LORD OF DUNKEATHE

by Margaret Moore

  "Shall I go after him, too?" Henry asked his brother.

  Nicholas shook his head. "He won't get far. My men are well trained. They can run for miles if they must, and I'm sure he can't."

  Riona put a comforting arm around the distraught Eleanor, who might have nothing now except her title. "Perhaps you exaggerated a bit about the debts?" she asked Henry hopefully.

  Nicholas's brother shook his head. "I wish I could say I had, but I fear it's all too true."

  "Never mind, my girl!" Uncle Fergus exclaimed. "You'll always have a home with Fredella and me."

  "She can always stay with us," Marianne offered.

  "Or Nicholas and I," Riona added.

  As Eleanor smiled tremulously, and all seemed resolved at last, the servants began to whisper and murmur among themselves, clearly excited and pleased, while the remaining Norman nobles hurried to speak to Riona and Nicholas, as did Marianne, Adair and Roban.

  After a little time had passed, Henry managed to draw his brother aside. "So, what did I interrupt?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "WHAT THE DEVIL are you wearing?"

  Facing his brother a month later on his wedding day, Nicholas glanced down at his garments. "You should know by now it's called a feileadh. Fergus Mac Gordon gave it to me for a wedding gift."

  "Since when have you taken to dressing like a Scot?"

  "Since I thought it would please Riona and her uncle, and most of my tenants who are, I point out, Scots. Adair gave me the brooch."

  "You're looking damn smug."

  "I'm damn happy."

  "Where's Adair got to?"

  "He went to help Marianne with the children."

  "I suppose next time I see you, you'll have a child or two yourself."

  "That depends how long you stay away this time, but yes, I hope to have children," Nicholas replied, pretending to adjust the fabric at his shoulder.

  In reality, he didn't want Henry to see how the idea of being a father thrilled him, lest he be mocked about that, too. Yet he couldn't imagine anything that would make him happier, or more blissfully content, than having a child with Riona—except the attempt to get the children.

  He tried to stifle any such thoughts for the time being. His current ensemble didn't do much to hide the effect on his body.

  Henry sat on the end of Nicholas's bed. "That skirt looks uncomfortable."

  "It's very comfortable, and it's not a skirt. It's one long piece of fabric. Ask Adair how comfortable it is if you don't believe me. No chafing, for one thing."

  Henry's eyes narrowed. "What are you wearing underneath? Adair once told me—"

  "Since I'm not a Scot," Nicholas interrupted, "I'm wearing something." He couldn't resist wiping the smirk off Henry's face. "But there's a great deal to be said for wearing it as the Scots do, especially when you're in love with a very desirable and passionate woman."

  Henry's smirk disappeared and his eyes widened. "Good God, you haven't..." He frowned. "Have you?"

  "My dear brother, surely you don't expect me to reveal such intimate details?"

  Henry gave him a skepdcal frown.

  Nicholas decided to change the subject. "You're determined to leave in a fortnight?"

  Henry nodded.

  Nicholas shook his head. "I despair of you ever settling down, Henry, I truly do."

  "Now you're sounding like Marianne. But not all of us are such mighty warriors that kings give us estates."

  Nicholas heard the frustration and tinge of bitterness in his brother's voice. He didn't want any old arguments or rivalries to ruin his wedding day, so he clapped his brother on the shoulder instead. "Since I am settled down, come and see me happily wed."

  To his surprise, Henry's expression was gravely serious. "You're sure about this then, Nicholas? You really want to marry this Scot?"

  Nicholas nodded, equally serious, and sincere. "I really want to marry her, Henry. I love her."

  "First Marianne, now you.. .I'm beginning to think there might be something to this love business."

  "There is. I highly recommend it," Nicholas replied as he steered his brother to the door.

  The sooner he was married, the sooner he could return to this chamber with his lovely, loving bride.

  POLLY REGARDED the woman who was soon to be the chatelaine of Dunkeathe with awe and admiration as they stood together in the bride's chamber.

  This would be the last time Riona would dress here. After today, and for the rest of her life, she would share Nicholas's chamber, and his bed—a thought that filled her with pure and perfect joy and contentment.

  "Oh, my lady, you look beautiful," Polly murmured, her hands clasped in front of her bodice.

  "I'm sure it's only the gown. Or my happiness," Riona said as she looked down at the scarlet dress that Eleanor had given her. She had no finer gown, and after what had happened the first time she'd worn it, she couldn't resist wearing it today. Eleanor had helped her add some new fabric to the bodice, though, so that the gown wasn't so tight or the neckline so low. Eleanor had also cleverly made it seem as if the embroidered panels had always been a part of the dress, not later additions.

  Nicholas didn't know that she was wearing the scarlet gown. She'd sworn Eleanor, Polly and Fredella to secrecy and they'd worked on it only in this chamber. She was looking forward to seeing the expression on his face—not quite as much as she was looking forward to being his bride, but it was something that made her smile every time she thought of it.

  "I think you do look beautiful," Polly insisted, "and so will Sir Nicholas." She studied Riona some more. "Aren't you going to braid your hair or put it up?"

  Riona shook her head. Nicholas loved her hair, and she would wear it this way for him.

  "Is there anything else you need me for, my lady?" Polly's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Need any advice from an old married lady?"

  "I hardly think a week of marriage allows one to be considered 'an old married lady,'" Riona observed, "although it would depend on the husband, I suppose."

  "That's true, I daresay," Polly said with a merry laugh. "In that case, I expect to be a bride forever."

  "So do I," Riona said, sharing a companionable smile. "Thank you, Polly. All I need do now is wait for Uncle Fergus. You go on. I'll see you in the chapel."

  "And Thomas, too. Mind, I never thought Sir Nicholas would invite us to sit in the hall, and above the salt. I'll hardly know how to act! Sara and Lilah will be thinking I'm getting above myself, but I swear I'm humble as can be, my lady, except for being proud to be Thomas's wife."

  "I know exactly how you feel," Riona said.

  The cheerful Polly—maidservant no longer, but busy farmer's wife except on this special day—hurried away, leaving Riona alone to wait for Uncle Fergus, who was to escort her to the chapel, and Nicholas.

  There was a rap at the door and Riona turned, expecting to see her uncle.

  Kenneth stood there, dressed in his finest feileadh and shirt and boots, looking shy and awkward as if he wasn't sure he belonged there.

  Riona squealed with delight and rushed to embrace him. "Oh, Kenneth, you're here! I'm so glad!"

  He hugged her, too. "Of course I am. I couldn't miss this. But you could have knocked me down with a breath when I heard you were marrying the Norman." He pulled back and examined her smiling face. "It's true, then? This isn't some rumour spread by the Normans for reasons I'm too dim to fathom?"

  "It's true," she said, her smile growing. "And I couldn't be happier. Nicholas is a wonderful man. You'll see."

  "So Father was right about him after all? My God, I'll never hear the end of it."

  "No, I expect you won't," she said, laughing and already imagining Uncle Fergus's version of what had happened here in Dunkeathe.

  "And Father getting married, too! Is it something in the well water here, or what?"

  "I don't think so," Riona replied, "but perhaps you'd better be careful what you drink."

  "Aye, or who knows what might happe
n?" he said in a boyishly offhand manner as he wandered farther into her chamber.

  She knew him too well to be fooled by his attempted nonchalance.

  "How's Aigneas?"

  "Well, and very happy. She's handfasted with a fellow from the next valley."

  "Oh, I see. Have you met any of the young ladies here? Lavinia and Priscilla and Eleanor?"

  "Aye. They were all flitting about the hall and made a great fuss over me when they found out who I was."

  "I'm sure they did, and you being such a braw, bonny fellow, too. It's a pity Lavinia and Priscilla are already spoken for, isn't it?"

  Kenneth ran his hand along the window sill as if checking that the mason had done a proper job. "Aye, they were all bonny lasses. That's a nice gown you've got on, Riona."

  He was trying to change the subject, but she wasn't going to let him. "It was Eleanor's. She's a sweet and generous girl. Did your father tell you she's going to go back to Glencleith with you after the wedding?"

  Kenneth glanced at her sharply. "She is?"

  "Aye."

  He resumed his former study of the window frame. "How long's she going to stay?"

  Riona stifled a smile. "I don't know, but it could be for some time." She frowned as if gravely concerned. "She's my very good friend, so I must insist that you treat her kindly and courteously, even if she's a Norman."

  He shrugged. "Of course I'll be polite."

  "Good. And you must see that she's not too lonely, all by herself among the Scots."

  "I have other things to do than play nursemaid to a Norman."

  "Surely you can spare a little time for her? Otherwise, it might be better if she stayed here in Dunkeathe with—"

  "No need for that. She'll have Father and Fredella in Glencleith, too. And there's plenty of girls her age there."

  It was getting very difficult to keep a straight face. "Well, if it does get to be too much of a chore, you may bring her back here. Nicholas and I will be happy to have her."

  "I'll remember that."

  "Here you both are!" Uncle Fergus declared from the doorway. Like Kenneth, he was attired in a fine white linen shirt and feileadh. "I was wondering where you'd got to, Kenneth, my lad."

  He ran his approving gaze over Riona. "Riona, my beauty, you look as lovely as your sainted mother." His smile grew wistful. "I'm going to miss you so much, I'm thinking it would have been better if we'd stayed at home."

  Riona hurried to him and took his arm, giving him a loving squeeze. "I'll miss you, too, Uncle. Unfortunately, it's too late to change what's happened. I've fallen in love with the lord of Dunkeathe."

  Her uncle regarded her tenderly. "Really and truly?"

  "Really and truly, and he with me—just like you predicted."

  Uncle Fergus cleared his throat. "I suppose, then," he said gruffly, "we'd best get you married."

  He patted her hand and addressed his son. "Come on, Kenneth. The pipers are waiting. We're going to show these Normans how to do a proper wedding."

  SEVERAL HOURS LATER—although not nearly soon enough for Nicholas—he was at the threshold of his bedchamber, his bride in his arms.

  "I could have walked up the stairs at least," she said, laughing.

  "I don't want you fatigued," he replied, his voice soft and low as he carried her over the threshold.

  The candle stand had been moved out of the corner, and now six fine beeswax candles illuminated the room, as well as his beautiful, bonny bride.

  Bonny. It was what her uncle called her, and it suited her to perfection. Bonny and happy and lovely and his. "It's going to be a very long night."

  "If that's supposed to scare me, or intimidate me, you've failed miserably," she replied, nuzzling his neck.

  "I never could intimidate you. But now I must set you down. My arms are not as strong as they once were."

  "When you defeated twenty knights in a single day?" she inquired pertly as she slipped down out of his arms, brushing against him in a way that made his body instantly respond.

  He encircled her waist. "Weak arms or not, have I told you today how much I love you?"

  "I don't think your arms are at all weak," she chided as she squeezed his forearms. "They certainly feel strong to me, like the rest of you. But you may tell me again how much you love me."

  He kissed the tip of her nose. "I love you with all my heart—all the heart I didn't even know I had."

  "As I love you," she said as she took his face between her hands and gendy brought him down to kiss.

  As always when they kissed, passion flared and flamed. With slow languor, because they had all night, he deepened the kiss. He ran his fingers through the miracle of her thick, long and unbound hair, while her hand slid across his hip to boldly caress him through his clothing.

  "You are a wanton wench," he murmured as his lips left hers to trail across her cheek toward her shell-like ear.

  "Since you think me so wanton and seem to disapprove, perhaps you'd like me to stop?" she whispered as she continued to stroke him.

  He closed his eyes. "No."

  She leaned closer and caressed with more pressure, as she kissed his neck. "Good. Because it so happens, my husband, that I don't want to."

  His hands were on a meandering journey of their own, up her back, then down and around. "Your uncle told me you were stubborn."

  "Alas for you, he's quite right."

  "Alas for you, I've been dreaming of this night for a month. It was all I could do to keep my distance."

  "I thought it would be for the best, after everything," she replied as she began to undo the brooch holding his plaid over his shoulder. "It wasn't easy for me, either. More than once, I was very tempted to sneak into your chamber again."

  She freed the broach. As the fabric fell from his shoulder, she stepped away, turning to set the brooch down on the table.

  "I was very tempted to invite you to meet me under that willow tree," he replied softly, coming up behind her and grabbing her around the waist, the memory of that memorable coupling returning.

  "Undo my laces for me?" she asked, her breathing fast and shallow as she held back her hair, exposing the knot at her neck.

  "Gladly," he said, pressing his lips there. Who would ever guess a nape could be so enticing?

  She sighed rapturously as he worked to undo the knot while continuing to kiss her neck. Then he started to pull out the laces.

  She cast a pert look at him over her shoulder. "I'm thinking that's taking much too long."

  "I'm finding this very.. .interesting."

  She turned and, with quicker motions, started to undo the lacing at the neck of his shirt. "I'm not that patient."

  "You would strip me naked here and now?"

  She looked up into his face, and in her eyes, he saw the answer. The very exciting answer.

  Although it seemed a sort of titillating torture, he let her. The first to go was his shirt. With a movement like another caress, she put her hands beneath it and lifted it from him. She picked up the

  end of the fabric that had fallen from his shoulder and, laying it over her arm, went to work on his belt. In the next moment, that, too, was gone. She gathered the fabric into her arms, then stopped to stare at what he was wearing beneath the feileadh.

  "What's that?" she demanded, her brows furrowed.

  "The Saxons call them braies. A Scot I am not, and it's a breezy day. What if the wind had been stronger?"

  She turned away and started to fold the fabric.

  He tugged off his boots, then removed the braies. After a few moments, when she still hadn't said anything, or even looked his way again, he said, "I've got them off now."

  She didn't answer.

  He crept up behind her and slid his arms around her waist as she put the fabric on the chest. "Surely you're not angry with me?"

  To both his relief and chagrin, she burst out laughing. She continued to laugh so hard, she could hardly stand up. She staggered over to the bed and collapsed upon it.r />
  "I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes. "You looked.. .that is, those.. .those things.. .I've never seen anything like them, except on a baby...."

  "I am not a baby."

  "I didn't mean to offend you." She ran her gaze over his naked body. "You look much better as you are now." Her eyes darkened with desire, and glistened with the hunger he'd also missed as she inched back farther on the bed. "Much better."

  He moved closer. "Then I'm not offended. But you're still dressed."

  "I am, aren't I?"

  "We can't have that on our wedding night." He got on the bed and started to crawl toward her, like a stalking cat.

  Her breathing quickened, exciting him more. "I suppose I should take off my gown then."

  "I like that gown," he said softy, sitting back on his haunches between her legs.

  "I know. That's why I wore it."

  "I like it best without a shift under it." He ran his hand up her leg, so that her garments bunched around her hips. "What have we here?" he asked with seeming seriousness when he reached her buttocks.

  She bent her knees and lifted her hips so that he could push her clothes under her. Then she sat up and lifted her arms. "Will you assist me?"

  "With pleasure," he murmured as he pulled first the gown, then her white shift over her head.

  Now she, too, was naked, her hair flowing about her shoulders and breasts.

  She was his to cherish, to honour, to protect for the rest of his life—a finer, better reward than any he had ever thought to dream of, or hope for. "I love you, Riona."

  Her smile was the light that brightened the darkness of his world. That proved there was goodness and generosity and gentleness and affection, even for him. That told him that as long as she was with him, he would never be lonely again.

  "I love you, Nicholas," she whispered, holding out her arms. "My husband."

  He moved forward into her embrace and gave himself over to the pleasure of kissing her. And touching her. Letting his fingers glide over her warm, soft skin. Brushing her flesh with his lips. Licking and teasing with his tongue until she squirmed with readiness and begged him to take her.

  And oh, how willingly he complied! Yet he tried to control himself, to be slow and patient, to enjoy this time when they had so much time. No need for her to rise and flee his bed tonight, or ever again. No fears of discovery, or taint of shame and scandal.