Yield to the Highlander

by TERRI BRISBIN

  ‘Aye,’ he said, with a frown. ‘But I do not think that is the book I thought it to be.’

  ‘Should you return it now?’ she asked, picking up the wrapping to prepare it.

  He opened it and let the pages separate. She saw numbers, large ones, painted in bright colours and gold and silver on their edges.

  ‘Will you read it? Some of it? Even if you must return it?’ she asked, leaning her chin on her uplifted hands. His voice always thrilled her, so she could not wait to hear him read passages from it. ‘Is it in Latin? Greek?’ Since she could read neither those nor any other, it mattered not. Only that he could mattered.

  ‘Neither. French, the language of the royal court,’ he said. ‘Choose a number you have practised and I will read that page.’

  Aidan walked around the table and sat next to her. The bench was not so long that she could get very far from him. And that was a good thing, for he wanted her close, under his hand, able to be kissed when he wanted to.

  ‘As you can see,’ Cat said, pointing at the slate, ‘I struggle with even the simplest number. So, page one.’

  Aidan carefully lifted the pages until he found the one embellished with the number she chose. Opening it and spreading it out before them, he noticed the illustrations were of a garden, filled with many flowers and plants and trees. A voluptuous woman, with the same colouring as Cat, stood in the middle with her arms open in welcome.

  ‘My beloved is mine, and I am his. He feedeth me among the lilies.’

  The images might have been tame enough, but these words were words of love and desire, expressed by a king. This book was not the storybook he thought he’d taken from the shelf, but another kind of book completely.

  ‘Let me try another,’ he said, turning to Catriona. ‘Choose another page.’

  ‘Four,’ she whispered.

  Aidan turned back to that page and read the verse at the top to her. This one was covered in vines and grapes. Barrels of wine sat in the centre of it.

  ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for his love is better than wine.’

  These verses were the infamous Songs of Solomon, words of love and passion and desire. Words usually kept hidden from those not educated to read in Latin. But these words were in French, the language of the English court. And he doubted that this book had been created by the holy monks.

  He was about to close the book when Cat tugged on his arm.

  ‘Page six, I pray you,’ she said on a sigh. She did not lean away this time after making her request and he could feel the weight of her breasts against his arm and her thigh against his. So could the randy lad.

  ‘A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me. He shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.’

  ‘Oh, my.’ Her voice was breathless and her own breasts strained against her gown. She leaned over to look at the images on this page and she gasped.

  No flowers. No vines. No plants, except for the small pouch of leaves resting between the breasts of the same voluptuous woman from page eight, now naked and lying with a naked man.

  ‘Page eight,’ she said, her hand on his thigh now, urging him on. Aidan turned to it, not daring to glance at the illustrations first.

  ‘Awake, O north wind; and come thou south. Blow upon my garden that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.’

  Catriona was panting now, pressing against him and stroking his thigh. Did she even realise she did these things? Or was the spell of the words and images so strong that her body reacted without thought? His gaze took in her open mouth and her breasts against his arm, threatening to spill out of her gown, and he dared a look at the images that she saw there.

  The naked woman reclined on a bench while wisps of wind blew above her. Her legs lay spread open and her lover... He closed the book, nearly catching her nose as she leaned in to look more closely at the forbidden images there.

  ‘What kind of book is this, Aidan?’ she asked.

  ‘A forbidden one,’ he said, his own body ready to experience the delights described within it. ‘One meant to entice and arouse.’

  ‘Are you enticed, Aidan?’

  He swallowed and swallowed against the desire pouring through him. He would have thought her innocent and unaware had her hand not slipped at just that moment and touched the very proof of how aroused he was. ‘Aye, Catriona, I am that.’

  Pleased by her growing boldness, he slid his hand up under her gown and shift and sought proof of her body’s reaction. The folds of flesh between her legs were moist and she arched against his hand, pushing his fingers in deeper.

  ‘As am I.’ She sighed.

  Boldness to meet hers, he pushed the book aside and lifted her on to the table. It took no time at all to throw her skirts out of his way, loosen his trews and fill her. She grabbed on to his arms, her head tossing side to side as her flesh tightened around him, urging him on to the oblivion of release. Faster than he could have imagined, his erection tightened within her, pouring his seed deep in her womb. Her own release, coming in waves of spasms he felt surrounding his flesh, milked him dry.

  Their breathing echoed through the chamber and it took some minutes for them to gather their wits. How did she drive him so mindless with desire? ’Twas not as though he was some untried youth, never having tupped a woman before. He was practised and experienced, yet he acted in an artless, hungry manner whenever he could have her. He could blame it on the long interval between taking a woman to bed, but he’d had longer. He could blame it on the length of time it had taken to have her, but he’d pursued other women for longer.

  So, it came back to her. Catriona MacKenzie caused this reaction, this constant need for her, this growing desire to be with her, to be in her.

  He stepped back and tied his laces and then held out his hand to her.

  ‘You must object, Cat, and not let me treat you so,’ he warned. ‘If you do not require better behaviour from me, you are likely to find yourself—’

  ‘Tupped on a table?’ she asked. Pushing her skirts down and sliding from the table, she looked back at it. ‘’Twas more pleasant than I expected it would be.’

  ‘Catriona!’ he pleaded. ‘You must set bounds, for I have none when it comes to seeking pleasure with you.’ ’Struth, he would have her in any manner at any time and in any place, if it were up to him.

  ‘Are there bad places to...tup?’ she asked, gathering her tangled hair and shaking it loose over her shoulders. Those breasts pressing against her gown... All this talk of tupping right after they’d tupped was not good. It would lead to more. Still, she had asked.

  ‘I have not found any yet, though I do seek comfortable places. A bed is my favourite place.’

  ‘Let me wrap the book so you can take it back,’ she said, reaching for the cloth and the book.

  ‘Ah, but there are so many numbers you have not learned yet. Let us keep it for a while longer.’

  The flash in her eyes told him she wanted to find out what other pleasures were suggested in the ornate book. For now, he needed no other inspiration but her. Aidan brought her closer, wrapped the length of her hair around his fist and drew her mouth to his, tasting the sweetness he knew he would find.

  * * *

  The night passed quickly and he left her sleeping the next morning with a whispered word and soft kiss on the mouth that showed she’d been well loved during that night. And over the next days and nights, Aidan showed her that there was nothing and nowhere forbidden between two lovers who sought pleasure together.

  Though she balked at displays of affections when others could see them, she never refused him anything when in private. His favourite had been finding her on her knees in the garden, digging out weeds. He’d crept up from behind her, wrapped his arms around her to hold her up and taken
her that way—fast, deep thrusts with her not moving except to push back against him until they finished. Then, he discovered that cleaning off the mud had brought as much pleasure as getting dirty had been.

  As the time came for his parents to leave for MacCallum lands, Aidan knew that this time of having who and what he wanted was coming to an end. He just worried over Catriona’s reaction when he asked her to remain with him after his required marriage.

  For he had discovered that getting who he wanted this time made him want her even more. And he did not wish to part from the woman who gave him all that she was, asking nothing in return.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The snows had melted from the high mountain passes and, in two days, she and Connor and the others would journey to the lands of her family for her brother’s wedding to Rurik’s daughter. She still marvelled that Athdar had survived Isobel’s pursuit of him when her father had been opposed to the match. But, Athdar saving the man’s life could have been the turning point in taking him seriously.

  As Jocelyn walked through the village, visiting the sick and checking with the merchants and the healer about supplies, she looked for any sign of Catriona MacKenzie there. Connor had done as she’d asked and sent Aidan off on a task that would keep him from the village this day for she wished to have words with the woman who’d clearly captured her son’s heart...whether he knew it or not.

  The signs were there for all to see—he spoke of her often, whether at table or while carrying out his duties. He praised her abilities and her attempts to learn to read and write. He spoke of her garden. He spoke of her quiet sense of humour. That he spoke of her at all—a woman he’d pursued, set up as his leman and now spent every possible moment with—told Jocelyn how serious this was.

  He was a healthy young man and, like any of that age, had a string of women in his bed and he in theirs. ’Twould always be so when their blood ran hot and they had only to beckon with a soft gesture or word. But Aidan had never once spoken the names of any of the ones before Catriona to his parents. Never once paid his own coins to buy her a house. And he’d never cared whether his exploits spread through the village or keep.

  But he did now. Other than him speaking so highly of this woman, no stories passed through kith and kin about them. He did not boast to his friends, he did not include his friends in drunken reveries that resembled orgies of olden days and he allowed only Rurik’s son Dougal to visit the house he’d bought her with him.

  Jocelyn headed towards the cottage of Gair’s sister now. Ciara was busy with her father at the keep, so Catriona could not be there this morn. From what Peggy had learned, the woman kept to herself most of the time, spending time with Ciara when she was available and helping her friend Muireall with her chores. Now reaching the path to Muireall’s cottage, she let Peggy knock on the door.

  ‘Good day, my lady,’ Muireall called out as she came outside, a wee babe on her hip. Jocelyn recognised the family resemblance between this woman and her brother, their steward.

  ‘Good day, Muireall,’ she said. ‘How does the wee one fare?’ The babe gifted her with a gummy smile and drool spilt down the boy’s chin. His mother wiped it without pause.

  ‘Teething early, my lady. The youngest of mine so far.’

  ‘Is Catriona MacKenzie about?’ Jocelyn asked.

  ‘Oh, nay, not now. She stopped by earlier, but has been gone for an hour or more.’ Muireall’s frown declared her friend worried. ‘Lady, she is a kind and gentle woman,’ she began to explain. ‘She—’

  ‘Muireall, have no worries over my enquiry.’ Jocelyn was struck by two things—Catriona’s friend’s loyalty and her fear. ‘Aidan spoke of her garden and I bring her some cuttings from mine.’

  Muireall’s face lightened, but concern still filled her gaze. ‘Do you know where...?’ She shook her head. ‘I am certain you do, my lady.’

  ‘Aye, I know the house. Good day to you,’ Jocelyn said, walking on towards the edge of the village.

  There was no doubt in her mind that everyone who saw her this day knew her path and knew whom she sought. News travelled quickly and Jocelyn also knew that her son would hear of her visit when he returned. But, it was time to assess for herself how far this relationship had gone and how dangerous it was.

  She knew the house and its location for she’d visited it when some kin stayed there some years ago. Connor kept it empty for use when guests came to call and when discretion was necessary, for its location and position close to the forest gave it a measure of privacy that many village houses, cottages and crofts did not have.

  Perfect for a man and his leman.

  Peggy walked to the door and would have knocked if a loud and very bold epithet had not echoed from the walled yard next to the house. Guessing from the feminine tone that Catriona worked there, Jocelyn approached the wall and followed it around until she reached the gate which, convenient for privacy, was positioned facing the forest and not the lane. She found Catriona sitting in the middle of the garden in the dirt.

  ‘Good day, Mistress MacKenzie,’ she called out in greeting.

  ‘My lady.’ Catriona pushed to her feet, shaking the dirt from her gown as she quickly came to the gate. ‘Good day to you,’ she said, curtsying before her. ‘How may I serve you, my lady?’ she asked, as she rose and pushed open the gate.

  ‘Aidan spoke of your garden and your love of betony, so I brought you some cuttings from the garden at the keep.’ She held out her hand to Peggy and the girl handed her the basket she’d brought. ‘There are also some herbs and a few for flowers,’ she added. ‘Every garden needs some colour, I think.’

  ‘Your generosity is appreciated, Lady MacLerie.’ Catriona motioned to the door. ‘May I offer you some cool water inside? I fear I have little else other than some ale. Oh, or some whisky that Aid— Your son brought here for his use.’

  Jocelyn followed the woman inside, sending Peggy back to the keep. She wanted a private discussion with Catriona and wanted no other ears nearby.

  She did not know what she thought she would find inside, but the house was clean and neat with few decorations or personal belongings. A few cushioned chairs sat near the hearth, with some plaid blankets tossed over the backs, making an inviting scene. The cooking area was clean and the table clear. On a shelf near the cooking area sat a certain book, wrapped in oilcloth, most likely to keep it protected and to keep it covered.

  ‘I was surprised when he took this book for you.’

  Jocelyn laughed then as she remembered not knowing how to ask her son if he realised the book he’d chosen was not a storybook. But how did a woman explain to her son, grown or not, that his father had brought it back to his mother as a special gift for the two of them to share? And shared it they had, many, many times. ‘I notice it has not been returned to me yet,’ she said.

  From Catriona’s blush, it was clear her son and his leman had shared it as well.

  ‘How are your lessons coming?’ Jocelyn asked. As the woman’s blush deepened and she stammered, Jocelyn knew her words had been taken wrongly. ‘Your reading and writing lessons? From Ciara?’ she clarified.

  ‘Forgive me, my lady,’ she said. ‘I thought you meant...But then you could not have meant... Forgive me,’ she said. Catriona offered a seat in one of the chairs and then went to the pantry, still mumbling under her breath.

  ‘A cup of water, if you please, Catriona,’ she called out.

  Soon they sat together in the silence.

  ‘The last time we spoke, it was a difficult time for you. How do you fare now?’ she asked.

  ‘I thank you for your help when Gowan died, my lady. He was a good man and he sav...’ Catriona paused then for a moment. ‘He was a good man.’

  Had she started saying that Gowan had saved her? Jocelyn wondered about that, but let it go for now.

  ‘My
son said you refused him while Gowan yet lived?’

  ‘Aye, my lady, I did. I held true to the vows I spoke with Gowan. No matter what the rumours,’ she said. Catriona shifted in her chair and drank from the cup.

  ‘Were you forced to this? Did he, did Aidan, pressure you to this?’ Jocelyn motioned her hand to the house. ‘I pray you, tell me true and do not try to protect him. I know my son and he can be...persuasive when it comes to women and filling his bed.’

  If she was shocked by Jocelyn’s candour, the woman did not show it. Instead, she answered the personal and prying, her son would call them, questions in a calm, thoughtful manner, keeping her dignity as she was questioned about things a mother rarely spoke of to her son’s woman.

  ‘His guilt caused him to arrange this house. I ken he thinks that his pursuit of me robbed me of house and home, but I think that would have happened on Gowan’s death, no matter.’

  Catriona had no idea of the true part in her husband’s death that Aidan had played. If she did...

  ‘But I gain so much from this arrangement, my lady. A house for my use as long as I need it. An education in letters and numbers that someone like me would never have had. And a short respite from grief and pain.’

  ‘A short respite? Is he leaving you?’ He had tired of women quickly, moving from one to another in a ceaseless process over these last several years. But surely not already?

  Catriona stood then and walked to the open door. Staring out it, she shook her head and then met Jocelyn’s gaze.

  ‘Oh, nay, not yet,’ she said softly. Taking a breath and letting it out, she turned and faced her. ‘But I know you seek a wife for him and I know he must marry soon. And, lady, I know my place and it will not be at his side.’

  Jocelyn stood and walked to her side now. Her heart hurt somehow at this woman’s sense of how things would work. There was no regret or shame in her voice, no disrespect in her tone. But there was also no hope, only a clear understanding of Aidan’s future and her own separate one.