He thought of Juliana waiting inside, and his discouragement lessened. Being with her—alone with her—would be heaven enough to ease his private hell.
* * *
Supper, shared with Laurie, consisted of old ale and some sort of burned meat. Gawain ate sparingly and thanked Laurie for preparing it, then asked where Juliana was, since he had not yet seen her since his return an hour or so earlier.
"Claimed she was not hungry and retired to her tower chamber before you came in," Laurie answered.
"I was just there, writing down my notations on the landscape I saw today," Gawain said. "She was not there."
"She is elsewhere in the castle, then," Laurie said. "I am sure of it." He cleared his throat.
"You do not sound so certain," Gawain observed. "Laurie, did you lose sight of her today?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.
Laurie shrugged. "She, ah, slipped away when we were down by the loch. But she only went for a swim with her wee swans. She said she likes to do that," he added.
Gawain lifted a brow. "She spoke to you?"
"Aye," Laurie said proudly. "The lass trusts me now."
"She cannot be allowed to stray too far and get herself—and us—into mischief," Gawain warned.
Laurie nodded with brusque conviction. After bidding him good night, Gawain walked out to search for Juliana, wondering if she was in the kitchen or the stables, or walking in the bailey.
He saw her standing on the wallwalk overlooking the loch, watching the night sky darken over the mountains. She seemed to hold her own light, pale as a moonbeam. He climbed the steps and walked toward her. She did not turn as he approached, as if she knew he was there and calmly accepted his presence.
A long plaid woolen shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. Under it she wore a simple linen chemise. Her hair poured over her shoulders, brushed to a silvery sheen in the darkness.
"The sky is beautiful," she said, looking across the loch.
"Aye," he answered. "I was admiring it myself while I rode back here. I saw the swans out on the loch, though 'tis dark. A lovely and peaceful sight."
She nodded agreement. "The swans will swim all through the night, resting briefly here and there. In the course of a day and night they travel the loch and the water meadow and streams near the abbey and the mill." She pointed out their path with a sweep of her hand from one end of the loch to the other. "Early in the morning, they are here, and at midday, they are at the abbey, for they know the monks will feed them. Each evening they come back to Elladoune. They always find their way back here."
"As did you." He glanced at her.
"My path was hardly the peaceful circuit that the swans make. Gawain, Father Abbot sent word this morn to invite you to the abbey, but you had already left to ride out to Dalbrae."
"I plan to go to Inchfillan soon."
"So you saw the sheriff and my brothers?"
"I went there, but De Soulis has not yet arrived. I was not permitted to see your brothers, though the guards assured they are well. After that, I rode the hills."
"Looking for rebels?" she asked tartly.
"Exploring," he answered. "Learning the land."
"Ah. Every garrison commander must know his territory."
"I suppose. And what did you do today? Swim for freedom?"
She shot him a quick look. "The day was warm, and the water is lovely this time of year. I often swim in the loch."
"I remember. I pulled you out of there once."
"As if I needed it. I would have made it to shore all on my own that night," she said, folding her arms.
"But you would not have made it past the Sassenachs."
"I did today," she said crisply.
"Promise me you will not disappear like that again. Laurie was concerned, and embarrassed to have lost you. Though he is pleased you decided to speak with him," he added.
"I like him well," she said. "But you can hardly expect me to disrobe in the open if I want to swim a bit."
"Do not go swimming at all. 'Tis dangerous."
"I am a strong swimmer. And the loch is calm."
"De Soulis and his men are the danger," he pointed out.
"So am I a prisoner, then?"
"We agreed you would stay between the castle and the abbey for the time being. Would you rather De Soulis set the rules?"
"You may set them." Her meek response surprised him. He expected more argument. "Gabhan—I must ask a favor."
As before, she softened his name to Gaelic. She could not know the effect that had on him, but she used it unerringly to her advantage. He was ready to grant her anything. "Aye?"
She hugged her arms over her chest. He wondered what she guarded so close. "There are people living in the forest near here. Some are my kin, and the rest are friends. They are homeless since the English destroyed their village."
"I saw the ruin of it."
"Now the sheriff's men have burned part of their forest home. Father Abbot mentioned it, and then I saw the damage myself today, when I... went for a swim. They need shelter and safety. Gabhan, I want to bring them here to live at Elladoune," she went on quickly.
He glanced at her in surprise. "You expect me to allow Scots rebels to quarter in an English-held castle?"
"I hoped you would act the charitable knight, not the king's man," she said curtly. "They are good folk in need of help, not warriors. There is plenty of room here with the garrison gone. This was once my family's home." She sighed, shook her head. "You do not understand."
"I do. You are loyal to your friends. But there may be troops here soon. What then?"
"I heard De Soulis say that Elladoune might be closed down by the English king."
"So you think to give the castle over to the Scots before the English have even left it?"
She looked away. He saw her brow fold, saw her mouth work in anger—or distress. "They are in need. There are children among them, and women, and elderly folk. A woman great with child, her four bairns, a man who is a dimwit, a blind man, old ones gone feeble but keeping their pride—"
"Stop." He held up a hand. "Do not weaken me so." He said it sincerely. "I have obligations to consider."
She bowed her head. "Please," she whispered.
He blew out a breath, unable to refuse her even if he had wanted. "We can shelter the neediest of them here. No more. Certainly no rebels."
Her smile glowed for an instant. "My thanks. I will go tomorrow to fetch them. You will not regret it, I promise."
"I will, if I lose my head for it," he murmured.
"We will not say who they are, if the sheriff comes by," she said. "They will have ready hands for the chores and can tend the livestock. They can be pages and grooms and serving maids. And there will be women to bake and brew and cook—"
"Now that," he drawled, "you should have said first. I was wondering how long we could survive on Laurie's concoctions."
She smiled. "And I could have a few ladies' maids, too."
"A few? How many do you have in mind to bring here?"
She tilted her head. "How fine a lady do you want me to be?"
He laughed, and she smiled again. Pale and beautiful in the moonlight, she seemed ethereal and magical. For a moment, he found it easy to believe that she was an enchanted swan.
"I am grateful," she said. "I hoped I could trust you to be the Swan Knight I remember-—chivalrous and willing to help those in need. Just think how often you have saved me."
Her words touched him deeply, but he would not show it. "Ah, well. You seem to need saving, now and again."
She tilted another glance toward him. The pull between them felt strong and clear. Suddenly he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her—yet he would never force that on her.
He looked away, his gaze scanning the magnificent view over the loch. "Those mountains—what are they called?"
"Those are only hills. The true mountains are in the upper Highlands."
"They look like mountains to me."
"Ach, well, the Sassenachs have only low, plain hills in England." A little smile played around her mouth.
"Aha. And what is that tall peak called, over there?"
"That high one we do call a mountain—Beinn Beira."
"Mountain of Beira, the old Celtic goddess of winter," he said. She turned with him, and they strolled on the wallwalk. "You del have a little Gaelic." She sounded impressed.
"Aye. Is there one near here called... Beinn an Aodann?"
She shook her head. "I have never heard that name. Why? Are you ordered to claim some new property for your king?"
He shot her a quick look. "I was just curious. It means... mountain of the face."
"It does. But I havena heard of it." She paused. "Tell me how a privileged English knight knows Gaelic."
"A Highland nurse watched over me from birth. She remained with us until I was old enough to become a page. I never forgot the Gaelic. 'Tis a beautiful language. What of you? Your English is very good." He wanted to deflect her questions away from his upbringing.
"Me? I was born at Elladoune. We were happy here," she whispered. She looked out over the battlement. "And the monks taught us to read some, and taught us English and Latin." She paused. "Gawain, please help me free my brothers—all of them."
The wallwalk ended where it met the largest corner keep at the part of the castle that overlooked the loch. He stopped in the shadows. "I will ask after them. The two in De Soulis's keeping—what were their misdeeds? You have not said."
"Alec and Iain are scarce more than babes. The sheriff took them to keep a tight fist on Inchfillan and the abbot."
Puzzled, he looked askance at her. "Babes?"
"Seven and nine."
"God save us," he murmured. "Children. I did not know."
"You see why I must have them back safely, and soon."
"I will do what I can." He reached out to brush a windblown lock of hair from her brow.
She lifted her head. Her eyes gleamed like the night sky, indigo sparkled with stars.
"You remind me of a swan at times," he murmured. He skimmed his palm along her sleek hair to her shoulder. "Slender, pale, gracefully made." His heart beat fast in his chest. "Faithful. Passionate. Loyal."
"If I am like them at all, it is in my need for my freedom. And in my need for an established home as well... Ach," she said. "You have never lost a home."
"I understand," he said firmly, "more than you think." Like her, he craved liberty and sought his true home. But he stifled one need and pursued the other secretly. Her own passions were clear and candid. He admired that. He loved it.
Reaching out, he traced his fingers along her jaw. She lifted her chin, lengthening her throat. Heart drumming, he leaned toward her.
She shifted her head closer, and he felt her breath upon his lips. He touched her arm slowly. Wanting to pull her close, he knew it must come from her first. He would stand in shadows and moonlight forever if he must, and wait.
A tilt of her head, and the tip of her nose nudged his, seeking. Then her lips touched his in a faerylike caress.
He leaned forward to kiss her full upon the mouth. The taste and feel of her was blissfully familiar to him now. She opened her mouth easily, with a breathy little moan. The sound made him throb, fill, harden. He kissed her again, heart and blood surging.
Passion laced with tenderness streamed through him, followed by a sense of love so pure that it rocked him. His private sadness over his futile search for his home began to lessen. He realized that she was a haven for his spirit and heart.
The evening wind blew through his hair and hers, weaving the dark and light strands together. She pulled back from his kiss.
"Come away," she said breathlessly. "We will be seen."
"We are wed," he murmured, and sought her lips again.
"Come away," she whispered. She turned toward the door of the tower.
He opened the door and drew her inside and up the spiral steps, where moonlight poured over the stone.
* * *
Preceding him as they climbed the stairs, she was aware of her thundering heart, and she was aware, too, of a tumult of anticipation. Beneath it, she felt utter calm and certainty. Their kisses had sparked the hunger that had begun at Avenel.
She wanted to be with him inside the sanctuary of their curtained tied, where passion could burn clean between them. The knots and tangles that surrounded them in the outer world would blissfully dissolve for a while there.
Gawain reached the upper landing and opened the door, waiting for her. His stillness told her that he offered her the chance to stop now, to turn away or change her mind.
She walked past him and drew upon his arm as she went by. He came behind her, closing the door. She turned into his embrace and sought his mouth again, more boldly than before.
Cradling her face, he kissed her again, this time so slowly and thoroughly that she felt herself melt like honey in sunlight. She wanted to sink into his arms, into his skill and surety, into the allure of what was to come.
Her knees felt uncertain, and the floor seemed to drop away beneath her feet. She stepped back toward the bed. Unfastening the silver brooch that closed her plaid, she let the woolen cloth slip to the floor.
The room was dim, with pools of bright and dark created by flickering candlelight. She walked to the bed and sat. The divided curtain parted around her, iron rings chinking.
He stood watching her, utterly still and silent. She realized that he waited because he wanted this decision to be hers: she could end this, or continue it.
The gap between them felt too wide, a tug of the heart. She yearned for his strength, his warmth, his vibrancy. Shifting inside the shelter of the bed, her invitation was clear.
He turned away to remove his belt, kick off his boots, strip off his tunic, slow and deliberate. She knew he still meant to give her time, but she did not need it.
His body gleamed golden in the candle's glow. She had never seen him fully nude, and she drew in a breath, stunned by the elegance and strength of his body. He bent to blow out the flame, and turned in the shadows to face her.
Desire took sure form in a man, she knew, and she studied him, curious, intrigued, wondering. He stepped forward through the divided curtains, placing a knee upon the thick, fragrant heather-stuffed mattress, so that it sank a little.
She rose, kneeling, and drew off her chemise slowly, letting him see her in shadows as she saw him, though her heart pounded at the boldness of it. He drew the curtain shut and moved toward her. Scant light seeped through the fine weave of the cloth.
Inside the private sanctum of the bed's interior, he wrapped his fingers around her arms and pulled her toward him. His body pressed against hers, his skin firm and fiery, touching her all at once. Kneeling with him, she looped her arms around his shoulders and leaned into him, breath quickening.
His kiss was rich and potent, and she opened her mouth to his exploration of her. He slid his hands down the sinuous curve of her spine, his palms hot as they rested upon the lowest slope. Her body curved against his warmth and hardness, and she shifted her hips to deepen the cradle. He groaned low.
When his hand swept her breasts, she felt herself pearl and grow firm beneath his fingers, then between his lips. She arched back, shivering, and he supported her with a hand at the small of her back, kissing, suckling, until she cried out. His touch felt new and alive and astonishing, but her body had an urge, a questing insistence. She wanted—needed—far more from him.
He lowered her to the bed and she stretched out, wrapped in his embrace, closing her eyes at the simple ecstasy of the moment. As he kissed her again, she slid her hands over his shoulders, his back and torso, skin layered smooth over muscle.
The beat of his heart was fast and strong under her palm, and she sank her fingers into the thick silk of his hair. Glossy as midnight, it was the only softness she found in him. The rest was hard strength tempered with tenderness, the quiet hallmark of his character.
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He explored her, lips and fingers cajoling and stroking. In turn, she sighed and sought his body with her own hands and lips. She savored its planes, its fluid, shifting grace and power. The sensations of touching and being touched had a potency like dark wine, warming her. Longing for more, she ached inside.
When his fingertips traced lower, she opened to him. Wild yet gentle, rapture stirred and flashed in her, and took her like a storm. Cresting, crying out, she subsided in his arms.
She pulled at his waist, urging him toward her, and he bent to kiss tier again. He slid closer and she moaned, impatient with need: the throbbing inside of her could only be soothed by him.
Carefully, he covered her, sought her, parted her, and slipped inside. A breath, a moment's pause—she felt him there, steady and rigid. The small pain passed, and he eased deep, surging. Another storm, sweet and wild, arose, and she entered its current with him. Love filled her, overflowed in her.
When he kissed her soft on mouth and separated, he reached out for the curtain. Murmuring a protest, she drew him toward her. She did not want their sanctum breached, even by a thread of moonlight. Not yet.
Chapter 23
Late the next day, Gawain stood in the bailey yard of Elladoune. The portcullis had been raised high by two monks, who stood in the yard watching with him as a group of people walked up the hill toward the entrance arch.
Juliana strode in the lead, her hand in the elbow crook of an elderly woman. On her other side was a young man, large and soft-bellied, carrying a basket filled with ducks.
Behind them, Laurie led his horse, on which a woman perched, pretty, dark-haired, and in late pregnancy. Four children walked behind them leading an elderly man by the hand. Behind them came another group of women and children, along with Brother Eonan.
Most of them carried bundles, while the children and the women herded several animals up the hill. He saw two shaggy ponies with netted panniers containing a host of clucking chickens, and behind them, a few goats, several sheep, a small, shaggy, black-haired cow, and two long-legged dogs.
As they straggled through the gate, Juliana walked toward Gawain with the old woman. "Husband," she said, "this is Beithag. She says she would like to be our cook, if you will have her." She murmured to Beithag in Gaelic, so low and rapid he caught only some of it. Daimheach, he heard: friend.
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] Page 21
