Now, he loved to get her naked.
He climbed into the other end of the tub and slid his long legs out on either side of her hips and wiggled his toes. ‘This feels comfortable. Can you pass the soap, bonnie lass?’ She threw it at him.
He caught it with one hand before it hit him straight in the chest. Dipping the scented bar into the water, he began making bubbles and blew some toward her. ‘I dinnae mind yer wee show of temper, lass. I love the spark in yer eyes. A lively lass is better than a sullen one,’ he said, thinking of Flora. When his late wife was in one of her moods, everyone paid. But Flora was gone and he had been sent a piece of magic in her place, a gift from the sea that he sometimes wondered if she—Sellie—had been waiting out in the ocean for the right time to come to him.
As if Sellie understood every word he said, she made a wee meow, screwing up her lips and nose as if she didnae agree. ‘How can I see my eyes?’
Logic, another unexpected delight. ‘Ye could look in a mirror.’
‘Not if I’m angry.’ She smiled at him as if she had just won an argument and he decided to let her go on thinking she had.
‘Slide yer feet down this end and I will wash them. Feet are the hardest part to reach.’ She complied without a second bidding, slipping lower into the water until her toes sat close to his groin. Sellie might be annoyed with him but she didnae hold grudges.
Lifting her left foot, he soaped it heel to toe. Her muscles felt tight, sore, as if she had been walking across rocks. To relieve the tension, he let her wee foot sit betwixt both hands and began to rub its sole with his thumbs working the tension away. Her sighs were proof that she enjoyed the treatment, and he took that as encouragement to lift the other foot.
Sellie was almost floating in the tub as she relaxed, and it made him wonder how she breathed under water, which led him to run his thumb across her toes, examining them as they separated. His disappointment must have shown as she asked, ‘What is wrong?’
Caught, he grinned, ‘I wondered if you might have webbed toes.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Likely it’s daft, but thought with ye being a Selkie and all …’ She kicked out at him, splashed him, and he was grateful she couldn’t quite reach the weakest part, considering what he had in mind for it when they left the tub. ‘Ye cannae blame a man for wondering.’
Niall reached out and gripped her hand. ‘Come sit closer, yer too far away. I want to wash yer back.’
Celestina
Celestina did not mind moving to sit with his legs either side of hers. Niall had good hands, big, and strong with a way of wringing sensations out of her body. Even what he had done to her feet had been sensual. If only he had not brought up webbed feet. She had known her problems might multiply when Niall had more time to consider what or who she really was.
Her mother for one would have thought it strange that a big, handsome man, well versed in the customs and beliefs of countries like France, would be taken in by Aileen’s tales of the fae world, although the more Celestina learned of his late wife, she could imagine Niall wanting to believe. From what she could gather, he had spent his days risking his life fighting while his wife stayed at Inverbrevie squandering the spoils he had won.
A splash of Selkie magic would seem irresistible after that. What had yet to become clear was why he had put up with Flora’s nonsense. He was a big, strong handsome man, not one to be trifled with, was there some secret reason why he had not simply tanned her backside, or locked her up as some Spanish husbands would be prone to do? Like Niall, the truth was an enigma, a mystery she determined to solve.
She was to be Niall’s wife; it would be an error to go into the marriage blinded by Niall’s charms. Such as the way his arms held her, her back against his chest, while his fingers wreaked havoc with her senses as they were doing that very moment.
If there were any true magic in the way she and Niall had come together it was in his touch. The way he could make her weak, melt away any resistance she might feel—like now. The length of his arms made it possible for both breasts be tantalised by his caress with one hand and while his other hand slid lower into the dark curls hiding her mons.
‘Ye feel so guid lass, soft as silk,’ he murmured in her ear, his rough breath, tickling her, as she felt him slide his finger inside her. Rolling her head against his chest until it rested in the hollow of his arm and shoulder, she opened for him, the way she had many times before.
Lifting her eyes, she found him watching, felt the heat in his gaze, the flash of red in his black pupils encouraging a response inside her. His hard length pressed into her, and she rocked her hips against him. ‘Aye lass, that’s the way,’ he said, but moments later, Niall lifted her, until with legs draped over his, she sat upon his thighs. ‘Let’s see how ye like this lass, lift up a bit.’
He supported her with his forearm. Celestina held her breath, swallowed, then gradually she sank down onto his shaft. Thick, hot, each time he filled her felt like the first time as new sensations ripped through her. Her womb clenched down on him, the pleasure too much to bear. She moaned, and moaned over and over, marking every thrust, every slide into bliss.
His fingers gripped her hips, held her in place, while flexing his.
She felt that if he did not hold her, she would float away, not in the water, in a cloud of sensation that drove her higher and almost screamed her release in a loud drawn out yell of his name, ‘Niii-aaall’
‘Selll-ie.’ Her name sounded like a prayer as together they reached nirvana while Niall spent his seed inside her. The water sploshed from end to end of the bathing tub while they lay in a heap of arms and legs, exhausted. ‘Dinnae try to move,’ he groaned, his hands smoothing across her shoulder, rubbing her neck and arms. Exhausted, they remained there as the water grew colder, his arms wrapped around her body, leaving her with no desire for the bliss to end.
Chapter 12
Niall
If Niall could name one reason for wishing he hadnae found it necessary to rid himself of Gordon, it was the amount of time the steward’s duties took out of his day. If he had any other complaints, they were his inability to forget yon grand moments of self-indulgence, or think of repeating them, such as sharing the bathing tub with Sellie in the middle of the day.
Never having shared Flora’s tub before, he had never been aware of the delights available in its warm depths with the right partner, something Flora had never been. From the first, she had never welcomed him into her bed for mere pleasure. Nae, he realised now, it was the necessity of providing a McDonall heir, and she had done little to encourage her husband. The only reason they’d had three daughters was simply that all their bairns had been lasses and the moment Flora began to increase he was banned from her bed. As with many other arrangements, money lay at the heart of their marriage.
An arrangement both fathers had settled.
His father would never be allowed to do so again.
Out the whole day, Niall dismounted outside the stables and let one of the lads see to his big bay gelding. The poor beast had been lacking exercise the past couple of weeks and today had been about scanning the far boundaries of his lands, since nae more had been heard of the two dead bodies or the culprit whau had knifed one of them.
As he passed the reins to the stable lad, Niall’s eye caught sight of an enormous grey stallion. One he recognised. ‘We have a visitor?’
‘Aye, Laird,’ the lad said, sounding slightly diffident. ‘Aileen said she would see to him until ye came home.’
Niall nodded. ‘Well mind yerself with that grey; he has a bad habit of kicking out at the least provocation.’
‘Thanks, Laird. I’ll give him a wide berth.’
At least he’d had a warning. He and John Grant had been comrades in arms—mercenaries. Jack, as he was called, had been his lieutenant, his right arm ye might say, and the last time he had seen him was after they disembarked the ship carrying them home from France and rode northwest with their men, horses and the spoils. Jack was the se
cond son of a second son, which put him well down the line of succession. That’s why Jack Grant had teamed up with Niall. Being the poor relative didnae suit him any more than being the McDonall’s heir sat well with Niall.
The kitchen was the last place he had expected to find Jack, but then he wasnae the type to stand on ceremony. He was making himself at home surrounded by all Niall’s lasses, Sellie included. For an instant Niall’s back teeth snapped shut, all that prevented him releasing the growl rising up the back of his throat. Then Jack leapt to his feet and grabbed him, pulled him into his arms and punched him on the shoulder, saying, ‘God’s teeth, man, I’m sorry to hear the news of yer wife. I had nae notion when I set out to find ye.’
‘Aye, it came as a shock to me as well. She had been dead and buried a few months before I ever found out. But this is nae place for a talk, come through with me to the muniment room. I’ve a guid flagon of Uisge beatha there.’
With a wave of the hand, he indicated that Jack should take the most comfortable chair. Turning his back on his friend, Niall delved into the cupboard to retrieve the flagon of whisky and two auld silver Quaich he’d found at the back of the cupboard when he’d first moved to Inverbrevie—after his wedding to Flora that was, and before he’d become heir. Even then, the McDonall had been planning the direction Niall’s life would take. But no more. This time it was about him, not about money, which in the McDonall’s mind equated with power.
‘So what brings ye up here, Jack?’ He put the question with a quirk of his dark brows as he slopped a measure of golden spirits into each Quaish. ‘It’s a bit early to consider going back to France, and profitable though our last venture was, I have three growing daughters to think of now.’
‘Three? I counted four at the kitchen table, and no I dinnae, mean the auld woman.’
‘Aileen, she was my nurse as a lad and she has taken over running the household since Flora died. The fourth lass, well that’s Sellie, and I’m far too young to have fathered her.’
‘Aye.’ He grinned, his teeth white beneath the thick black moustache he favoured. ‘She’s far too bonnie to be yours. If I didnae ken better I would say—apart from yon blue eyes of hers—that ye had captured a wee Spanish lass, Niall, and brought her home with ye.’
‘The only Spanish prize that ever took my fancy is on the wall, over there.’ Niall pointed to an arrangement of lethal steel arranged on the one wall without shelves or cupboards. ‘That piece of Toledo craftsmanship wasnae the height of my ambitions, but they are treasured and rare.’
Jack nodded in agreement. ‘The sort of thing that has to be prised from their owner’s cold, dead hand.’
If Jack awaited an explanation, then he would wait a while. How Niall acquired the sword was his business and not for sharing. ‘Most of the other blades belonged to my father’s father. He left them to me and put the notion into my head to begin collecting, ‘
Jack took a gulp of whisky. ‘I hope ye keep the door locked.’ He nodded at the wall opposite. ‘It’s a fine collection but deadly.’
‘Nae one comes in here without me.’ With a sarcastic curl of his lip, he finished, telling his lieutenant, ‘Not even the steward that I had to hang a couple of weeks ago.’
Jack’s eyes lit up. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, mouth hanging open as if he couldn’t wait for the story, but Niall had other fish to fry and told him, ‘That tale can wait for now, though. Ye have still to explain what brought ye here to Inverbrevie.’
‘It’s like this, Niall. Actually the occasion happened a guid few weeks ago now, but I ken how long it takes for news to reach Inverbrevie. So the long and the short of it, when the news arrived I thought it better to come and consult with ye.’
‘Aye, so ye have said, but instead of skirting around the news, get it out man. We’ve been through all this already, tell me the truth and I’ll live with the result. It surely cannae be any worse than our Queen losing her head in the bluidy Tower.’
‘I just hope it doesnae remove our means of making a living.’ He paused, as if for effect. ‘A few weeks syne, Spain attacked England’s south coast—an Armada they called it. It’s impossible to discover what the French plan to do about this move. Seemingly, Spain have a mass of foot soldiers gathered in the Spanish Netherlands that were supposed to be transported to England by ship, but the heavy weather prevented them. That means all yon soldiers are still in the Netherlands, some of them only a march away from the French border.’
Niall drew in a short sharp breath through his nose, trying to still the anger crawling up the back of his neck until his muscles were so tight he could hardly move his head. ‘Hellfire and damnation! Where did the ships go? Have they returned to Spain?’
‘I did hear a lot of ships were wrecked in the storm. As for the others, there’s nae telling where they ended up; mayhap the Spanish Netherlands or farther north.’
‘So yer the bearer of bad news. Why did ye wait so long to come and tell me? This could change everything for us and our men.’ Or, the thought jumped unaided into his brain, it could be a reason to take over the stewardship and stay at Inverbrevie, giving him an opportunity to make something of the property. What would his father think of that?
The way matters were unfolding, he might soon find out.
He bit his lip, suddenly conceding to himself that he had let his ire get the better of him when he burned the contents of Gordon’s chambers, the tapestries in particular, when he might have sold them. Fortunately he still had the jewellery, and that could fetch a nice sum, add that to the silver Gordon had hidden, and there was the proceeds of the last foray he and Jack had made to France—worth a lot more than the bonnie sword decorating his wall.
Jack quietly sipped his Uisge beatha with nae comment while Niall turned the situation over in his mind, hoping a blinding flash of enlightenment would solve his problem. ‘It’s too early to make a decision. Autumn is already taking a grip on the countryside, and before we’re ready, winter will be licking at its heels. Yon bugger I hanged was robbing me blind.’ He wasnae about to relate to anyone, not even Jack, what else his steward had stolen from him. ‘I’ll probably need to buy in supplies, flour and oatmeal at least, and fodder for the animals to see the Keep through the winter.’
‘Niall, that should be a dawdle for ye.’ Jack emptied his Quaich and got up for a refill. I’m witness that none of yer men ever went without food, and that was while we were in a foreign land forbye.’ He took a long swallow that made Niall wonder if Jack was aware of the liquor’s strength, to be downing it so quickly. ‘And if ye ask me,’ he slurred slightly, ‘hanging was too guid for yon steward. The axe would have served him better.’
‘Happen yer right.’ Niall dug deep into the heart of his motive. ‘I once saw a beheading. It’s not something I care to remember. I have three bairns, three lasses at that. So far they have taken a lot in their stride, their mother breaking her neck in a fall down the stairs. Bad enough it was Fiona, the youngest, who found her—reason enough not to want Inverbrevie tainted with a beheading.’
Jack refilled Niall’s Quaish then plonked his arse back down in his chair before saying thoughtfully, ‘What ye need to do is get yerself a lassie of yer own before winter sets in, one to keep yer bed warm. If needs be, marry her and get a bairn on her—yon heir the McDonall’s always on yer back about.’
Niall snorted almost spilling the sup of whisky he’d been about to take.’ Thanks for the advice, but yer behind hand with it. I’ve already hand-fasted Sellie to me, and asked my father’s priest to come here to Inverbrevie. We’ll marry as soon as he arrives.’ He looked Jack square in the eye. His friend appeared dumbfounded. ‘All of which makes yer arrival opportune, as I can think of nae one I would rather have stand up for me.’ Niall held out his hand, ‘What do ye say?’
Jack stretched out and took his hand, shaking it fiercely with a matching grin on his face, saying. ‘I’m yer man, Niall.’
‘I hope yer of the same opinion when my
father arrives. If I ken the McDonall, I’m certain the priest willnae be let off the leash without my father for company.’
Chapter 13
Celestina
The lasses were excited. Visitors were few and far betwixt at Inverbrevie. According to Aileen, the Keep wasnae the sort of place one arrives on the way to anywhere else. Remote, that’s what Celestina took her comment to mean, yet somehow she hadn’t felt lonely here.
John Grant, according to Aileen, was a nephew to the Chieftain of the Freuchie Grants. Not that he behaved as if he believed his bloodline added to his importance—the difference betwixt Spain and Scotland. At home in Coruña, any hidalgo with even a sprinkling of aristocratic blood, made certain he was given his due—a fair measure of respect. None she had met would ever lower himself to sit at a kitchen table and jest with children the way John Grant had done.
All that had changed the moment Niall returned. He had not said a word, but Celestina knew him well enough now to be sure that the sight of John Grant at ‘his’ table had bothered Niall. He had glowered at his friend. If Niall had been a dog, his hackles would have been up.
As soon as Niall had ushered his friend out of the kitchen, Aileen shooed the lassies upstairs to change in the nursery. ‘Sellie,’ she said to her, ‘Go up and change into a bonnie frock, special for Niall, and while yer at it, lass, do something about yer hair. Make Niall proud.’
That’s why she was standing in the master’s chamber twisting a braid around the top of her crown, attempting to pin it into position, when Niall arrived. ‘What is this, then? Ye look like a princess.’
Celestina blinked up at him and spoke hesitantly, the look of Niall with his brows meeting when he had come into the kitchen jumping to the fore of her memory. ‘Aileen said to dress special, to make Niall proud.’
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