A Woman of Honour

by Marlow Kelly

  “Why were you scouting the MacDougall’s? Are you at war with them?” she asked.

  He stared at her for a moment. “I lied when I told you that.”

  “Why would you do that?

  “I had a fight with my brother, Niall. He’s laird of the Campbells. I stormed out of his castle in a rage and rode hard. I mustn’t have been paying attention because the MacDougalls caught me. It was a stupid thing to do.”

  “What did you fight about?”

  “Marriage.”

  “Whose marriage yours or his?” Her heart thudded in her chest. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Please don’t let him be married.

  “Mine.”

  Tears stung her eyes and she turned her head so he couldn’t see her face.

  “How could you enter into a fistfast marriage with me when you are already married to someone else?”

  “Handfast. The term is handfast. And I am not married to anyone else. We fought because I refused to marry the woman he and the king had picked for me.”

  “Why? Don’t you like her?”

  “I don’t even know her.”

  “Then how do—”

  “She’s not you.”

  “Oh.” She smiled.

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Me.” She brushed tears from her eyes. How was she ever going to leave this handsome, wonderful, difficult, overbearing man?

  “Don’t cry. Is it so bad that I want you?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. You don’t even know me.”

  “I know everything I need to know. You are pretty.” He held up a hand before she could protest. “I think you’re beautiful, honest, good, and kind. And I enjoy arguing with you. “

  “You can’t possibly know those things about me,” she said, trying to come up with some flaw in his thinking. By admitting his feelings he left her with an impossible decision to make. If she thought he didn’t really care for her then she wouldn’t have to decide between him and delivering the letter.

  “Of course I can. I knew the first time I met you.”

  “You mean when I punched you in the dungeon.” Her face burned with the memory.

  He chuckled.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I behaved badly and you put me in my place and you still eased my pain.”

  “Anyone would have done the same.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “How old are you?” she asked, suddenly wanting to know everything about him.

  “Twenty-eight, and you?”

  “Nineteen. Have you ever been married?”

  “Yes, once. My wife died in childbirth.”

  “And the child?”

  “The baby died, too.”

  “I’m sorry.” She sat quietly. There were no words to ease such a loss.

  “You will hear gossip about my marriage,” he said breaking the silence.

  “What kind of gossip?”

  “I tried to be a good husband, but she had expectations I couldn’t meet.”

  “What kind of expectations?”

  “She was a high-born lady from the lowlands. She was used to a certain amount of luxury, luxury I couldn’t provide.”

  “Oh.”

  “And she couldn’t speak Gaelic. I suppose she got lonely. I caught her in the arms of another.”

  “What? How could she do that to you? How could—”

  He stopped rowing and gave her a quick kiss on the lips to quiet her. “It’s all right, but I have no intention of marrying another high-born lady. That’s why I was so angry. My brother knew how I felt, what I’d been through, and he still let the king arrange this marriage. I won’t go through with it.”

  “Why are we heading to Campbell territory if you’re at odds with your brother?”

  “He’s still kin. He will feed us and give us shelter, and if he can’t accept our union then we’ll sail to the Isle of Skye. I have family there.”

  “You would do this for me? Why?”

  “I’m a warrior. I have fought many battles and seen too much blood. I have lost friends and kin. I’m so tired of all the fighting. I’m tired of everything. It’s as if part of me has died. When I’m with you I feel alive again, whole.”

  Isabel could not speak, could not say a word. She wanted to ease his pain, see him smile and laugh. But most of all she wanted to forget about delivering the letter and stay with him.

  Chapter Six

  The sun was high in the sky when they abandoned the boat. The river had narrowed to a small, rocky stream that was impossible to navigate. Holding her hand, Duncan pointed toward the crest of the mountain.

  “Do you see that rise, the one with the rocky spike?”

  “Yes.”

  “Once we clear that peak we will be in Campbell territory.”

  She nodded.

  “Tonight we will be married.” He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her. Her arms looped around his neck as she pulled him closer, enjoying the intimacy. He broke the kiss and put his forehead against hers.

  “Soon, we will lie together in a warm bed.”

  Before she could answer, he released her from his grasp, and began the long run up the mountain. She started after him, her body protesting every move. Her feet, knees, and thighs throbbed, and her lungs ached as she gasped for breath. Even the muscles of her abdomen hurt, although she had no idea why. Isabel was so tired and weary when they cleared the crest she could have cried. Duncan slowed their pace and called a halt at a large, rock formation. The rocks had sheltered the ground from the snow so they had a dry place to sit. He made himself comfortable with his back against the stone. She fell down next to him, exhausted.

  From her vantage point she could see a long strip of shimmering liquid that sparkled like a huge fluid gemstone. A towering fortress sat on an island in the center of the water. Its rigid stonewalls seemed out of place in a land so rugged and wild.

  “That’s Loch Awe.” Duncan pointed to the water.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Aye and it’s home. All we have to do, once we reach the shore, is row across. And we will have food and drink a-plenty.”

  “What’s the name of your castle?”

  “Innis Chonnel.”

  Part of her was relieved to be so close to safety but another part, a larger part, was disappointed that this time alone with him was over. The thought of not being with him for the rest of her life filled her with a searing pain. A pain she knew would never go away. He had said she made him feel alive, and he would give up his home to be with her. But how could she allow him to do that? How could she let him leave his clan for her? She knew what happened to people who lost their homes and their name. She had lived off the charity of others since her father’s death. Edward Longshanks had taken her family, her home, and her future. Could she really, in good conscience, let Duncan suffer the same fate? How could she let him beg for a place in another clan? She couldn’t and wouldn’t be his downfall, even though she wanted to be his wife and bear his children. She wanted to lie with him and feel his skin against hers, feel his hands stroke her body the way they had this morning. She wanted him but she had to let him go. Somehow, she had to find the strength to leave him. Then, she would carry on to Iona and deliver the letter. Once they reached his home everything would change. She shivered and tried to push the misery of the future away.

  “You’re cold.” Duncan leaned over, picked her up, and placed her between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled back her against his chest. She sighed as the warmth of his torso seeped into her. This was the last time she would be alone with him. If she wanted to lie with him and show him how she felt, she had to do it now.

  She twisted in his arms to face him. Then moved a hand to the open neck of his shirt, and stared into his blue eyes. His lips touched hers in a small kiss. That was all the invitation she needed. She pressed herself against him, kissed him deeply, using her tongue the way he had shown her. An all-consumin
g throbbing soared through her body, causing her to groan into his mouth. His tongue tangled with hers. Her hands developed a will of their own as they stroked the warm skin of his neck and shoulders. She moved to straddle his lap and his hands cupped her buttocks. His kneading fingers sent ripples of pleasure cascading through her. Ripples that fanned out and then merged in the private place between her thighs.

  “We need to stop.” He stared into her eyes. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down her spine.

  “No, I want this.”

  “Are you sure?” His hands stilled.

  She touched his cheek, “Yes, I’m sure.”

  A slow smile curved his lips. She leant back, worked his shirt loose from his plaid and pulled it over his head. Her fingers explored his torso, tingling as they touched his chest hair. He moaned and attacked her clothes. Their bodies became a tangle of arms, legs, and fabric as if their clothing had suddenly become too confining.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely once they were naked. His mouth molded to hers, his lips crushing and tender at the same time. He kissed her deeply and pulled her against him. She moaned as her sensitive nipples rubbed against the coarse hair of his chest. He stopped for a moment and stared at her. His eyes expressed a mixture of awe and arousal that made her feel empowered and sensual, the most beautiful woman in the world.

  He pulled her down, twisting her so she came to land on his plaid. When had he laid it down? She tried to remember, but lost her train of thought when he covered her with his body. Then he kissed her, an open-mouthed shattering kiss. Tingling, warmth traversed her body and settled in the sensitive folds between her legs. His hands caressed. Touching and stroking, igniting her senses until she was mindless. She wanted him closer. Wanted more. She pulled at his hair, scratched his shoulders to show him. His lips moved, traced her jaw, and licked the hollow of her neck as he kissed his way down her body, and took her nipple in his mouth. The shock of his mouth on her breast devastated her. This could not be decent and yet it released an overwhelming bliss. She surrendered to his ministrations, arched her back, and tried to push her breast closer to him. Wanting, needing to feel more of this insane ecstasy. For it was neither pleasure nor pain. It was a sensuality that was too much and not enough at the same time. Instinctively, she opened her legs and wrapped them around his waist trying to pull him closer. He stopped and she sank to the ground gasping for breath. Then he started on the other nipple. Sucking and pulling, using his lips and tiny nips of his teeth, he worked her into a frenzy.

  Suddenly, he pulled back, and without warning, thrust into her. A cry escaped her lips before she could stop it. How could such intense pleasure turn into such searing pain? Was God punishing her for giving herself to him? She stifled a sob and turned her head away from his gaze too ashamed to face him.

  “Isabel it’s all right. It’s supposed to be like this the first time,” he croaked, his voice hoarse and thick. “I’ll make it right.”

  He held her head, forcing her to look at him, and kissed her again. She responded twinning her tongue with his until the pain subsided. He moved down to caress her breasts. Once again, she writhed under his sensual attention until she was wild with need.

  “Duncan please. I need…”

  “Are you sure, love?” But he did not wait for an answer. He slowly pushed into her, until he was buried, and then withdrew. He thrust again and again, until she was lost in this world where nothing mattered except the feel of him plunging into her, but it was not enough. She needed more, needed something….

  “I want,” she panted, voicing her frustration.

  “What?” he rasped.

  “More, I don’t know. I need—”

  He increased the speed and strength of his thrusts until she was lost in a world of bliss, a bliss shaped by tenderness, tremors and throbbing. A world where she couldn’t form a simple thought, except to know she wanted more of this all-consuming fire. A fire that pushed her over the edge of reason. Then her world exploded in a dazzling light that vibrated from her innermost folds out to every cell in her body. Once she found satisfaction he gave one last thrust shouting her name as he found his own release.

  They lay entwined in each other’s arms with her head on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke. She enjoyed their closeness. She needed this time to gather herself after the maelstrom of lovemaking. Simply being held by him brought calmness to her. It made her feel loved. It was such a simple thing. She had often heard the servants talk about bedding a man but their encounters sounded more like rutting, and were described with crudities and jests. This experience with Duncan, this bonding, had been tender and torment, anguish and delight. For her it had been love. Yes, she understood now, more than ever that she loved him and making love to him had been more than amazing. There were no words to describe it. But the intimacy they shared now, just lying in each other’s arms was just as precious.

  He pulled her tight, and then rolled so she lay under him. With concern in his eyes he said,

  “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I know but next time there will be no pain, only love.”

  Her heart squeezed and she bit her lip to hold back a sob. There would be no next time. This time with him was a gift, but soon she would have to leave.

  ****

  “Let’s get dressed,” she said sitting up. The hairs on the back of Duncan’s neck stood on end. Something was wrong. Why was she avoiding his gaze? She had willingly given herself to him. Was she having second thoughts? He could not allow that. If he had to burn his flesh to hers she would understand she belonged with him. That the life they could have together would be better than anything they could have apart.

  Isabel was not a woman accomplished at hiding her feelings. Her emotions showed plainly on her face. He watched her as she pretended to concentrate on untangling her shirt from her tunic. She gave a hard tug to untwist the fabric and a small, brown leather pouch fell to ground.

  She froze, her eyes wide. The pouch itself was not so alarming. He expected her to be carrying a few coins or trinkets but her reaction to his seeing it caught his attention. He bent and picked it up. It felt light and for a moment he wondered if it was empty. But when Isabel’s face paled, he knew something was wrong.

  “What’s this?” he asked holding it in front of her.

  She hesitated.

  He tore it open to find it contained a letter, nothing else, no valuables of any kind, just a damned letter. For a moment he wondered if it was an introduction to the Abbott of Iona, but from the way she bit her lip, and avoided his gaze he guessed there was more to it. Pulling the missive out, he turned it over and read the name imprinted on the red, wax seal.

  “Would I be wrong in assuming this seal belongs to Bishop Lamberton?”

  She shook her head.

  He stuffed the document back into the pouch and waved it in her face, “When were you going to tell me you were carrying a message for the Bruce?

  “I wanted to tell you, but when you called him a coward, I knew you were not a supporter, so I decided to deliver it myself.” She put her hands on her hips and defiantly put her nose in the air, but the stance was undermined when her eyes filled with tears. A burning rage consumed him.

  “And how are you going to do that?” he roared.

  “I’m going to Iona and will give it to the Mother Superior. Hopefully she will be able to find the king.”

  “So you weren’t going there to become a nun?”

  “Yes, I was but then there was you—”

  “What about me?”

  “You ruined me.”

  “You chose to be ruined.”

  She blushed, “Yes, I know I did but—”

  “You are staying with me.”

  She sprang at him, her fists pounding his chest as a cry of pain burst from her core. “How do you expect me to be happy? How can I live with you and bear your children knowing I let everyone down? Knowing you are desti
tute because of me? How?” A sob erupted from her throat as tears streaked her face. “Tell me Duncan. How will I ever be content? I…I have to—”

  She crumbled to her knees and wept. As angry as he was, he couldn’t stand to see her in such despair. He pulled her to her feet, wrapped his arms around her, and made soothing sounds hoping to calm her. Eventually she quieted. They stood silently in each other’s embrace. Duncan ran over everything she had told him. She had disguised herself as a boy, survived an attack by the English, and travelled alone through the Highlands. That in itself was brave enough, but she was also carrying a letter from the king’s top advisor. The English had to know about it. That was why they had attacked the group of monks.

  But she had still kept it from him. This young, brave, beautiful woman, a woman who had the power to light the darkest part of his soul, did not trust him. He knew it was unreasonable to expect someone who had only known him for two days to trust him, but that was exactly what he wanted. And it hurt that she didn’t.

  He pushed her away.

  “You need to finish dressing,” he growled

  She nodded, grabbed her clothes, and struggled into them. Once they were ready, they started down the mountain again in silence. He had not given her back the pouch. Instead he tucked it into his belt, unsure of what to do with it. Part of him wanted to destroy it, but he couldn’t. Being angry with the man who was his king was acceptable, but betraying his country was an entirely different matter. He had gone to war, killed, and watched men die. He had done it not for his king but for his family, clan, and country. He could never betray them. He glanced at Isabel walking with her head down. She had risked everything for Scotland, even her modesty. It seemed they were more alike than he had ever imagined.

  Had she said something about him being destitute? Did she feel responsible for his decision to leave his clan? It seemed so. He would have to set her straight. He needed to convince her that staying with him, no matter where they lived, was necessary to his well-being. Staying with the Campbells without her was not enough. He needed her. He wanted to hold her in the night and kiss her awake every morning. He wanted to love her. Yes, she was his love and he needed her love in return.