Chapter 13

The family settled in quickly, mainly because they had all lived in the house for months before. The only things that changed were that Mike moved in to sleep with Claire, and their relationship was no longer employer and employee.

The new equal relationship was no problem to either of them. They had always talked about any expenditure so there was no change there, and Claire was in any case a thrifty person. In fact he had to persuade her to buy herself clothes and shoes. They held the same view of how to bring up children and always backed each other up.

Dominating the next weeks was the wedding. They were not going to waste any time, and planned it for the children's Autumn half-term holiday. The wedding was to be on the Monday of that week, and then the children were going back with their new Grandparents for the week, while Claire and Mike went on their honeymoon for a few days.

Claire and Mike did the paper work. They booked the register office. It was not to be a lavish affair for they were both marrying for the second time. The girls wanted to be bridesmaids, so Claire had to sort out dresses for them and a dress for her. He was not allowed to see any of it. Ryan was to get a suit with a waistcoat, shirt and tie.

Needless to say, while the wedding was supposed to be small, Mike's family and some friends came down from Scotland in force for the ceremony and the lunch to follow. Surprisingly Claire's brother from the North of Scotland came down (engineered by Mike), which balanced the rejection by her other brother who did not even bother to reply to the invitation. Still, as Claire said, Mike's family felt more like her family than her own.

Catherine made the journey from the States with her husband. Mike had never believed that his name could really be Hank until Catherine's wedding: he thought she'd made it up as a long running joke, but it was true. Hank had become a brilliant friend, and was able to hold his own in the whisky drinking that was obligatory whenever Mike's family came together.

In a fascinating combination, Claire's brother was Mike's best man, while Catherine, Mike's big sister was her matron of honour, or their witnesses as they preferred to call them. A wonderful balance. Mike had worried that Tom would be upset but he brushed off Mike's worries. He brought Bryony to the wedding.

While Claire wouldn't let Mike see the wedding dress, nor the bridesmaids' dresses, she pressed and prepared Mike's best suit the night before. However she did not know he would not be wearing it, and he did not enlighten her. Two could play at that game. She would find that his 'dress' would also be a surprise.

And so, along with the rest of the males in Mike's family, he arrived at the register office in full Stewart tartan, kilt, sporran, dress shirt, jacket, the lot! They took their places in the room before Claire arrived.

When Claire made her entrance, Mike was bowled over by her. She wore a pale blue knee length dress, very shaped to her hour-glass figure, the bodice plain and held by two spaghetti straps. She wore the jewellery he had given her. He hoped his face showed his admiration. The bridesmaids also looked wonderful in various matching shades of blue.

Claire's face showed utter amazement when she saw him and the other Stewart men, and then her face was lit by a radiant smile. She obviously loved his outfit, as he loved hers.

They made their vows. They gave each other rings. It was a short ceremony. Then there were photographs. Finally they were on the steps of the Town Hall. More photos.

"God!" whispered Claire. "Your outfit is a real turn on! I don't know if I can wait for evening!"

Then, as they went down the steps to the cars, Claire stopped. Mike looked. It was Cheryl. Claire and Mike were first down the steps, and Cheryl moved forward, looking self-conscious, even embarrassed.

"I just want to say," she said, "that I wish you both all the best in your life. Claire, you'll be much better for him than I ever was. Please ... could I come and see you both after the honeymoon?"

The cheek of the woman fumed Mike. She engineered the attempted murder of his wife, she then tried to turn her off him. What mischief was she planning now? He was about to tell her to get lost, when Claire floored him.

"We'd love to see you. Would you like to come to the reception? It's at our house." Claire was smiling openly.

"No, thank you all the same. I must go." Cheryl looked discomfited.

"We'll be back Saturday, how about Sunday?" Claire said with what Mike could only see as compassion and this for the woman who was responsible for her scars.

"Thanks!" she said and stood aside with a wistful smile, before turning and walking away.

Claire and Mike got into the car, with the family all standing around, and were driven off.

"My darling," he said, unable to help himself. "What was that about? That woman did her best to ruin your life."

Claire looked at him with a smug grin. "My love," she said with glee, "Don't you see? She fought, but I won! Who got you? I did! She's going to come to 'our' house, and you built it for her!"

Who was this woman he had married?

"So, is it revenge or compassion?" he asked her.

"Mike," she said patiently, "I don't need any revenge. I won the battle. True I've got scars, I'm disfigured and she's beautiful, but I still won! I don't need to get revenge but I'd like to know why she did it. Did you ever wonder why she is so selfish? I do. But enough of her, come on this is our day. I just got married to my kilted soulmate!"

What could he do? He kissed her and she kissed back and they continued their lip-lock until they arrived at the house.

The wedding lunch went well, with the usual speeches. Claire's brother amalgamated the best man's and the 'father of the bride's' speech to the amusement of all. The afternoon passed in a whirl and Mike remembered little of it.

A slight damper of the general happiness of the day came when Catherine came to Mike quietly before the meal and gave him some news.

A fortnight before the wedding Gary Sonter had been tried. It had hung over them menacingly for months. Claire and Mike would have had to give evidence. There was a possibility that Siobhán would also be required.

In the event, it was not necessary. Gary's counsel had discussed the evidence with him, which was conclusive, and he had pleaded guilty to all the charges, in the hope of a more lenient sentence. There was quite a list: two counts of attempted murder and grievous bodily harm with intent were the most serious and there were a number of relatively minor offences.

Claire and Mike had attended the trial which was consequently short. Gary saw them together and scowled. The crimes were described in detail and the evidence was produced. The judge reserved judgement for two weeks pending psychiatric reports, which meant that perversely but perhaps aptly he would sentence Gary at roughly the same time as Claire and Mike were saying their marriage vows.

As a result Catherine was given the message before the wedding lunch and she gave it to Mike. Gary had been sentenced to life imprisonment with a minimum of twenty years before parole could be considered. He was sentenced for the other crimes to run concurrently, but the result was the same.

While confessing to the crimes he had refused to say how he knew where she was, and the judge commented that the matter should be investigated. The message about the sentence reminded Mike of his suspicion about Cheryl's part in the attack.

After the meal, he told Claire the result and she was upset. There were tears, and she buried her head in his chest to hide them. He held her, saying nothing.

"I'm sorry, Mike," she sobbed. "We were married for fourteen years and many of them were happy. I can't think how he'll survive prison."

Mike wondered the same, particularly in view of the violence on Claire. Violence to women is second only to offences against the young, and such prisoners are targets in prison. Claire asked Mike not to tell anyone, they would find out in any case before long, and it would have caused a shadow over the celebrations. Catherine agreed to keep it to herself until after Claire and Mike had left the party.

They were to spend the first night in an airport hotel and then fly to Malta for their honeymoon. They arrived in their room; she was still wearing her wedding dress and Mike his kilt. They were to leave them in a bag which Catherine would collect the next day.

They put their bags down and were alone for the first time since they vowed themselves to each other. She looked at him with a half smile. He looked at her with half lust. She reached behind her and unzipped her dress. It fell to the floor.

She stood patiently, one foot slightly in front of the other, while Mike gazed at her in rapt admiration. She had found an underwear set in the same shade of sky blue as the dress, though it was almost completely made of lace. A fairly minimal bra, a suspender belt holding up her stockings, which were skin coloured, nude, he thought they called the shade, and the briefest of bikini panties again in lace.

"Well?" she inquired. "Does it meet with your approval my lord and master?"

Mike shut his mouth which had dropped open and he nodded mutely.

"Aye! Stunningly beautiful!" he then managed to exclaim quietly, "and the underwear set is fantastic too!"

She laughed. "You're a smooth talker Mike Stewart, you could talk any girl out of her knickers!" She hooked her fingers into her knickers but kept them on her hips.

"Your turn!" She nodded at his kilt.

He took out the pin, undid the fastening round his waist and dropped the garment to the floor. Her eyes grew round and wide.

"You got married, like that?" she exclaimed with a wide smile: he had gone commando under the kilt.

"It was a mite draughty," he commented, as he undressed until he was naked, and stood in front of her.

"Stunningly beautiful!" she grinned, "especially without the knickers!" Then she came into his arms. He reached behind her to undo her bra. She stopped him.

"No," she smiled, "I strip for you." And she did. Slowly. No gyrations, just the simple but slow discarding of her remaining clothing.

The stockings came off first, one by one, slowly rolled down. Then the suspender belt. Then the bra, which she held to her breasts after unclasping it for a tantalising minute, before bending forward and letting drop showing off her breasts which hung down pendulously. Finally she turned her back and infinitely slowly peeled her panties off her hips and down her straight legs, bending over away from him, showing him her freshly shaved pudenda, which glistened with her dampness.

She revealed herself proudly, scars and all, and as she had told him in the car, she had won the war and the scars reinforced the scale of the victory. They would be with her for the rest of her life, and he swore they detracted not a jot from her beauty.

Then she straightened, turned, came nude into his arms and said most seductively, "Take me, my hero. Ravish me, make me yours."

With a throaty giggle she grasped his cock, which had obligingly risen and she led him by it, edging backwards to the bed, where she lay on the edge with her legs wide apart dangling over the side.

He stood between them and bent to give her a tongue bath.

"No, Mike, my darling," she moaned. "I want you inside me now. Please."

How could he refuse? He put her legs over his arms and bent over her until he was able to kiss her lips as his cock parted her folds. She reached round her legs which were now over her shoulders, positioned him and he pushed into her.

"Yes!" she gasped. "That's what I want. Now we're one!"

Then, "Oh! you've filled me right up, I can feel you. Now, stand up straight, make me truly yours, make love to me."

He began the movements she wanted, standing full thrusts alternating with short stabbing mini-strokes, her legs over his arms.

She grimaced each time he bottomed out but kept encouraging him,"Yes! Yes! Yes!" with each stroke.

He thought of Scotland, he thought of traffic jams, he thought of his ugly old infants' teacher, anything to stop the impending rush of his semen until she had reached her goal. Eventually he could hold back no longer.

"I'm coming!" he shouted.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" she cried, his shout pushing her over the edge, her sex clutching at his cock as he came at the sensation. They both grunted and moaned as it took them. It was a supreme moment, they agreed.

A little later, as they lay together in the peaceful rest which comes from such a coupling, he asked her.

"Why like that? What's all that about: 'Take me, make me yours'?"

"Gary often used to take me against my will like that. You gave yourself to me today like that, and I gave myself to you. I wanted you to take possession, make me yours. I know it's sort of primitive, I loved that you did it standing proud, using me. I needed you to drive Gary out. You did! Thoroughly!"

So he felt totally smug and satisfied. They didn't have sex again until they reached Malta, where they remedied the deficiency, and also found time to see the sights and enjoy the late autumn sunshine which was about as warm as a typical summer's day at home.

It was an easy time. After all they had lived together without sex for months, each desperately wanting the other, and in the process had got to know each other very well. Then they discovered their love for each other and made love over a weekend.

After their crisis was over, they had four weeks sharing the same bed. They were used to each other, and they 'did sex' very well. However there was a deeper intimacy now they were publicly committed to each other for life; a more complete all-pervading warmth just being together.

It was only four days; they wanted a weekend at home before they had to collect the children from Scotland on the Monday (the teachers had an in-service day). It had been totally relaxing in spite of some intensive sexual exercise, and it was good to go home.

They settled in, doing the shopping for the coming week, airing the house, changing the bedding, all the domestic things that cement one into one's home, and now they looked forward to their children coming home.

The children were 'their' children now, not only Claire's children. Indeed, there had been a surprise waiting for Mike when they got home. There was a large envelope addressed to Mrs C Stewart. She opened it and came to sit by him on the sofa.

"I have a present for you," she said with shyness in her smile.

"Oh?" he said, intrigued.

"I applied to the court for something."

"A divorce?"

"Oh, stop it!" she punched his arm. "Here, read it."

It was from Victor Rushworth, their solicitor.

"Dear Claire,

"It gives me great pleasure to inform you that following your application to the courts for a change of name, this has been granted. Accordingly, Shania, Virginia and Ryan Sonter are now to be known as

Siobhán Stewart Virginia Stewart Ryan Stewart.

Be sure to congratulate them from me and congratulate your husband also. He is a very fortunate man.

Yours etc

Victor.

The man who had worn no knickers under his kilt cried like a baby when he saw what his family had done for him, and found consolation in the softness of his wife's breasts.

Claire told him that the children had asked to have his surname, and they had conspired to have it changed. The normal practice is for the permission of the birth father to be obtained. Gary had refused. So they went to court, and in view of the assault of Gary on Claire and Siobhán, and the publicity of the trial, the court agreed it was in their best interest to change their names. While they were at it, they got Shania's Christian name officially changed as well.

Mike now understood the Biblical sentence. "My cup runneth over."

At this point it would round things off nicely to say they lived happily ever after.

The End. Not! (as they say nowadays).

For one thing, they had forgotten about Cheryl.

On Sunday morning they slept in. Well, slept is not quite the correct word, except in the meaning of the words, 'slept together'. So it was after lunchtime by the time they came downstairs dressed for the day.

They had finished a light snack by way of breakfast and lunch combined when the doorbell sounded, and Claire clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, God!" she blasphemed. "It'll be Cheryl! I'd forgotten all about her."

"Bloody hell, Claire," he muttered. "Why the hell did you invite her? She's bound to have some other nastiness up her sleeve."

"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped. "I told you why. She asked; I've won. She had you and let you go; I've got you and won't let you go. We'll talk about this later."

She ran to the door. Mike was angry, no, livid. He followed at a distance.

Claire opened the door, and sure enough, there stood Cheryl. She wore a nervous smile and a coat, the day was chilly.

"Come in, Cheryl," said Claire warmly. Cheryl's smile broadened. Mike's immediate reaction was to wonder what her plan was.

"Let me take your coat," Claire said to the visitor, who obligingly shed the garment into Claire's hands. Underneath she was wearing a v-necked jumper showing a little cleavage, and a pair of trousers, tight on the bottom and flared at the ankle. Claire hung up the coat.

"Come through," she said, the task completed. "Tea or Coffee?"

"Coffee please," said Cheryl.

"Mike, please would you make some coffee for us all?" Claire asked sweetly.

He seethed, but nodded and retreated to the kitchen leaving the living room door open. There was no conversation beyond a minimal exchange.

"Shall we wait for Mike?"

"Yes."

Who said what? The kettle coming to the boil made it impossible for him to tell. He thought that could be important.