He wanted to love her every night for the rest of his life. And this deed made him determined to triumph, to ensure that he survived the curse of the Elphine Queen, to offer for his lady and keep her from any shame. He wanted to defend her for years to come, to savor her and to love her.
Every day and night of his life.
Murdoch drove himself deep within Isabella, watching the flush rise over her breasts, watching her nipples grow tight and dark, watching her lips part and her eyes shine. He touched her with greater insistence, wanting her to find that release before he spilled his own seed. He saw her stretch for the roof, heard her gasp, felt her harden once again beneath his touch.
And when she cried out in ecstasy, Murdoch rolled her beneath him in one smooth gesture. She instinctively wound her legs around his waist and he felt snared by this woman and her touch.
Even better, there was nowhere else he yearned to be.
Murdoch caught her nape in his hands, bracing his weight on his elbows, and kissed her deeply. It took only three strokes for him to explode with a pleasure beyond any he had ever experienced before.
For there was no woman who could ever hold a candle to his Isabella.
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
Murdoch had told her the truth. Isabella laid beneath him, running her fingers through his hair as he slumbered against her. His face was buried against her neck, his breath soft on her throat, his seed warm inside her. Even as he dozed, he still braced his weight above her.
Protecting her.
Even from himself.
Isabella closed her eyes and hoped that Murdoch’s seed took root within her. She would be glad to bear his child, but she would be more glad to bear that child with him by her side. She could not lose him, not now. It would be unjust to find such a treasure as the magic between them, only to have it stolen away.
Still there was the matter of the Elphine Queen. Isabella bit her lip as she recalled that gruesome orb.
It seemed that the wind outside the cottage grew in intensity, as if it would rip the thatched roof free and reveal them to her gaze. Isabella had a sense the Elphine Queen knew her power had been diminished, that she had found a rival, and that she did not appreciate the change. The fire flickered on the hearth as it had not before, and Isabella eyed the hole in the roof overhead for the smoke. Did she see a great eye, filled with malice, within the darkness framed there?
She eased from beneath Murdoch’s weight, leaving him to doze. She wondered when he had last slept in confidence of his own safety and guessed he would have need of every measure of strength for the challenge before them.
She found a blanket on the far side of the cabin and spread it over him. There was a pail of water, as well, and Isabella certainly had need of a wash. There was a bracket to hold a kettle over the fire, and she used both to heat the water. She washed the blood from her thighs with care, so lost in her thoughts that she did not realize that Murdoch had awakened and was watching her.
She was reassured to see how blue his eyes were.
When he smiled at her with undisguised satisfaction, her heart leapt.
“Are you sore?” he asked softly.
Isabella shrugged off his question. She smiled. “I believe it was well worth the exchange. Have you slept of late?”
He shook his head and rolled to his back, stretching like a great cat. “Not well since the new moon. If I am to slumber, I will do so after the next one.” The notion seemed to make him impatient, perhaps with the unwelcome reminder of the challenge he faced. He cast aside the blanket and rose to his feet. He strode to her side, lifting the cloth from her fingers and rinsing it in the warm water.
He washed her back for her in silence, then pressed a kiss to her nape. The intimacy put a lump in Isabella’s throat; his next words made it larger.
“I thank you, my Isabella,” he said quietly, his lips moving against her flesh. “You have surrendered more to me than was my right to take.”
Isabella turned to face him. “Do you regret it?”
His smile was devilish. “How could I regret such splendor?” Again he wound a tendril of her hair around his finger, his eyes gleaming as he kissed it. “And you?”
Isabella shook her head and his smile broadened. “Tell me about it.”
He arched a brow, but she knew he understood.
“How were you captured? What was the realm of the Fae like? How were you released?”
Murdoch wrung out the cloth, then began to wash himself with a concentration the task did not deserve. “You should don your chemise. Something changes in the wind and I would not have you cold.”
It was not just the wind that changed, for he seemed newly pensive. “Will you answer me?”
Murdoch’s gaze locked with hers, his intensity making Isabella’s heart leap. “You deserve no less,” he said with quiet force. “But be warned that you may not like the tale when it is told, my Isabella.”
* * *
Murdoch dressed with impatient gestures, donning only his chausses and his chemise. Isabella pulled on her own chemise, her expression watchful. He checked but her kirtle and their cloaks were still sodden. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and urged her to sit on the pallet before the hearth.
The fire did not need to be fed, the blaze as robust as when they had arrived. That was a potent reminder that they had stepped outside the mortal realm for this night. Where was the Elphine Queen? Murdoch had to reason that the man who had admitted them to the cottage had cast some spell that sheltered them. He doubted it would last past the dawn and would ensure that they left well in advance lest they be trapped.
He opened the door a slight increment and looked out into the wild fury of the night. A storm ripped over the land, a storm that would surely have killed them both had they not found this shelter. Murdoch could hear the angry thrash of the sea. He shut the door and bolted it, glad that the smith’s blade was yet buried in the threshold.
He turned to find Isabella watching him intently.
“I rode out from Seton Manor five years ago, in the spring, to join the campaign in France. I did so expressly against the will of my father.” He moved back to the fire and Isabella took his hand, drawing him to sit beside her on the pallet.
“Why would you defy your father?”
Murdoch sighed. “We always argued, my father and I. My mother died when I was ten, but she always said that he and I were too much the same, that he saw a mirror of himself in me. As you might imagine, when we disagreed, he did not care for the reflection. Either our thoughts were as one, or we were arguing.” He sighed. “I am a younger son, and my older brother, Duncan, is as different from me as a man might be. He is quiet and contemplative, more like our mother.” Murdoch fell silent then, overwhelmed by his memories and his regret.
Isabella pressed his hand, once again adding light to his darkness. “Tell me of your father.”
“After my mother’s death, my father did not show so much care in his holding and his responsibilities. We had numerous crops fail. Seton Manor commands a holding that is less than prosperous, for the land is hard to till and the climate is less than encouraging. It is beautiful, though, and the forests are filled with game. It is a comparatively small holding, but one that can be coaxed to provide for those who live upon it – and there are those who would live there, independent of hardship, simply because its beauty speaks to the soul.”
“Like you,” Isabella guessed and he smiled at her.
“It touches my heart. It was my mother’s legacy and she loved it, too. When she passed away, I think my father could not see the beauty without her. And so the fortunes of the holding faltered. There was bad luck, to be certain, but he also refused to act as once he might have done. He refused to choose.”
“What could he have done?”
“There is a spring not far from Seton Manor, upon the land held by my father and my mother’s father. And this spring has been reputed for centuries to posses
s healing powers. People have come from all over Scotland to bathe in its waters and have left tokens and prayers. There is a stone there, one erected by a laird centuries past, and etched in a language we now longer read – it has been popular for as long as that. There is an old power there, although I did not believe it when I was younger. The church, of course, does not approve of such pagan shrines, much less the powers attributed to them, and over the centuries, the popularity of the spring has faded.”
“But I walked there one day, thinking of the difficulties facing our holding, and I realized that dubious crops were not new at Seton Manor. Those pilgrims must have sustained the people of Seton Manor in the past. I had the idea that my father could build upon the spring’s reputation, to restore the finances of the holding using a similar mechanism. I suggested to him that he buy a relic, a Christian relic, one associated with healing, and install it in the chapel of Seton Manor. I thought we could create a new center of pilgrimage based upon the reputation of the old. Together, they might create great cures.”
“My aunt said this was done throughout England and Scotland, that pagan sites were turned to Christian ones.”
Murdoch nodded. “The idea was that of a pope, not mine, but I thought it a good one. My father, however, would hear none of it.” He winced. “He insisted that the sole source of religious relics in all of Scotland was the Lammergeier family, that they were sorcerors and thieves, and that he would never bestow so much as a penny into the coffers of such a family. We had a tremendous argument, for I believed that he was simply stubborn – and that his people would suffer for it. There was no seed for planting, nothing in the granaries, and people were hungry. Even the creatures of the forest seemed to be less plentiful that winter. My father, however, would not relent. His suspicions of your family ran deep.”
“And your brother?”
“He took my father’s side.” Murdoch looked down at his hands. “We argued violently at the new year, and many harsh things were said between us.”
“You defended my family,” Isabella murmured.
Murdoch flicked her a look. “I would see no one condemned by rumor alone. It seemed to me to be prejudice based upon nothing at all, and irrational.”
Isabella leaned against him with obvious satisfaction.
“In the end, I told my father that if he would not see to his duties, then I would. And I departed the next morning, over his objections, to pledge my sword to the Earl of Buchan. With him, I joined some six thousand other men who fought for the Dauphin as mercenaries in France. Others had made that journey and gained land, holdings, wives, and fortunes. I thought to do the same. I thought that if my fortunes held, I might save Seton Manor – despite my father’s attitude. At the very least, I might gain a future of my own, for we all knew that my brother Duncan would inherit Seton Manor. It is not a sufficiently rich estate to support two.”
Murdoch took a deep breath. “I saw much on that journey, much I would have preferred not to see. In May of 1420, we occupied the city of Melun for the Dauphin, holding it against Henry V of England. The astonishing thing was that King James of Scotland, long the prisoner of the English kings, rode alongside Henry’s commanders in that battle. He appeared, pennants flying and standards unfurled, allied with the English.”
“I heard of this,” Isabella said.
“It was a shock to find ourselves fighting against the man who is our own king. It was more a shock that Henry triumphed that day – and all the Scotsmen captured within the walls of Melun were hanged as traitors.” Murdoch swallowed. “James did not speak in their defense.”
He stared into the fire, still haunted by that day. “And so it is that one sees how a man’s alliances will change based upon who provides his fare, or who has the most to offer to him overall. I was not the only one heartsick at this event. The subsequent spring, we triumphed over the English at Baugé, on Easter Sunday. I was sorely wounded for I was stabbed in the thigh. When the wound festered, the Earl of Buchan gave me leave to return home, that I might see my home and family one last time.”
Isabella frowned, her gaze falling to his thigh in confusion. “But you have no scar.”
“Not now, for it was healed.”
“A festering wound? Should you know how to heal such an injury without leaving a scar, I would gladly hear of it.”
Murdoch smiled. “You will. Easter was early that year, and I made good speed in returning home, perhaps because I traveled only with Zephyr and a palfrey, perhaps because I was so ill that men took pity on me. I found passage on a ship bound from LeHavre to Dundee, a Templar ship sailing in pursuit of the first fleece of the year. And then I rode north, intent upon arriving home before spring’s full flower. I was fevered by then, but the Templars had been kind to me, and perhaps Zephyr recalled the way.”
“And what happened when you arrived home?” Isabella prompted when he fell silent again.
“I never arrived there.”
He did not touch her, simply stared into the fire as she watched him. His thoughts filled with the memory of his ignorance and his foolish trust. “I reached a valley near Seton Manor. I recognized it well. On that day, even in my state, I was astonished to find the valley desolate and quiet, utterly devoid of people. Now, I wonder if my isolation was but a glamour, another trick of the Elphine Queen.
“It began to snow, large flakes of snow that were so unseasonable that I did not believe they could last for long, much less impede my progress. By mid-afternoon, I realized the storm was not abating as one might expect. The snow began to accumulate upon the road and indeed, I lost sight of the track many times, for there were no others taking that course on that day. I thought I would take shelter at the first abode I found, for I had coin to pay a soul to take in both me and my horses. I was certain that I should find some place before it fell dark.”
He shook his head. “But there was none. There was not a sign of life in that valley. There was only snow, snow falling endlessly, snow hiding the peaks on either side and obscuring the road underfoot. It gathered on my shoulders and chilled my fingers. The hours passed, the snow became deeper and I began to fear for my horses. We had need of shelter, but there was none to be had. In that stretch of the valley, there was not so much as a tree. It simply stretched on endlessly, barren of all but snow and cold.
“I knew it was not so extensive a valley. I knew I should have been home by early afternoon, but I rode endlessly through the swirling snow. The sky darkened and there was no sign of a light or a cottage on any side. The wind rose, swirling around us and snatching at my garb. It was not long before I acknowledged that I was well and truly lost. I feared that I had strayed from the path and ridden in a circle. I dared not stop, though, for it was so cold. I feared that if I should fall asleep, I should never awaken.
“And that was when I saw the haven. At first, I thought it could not be genuine. I had looked so long for refuge that the blazing light seemed too good to be true. It did not disappear, however, and indeed, the light grew brighter as I approached it.”
“Just as the light to this cottage appeared,” Isabella whispered.
Murdoch nodded. “Exactly thus. The horses sensed some reprieve as well, for they were invigorated when I urged them toward the light. I am not certain I could have halted them, even if I had shown the wisdom to be skeptical.
“To my astonishment, the door that emitted the glow of firelight seemed to be set into the very side of the hill. It was my error to not pay attention to this detail, and I ignored my initial reaction because I smelled food, felt warmth and heard music. The portal was large and wide, like the gate to a great castle. The haven was so welcome to me that I was over the threshold before I gave pause to think. I rode directly through that gate and was greeted most kindly. Stable hands appeared with such speed that I was amazed, and if they seemed somewhat unusual in appearance, I attributed this to my hunger and fatigue.
“I was led into a great hall, one from which the music and the scen
t of food emanated. There was much merriment in this place and the music was such that it lifted my heart. Even better, my malaise retreated. My fever abated and my thoughts became clear. The pain in my leg faded to nothing at all, and when I looked, I saw that it was as healthy as ever it had been.” He looked at Isabella. “I thought I dreamed, or that it was delusion from the fever. The relief was so welcome that I did not wish to awaken. In that glorious hall, I danced and I ate, and my cares abandoned me.
“The wine was golden in that place. It tasted of nectar and honey and every kind of spice. It was intoxicating simply to sniff of a filled chalice. And there was such an abundance of it that no one in that hall lacked for more. It was potent, too, for I quickly became disoriented, forgetting myself in the pleasure offered by the music and the wine.
“And so it was that I first faced the Elphine Queen with the vigor of their wine flowing through my veins. I was presented to her, for she was my hostess, but I did not comprehend truly who she was.” Murdoch swallowed. “I saw only her ineffable beauty. Her skin is flawless and fair, her hair like ebony silk that flows to her very feet. She is slender and tall, her breasts round and firm. She smiles as if she knows the secrets of the world, and perhaps she does. She spoke to me, her voice beguiling and melodious, and I was fool enough to look into the majesty of her eyes. She welcomed me and then she kissed me full on the lips.”
He fell silent then, less willing to recall the next part.
Isabella placed her hand on his arm. “What happened next?”
“I do not know. Perhaps I swooned. Perhaps I might have thought it the wine. But I awakened naked and cold, my ankles and wrists shackled to a wall of ice. My bonds were black snakes, coiled around my wrists, and they bit me when I struggled against them.” He rubbed his wrist then, unable to dismiss the recollection. “My sole companion was a scribe, a dwarf who wrote a tale upon my skin in indigo.”
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