susanna, the lassies may well be admiring your clothes, but the men are far more interested in what is beneath them.’ Fergus pulled her closer, so that her skirts brushed his plaid as they walked, matching their steps. ‘I can’t blame them for wondering, I think about it myself, far too often for my own good. ’Tis one of the advantages of the plaid over the trews, you know, that I can do so without fear of discovery.’
    ‘Fergus! For shame, we are on our way to church.’
    ‘The things I think of when I look at you, Susanna, I think I might be on my way to hell.’
    The sermon in the church at the end of the village was long and incomprehensible to Susanna, since it was given in the Gaelic, but she was content to listen to the soft cadences of the language and to pass the time feasting her eyes on the solid figure of Fergus beside her in the closed pew. When he sat down, the plaid rode up his legs. She only just resisted placing her gloved hands on the exposed flesh. She did not resist imagining the rest of his body under the cloth. Fergus was not the only one destined for hell, she thought guiltily, realising that the closing prayer was finished and that he was perfectly aware of the fact that she had not been paying any attention at all to the black-clad minister.
    There was another sermon later in the day in the private chapel belonging to the castle. Christmas in the Highlands was a day for praying, not celebrating. ‘We do that at the end of the year,’ Fergus told her.
    At Hogmanay. When they must break forever. The unspoken words cast a pall over the day.
    The days hurtled towards the New Year. At night, Susanna and Fergus slept entwined, though in the morning they pretended they had not. Their daytime shows of