Rowan's Lady

by Tisdale Suzan

  Much time passed before Rowan spoke. “So when we return to our keep, do ye wish to sleep?”

  Arline nuzzled her cheek sleepily against his chest. “Nay, I do no’ want to sleep. I want to find the priest, say our I do’s, and begin our weddin’ night. Or weddin’ day, dependin’ on how fast ye can get us home.”

  “Good, good,” Rowan said. “And yer fully prepared to do yer wifely duty?” he asked playfully.

  Arline sighed contentedly. “Well, here’s the thing about that, Rowan. I’ve been talking to Ora, and a few of the women folk, ye ken. I’m told that I canna get with child if I just do me duty. Ye have to pleasure me in all sorts of ways, and many, many times. So if it’s children ye be wantin’, it seems ye have a husbandly duty to perform.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “A husbandly duty, ye say?”

  “Aye,” she said with a yawn. “And ’tis a duty, I’m told, that ye must perform several times a day. Do ye think yer up fer that?”

  Rowan kissed the top of her head and gave her a hug. “Aye, I suppose, if I’m to be a good husband to ye, I’m willin’ to make such a sacrifice.”

  Arline giggled at his jest.

  “Well, ’twould be the right thing to do.”

  Thirty-Three

  It had not been the wedding they had planned for the past three weeks. The pews were not filled to bursting with friends and family, the sun was not shining brightly, and Thomas did not walk her down the aisle. Most of Áit na Síochána was fast asleep at this late hour.

  They didn’t take the time to wash away the mud and muck or even change their clothes. Arline did wear her goldenrod yellow dress even though it was tattered, torn, and otherwise ruined.

  Findley sought out the priest, rousted him from a deep sleep and brought him to the gathering room.

  “’Twas a verra fine weddin’ feast we had, Rowan,” the priest informed him. “’Twould have been better were the bride and groom able to join us.”

  Rowan and Arline were glad to learn that a good time was had by so many and that they had been missed. It would have been a shame to have all the food Mrs. Fitz had prepared go to waste.

  Findley and Duncan stood up with Rowan, while the rest of the men acted as witnesses. Arline refused to wake her sisters. She would fill them in on all the details later.

  Opting for a much shorter ceremony that what had been planned, it took very little time for them to become formally man and wife. When the priest finally gave permission for Rowan to kiss his bride, he scooped her into his arms and rushed her up to his room. He had husbandly duties to perform.

  They discovered Lily, fast asleep in the middle of his bed when they stepped into his chamber. A candle burned on the table in the corner. Arline smiled down at the little one, her eyes alight with relief.

  After making certain Lily was well and safe -- and Arline had draped an extra blanket over her stepdaughter -- she and Rowan slipped through the door to Arline’s chamber.

  On all those cold, lonely nights when Rowan imagined how it would be with Arline when they were finally able to consummate their marriage, he had envisioned taking his sweet time, savoring every moment, delighting her with long, languishing kisses and warm, soft caresses. He had planned this moment as they had planned their wedding. Carefully. Meticulously. With great thought and care.

  His bride apparently had other ideas. As soon as he closed the door behind them, Arline leapt at him like a cat-o-mountain. All thoughts of slow, artfully crafted and strategically placed kisses were rapidly tossed to the side. Along with his dirty tunic, trews, and mud covered boots.

  No fire had been set in the fireplace. He found they didn’t need it. Arline’s smoldering desire was enough to keep him warm for hours.

  Arline had stripped him to complete nakedness in a matter of moments, much like an experienced mum preparing to toss her mud-covered wee one into a tub. But she didn’t toss Rowan into a tub. Instead, she pushed flat on his back, sideways on her bed. His calves dangled over the edge, his arms spread over his head.

  “Lass, do ye no’ want to slow down a bit and enjoy the moment?” he asked as she smothered his faces with hungry kisses.

  She made no effort to stop the kisses or to slow her pace. “I be’ enjoyin’ meself!” she told him excitedly.

  He chuckled, then flinched when she pressed a kiss on his sensitive skin, right below his belly button. “As ye wish, me lady,” he said with a dutiful air as she worked her way back up to his face. He lay there and took her kisses and ministrations like a man.

  She plied him with frenzied, borderline desperate kisses, explored his face, his neck, shoulders and chest with her hands and lips. She worked her way up and down his body for a time as she straddled his abdomen.

  He could finally take no more. He pushed her up gently and began to slowly lift her dress over her head. Apparently he hadn’t moved fast enough, for she took over, removed dress and chemise in one fluid motion and tossed them somewhere over her head.

  “I love ye, Rowan Graham,” she whispered as she pressed another kiss against his chest.

  “I love ye, me lady wife.”

  Arline had waited many years, through three previous husbands, to finally have a wedding night. She wasn’t about to waste a single moment of it to propriety or misinformed notions. Had things gone as planned yesterday, she might have thought how to take her time and allow Rowan the lead.

  Waiting be damned. She was finally married to a man who truly wanted to be married to her. She loved him, and he her. They could take their time later. At the moment, she was a desperate woman, sitting atop the most magnificent man she had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and she happened to be married to him.

  Later, much later, and by bright candlelight as Ora had suggested, she would take her time to explore every square inch of his gloriously perfect body.

  Rowan wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down against his chest. His skin was hot, the hair of his chest tickled against her bare breasts. She took great delight in his heavy breathing and found she had no need to ask if she were doing things properly. In one fluid motion, without breaking their passionate kiss, Rowan rolled her over to her back.

  The urgent need for more swelled and rose in each touch, each kiss, each frantic breath they took. Minnie be damned! This was sumptuous, heavenly, wondrous -- Och! It hurt like bloody hell!

  She sucked in a deep breath and held it, closed her eyes tightly, and prayed. Prayed for the pain to pass, prayed that Ora was right and Minnie was wrong, that the pain would be brief and not as bad as some made it out to be.

  “Arline,” Rowan said, halting, lifting himself up onto his forearms. “I be sorry.”

  She could not move, did not wish to move, could not speak. Slowly, the pain faded, and she let out the breath she had been holding. Relief washed over her. It had hurt like the devil, but it had subsided.

  “We can stop,” Rowan began.

  Arline stopped him from finishing his sentence. “If ye stop now, I’ll kill ye.”

  He chuckled and began again. Slowly this time, methodically, with restrained passion and lustful purpose.

  The wickedly pleasurable feelings Ora had told her of soon made themselves known. Arline felt it grow, gradually at first. Like filling a sack with grain until it reached the point of bursting. She matched him thrust for thrust, breath for breath, kiss for kiss until the sensation overpowered her ability to think, to do anything but feel.

  And feel she did. Suspended on the precipice of something unknown, as if she were about to embark on an adventure to find the lost mines of King Solomon, the sack of grain burst and Solomon’s mines were found.

  Bright, crashing, explosive, wondrous, she found what she had sought. Apparently, her husband had found it too, for he shuddered, said her name repeatedly in a harried yet seductive tone, before he collapsed against her.

  For a moment, Rowan felt as thought his ballocks had imploded. It was nearly impossible to get his breathi
ng under control. And his heart? It was currently making a grand attempt to pound its way out of his chest.

  He had never experienced a moment in time like the one he’d just shared with Arline. It wasn’t so much the sweet joinin’ of a man and woman. Nay, ’twas a frenzied, feverish, sweaty thing they’d done.

  Dawn came and went as Arline slept in the crook of Rowan’s arms. Their first moments together as husband and wife were quite remarkable.

  They slept for only a few hours before Rowan woke, ready again to experience all that his wife had to offer. He took wicked delight in pleasing his wife. Repeatedly, just as any good and dutiful husband would do.

  Epilogue

  It was very late in the afternoon when they woke. Rowan was fully prepared to do his husbandly duty again, when Thomas knocked on the door. Rowan cursed and Arline wished the man to the devil.

  “Frederick and Daniel have returned, Rowan.” Thomas spoke through the closed door.

  Arline agreed that the interruption was an important one. They dressed quickly with Rowan promising to return as soon as he could. Arline smiled, kissed him sweetly and informed him she would check on Lily.

  Rowan met his men in his library. They not only looked road weary but battle worn as well. He poured Frederick and Daniel each a cup of whisky before sitting on the edge of his desk to listen to their tale.

  “Garrick Blackthorn is dead,” Frederick said before he downed the entire contents of his cup. He held the empty cup out and Rowan refilled it.

  “Our information was correct. There were three hundred men waitin’ to attack. They were no’ as well trained as ours, but they were ruthless bastards just the same. As we suspected, they were paid mercenaries. It seemed Beatrice has an abundance of coin.”

  “So it was Beatrice who hired them?” Rowan asked with more than just a hint of surprise. After the fiasco of yesterday, when she had sabotaged his wedding to Arline, nothing should surprise him.

  Daniel nodded his head in agreement. “It did no’ take much convincin’ to get them to change their minds, just as we hoped. They were verra tired of waitin’ fer orders.” He drank down his whisky in one big gulp. Rowan refilled his cup, sat back and waited for them to go on.

  “Och! They’d been caught in that horrible snowstorm. They lost fifteen men before all was said and done,” Frederick took a sip of his whisky and took a chair. He was worn out, tired, and bedraggled. It had been a very long few weeks.

  “They were frozen, near starved to death,” Daniel said as he took his own seat. He looked just as worn out as Frederick.

  “So convincin’ them not to attack us was easy,” Frederick said. He let out a tired sigh. “So we offered what we could. We stayed with them fer a few days, hunted and brought them fresh meat, fer which they were verra grateful. They’re Lowlanders and no’ used to all this snow, ye ken. They be tired of fightin’ the English and fightin’ with each other.”

  Rowan crossed his arms over his chest. The Lowlands had been decimated by the Black Plague. They were in a constant state of anarchy and chaos. He could well understand why their swords had been so easily purchased.

  “So after we got their bellies full and did a wee bit o’ negotiatin’, we set off fer Blackthorn lands. It took us six days to reach it, what with all the snow,” Frederick explained. He took another sip of the warm whisky and began to finally relax. “It took us less than eight hours to fell the Blackthorn keep. We killed every last one of the bastards. We didna harm the women folk though.”

  Daniel snorted and nodded his head. “Garrick Blackthorn was a coward. He hid behind his woman’s skirts. Used her as a shield. We didna mean for any harm to come to her, Rowan. But ’twas in the heat of battle, ye ken.”

  “Aye,” Frederick added. “Arrows were flyin’. Daniel was hot on Garrick’s heals when his woman came runnin’ out of his keep, wavin’ her arms, screamin’. Garrick grabbed her and held her in front of him, like she was a target. It couldna be helped. The arrow pierced through her heart and into his gut. It took a few hours, but he eventually died. Bled to death. Slowly.”

  They sat in contemplative silence for a long moment. Rowan had always known Garrick to be a coward, but to use his own woman as a shield? ’Twas unforgivable. Then he reminded himself that it was English blood that ran through Garrick’s veins. Still, ’twas a piss poor excuse fer such cowardly behavior.

  “’Twas odd though, Rowan,” Frederick said. “Before he grabbed his woman, he was screamin’ at the top of his lungs that he would avenge his mother’s death. He was wavin’ his sword but no’ usin’ it. I dunnae what that was about.”

  Rowan grimaced. He knew all too well what Garrick referred to. “Garrick Blackthorn blames me father fer his mother’s death.”

  Daniel and Frederick looked up at Rowan with knitted brows.

  Rowan took a quick breath in and let it out before explaining himself. “Ye see, his mum died in childbed, along with her bairn.”

  Frederick quirked a curious brow. “And what exactly did Andrew have to do with that?”

  “Nothin’,” Rowan answered. “Garrick’s father was tetched. A wretched man to begin with. He was neither kind nor loyal to her, ye ken. He bed many a woman before and after he married. She caught him in bed with one of his women one day. It broke her heart.”

  “And how do ye ken this?” Daniel asked.

  “Doreen Blackthorn and me mum were verra good friends. When Doreen found her husband in bed with another woman, she and Garrick came to stay here fer a time. After a few months, she returned to her husband. She carried another man’s babe.”

  Frederick and Daniel stared at Rowan in utter disbelief. “Ye canna mean yer da--”

  Rowan shook his head. “Nay, ’twasn’t me da’s babe she carried. ’Twas Thomas’.”

  Frederick whistled while Daniel just stared at Rowan, completely surprised by this bit of news.

  “Doreen refused to tell who the babe belonged to. Garrick’s da blamed mine. From that point on, Garrick blamed me da fer his mum’s death when he should have blamed his own father.”

  It was a tragedy any way one chose to look at it. Rowan poured himself a cup of whisky and sipped it slowly.

  “Did we lose any of our own?” he asked.

  “Nay, a few injuries, but nothin’ the lads canna survive.”

  “And the others?”

  “We’re findin’ places fer them in the barracks, the men’s solar above stairs. Anywhere we can tuck them into. We’re watchin’ them closely. But I think they’ll work out well among us. They be verra grateful fer a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs.”

  Rowan nodded and contemplated the situation. In a few short hours, he had married and his clan had doubled in size.

  They had a rough road ahead of them. It might not be easy for the newcomers to acclimate themselves to Clan Graham ways, but he was hopeful that over time they would come to appreciate all that his clan had to offer.

  “I’ll speak with them on the morrow,” Rowan told them. “After the noonin meal, assemble them in the courtyard.” He tossed back the rest of his whisky and set the cup down.

  They sat in quiet contemplation for a time, each man mulling over the events of the past months. Daniel finally asked what was to come of Lady Beatrice.

  “While I would personally like to see her hang, Arline will have none of it. I plan to write the sheriff in Edinburgh and I will press charges against her. Until the sheriff comes fer her, the wench can rot in the dungeon fer all I care.”

  “Have ye asked why she done it?” Frederick asked, curious to know what would drive a woman to such lengths.

  “I dunnae, yet, but I’ve sent fer Thomas. Mayhap he has the answer to that question.”

  They enjoyed another cup of whisky and discussed the new men. Daniel and Frederick each was of the opinion that most of the men were of good character. A few however, would require being watched very closely.

  Thomas appeared some time later, looking rather stun
ned.

  “Beatrice was of no help at all,” Thomas said as Rowan handed him a cup of whisky. “But Joan was full of verra useful information.” He took a long drink before turning one of the chairs that sat in front of Rowan’s desk around to face the other men.

  “Beatrice is -- or was -- Garrick Blackthorn’s sister, born on the other side of the blanket, ye ken. No’ a real lady by birth.” He paused to take a glance at the three surprised faces staring back at him. “Aye, I about fell off me stool when I learned it! Apparently, Garrick promised that if she could get ye,” he pointed to Rowan with a nod and his cup, “to marry her, Garrick would formally recognize her as his sister. The plan was fer her to marry ye, then kill ye off. Once ye were dead, then Beatrice would hand everything over to Garrick, take the title she’s apparently wanted fer years, along with a good deal of coin. Takin’ Lily was a way fer them to find out if ye had as much in gold as they hoped ye did.”

  Thomas sat back and watched the men absorbing the news. It was, in deed, a stunning bit of information.

  “Apparently, Beatrice is just as ruthless as her brother. Joan was afeared fer her life, ye ken. I saw the bruises and marks Beatrice inflicted,” he took another drink in hopes it would wash away the bitter taste left in his mouth from what he had witnessed.

  “Well,” Rowan said, sounding both perturbed and relieved as he stood to his feet. “I hope the sheriff can come up with a punishment befitting all Beatrice’s crimes.”

  Rowan had had his fill of intrigue, mysteries, and bad news. He wanted to go back to his room, climb into his bed, and make love to his wife again.

  He tossed back the last of his whisky and placed the cup on his desk. He turned to look at Frederick and Daniel.

  “The two of ye go and bathe, get some rest. I have a feelin’ the next few months willna be easy.”