LORD OF DUNKEATHE

by Margaret Moore

  They passed through the second gate and continued toward the village. In the distance, Riona could make out the tavern, and the place where Percival had accosted her. At the edge of the green, the archer was being locked back in the stocks. He seemed to have accepted his fate with resignation, just as she had.

  "Nicholas gave up a good deal for Henry and me, yet in spite of that, he succeeded where plenty of other men have not. His castle and his reputation are proof of that. But I don't think Nicholas feels that he's done enough, even now."

  Riona knew he didn't, and why, but it was for Nicholas to voice his concerns to his sister, not her.

  They came to the first few stone cottages. Lady Marianne turned down an alley that led to the river. "We can sit on the bank, if the grass is dry," she proposed.

  Riona silently agreed and followed her to the stony bank.

  "The grass is too wet," Marianne observed. She gestured to some large stones near the water's edge. "These rocks aren't. Not the softest seats in the world, but I can't linger long anyway."

  She sat on a large one and Riona did the same.

  When they were settled, Marianne gave a deep sigh. "Oh, it's lovely to have a few moments to myself."

  "I know how you feel, my lady. That's one reason I came here with my uncle. I wanted to get away from my responsibilities for a little while."

  How long ago it seemed since she'd had that conversation with Kenneth, and Uncle Fergus had come home with his news. How much had happened, and how her world had altered since.

  "You have many responsibilities in Glencleith, I understand. Your uncle was telling me about you and all the things you do for him and your cousin and your clan."

  Riona looked away. "He shouldn't boast so much. I do no more than any other woman would."

  "Perhaps not, but I can appreciate what he doesn't say, because of what I've observed myself since I've been here. You may do your duty, and so might many another woman in your place, but you do it with love and cheerfulness."

  "Uncle Fergus is a very lovable fellow."

  Marianne laughed softly. "Aye, that he is. Quite a joy to talk to —and he loves you very much."

  "Yes, he does," Riona answered. "That's why we came here even though I was sure your brother wouldn't want me. Uncle Fergus was so insistent, I didn't have the heart to disappoint him."

  "You believe Nicholas won't choose you?"

  Riona saw no point denying the inevitable. "Your brother has already told me that he has no intention of marrying me."

  Lady Marianne frowned. "I'm very sorry to hear that."

  She sounded genuinely disappointed, which made that reality a little harder to bear.

  "Your brother has been very frank about why we're still here although my family has no money or power," Riona replied. "He doesn't want to risk any Scot saying he wouldn't consider a Scots bride. I am but a representative of my country."

  Lady Marianne's disconcertingly intense gaze seemed to grow even more so. "Do you not care for Nicholas then?"

  Riona tried to keep her face expressionless, beyond mere mild interest. "I admire and respect him for all that he's accomplished."

  Lady Marianne's scrudny was nearly as hard to endure as her brother's, although the lady's eyes were blue, not brown. "Perhaps you don't think it's any of my business, but I dearly want the brother who sacrificed so much for me to have some happiness and contentment in his life. I know what it is to love and be loved, Riona, and I want my brother to know it, too. Without love, his great castle might as well be a tomb, just a resting place for his body."

  "You should speak of these things to Eleanor," Riona said, "for I believe she's going to be his choice, and she should be. She's a wonderful girl, and she'll make him a fine wife."

  "That's something I never thought I'd hear—a woman praising a rival."

  "We're not rivals, my lady, since your brother will never choose me. We're friends."

  "If you truly are her friend, you wouldn't want her married to my brother."

  Riona couldn't believe she'd heard aright.

  "Oh, he's not an evil man," Lady Marianne hastened to clarify. "And I like Lady Eleanor, too. She's a lovely young woman and quite charming, in a quiet sort of way. And well connected, of course. I simply don't think she'll suit my brother at all."

  Riona thought she could guess why. "To be sure, she's young and a bit ignorant of some things about running a household, but she learns quickly, and I'm sure she'll manage well, in time."

  Lady Marianne's brow furrowed as she studied Riona, who desperately tried not to betray anything in her face. "Do you think she can make my brother happy?"

  "Yes." Eventually. Some day. And then she would be forgotten, or no more than a pleasant memory of a lover from days gone by.

  "You mean that, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  Lady Marianne rose. "Then there is no more to be said, except that I'm sorry you feel that way. Now if you'll excuse me, I should get back to my children."

  Riona was sorry she'd upset Lady Marianne, but there was no help for it. What good would it have done to tell her how she truly felt about Nicholas? That she would give nearly anything to be his wife? Nicholas couldn't marry her. Love would not pay taxes. Love would not protect everything Nicholas had worked and suffered for. Love meant sacrifice, as well as joy, and she would not be responsible for the loss of Dunkeathe. She wouldn't risk their affecdon turning to bitter resentment, perhaps even hatred. She would take what happiness she could with him, and be content.

  And if she got with child...

  She abruptly got to her feet and walked along the river bank, away from the castle.

  A sound reached her ears from around a bend in the river shielded by a grove of willow and alder trees—a littleboy's gales of merriment. A man was laughing, too. She instantly recognized that laugh, although it was rarely heard, and then softly, when they were alone.

  Eager to see Nicholas, sure the little boy must be Seamus, she rounded the bend, to behold the mighty Sir Nicholas of Dunkeathe prostrate on the ground, seemingly held there by the foot of a happily triumphant four-year-old Scot waving a small wooden sword.

  "I won, I won!" Seamus cried.

  "I cry you mercy, valiant knight," Nicholas answered, throwing his arms out in complete surrender. "Allow me to rise before my tunic is ruined from the damp."

  The little boy removed his foot. "Very well," he said with another flourish of his sword. "I give you back your life."

  Nicholas rolled over and got to his feet. "Thank God," he said as he brushed bits of twig and grass from himself. Then he raised his eyes and saw Riona.

  His smile of recognition made her heart sing. The glow in his eyes for her alone filled her with joy and made her quicken her pace, and his low obeisance made her feel like a queen.

  "I fear I'm interrupting a tournament," she said when she reached them.

  Seamus looked as if he agreed.

  "We're finished, and alas, not too soon, for I was soundly beaten," Nicholas admitted. His smile disappeared as he addressed his scowling nephew. "Sir Knight, where are your manners?"

  Seamus bowed. "Greetings, my lady," he muttered.

  She bowed low in response. "Greetings to you, Sir Knight. I perceive you are a fine and valiant swordsman if you can triumph over your uncle. Although alas, I fear he's getting old."

  When Nicholas shot her a disgruntled look, she tried to stifle her smile.

  "Uncle Nicholas once beat twenty knights in a single day in a tournament," the lad said, rushing to his uncle's defence.

  "I was much younger then," Nicholas grudgingly admitted, "and by the end of that day, my arms were so tired, I thought they'd drop off."

  "You won anyway," Seamus declared, obviously not willing to allow his uncle to be criticized, even by himself.

  "I was lucky," he replied. He looked at Riona with another devilish smile that played havoc with her heartbeat. "What brings you here, my lady, beyond seeing a demonstration of
fine swordsmanship? Were you looking for me?"

  "No. Your sister wished to speak to me."

  Nicholas's grin disintegrated and his eyes narrowed a little. "What about?"

  Riona wondered how much she should say to Nicholas about his sister's views. She had heard enough to know that their relationship had not always been a smooth one; it was now, and she didn't want to ruin it.

  "I bet I know," Seamus piped up before Riona could answer. "Mama thinks Uncle Nicholas doesn't know how to find a wife."

  Having been forewarned by her conversation with the lady, Riona wasn't nearly as surprised as Nicholas by this observation.

  "She said that to you?" Nicholas asked.

  Seamus's face turned red. "Noooo," he mumbled, digging his toe into the dirt and not meeting his uncle's eye. "To Father. They didn't know I was still awake."

  "I see," Nicholas said in a tone that sounded interested, not annoyed. "And how does she think I ought to go about it?"

  "I didn't hear that part. They started whispering and laughing and I fell asleep."

  "I'll have to ask her what I'm doing wrong."

  The little boy looked up at him with a stricken countenance. "You won't tell her I said, will you?"

  "Of course not. We're brothers-in-arms, sworn to be loyal forever, and such an oath means that if you wish me to keep a secret, I will until the day I die."

  Seamus's eyes widened, and well they might, for there was no mistaking the firm sincerity of Nicholas's words.

  "Now run along, young man," he ordered, "or your mother will be angry at me for keeping you so long."

  The lad did as he was ordered, and scampered off toward the castle.

  Nicholas reached out and took Riona's hand. His touch was warm and welcome, intimate and friendly. Wonderful. Achingly, heartrendingly wonderful.

  They strolled toward a large willow on the riverbank, its slender branches like long, flowing hair. He parted the natural curtain and led her inside. "And now, my love," he said sofdy as they stood together beneath the branches, "what did Marianne really want to talk about?"

  "You," Riona answered, leaning against the willow's trunk. "She wanted to be sure I knew your history and that you deserved to be happy."

  She reached up to brush her fingertips across his wrinkled brow. "She was disappointed when I said you wouldn't marry me.

  I don't think she realizes that everything she told me only made me better understand why you can't."

  He regarded her with such tenderness as he caressed her cheek, it was hard to believe he was the powerful lord of a great castle. Now, he was simply the man she loved. "Riona, perhaps I should forget marrying Eleanor."

  She put her finger to his lips to silence him and shook her head. "If you lost Dunkeathe after all your efforts and suffering because of me, you might come to resent me. I won't hazard that. Let's enjoy what we have now, for the few nights we have left."

  "Once I'm wed, that will be the end, Riona," he said, his voice low and mournful. "I will be faithful to the vows I make before God."

  "I would expect no less. And when you announce your choice at Lammas, my uncle and I will leave."

  Afterward, she would never see him again.

  In spite of that, she gloried in the strength and warmth of him as they held each other, basking in his affection. Not afraid of the future, whatever it held. And yet... "Nicholas, if I should be with child when I go home, should I send word to you or would you prefer not to know?"

  Taking hold of her shoulders, he held her away from him, and in his face, she saw the answer even before he said it, and was

  glad. "Of course you must tell me. Girl or boy, any child of ours will be known as mine, and proudly so."

  She smiled at him, loving him. Respecting him. Proud to have been his lover, come what may.

  "But what of you, if that should be?" he asked, concern in his dark eyes. "How will your family treat you?"

  "Uncle Fergus will be shocked, and disappointed, I'm sure. Kenneth...?" She shrugged her shoulders. "The same. But they won't abandon me or force me from Glencleith. They are too kind and generous."

  "For your sake, I'm glad, but if you ever need anything, whether you bear my child or not, you mustn't hesitate to come to me."

  "I will." She stroked his arms and her body warmed as she leaned closer to his. "So we won't worry about a child, but accept it as a gift, one to the other, if that should come to pass," she whispered as she wrapped her arms about him. "Now kiss me, Nicholas, and love me, while we can."

  His eyes flared with exciting intensity as he took her in his arms. He kissed her fervently, while her tongue invaded the heat of his mouth, seeking that slick intimacy that foreshadowed the other.

  Her upper back and shoulders against the tree, his fingertips glided over her bodice, then his palm cupped her breast. His hips

  pressed against hers, reminding her of what they'd done every night since she'd gone to his chamber the first time, as if she needed it. All the reminders necessary had been in his eyes when he looked at her, the smile she'd never seen him give another, the fierce passion in his kiss. And now his touch.

  How she loved the strength of him, the power, the resolute will that had kept him alive for so long. She even admired the toughness he had acquired to survive.

  She had to feel his naked skin, the heated flesh. Eagerly she thrust her hands under his tunic and over his flat stomach. One went higher, to brush lightly over his hardened nipple in a way that made him break the kiss to gasp, while her other hand went lower, to stroke the hardness there.

  He closed his eyes and groaned as she aroused him further, delighting that she could make him feel such pleasure. Licking his neck. Kissing his jaw. Nibbling lightly on his earlobe as he stood still, powerless to move.

  Until suddenly his eyes flew open—his desire-filled eyes, wild with a primitive hunger that took her breath away. "I want you now, Riona," he said, his voice husky and urgent. "Right now. Right here."

  She said no word, but reached for the drawstring of his breeches and pulled the knot undone.

  With a low growl that made her burn with passionate yearning, he grabbed her buttocks and lifted her. Her arms about his neck, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her skirt and shift bunching about her thighs. His breathing ragged, he moved forward so that her back was full against the tree.

  Holding herself steady with one arm, she reached down and guided him into her, muffling her moan of welcome against his neck as he entered. She held tight as they loved, biting her lip to keep from crying out with the sheer pleasure of having him hard inside her, filling her anew with every thrust, his breath hot on her cheek. The tension, wondrous, delicious, seeming never ending, built and built until she could stay silent no longer.

  "Faster," she begged, panting. "Harder." She had to feel that moment of shattering ecstasy. She couldn't wait. "Please..."

  And then the tension snapped. Throbbing, she couldn't stifle the groan that arose deep in her throat, a primal cry of release, echoed by her lover as he, too, climaxed, there against the tree.

  Afterward, he stood still, his chest rising and falling as he breathed deep while she kissed his cheek and stroked his hair.

  When he eventually withdrew, she unwrapped her legs and lowered them until she was standing. He adjusted his breeches as she brushed down the skirt of her gown.

  Taking a deep breath, he raised his dark eyes. "Riona, that was..." He shook his head, and his wonderful, rare smile

  reappeared. "You simply astonish me. I've never met a woman like you in all my life."

  "I've never met a man like you," she said, fixing her dishevelled hair.

  He took hold of her upper arms and kissed the tip of her nose. "You look beautiful—like a goddess of the forest."

  "I think I probably look a mess, and if I don't fix my hair before I return to your castle, everyone will guess what I've been doing, if not with whom." She cocked her head and ran her gaze over his magnificent body. "If the
y could see you now, they'd have their suspicions about you, too."

  "You think so?" he said, sidling forward and pressing her back against the tree.

  Her breathing quickened. "I know so."

  "You think I have the look of a man who's just made love?"

  "I think you have the look of a man who's been doing something that gives him pleasure and dishevels his clothes and makes his long hair need a comb."

  "Perhaps I should cut my hair."

  She reached out and ran her fingers through it, marvelling at its thickness. "That would be a pity, my lord."

  "Then you like my hair this way, my lady?" He grinned and brushed it back over his shoulder with his hand. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It's how the Scots wear it."

  "I am a Scot," she replied, loving it when they spoke like this. Did anyone else ever hear that tender, teasing, yet incredibly arousing, tone in his voice?

  Would his wife?

  She pushed that thought away. "You should braid it at the sides the way Adair Mac Taran does," she suggested. "I think that would look quite fetching."

  He laughed softly. "Fetching? Why the devil would I want to look fetching?"

  "Because you are," she pertly answered as she tucked a stray lock of his hair behind his ear. "Very handsome and thus, very fetching."

  "I don't care what other women think of me." He put his arms about her waist and drew her close. "Only you. What do you think of me, Riona?"

  "That you're a very vain fellow who blatantly seeks compliments."

  He frowned like a petulant little boy. "And here I thought you liked me."

  "Sir Nicholas of Dunkeathe, if I didn't care for you a very great deal, I would not have made love with you, now or ever," she said with mock severity.

  His frown dissolved to a wistful expression. "I would give nearly anything..." he began, the words trailing off.

  Nearly anything was not everything, and she accepted that. "I think we had best quit dallying underneath this tree, lest we be discovered."

  He nodded, becoming again the resolute, stern overlord. "Will you return first, or should I?"

  "I will," she replied. She kissed him once more lightly on the lips. "Until later, m'eudall, " she whispered before she hurried on her way.