Eyes half closed, she smiled as she arched and met him thrust for thrust, raking her fingers down his sides. “And when we’re old and gray, and canna do this anymore, what will we do then, my wondrous lover?”
Arms locked as he rose above her, Sutherland stilled. “We will still love. Forever—through this life and beyond. We shall always hold tight to each other, no matter what life brings us, ye ken?”
“Aye, mo chridhe. Most certainly, aye.” Eyes closing, she squeezed her legs tighter around him and bucked. “More, m’love, give me more.”
“Open yer eyes.” He moved forward with a hard thrust, then stopped until she did as he commanded. “I want to see our love in yer eyes as I fill ye with my seed and sow our first bairn within ye.”
Her eyes popped open and her lips parted. “Fill me, m’love,” she whispered. “Place our first child within me.”
“A son,” he growled as he drove harder and faster. “A son first, then next time a daughter.”
“Aye,” she cried out, then screamed as her pleasure peaked, consuming him with her spasming ecstasy.
Every fiber, muscle, and sinew burned as he exploded. Uncontrollable shuttering rippled through him as he emptied, then collapsed, rolling to the side to keep from crushing the most precious love of his life. He clutched Sorcha tight. “The words ‘I love ye’ are nay enough to describe all I feel for ye,” he said as he struggled to catch his breath. “My chest is tight with the need to shout ye’re mine for all time.” He pressed a kiss to her damp forehead and tangled his fingers in her hair.
“I’m glad,” she whispered as she brushed her lips across his. “For ye own my heart and soul just the same.”
Chapter Nine
“There have been no further attempts on yer life while I was away at Tor Ruadh?”
“Not a single accident.” Sutherland strolled along the top of the skirting wall beside Magnus. A warm breeze carrying the long-awaited warmth of spring tugged at his kilt. “Ye werena gone but a few days. Dinna fash yerself, man. I’m healed completely now and ready for whatever that sneaky bastard tries next.” Magnus fretted about things worse than an old woman. Sutherland appreciated his friend’s concern, but it wasn’t as though he wasn’t able to fight his own battles.
Magnus shot him a perturbed look. “With all that happened before I left, I felt I should return immediately rather than wait and travel with the others. I’ve lost all trust for this place. I dinna care how completely ye’ve healed. The fiend brought ye down when ye were hale and hearty, did he not?” He snorted as he shielded his eyes, peering upward and searching the horizon. “Besides, I had to get Merlin away from Ian and Gretna’s brood before he decided to forgo all my commands and only listen to those lads. They let him have entirely too many rats and spoil him with their coddling.”
Sutherland followed Magnus’s lead and squinted up into the brilliance of the bright blue sky. He pulled in a deep lungful of the sweet Highland breeze as he scanned for any sign of the falcon. The sunny day seemed to celebrate that all was right in his world. He was married to a woman whose passions and stubbornness matched his own. He hungered for her every waking hour, and she yearned for him just as much. A chuckle escaped him. Married. Him. Never had he thought the bonds of marriage would bring such a feeling of pure contentment.
“I will say ye’re a damn sight happier than ye were when I left.” Magnus held up his arm and waited.
A piercing cry split the air, then the small grey-blue bird of prey landed on his forearm, cocked its head at Sutherland, and emitted a series of chirrups as it settled its wings.
“Greetings to ye too, wee buzzard.” Sutherland winked at Magnus. “I am quite content, thank ye. The role of husband has turned out to be quite to my liking,” he admitted with a quiet laugh. “Never would I have thought it possible.”
“I wouldna have laid odds on that either,” Magnus retorted as the falcon walked up his arm and perched on his shoulder.
They meandered across the stretch of wall at the front of the keep, turned at the first tower, and continued along the side of the protective barrier overlooking the sparkling waters of the River Spey. Magnus motioned toward the inner courtyard below. “Is that not yer lovely wife there pawing through the dirt with Mistress Jenny?”
Sorcha and Jenny, kneeling on paths of straw carefully spread between the muddy turned rows of the kitchen garden, were bent to the task of sowing seeds and transplanting tender young sprouts that had been nurtured in bowls in the steamy heat of the kitchens.
“Aye, that be her. She wanted to help with getting the garden started before we left for Tor Ruadh after the celebration.” Thank the saints the stubborn woman had relented and not worn those damn trews of hers. They had argued quite the while this morning about her attire, but he had, at last, convinced her that the cleft of her fine round arse was for his viewing pleasure alone. He stopped walking and gave the gardeners his full attention as Garthin Napier joined them and interrupted the ladies’ labors. “What the hell does that bastard think he’s doing now?”
Garthin squatted on a patch of straw spread one row across from the women, smiling and chatting with them as they worked. His attention appeared more focused on Sorcha, which ignited an immediate raging possessiveness in Sutherland.
“He and his mother need to be shed of this place before I fertilize that garden with his bones,” he growled, leaning farther over the wall to better observe Garthin’s every twitch.
Head tilted, Magnus watched the scene below with a look that annoyed the hell out of Sutherland. “Since when have ye been a jealous man? I’ve never seen ye like this. Are ye that unsure of yerself now that ye’re married?”
“I am not jealous.” Sutherland resented the implication that he felt threatened by the insignificant Garthin. “Nor am I unsure of myself!” He stabbed the air, pointing down at Garthin. “Sorcha doesna like that fool. Nor does she trust his mother. She wants them both gone, and I agree wholeheartedly. The keep would be much improved with their leaving.”
“Shall I send Merlin to fly over and shite on the man’s head?” Magnus offered with a grin.
Still perched on his handler’s shoulder, the bird softly chirruped at the mention of his name. He fluttered his wings, eying Sutherland as though waiting for the command to strike.
Sutherland didn’t grace either the bird or the man with a response. Instead, he paced back and forth a short distance, watching Garthin and waiting for the bastard to make the slightest insulting move.
“Not to defend the man,” Magnus said after a long, tensed silence of stalking the gardeners below. “But he does seem to be discussing the ways of growing things.” He motioned down at them. “Look. He’s helping them with the spacing of the new plants.”
“He should be helping his mother’s maid pack their things so they can get the hell out of here.” Sutherland would tolerate no generosity toward Garthin. Not when every word that fell from the man’s lips was either antagonistic, petty, or insulting. He doubted the fool possessed the ability to hold a civil conversation with anyone. He hadn’t witnessed the man getting on well with a single person at the keep other than Jenny, and that hardly counted. Jenny befriended one and all.
Sutherland relaxed somewhat when Heckie stepped out of the shadows and joined the trio digging in the dirt. Oddly enough, Heckie glanced up at him and even lifted a hand in a hesitant, awkward greeting. Sutherland nodded in return. He hadn’t shared more than a few words with Sorcha’s strange friend since he had knocked him on his arse, but the man didn’t appear to harbor any ill will toward him. He had even admitted that he’d handled the stable incident badly.
Sorcha had explained that Heckie had always been a little slower than most and that he struggled when it came to interacting with others. But she had also said Jenny was very protective of the young man and watched over him. From what Sutherland had observed from watching Heckie, the poor soul needed more than a little watching over from Jenny. He needed a full-time keeper
at his side.
The longer Sutherland studied the group below, the more restless he became. At least the lot of them were out in the open, and Garthin hadn’t cornered Sorcha somewhere alone. He nearly growled out loud at that thought. If the whoreson ever tried that, he would rue the day he was born. Sutherland rolled the tightness from his shoulders, feeling the fool for allowing the arrogant man to affect him in such a way. “I think it time we join the gardeners. What say ye?”
“Lead on, my friend.”
Sutherland headed for the ladder farther up the way. It directly accessed the side courtyard of the keep and would prevent them from the delay it would take to return to one of the corner towers and descend the skirting wall via an interior staircase. He wanted, nay, he needed to be at Sorcha’s side immediately. As he stepped down on the rung of the ladder that was level with the height of an average man’s head, it snapped. The remaining rungs beneath that one popped free of their tied joints as the force of his weight crashed down on top of them. When he hit the ground, he lost his balance and landed hard on his arse, jarring himself from his tailbone clear to the base of his skull. “Damn it to hell!” Glaring up at what remained of the ladder, he didn’t know which to do first, rub his arse and curse some more or fetch his sword and hunt down whoever had put the faulty thing in place.
“Are ye hurt?” Magnus slid down the ladder’s side rails and rushed to his side. He held out a hand. “Can ye stand?”
“Of course, I can stand.” Sutherland grabbed hold of his friend’s hand and yanked himself to his feet. “All I did was rattle my feckin’ teeth when my arse hit the ground.”
“What happened?” Sorcha came running across the courtyard. “Are ye hurt?” She alternately patted and squeezed him all over as she circled him. Peering up into his face, she held tight to his arms. Fear and worry flashed in her eyes. “Can ye walk without help? What on earth caused ye to fall?”
Jenny, Garthin, and Heckie joined them just as Sorcha’s father reached them from where he’d been inspecting the outdoor kitchen’s smoke pits. “What in heaven’s name happened to ye this time?” he demanded.
Sutherland raised both hands and split the air with a sharp whistle. “Enough! The ladder broke. I landed on my arse. I am not hurt.” He wished they would all leave off. It wasn’t as though he had tumbled down from the top of the guard wall and broken his fool neck. “It appears I am cursed when it comes to Castle Greyloch.”
“Ye’re not cursed, man. This rung was cut part way through.” Magnus handed one of the pieces to Sutherland and the other to the chieftain. He tapped on the ends. “Look. Cut smooth nearly all the way to the break. It splintered the rest of the way when yer weight finished it off.”
“The tie joints from the other rungs look cut with a knife, too,” Jenny said, twisting one of the rope ends between her thumb and fingers. “This one’s too neat to be snapped, and it’s new twine, too. I dinna think his weight would cause such a clean break through the strands of an unweathered rope. Do ye think it would?”
“Who was the last to move this ladder? Who put this here?” Greyloch asked, scanning the area like a beast searching for prey.
“I put it there,” Garthin said, stepping forward with a haughty scowl that enraged Sutherland even more. “Raibert Pearsley had me put it there when I told him I was headed to the garden to talk with the lasses about their plantings. He told me the guards liked it placed midpoint between those towers. Said Sorcha might like it there for a shorter way to the path atop the wall once she was finished with her gardening and ready for stretching of her legs.”
“Ye will address my wife as Lady Sorcha, ye useless cur, and her legs are none of yer concern!” Sutherland lunged forward and grabbed hold of Garthin by the front of his jacket. The bastard had overplayed his hand this time, confessing that he had been the one to plant the ladder where Sutherland or Sorcha would surely use it. “And ye admit ye plotted to cause me harm—or even worse—cause injury to my wife? I’ll see ye dead before the sun sets.” It all made sense now. With Sorcha and Sutherland both out of the way, Lady Culane and Garthin could entrap the Greyloch during his grief and take control of the clan.
“I admitted no such thing!” Garthin shoved back with his teeth bared. He grabbed Sutherland’s wrists and yanked to no avail. “Pearsley had me carry the ladder from the stable and place it there. ’Tis a wonder ye didna see me, ye pompous arsewipe. I saw ye spying on us from atop the wall. Ask yer man Pearsley how the rungs and ropes got cut.”
“It is true Raibert Pearsley has never liked me,” Sorcha interjected quietly as she stepped forward and rested a hand on Sutherland’s arm. “He has never approved of my help in leading the clan, nor any decision I have ever made.” She turned to her father as she nestled closer to Sutherland. “And with my husband and me out of the way, I’m sure he thought he would stand a better chance of tricking ye into believing whatever foolishness he spewed.”
“Not verra damn likely.” The chief swiped a hand across his mouth as though he’d just tasted something foul. “Yer mother never trusted that bastard either. I shouldha listened to her a long time ago and ousted him.” Greyloch’s scowl tightened as his gaze slid to the stable across the way. “Guards!”
“Guards, my arse.” Sutherland shoved Garthin aside. He had no need of guards to serve the type of justice he could mete out himself.
Before he had taken more than two strides, a young lad exploded out of the stable’s double doors, waving his arms and shouting. “Help! Master Pearsley’s done hanged himself from the loft!”
Sutherland reached the scene first. The man’s body slowly twisted at the end of the rope. Both his hands were stuck at the base of his throat, his fingers caught where he’d made a futile attempt at clawing at the noose. Raibert Pearsley’s exit from this world looked as though it had been anything but peaceful.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Greyloch said as he appeared at Sutherland’s side, huffing to catch his breath. He spun about, strode back to the door, and pointed in the other direction. “Heckie! Garthin! Take the women inside. I willna have them seeing this.”
“But—” Sorcha started to argue.
“Go with them, Sorcha! Now!” Sutherland shouted without looking away from the dead man. His wife might not have been fond of Master Pearsley, but viewing the man’s body swinging from a rope was a different matter entirely. He would not have her witness the grisly scene.
“He looks to have changed his mind,” Magnus observed. “Look at his hands.”
“Maybe he discovered the error of his knot tying when the rope failed to snap his neck and slowly strangled him instead.” Sutherland turned to the chieftain. “Why would the man do this if his plot to remove Sorcha and myself seemed to be working as he had hoped?”
“I dinna think he did this willingly.” Greyloch sidled around the body, looking up at the man from another angle. “Raibert Pearsley was the most cowardly of weasels. He avoided any kind of pain or discomfort at all costs. That weakness made him a damned fine liar.”
“Who wouldha killed him?” Sutherland had a fair idea. If Pearsley had walked in on Garthin while the man was tampering with the ladder, he would have required silencing. But if that were so, why would Garthin point them in Pearsley’s direction? Was the man truly that big of a fool or just arrogant beyond belief?
“Gibb!” Greyloch shouted.
The stable boy who had alerted them stepped out from the shadows. “Aye, my chief?”
“Did ye happen to see Master Pearsley today before he decided to stretch his neck?” Sutherland asked, taking over the investigation without a second thought.
Greyloch gave him an irritated look but didn’t protest. The man understood his need to settle this himself.
“Aye, Master MacCoinnich.” Gibb bobbed his head. “Saw him give a ladder to Master Napier.” The young man frowned and scratched his head. “Master Pearsley did have an odd way about him when he did it, though.”
“What do ye mean
by odd?” Magnus asked as he climbed down from the loft and rejoined them.
“All twitchy. Kind of like he was afeared or something. Kept looking around as though something might be in the shadows fixing to jump him.” The lad shrugged. “Usually, Master Pearsley acts like he owns the place. A right cocky arsehole whenever he’s in the stables.” He glanced up at the body, crossed himself, then shifted a step away from it with an apologetic nod. “God rest his soul,” he quickly added.
“But ye saw Master Napier leave here with the ladder? And Pearsley was alive when he left the stable?” That report didn’t fit with what Sutherland had imagined happening.
“Aye.” The boy nodded. “Master Pearsley most nigh jumped out of his skin when he turned around and saw me standing here after he watched Master Napier take off with the ladder. Told me I best get my arse busy with my chores or he’d be speaking to Master Mungo ’bout me and seeing to it that my supper got docked down to nothing but gruel for as many nights as I was old.”
“So, then what did ye do?” Sutherland frowned at Magnus and the chieftain as he waited for the lad to answer. They looked as befuddled as he felt.
“Went back to work, raking out the stalls in the north corner.” He jerked a thumb toward the dead man. “Found him when I came back this way to fetch a shovel and a cart.”
“Did ye notice anyone else about?” Magnus asked.
After a long moment of rubbing his chin, Gibb shook his head. “Nay—not that I can remember.”
“Run and fetch the priest along with some help to cut the poor bastard down. See him taken to his wife.” Greyloch shooed the lad on his way. “Tell the widow I’ll be around to pay my respects at sunset.”
“Aye, my chieftain!” Gibb gave a bobbing hop, then sprinted away.
The chief slowly shook his head, then lifted both hands and let them fall back to his sides. “Maybe the fool did hang himself. It doesna sound as though Garthin knew anything about the faultiness of the ladder.”
The Bard Page 13
