Thimbles And Thistles (Baker City Brides Book 2) Page 22

  “Are you certain there’s nothing you need?”

  “I’m certain.” Maggie gave Ian a long look “However, I am a little disappointed.”

  “Disappointed?” Concerned, he stared at her. “Disappointed about what?”

  “I fully expected to walk down the aisle of the church and find you wearing a kilt. I hoped to get another glimpse of those fine legs of yours. After all, you did tell me they could stop women in their tracks, although I’m immune since I’ve seen them before.”

  Ian chuckled and pulled her against him with the hand not holding the lamp. “We can’t have a disappointed bride on her wedding day.” He kissed her cheek and handed her the lamp. “Go on into the sitting room. I’ll be in there directly.”

  He turned and started up the stairs, but stopped on the second step. “Is there anything else you’re feeling a wee bit disappointed about? I want to make certain you’re not neglected on our wedding day.”

  The inviting light in his eyes loosened her tongue. “Not at the moment, but I’m half-giddy thinking about making use of the bath upstairs. I’ve dreamed of soaking in your big tub since the day you showed me around the house. All that steamy water that I wouldn’t have to heat and haul, and plenty of room to stretch, and…”

  Maggie almost dropped the lamp when Ian growled, rushed back to her side, and crushed her against him. He ravaged her with heated kisses before finally lifting his head.

  “Och, lass, if ye dinna stop teasing me so, I might have my way with ye right here in the entry hall.” His eyes held blatant desire when they settled on her face. “Would ye be wantin’ that bath right now? I’d be more than pleased to help.”

  Ian’s brogue made delightful tremors shoot from her head to her toes. Maggie shook her head. “No… no thank you. I… um… I didn’t…”

  Ian kissed her again before he backed toward the stairs. “I’ll be right back, Maggie. Don’t run off.”

  Unable to speak after Ian’s breath-stealing kiss, she nodded her head and walked into the sitting room. With the lamp held high in her hand, she circled the room, admiring the weapons above the fireplace. The targe once again hung on hooks with the rest of the weaponry.

  She made note of the coat of arms on the wall and the tartan pillows on the sofa. A large bouquet of fragrant roses arranged in a crystal bowl on a low table in front of the sofa filled the room with a pleasing scent. Her mother-in-law must have placed them there for her to enjoy.

  A stair creaked behind her as Maggie bent over to sniff the arrangement. Slowly turning around, her stomach fluttered in anticipation as she took in the sight of Ian in a kilt. All her dreams of what he would look like weren’t nearly as amazing as the image before her.

  A seductive grin rode his lips and his eyes glowed with blue flames of uncontrolled heat.

  “What do you think, lass? Should I have paraded through the day in this?” Ian widened his stance and held her gaze.

  “No.” Maggie moved closer and set the lamp on a high table in the hall where Ian stood. “That would have been a horrid idea.”

  “Horrid? Why’s that?” Ian tipped his head, trying to decipher the look on Maggie’s face as she studied him from head to toe and back up again.

  “Women would have been swooning in the streets. No doubt, a brawl would have broken out in the church when I had to beat off the single girls trying to lay claim to you. Honestly, Ian, you are as fine a specimen of male representation as I’ve ever seen.”

  “Does that mean you think I’m handsome?” Ian wiggled his eyebrows and reached for her but Maggie backed away with an impish smile.

  “Maybe.” Nervous and not quite ready to succumb to Ian’s flirting, Maggie leaned against the wall. “I’d like you to tell me about what you’re wearing. There’s more traditional dress there than just a kilt.”

  Ian rolled his eyes, caring far more about removing Maggie’s clothes than discussing his. That’s what he got for marrying a talented dressmaker with a penchant for attire of all types. “A quick lesson, Mrs. MacGregor. Then may we get on with the evening?”

  Maggie tipped her head in agreement. “Is there anything particularly special about your coat?”

  Ian glanced down at the fine wool of his dark jacket. “Just that it is worn with a kilt because of the shorter length. A regular suit coat would be far too long.”

  Maggie stepped behind him and worked the jacket over his broad shoulders, sliding it down his arms. “How about the vest you’re wearing? Anything special about it?”

  “Other than you made it for me, no.”

  Maggie moved in front of him and unbuttoned the vest, removing it and draping it over the newel post along with his jacket.

  She took a step back and stared at his feet. “Let’s start at your toes. You had on boots earlier. What about those shoes? Why do they have such long laces?”

  Ian lifted his leg and held out a foot. “These are ghillie brogues. Ghillies were boys or young men who served as attendants to a Highland chief. A ghillie carried weapons, equipment, and sometimes even small comforts from home belonging to his master. Loaded down with the chief’s belongings, he slogged through bogs and hiked up mountains. Throughout their typically short lives, the ghillies’ feet bore the brunt of their existence. The shoe was developed to provide drainage for all that bog water and keep the laces out of the mud.”

  Pity for the boys who lived such a hard life tugged at her heart. However, she didn’t want it to distract from her enjoyment of being with Ian, so she turned her focus to the cream wool socks covering his muscled calves.

  “What’s on your stockings?” Maggie pointed to a splash of green color beneath the rolled cuff directly below his knee.

  “My dear wife, they aren’t stockings. We call them kilt hose, and a fine pair they are, too.” Ian wiggled his foot at her. “The colors you see on the sides are garter flashes. The garters hold up the stockings and the wee bit of color coordinates with the tartan of the kilt. Sometimes you’ll see men with a sgian-dubh, a single blade knife, tucked into their hose.”

  “So it’s both functional and decorative.” Maggie grabbed the foot Ian continued to hold out, forcing him to take an abrupt seat on the stairs.

  Before he could say a word, she untied his laces and removed his shoes followed by his socks. When she finished, she rubbed her thumb over a pin on the bottom edge of his kilt. A smile wreathed her face when she realized the decorative piece bore the image of his brand.

  “What’s this for?” she asked, glancing up at Ian.

  “The pin keeps the kilt from blowing in the breeze.”

  Maggie’s cheeks reddened at thoughts of a breeze blowing Ian’s kilt upward, exposing what lurked beneath the fabric. Forcibly, she returned her attention to the description of his clothes.

  “I know the plaid of your kilt is the MacGregor clan’s plaid,” Maggie said, leaning back. “What’s that thing?”

  Ian lifted a decorative pouch that rested on his lap. “This thing, as you called it, is a sporran. It serves as a pocket of sorts.”

  “May I look at it?” Maggie held out her hand. Ian removed it and gave it to her, watching as she studied it then set it aside.

  “What do you think of my kilt, lass?” Ian stood and grinned down at her. “Do I pass for a traditional Scotsman?”

  Maggie tipped her head to one side, pretending to study him. “Not quite. There’s something off.”

  Ian stood perfectly still as she pulled him forward, walking in a circle around him. Her hand grazed across his back, creating a trail of fire through the fabric of his shirt before she came to a stop in front of him.

  “Something…” Maggie began unbuttoning his shirt, intent on making the night as fun and special for Ian as he’d made the day for her. “Something needs to come off.”

  Shocked by her flirting, yet inordinately pleased, Ian kept his face impassive as she worked his shirt open. Unhurried, she unfastened the cuffs of his sleeves and slid the fabric off his arms, while he s
uffered in impatient agony.

  Once the shirt draped over the newel post with his jacket and vest, Maggie reached up and mussed the hair Ian had carefully combed earlier in the day.

  “There, that’s better.” She stepped back, awed by the magnificent appeal of her husband. Hard muscles taunted her, making her fingers itch to trace down that broad chest all the way to his kilt. Since the day she’d caught him bathing in the river, images of him wearing nothing but a towel danced through her thoughts. Oh, how she longed to see him in such a state again. To drink in the sight of his muscles and tan skin — of his striking, manly form.

  Now, he stood before her like a vision from one of her dreams. Only he was real and all hers.

  Leisurely moving forward, Maggie touched the mole in the center of his stomach and gave him a look full of undisguised yearning. His skin felt hot beneath her hand. Hot, smooth, and wonderful. More wonderful than anything she could remember.

  She grabbed a handful of the plaid material covering his thigh and gave it a gentle tug. Desire and longing created a fiery glow in her amber eyes.

  In her best imitation of a Scottish brogue, she winked at him. “Och, Ian MacGregor, what might a sweet lass discover beneath that kilt of yers? Is it true what they say about ye Scotsmen?”

  Ian swept her into his arms again and charged up the stairs, unable to wait a moment longer to claim his bride. “Ye are about to find out, Maggie, my love.”

  Lazily stretching in bed, Maggie rolled onto her side. She didn’t remember her bed being so soft and comfortable or the linens so smooth and nice. Breathing deeply, Ian’s tantalizing scent filled her nose and she popped open her eyes.

  Her husband rested beside her, head propped on his elbow, watching her. He lifted his expressive eyebrows and grinned, toying with one of her curls, rubbing the silky lock between his index finger and thumb. “Morning, Mrs. MacGregor. How does this day find you?”

  Sleepy and supremely content, Maggie smiled. “It finds me deliriously happy to be married to you, Mr. MacGregor.”

  Ian wrapped a hand around her waist and drew her against his chest. “I’m glad to hear that.” The husky growl of his voice sent a delighted shiver sliding down Maggie’s spine as she reveled in the haven of Ian’s embrace. If she’d known how wonderful it would be to be married to him, she might not have fought her attraction to him for so long.

  She buried her fingers in his hair and pulled his lips down to meet hers. Passion, love, hope, and unspoken promises bound her to Ian, to the future they’d build together.

  When they were both breathless, Ian lifted his head and drew in a ragged breath. “If I live to be a hundred years old, I’ll never tire of your sweet kisses or holding you in my arms. I love you, Maggie, with every bit of my heart and then some.”

  Maggie framed his face with her hands, brushing her thumbs across Ian’s cheeks as she stared into the warm depths of his bright blue eyes. She felt so blessed, far beyond what she deserved to love and be loved by such a good, caring man. “I love you, Ian, with all that I am and all I hope to be. Thank you for marrying me.”

  Ian took one of her hands in his and kissed each fingertip, holding Maggie’s gaze with his. “I’m thinking, Mrs. MacGregor…”

  “About?” Rendered languid by his detailed attention to her fingers, Maggie was more interested in Ian’s kisses than anything he might be planning.

  “About adding a thimble to my brand.” Ian’s mouth turned up in a teasing smile. “I told you I’d brand you as my own.”

  “And you did.” Maggie placed a heated kiss to his neck.

  “What do you think of thimbles and thistles?” Ian swallowed hard when she moved from kissing his neck to his ear. “Could they work together?”

  “In this particular instance, most definitely.” Maggie raised her head and smiled at him. “But I don’t want you to change your brand, Ian, any more than I want to change anything about you. I love you just as you are — scruffy beard, Scottish burr, kilt, and all.”

  Angel Food Cake

  Captain Cavedweller is a big fan of angel food cake, especially if it’s topped with fresh berries and a dollop of whipping cream. If you’ve never tasted homemade angel food cake, give it a try. The wonderful flavor and texture is worth the effort. Thanks to my niece, Karla, for sharing her recipe!

  Angel Food Cake

  1 1/2 cups egg whites (about nine eggs)

  1 1/2 cups sifted powder sugar

  1 cup sifted flour

  2 teaspoons cream of tartar

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  1 cup granulated sugar

  Berries (optional)

  Whipping Cream (optional)

  Preheat oven to 350°.

  Bring egg whites to room temperature.

  Sift powdered sugar and flour together three times (Alternate the flour and sugar when putting it into the sifter. It makes sifting easier).

  In large bowl beat egg whites, cream of tartar, and vanilla, with an electric mixer on medium speed until soft peaks form.

  Gradually add granulated sugar about 2 tablespoons at a time, beating until stiff peaks form.

  Sift about 1/4 of the flour mixture over beaten egg mixture; fold in gently. Repeat folding in remaining flour mixture by fourths.

  Pour into an ungreased 10-inch tube pan. Bake on lowest rack in oven for about 40 minutes or until top springs back when lightly touched.

  Immediately invert pan and cool completely, about an hour.

  Slide a knife around the side and center of the tube pan. Remove cake to a serving plate. Garnish with berries and whipping cream, if desired. Yield: approximately 8-10 servings.

  Thank you for reading Thimbles and Thistles.

  Now that you’ve finished Maggie and Ian’s story, won’t you please consider writing a review?

  I would truly appreciate it. Reviews are the best way readers discover great new books.

  Author’s Note

  Thimbles and Thistles is the second book in the Baker City Brides series. As soon as I introduced Maggie’s character in Crumpets and Cowpies, I knew she needed her own story.

  Many of you might have expected Maggie to fall in love with Tully Barrett, but I have other plans for our fun-loving sheriff.

  At the end of Crumpets and Cowpies, Thane made mention of building Jemma a house. I wanted to make that part of the second story and somehow tie that into Maggie’s love interest. It seemed natural to incorporate the man who owned the lumberyard. And if he just happened to be a brawny, handsome man with a brogue… I didn’t think any of you would mind.

  I’ve mentioned before how much I enjoy researching information for my stories. It was such fun to study the different Scottish weapons mentioned in this story, as well as spend hours poring over tartan plaids and men in kilts. Oh, the suffering I endure for my readers. (Just kidding!)

  Anyway, I hope you enjoyed another visit to Baker City’s past. If you liked these two stories, read more Baker City Brides adventures with book three, Corsets and Cuffs!

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  Baker City Brides Series

  Determined women, strong men and a town known as the Denver of the Blue Mountains during its days of gold in the 1890s.

  Crumpets and Cowpies (Baker City Brides, Book 1) — Rancher Thane Jordan reluctantly travels to England to settle his brother’s estate only to find he’s inherited much more than he could possibly have imagined.

  Lady Jemma Bryan has no desire to spend a single minute in Thane Jordan’s insufferable presence much less live under the same roof with the handsome, arrogant American. Forced to choose between poverty or marriage to the man, she finds herself traveling across an ocean and America to reach his ranch in Oregon.

  "Thane and Jemma are a perfectly snarky fit for each
other, able to fling era-appropriate zingers with a passion and precision seldom done so well in a historical."

  Julie York — InD'tale Magazine

  Thimbles and Thistles (Baker City Brides, Book 2) — Maggie Dalton has no need for a man in her life. Widowed more than ten years, she’s built a successful business and managed quite well on her own in the bustling town of Baker City, Oregon.

  Full of Scottish charm and mischief, Ian MacGregor could claim any single woman in Baker City as his own, except the enchanting dress shop owner who continues to ignore him. Not one to give up on what he wants, Ian vows to win Maggie’s heart or leave the town he’s come to love.

  Corsets and Cuffs (Baker City Brides, Book 3) — Pampered and privileged, Brianna Dumont escapes the life she’s always known in an effort to clear her father’s good name. She arrives in Baker City, Oregon, intent on selling her father’s shares in a mine. Only the mine is a bust, her father’s partner is a crusty ol’ coot who hates women, and the sheriff in town is determined to keep her behind bars.

  With good friends around him, a place of his own, and a fulfilling job as sheriff, Tully Barrett loves his life. Then an exasperating woman shows up, making demands and driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tries to ignore her, she works her way under his skin.

  Chapter One

  Baker City, Oregon

  June 1891

  “Flames better be shooting from the buildings in town, a dead body sprawled in the street, and a wall blown off the bank by a gang of robbers, or you’re gonna have to come up with some goldurn dandy reason for dragging me away from Ian and Maggie’s wedding.” Sheriff Tully Barrett glared at his deputy as they walked away from the festive gathering to celebrate the marriage of two good friends.