“But you do not—”
“I told you, we will not speak of love,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts. Pushing suddenly to his feet, he yanked his tunic over his head, tossed it aside, then bent to remove his shoes.
“Dinna do this,” she begged again. She tried in vain to tear her gaze from his bared chest, even as the sight of its hard contours made her heart hammer wildly. “It is not right,” she gasped, her voice a ragged whisper. “You do not love me.”
“Hush, sweeting,” Duncan protested, rolling his braies down his well-muscled legs as he spoke. He kicked them out of the way and stood facing her, hands braced on his hips, his arousal unmistakable. “I desire and ache with longing for you.”
Linnet’s heart turned over at his words, her pride screaming at her to look away or at least close her eyes, but she couldn’t.
The hot throbbing deep inside her feminine core refused to be denied. That traitorous part of her begged, nay, demanded, she forsake all misgivings and surrender herself to the unbearably sweet pleasures she knew he could give her.
As if he sensed her yielding, a slow, seductive smile stole over his lips, and he reached for her hand. A strange sound, a raw and utterly primitive moan, escaped Linnet’s throat when his strong, warm fingers closed over hers.
Not taking his eyes off hers, he brought her hand to rest against the flat plane of his abdomen. He held her hand there, her fingers splayed over his hot skin for an excruciatingly long moment.
Then he began edging her hand downward.
Her blood raced, every nerve ignited, on fire, as he skimmed her hand lightly back and forth over the thick mat of dark hair at his groin.
With a deep groan feral enough to have been made by a wild beast and not a flesh-and-blood man, Duncan moved her hand to his maleness, closing her fingers tightly around the hot, pulsing shaft.
The feel of him, all searing heat and proud, rigid as steel yet satiny-smooth to the touch, sent a bolt of excitement shooting through her, stealing her breath and making her forget her cares.
Forget her objections to this… this loveless mating of their bodies.
Forget her pride.
She sighed, her fingers moving around the length of him. The man must be part-wizard, for surely it was not a small feat to whisk away her doubts and send her spiraling into a sea of such reckless longing she might soon perish from the sheer glory of it?
Indeed, her husband’s caress, his kiss, touching him, even one glance from him was a more powerful mixture than the most potent mead.
More intoxicating than the sweetest of wines.
As if she had the same effect on him, his eyes darkened, fair smoldering with passion. Whispering soft words of encouragement, he carefully unclasped her fingers, then leaned down and placed her hands about his neck.
Linnet clung to him as he slipped his arms around her back and under her knees and lifted her from the tub. Water ran in rivulets down her limbs and the brisk sea wind coming through the opened windows brought gooseflesh to her skin, but she didn’t care… she was oblivious to all but the wondrous feel of being held in her husband’s powerful arms.
He’d carried her but a scant three paces across the room when he stopped to claim her lips in a fiercely demanding kiss. Linnet melted against him, digging her hands into his hair, helpless to do aught but surrender to the wild fury of her own undeniable need.
Then, at the very moment she was certain something would shatter and spill deep inside her, a loud rap on the closed door broke through the haze of their ardor.
“Damnation!” Duncan cursed, sending a furious glance toward the door.
Still clinging to him, Linnet buried her face against his neck and bit her lower lip to hold back the deep sigh of pleasure she’d been about to give forth.
“Hush,” Duncan whispered into her damp hair.
But the knocking came anew, persistent and unrelenting. “Lady? Be you in there?” a youth’s voice called between the sharp raps.
“Damnation,” Duncan repeated, easing Linnet to her feet.
Snatching a large drying cloth off a chair, he thrust it at her, and she gratefully wrapped it around her shivering body.
Heart in her throat, she watched Duncan stride angrily across the room and jerk open the door.
His nude body blocked her view of whatever hapless soul sought to find her, but she heard a sharp intake of breath, then a young male voice stammer, “A good… good morrow to you, sir.”
“And a fine one it was till now,” Duncan quipped, folding his arms. “What brings you to my lady’s chamber at this early hour?”
“I dinna… I dinna ken you’d be here, sir.” The lad shifted nervously from one foot to the other as he spoke, and Linnet caught a brief glimpse of him. Despite the high color staining his cheeks, she recognized him as her husband’s youngest squire. “’Twas Fergus sent me. He bid me to fetch the Lady Linnet.”
“Fergus?” Duncan shot a quizzical glance at Linnet. “And pray what does he want with her that could not wait till my lady wife finished her bath and made her own way belowstairs?”
The squire gulped noisily, then tried to explain. “He wishes to ask her blessing, milord.”
“Her blessing?”
“Aye, sir,” the young man confirmed. “I… I believe he means to marry the Lady Linnet’s woman servant.”
“Marry her?” Duncan asked, his tone incredulous. “Do you mean my wife’s old nurse? The one called Elspeth?”
“Aye, she be the one, sir.”
“Then tell Fergus my wife and I shall meet him and his intended in my former solar within the hour,” Duncan ordered. “Now be gone from here and dinna disturb us again,” he added, already closing the door.
Turning, he leaned against the heavy oak panels of the door. “Did you hear that?” he asked, shaking his head. “Fergus wanting to marry? The old goat! He never wanted aught to do with women, save his rare trips to the village to slake his… eh… needs.”
Linnet hugged the linen drying cloth tighter about her body. “I’ve noticed they seem fond of one another. I canna say I’m surprised.”
“But marry her? Next, he’ll be claiming he’s fallen in love.”
“Mayhap he has,” Linnet said. “Mayhap they both have.”
“Bah!” Duncan gave a derisive snort. “’Tis no such thing. And if they think so, they’re both old fools.”
Linnet shrugged. “Whatever you say, milord.”
But, in truth, she couldn’t disagree with him more.
13
Not quite an hour later, Duncan walked into his solar, or what used to be his solar, his lady wife following on his heels. A cheery fire burned in the hearth and it was more than obvious his dearest friend and brother-in-law, Sir Marmaduke, had laid claim to the chamber.
The romantically inclined English knight had cluttered the once-austere solar with all manner of useless trappings. Duncan pressed his lips together in a tight frown as he surveyed the many changes.
Indeed, were it not for the wicked-looking sword and other knightly attrapments resting in a far corner next to the door to his former bedchamber, Duncan would’ve sworn he’d entered the quarters of a lady.
A fanciful one with naught but nonsense in her head.
Duncan spied the one-eyed lout leaning nonchalantly against the closed bedchamber door, his arms folded. Ever the gallant, Sir Marmaduke sprang to attention, coming forward to give Linnet a courtly bow. When he straightened and claimed Linnet’s hand for a kiss, Duncan had had enough.
“Cease conducting yourself as if you’re at court,” he said irritably, whilst the Englishman fawned over his wife’s hand. “’Tis instructing my squires in swordplay you should be at this young hour and not pandering about pretending you’re the fabled Sir Lancelot.”
Taking hold of Linnet’s elbow, Duncan drew her closer to his side, away from the Sassunach. “Where is Fergus? I was told he wished to speak with my lady.”
“Fergus and his intended
should arrive any moment,” Sir Marmaduke assured him, returning to his position in front of the closed bedchamber door. “You won’t deny his request, will you?” he asked.
“Of course not,” Duncan snapped. “Why should I? If he wants to tie hisself to a wife, ’tis his decision.”
Beside him, Linnet stiffened. With a little jerk, she freed her elbow from his grasp and went to stand before the tall, narrow windows. Her back to the room, she clasped her hands loosely behind her and appeared to stare out at the waters of Loch Duich far below.
Marmaduke shot a quick glance her way, then turned his one-eyed gaze on Duncan. The look of reproach on the Sassunach’s scarred face made Duncan feel as if he were once again a wee laddie and had just been dressed down by his father.
“I doubt Fergus sees it that way,” Marmaduke said. “He’s quite fond of Elspeth. I daresay he loves her.” Pausing, he narrowed his good eye at Duncan. “As all men should love and cherish the woman they take to wife.”
“And who made you an expert on marriage?” Duncan quipped sourly before remembering how deeply the Englishman had loved his late wife, Duncan’s sister, Arabella.
How much he still mourned her death.
As so often of late, Duncan cringed at the harshness of his own words. By the Rood, what had come over him? Angry at himself, and embarrassed as well, he sought to change the subject. “Since when have you become Fergus’s champion? ’Twas not long ago the two of you couldn’t abide each other.”
“Times change, people change, my friend. ’Tis a wise man who can admit he is wrong.”
The neck opening of Duncan’s tunic suddenly seemed inexplicably tight, and heat stole up his neck and into his cheeks. “If you’re referring to—”
A knocking on the still-open door behind Duncan saved him from finishing. “’Tis good of you to meet with us,” Fergus called from the door. “May we come in?” he asked, although he’d already stepped inside.
Duncan’s jaw dropped. Never had Fergus asked his permission for aught. More oft than not, the bristly old seneschal spoke his mind and did as he pleased.
But something had changed him.
He even looked different.
So much so, Duncan highly suspected he’d taken a bath, a small miracle in itself. ’Twas glaringly apparent, too, that he’d tried, albeit without much success, to comb his shaggy mane of gray hair into a semblance of neatness.
He’d also donned his best plaid and polished the silver brooch holding it in place at his shoulder.
“What’s this about you wanting to marry?” Duncan asked, his voice purposely gruff in an attempt to hide his astonishment at the old man’s jaunty appearance. “Be that the truth?”
“Aye, ’tis God’s truth, milord. I ken you willna deny me my happiness,” he said, stepping farther into the solar, his intended close beside him, holding tightly to his gnarled hand. “With all due respect to you as laird, ’tis your lady wife’s blessing I wish to have, as my Elspeth and I dinna want to do aught what doesna meet her approval.”
Duncan crossed his arms and forced himself not to lose his temper.
Or let another rash statement pass his lips.
’Twould seem his entire world had been turned inside out since he’d fetched Linnet MacDonnell to be his bride: Sir Marmaduke had used trickery to oust him from his quarters, he couldn’t open his mouth without putting his foot in it, he was master of his castle and rightful laird, yet everyone under his roof would lead him around by the nose.
And now his cranky old tale-spinner of a seneschal had spruced himself up like a lovesick squire and sought not his, but his wife’s blessing to marry!
A wife who had yet to fulfill the one task he asked of her, to tell him the truth about Robbie.
A wife whose very nearness unsettled and excited him.
“Milord? Have we stirred your ire?” Fergus asked, causing Duncan to scowl even more.
Saints, the old buzzard had ne’er called him aught but his given name. That, and a few choice titles Duncan didn’t care to recall.
But never milord.
“Nay, you have not,” Duncan replied with a vigorous shake of his head, trying in vain to rid himself of the persistent notion his entire household had gone raving mad while he wasn’t looking. “’Tis merely surprised I am.”
Turning to his wife, he said, “Lady, you’ve heard Fergus’s plea. Will you grant them your blessing?”
Linnet took a hesitant step forward, her hands tightly clasped before her, her gaze intent on the older pair still hovering near the door. “Is this your wish, too, Elspeth?” she asked her former nurse. “Be you certain?”
Elspeth nodded, her gray curls bouncing. “Aye, child, it is, and ’tis more than sure I am. When Angus passed, I did not expect I’d meet a man I could care for again, but”—she paused to beam at Fergus—“I have, and it is my hope you’ll be happy for me. For both of us.”
’Twas all his lady wife needed to hear apparently, for she abandoned her cautious stance and fair charged across the room, throwing herself first into Elspeth’s arms, then allowing Fergus, the bandy-legged old goat, to embrace her as well.
“Ahem,” Duncan tried to catch their attention, to bring a spot of order, nay, dignity, to the moment, but the three ignored him.
Ooohing and aaahing, they continued to hug, kissing each other upon their cheeks as if he wasn’t even present.
From his post by the bedchamber door, Sir Marmaduke shrugged. He wore an expression Duncan could only call a self-satisfied smirk and obviously found the situation highly amusing.
“Ahem!” Duncan tried again, louder this time.
All three stopped their silly prattle and turned toward Duncan. “Aye?” Fergus answered him, plucking his plaid into place, then drawing himself as tall as his somewhat-stooped frame would allow. “What’s ailing you, boy? Have you lost proper use of yer tongue?” His bushy brows snapped together as if daring Duncan to shed ill favor on his newfound happiness.
“Naught ails me,” Duncan countered crossly. “Naught at all.”
Except wondering when every man, woman, and child under my roof had their brains pickled!
He turned to his wife. “You approve of this union?”
“Oh, aye,” she said, smiling in a way she’d never smiled at him. “If Elspeth is so happy, how can I do aught but approve?” She grasped Elspeth’s hands then, holding them between her own. “’Tis a fine pair they make. A bonnie pair.”
“Then so be it,” Duncan pronounced firmly.
He refused to be party to such gushing sentimentality.
’Twas a frivolous waste of time better left to women and his softhearted Sassunach brother-in-law.
Indeed, he’d let Marmaduke, with his unbridled love of French romances and constant gibberish about chivalry and courtly love, see to the reading of the banns and organizing a small wedding ceremony for the besotted old fools.
He, as laird, had more important matters to attend to.
Fixing the Sassunach with a pointed stare, he ordered, “You can help them make arrangements. I must hie myself below and dinna have the time. A patrol is due in this morn, and ’tis anxious I am to hear what tidings they bring.”
Because it was no doubt expected of him, he strode over to the older couple and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “’Tis pleased I am to see you both content. May God grant you many long and happy years together.”
Stepping away from them, he heaved a deep sigh and made for the door. Without another word, and not looking back, he left them.
He truly did have much to tend to this morn. Reports of cattle snatching had been filtering in of late, as well as the scattered accounts of kinsmen being harassed. He couldn’t spend the day dallying about planning a wedding when such trouble was underfoot, when his people needed him.
Besides, so much blissfulness as he’d just been forced to witness was hard for a man to bear.
Especially when his own heart ached for even a meager share of
such happiness.
A fierce scowl settled over his face as he began the circular descent to the hall.
By the devil, the truth hurt.
Bad.
And knowing he was too much of a coward to do aught about it pained him even more.
*
An uncomfortable silence ensued after Elspeth and Fergus excused themselves a while later, leaving Linnet alone in the solar with Sir Marmaduke.
She could have left with them, and mayhap she should have, but something held her back. Her instincts told her the gallant Sassunach knight could answer many questions for her… if she could muster the courage to ask them.
And if he was willing to oblige her.
Moving to the small table near the window seat, she paused to admire the finely carved chessboard. Each piece was exquisitely rendered and well polished.
She picked up one piece, then turned to face the English knight. He still leaned against the closed bedchamber door, the expression on his marred face unreadable but not unkind.
In truth, Linnet thought him a most kind man.
One she could trust, despite his English blood.
Clearing her throat, she said, “You have done much with this room, sir. And”—she fingered the chesspiece, peering at it as she spoke—“I dinna think I’ve e’er seen anything so fine as this. Is it from your home, from England?”
“Yes, milady, it hails from England.”
The melancholy in his voice was not to be mistaken, so different was it from the jovial tone he often used when conversing with her husband. Linnet glanced sharply at him, the chesspiece forgotten.
His good eye seemed clouded with sadness, but he didn’t flinch from her perusal. Instead, he pushed away from the door and came to stand before her, close, yet keeping a respectful distance.
Rather than look at her, he stared fixedly out the tall arched-topped windows. “My father carved the chess set. It is one of the few memories I have of him, as I have not seen him since I was but a young squire.”
Emboldened by his apparent willingness to speak of his past, Linnet posed the question she’d oft wanted to ask but hadn’t dared till now. “Sir Marmaduke, it is apparent my husband holds you in high esteem, you wear the MacKenzie colors, yet you are a Sassunach.” Still fingering the chess piece, she plunged ahead, “Pray, how did you, an English knight, come to be here?”
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