by Terry Spear
He sighed deeply and kissed her cheek. “We do not know this for certain.”
“Aye, I do.”
His gaze met hers. “Because ye know him so well?”
Not wanting to tell him how she knew, she said instead, “Malcolm, we have a choice— consummate the marriage and hope Henry will be reasonable, or if he takes away my lands, we will have to move elsewhere and may end up owning naught but the clothes on our backs. Or he may want you dead, in which case we will have to leave our home anyway.”
“I love you, Anice, and dinna want to give you up for any man. Ye only have to say the word, and I will love you like a man does his wife.”
She wasn’t sure whether it was the notion Malcolm truly was her husband and she wanted him to make love to her despite where they were at present, or if her mind was so cold and numbed she wasn’t thinking properly, or the threat of what she knew King Henry would have his physician do to her once he arrived at Brecken spurred her on, but in that instant, she made the decision, rash though it was. She wrapped her arms around Malcolm’s neck and in the most unthinkably brazen way, shifted underneath him until she’d spread her legs for him. Without being able to stop himself, he fell between her legs, his heated body pressed against her mound, sending an instant pang of need through her. At first, he seemed surprised, his brows arched in question, his mouth slightly parted, but when she lifted her pelvis slightly, encouraging him to take her, he didn’t hesitate to respond.
His mouth settled over hers with heated passion, almost desperation, as if he were afraid she’d try to stop him in his quest. She had no intention of stopping him, not this time. King Henry would attempt to annul the marriage, she knew that now. If she were still a virgin, she’d have no choice. But she had wanted Malcolm from the moment she spied him astride his destrier, holding his hands outstretched to catch her, a brawny Highlander with no equal.
His hands held her face, while his tongue tangled with hers, brashly plundering her mouth, conquering her, claiming her, but ‘twas only the beginning. His hands quickly slid down her arms, caressing, touching, memorizing the feel of her, as she explored the muscles in his arms and back, rippling with his actions. She moaned into his mouth, her body no longer chilled but heated deep inside, the area between her legs aching for relief.
“Och, Malcolm, make love to me before the others return.”
“’Tis what ye desire?” Malcolm asked, his voice husky, his eyes heavily lidded, his hands stilled on her shoulders.
“Aye, do as ye will.”
Smiling, his look was pure wickedness.
“That the church allows,” she quickly added.
He chuckled, but the deep, sensual sound sent another rash of hot liquid heat streaking through her. No married lady had ever told her how feverish a man’s touches could be. Mayhap their husbands didn’t do it right.
He lifted off her and at once she felt dejected. He couldn’t mean to stop, could he?
His lips moved down her jaw, his whiskered chin scratching her sensitive flesh, then he moved further down, his hands cupping her breast while she raked her fingers through his wild unkempt hair.
Before she knew what he was about, his lips latched onto her taut nipple, sending a sweet tingling throughout her, but increasing the ache between her legs. “Malcolm,” she pleaded breathlessly, “make love to me.”
“Aye, that I am.”
“Before your brothers return,” she urgently scolded.
He tugged gently on her nipple, then suckled with passion, ignoring her wishes. ‘Twas unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She reached down to touch his shaft, teasing her, rubbing against her thigh.
Before she could reach him, he slid his hand lower, between her legs, cupped her mound, and slipped his fingers deep inside her. She bit back a moan, concerned her people at Brecken several miles away would hear her animal-like growls of pleasure.
He moved his fingers to her swollen nub, stroking while her body climbed higher and higher, toward the peak of Aonach Shasuinn, reaching for the black sky, sprinkled with stars and the full orange moon. Her body shivered with exquisite fulfillment, her fingers gripping his broad shoulders, unable to concentrate on anything but the wave of heat and pleasure that washed over her.
“Ye are sure bonny, sweeting,” Malcolm whispered against her ear, then nibbled on the sensitive lobe. “Ye truly wish me to make love to ye?”
She was more certain of anything she’d ever decided in her life. “Aye, Malcolm, ‘tis your turn.”
Malcolm smiled at the winsome lass, her soft body still shuddering with the tremors he’d brought about. Shifting, he centered himself between her legs, but to his surprise, she wrapped her legs around him, her heels pressing against his arse. God’s teeth, he hadn’t expected that from the vixen, and her action nearly made him spill his seed.
Returning his mouth to hers, he hoped to take her mind off the pain he knew she’d experience the first time they made love. His fingers tangled with her silky hair, but he feared his brothers would return soon now, though he knew they’d try to give them ample time. He impaled her slowly, but she held her breath, and tightened her muscles, making it almost impossible to bury himself deep.
He moved his hands to her face and dove his tongue deeply into her mouth, taking her mind off what he was attempting to do between her legs. ‘Twas the right move, because instantly she concentrated on his mouth, kissing him back like a woman well loved, and with a thrust of his staff between her legs, he penetrated her virgin territory. A muffled cry escaped her lips, and he quickly pulled out.
“Nay,” she said, her hands clutching at his arse, which did nothing but stir his loins even further. “Dinna leave me yet.”
“Are ye all right, Anice?”
“Aye, it…it hurt for a minute, but…but I dinna want you to leave me…yet.”
He had no intention to as much as he wanted the lass. Sliding into her slowly, he quickly built up the pressure, encouraged by her heels digging into his arse, her fingers gripping his shoulders with passion. No woman had ever made him feel so complete, so loved, so satisfied. Her body rocked with his, and mews of pleasure escaped her swollen red lips, while her golden lashes hid her emerald eyes.
“Ye are breathing, lass?” he asked when he sensed she barely breathed.
She nodded vigorously. “Dinna … ask … me … questions, Malcolm.”
He smiled and thrust deeper, wanting to draw out the pleasure, wanting it to last forever. ‘Twas the sound of a twig cracking on the forest floor, that spurred him to release.
“Oh, Malcolm,” she murmured against his head, her body clenching his staff with renewed spasms. His seed expended, he quickly glanced toward the woods and saw Dougald motion to him that all was well.
Malcolm knew Dougald would never have intruded, but they must have finished burying the men and figured he would have bedded Anice by now, if he was to do the deed at all. But having alerted him someone was in the woods, Dougald had to signal it was only he, and not some brigand.
Malcolm rolled off her and pulled her into his arms, showing his brothers he was done with the most pleasurable of business, making the lady his wife. Thankfully, Anice was so spent she never noticed the intrusion. Instead, she sighed deeply against his chest and snuggled closer. “’Twas verra, verra good, milaird. Verra good.”
He smiled and kissed her head, his groin already stirring with her touch. It would be a verra long night indeed.
* * *
Early the next morn, Malcolm stirred. He realized then, no one had disturbed his sleep so he could pull guard duty. He unwrapped himself from Anice’s warm, soft body, recovered her, and hurried to dress. Kemp stirred the fire and watched Malcolm when he pulled on his shoes. Dougald came out of the woods and nodded, his face unreadable.
Angus soon followed, his gaze shifting from Malcolm to Anice.
Malcolm knew what his brothers were thinking. He should have waited for King Henry’s approval. Even when Anice and he
had difficulties on their wedding night and Malcolm had joined his brothers, they had been relieved. Then after Malcolm had rejoined Anice, because of her own admission, they’d learned he and Anice had still not consummated the marriage. He assumed whatever Dougald had spied last eve had convinced them the lady was now his wife forevermore.
‘Twas what he wanted, no matter the consequences. He would take her to France, or Italy, any place to keep his lady safe if the King was so inclined to disallow their marriage.
“Ye did not wake me,” Malcolm said, sipping his mead, his look pointed. Had any tired because he had not relieved them, they would all have been at risk.
His brothers both looked at the lady buried in his blankets.
“Ye should not have pulled extra duty,” Malcolm insisted.
Dougald slapped him on the shoulder and handed him a piece of stale bread. He motioned to the fire where her gowns had been laid out to dry. “Without a stitch of clothes on and her hair still wet, ye needed to keep her warm.”
Anice stirred and everyone looked her way.
The lady was lovely, nay doubt about it. Her golden red curls shimmered in the firelight; her green eyes stared at the men’s shoes, but she did not raise her gaze to look at them. Instead, she licked her lips nervously and sent desire coursing straight to Malcolm’s groin. Stifling a groan, he glanced at his brothers. Dougald shook his head at Malcolm, a perceptive smile tugging at his lips.
Angus stared at Anice, his gaze transfixed on her.
Dougald punched their youngest brother in the shoulder. “Go get the horses.”
“Aye.” Angus stalked off.
“And ye, Kemp, go with him.”
Kemp grumbled something under his breath, but hurried to join Angus.
“Ye might want to accompany the lady into the woods today, Malcolm,” Dougald suggested, though Malcolm didn’t need the warning. He had no intention of letting his lady out of his sight this time.
He grabbed her clothes, then gave his brother a critical look.
Dougald nodded, and turned his back.
“Come, Anice. I will accompany ye in the woods where you can dress.”
She attempted to rise without showing any skin, but the blanket dropped, exposing a creamy white breast. The rosy nipple exposed to the chill in the air, grew taut.
His trewes instantly tightening, he was glad he’d made Dougald turn away. Grabbing Anice still wrapped in the blanket up in his arms, Malcolm carried her into the woods.
She rested her head against his chest and sighed. “Do your brothers know about us?”
“Aye, Anice.”
She looked up at him, her eyes widened. “Ye told them?”
“Nay, lass. But ‘tis naught to be ashamed of, nor easy to hide.”
“They saw?” Her voice elevated, upset.
“Nay, lass,” he lied to protect her fine sensibilities. “’Tis only for them to see the blush in your cheeks to know.”
“Och, why did ye not tell me? I could have hid my face until the coloring went away.”
Chuckling, he set her down in the woods, then helped her to dress. “My brothers will say naught to anyone.” He paused after pulling her shift over her head, and the hem fell to her ankles. “Ye are no’ regretting last night, are ye?” he asked, hoping the cold had not affected her mind overmuch and she had not truly wanted to consummate their marriage.
“Nay, Malcolm, ye are verra beautiful.”
Again, he laughed. “’Tis ye who are beautiful, sweeting.” He hurried to help her finish dressing, hiding her again in the monk’s garment, then walked her out of the woods.
“We should make it to Brecken today,” she said to Malcolm, his brothers, and Kemp. “But I have to warn ye, I sense trouble ahead.”
Chapter Thirteen
Despite the disquiet she felt as they grew closer to Brecken, Anice was glad Malcolm and his brothers didn’t denounce her for being a witch.
After traveling for several hours, they arrived late afternoon across the loch from Brecken Castle, the six rounded towers, a welcome sight. Thick stone walls covered in a fresh sheen of bright green moss surrounded the castle. Elevated on the remains of a Roman motte the keep was perched on an islet of the Loch Affric. Everything looked peaceful and quiet. Too quiet.
To the north, the peak of Sgurr na Lapaich rose into the blue sky, while to the south Aonach Shasuinn watched over Glen Affric. Westward, the stunning view of the Five Sisters of Kintail could be seen. ‘Twas a fine sunny day, though the sun was dropping out of sight beyond the craggy mountains and the air was beginning to cool. The breeze stirred the pines lining the loch’s banks with a whispered whoosh and rippled the deep blue waters of the loch.
Stopping in the stand of pines, Anice’s delight was overshadowed by the overwhelming panic skittering across her bones. No one from the village nearby fished in the river feeding the loch, nor was anyone gathering timber for their dwellings.
Malcolm rested his hand on her shoulder. “Anice, what think you?”
Dougald and Angus watched her with guarded expectancy. Kemp crouched at the base of a tree, examining creeping ladies tresses among the mosses, pine needles, and heather—the small row of orchids resembling ladies’ neatly braided hair.
The earth smelled sweet and damp after a summer’s rain, while the pine fragrance and the smell of peat burning in a dwelling some distance away scented the air.
She wished she could assure Malcolm naught was wrong. But it would have been a lie. Knowing only that she had to enter the castle and face whatever danger lay within, she ran her hands over Malcolm’s bearded cheeks and said, “’Tis danger, but I know not from what.”
“But we survive,” Malcolm whispered, the warmth of his breath tickling her cheek, “because Henry will come seeking my head. Unless, ‘tis him in yonder castle already.”
She shifted her gaze from his brown eyes full of love and life and looked again at her castle, ignoring his attempt at humor to cheer her, unable to shake the cold in her bones. “’Tis time I return without further delay.”
Malcolm helped Anice into her saddle. Kemp handed her a bunch of creeping ladies tresses; the creamy white flowers looked ice white against his muddy fingers.
She smiled. “Thanks be to thee, Kemp.” Lifting the flowers to her nose, she smelled the sweet scent. She was home.
Pulling the monk’s hood over her head to disguise that she was Lady Anice in the event her concern that trouble lay ahead was warranted, the five travelers rode for Brecken’s main entrance. They spied several men atop the wall walk watching their arrival, but she could not make out whether they were her men or someone else’s. The metal portcullis was up and a gate guard, wearing brown wool trewes and a jacket, his brown hair cut short, hurried out to speak to them. “Who are ye, brothers, and what are you doing here?”
Malcolm looked at Anice, but she shook her head, hoping he realized she didn’t know who the man was and feared foul play.
Malcolm drew taller in his saddle. “We are Lady Anice’s staff.”
“Monks? She’s not here,” the man said tartly. “You will have to come back once she has returned.”
“You do not work for the lady,” Anice said in her deepest, most threatening voice, trying to rein in her rage that she was not even welcome in her own castle, and that the men escorting her, given orders by the king to be her staff, would be turned away. “Who are you to give orders when she is not here?”
The gate guard stared curiously at her. Had her voice given away that she was a woman? Angus and Dougald exchanged glances.
A man dressed in chain mail standing nearby hurried for the keep, while another came down off the wall walk and planted himself behind the gate guard. None of the men had been part of her staff.
“Lord Rousseau, the new steward, gives the orders,” the gate guard replied brusquely.
“By whose authority?” Malcolm quickly asked before Anice exploded.
She clenched her teeth as her body heated. Ma
lcolm’s handling the man’s arrogance at the moment was best for all concerned, unless she revealed she was Lady Anice. Certainly, as Malcolm’s wife, and just a lady-in-waiting to Anice, she had no authority to tell this man where he could go...like she truly wished to.
“Baron Harold de Fontenot gave the order. He is taking Lady Anice to wive as soon as he returns here.”
If he can find the lady. Anice gave a smug smile.
Malcolm yanked off his monk’s robe. “I am Earl of Pembrinton, and by the power vested in me by Henry, King of England, I am Lady Anice’s new steward. My brothers are the new chamberlain and treasurer.”
“And I am her new groom,” Kemp proudly piped in.
“I take orders only from the baron and his steward. So you will have to take this up with him when he returns.”
Dougald and Angus both pulled off their robes, making it easier to get to their weapons.
A tall grim, black bearded man with a scar cutting across his brow, giving him a perpetual scowl, stalked toward them with the knight from the wall walk at his side. “I am Lord Rousseau. What is the trouble here?” With a dark look, the baron’s appointed steward regarded the MacNeill brothers’ show of force with disdain, then turned to Anice.
She pulled the brown woolen hood back and motioned to Malcolm. “Lady Anice’s new steward, Earl of Pembrinton.” She quickly added for the benefit of a man who’d just joined the group who was on her own staff, “And I am Countess Pembrinton and lady-in-waiting to Lady Anice.”
The knight’s eyes widened, though he spoke not a word. Thomas, only five years her senior was one of her uncle’s most faithful staff. “I ken, Thomas, the marriage is a surprise. Do tell everyone, will ye?”
“Aye, milady,” he said quickly, his eyes shifting from her to Malcolm, then made an expeditious bow and stormed up the stone stairs to the wall walk.
“Milaird,” Anice said facing Malcolm, “mayhap you can handle this matter with the baron’s laird. I wish to wash some of this dust off before Lady Anice arrives.” In truth she wished to make it known at once that her people were not to reveal her identity at all costs.
