by Paula Quinn
He unclasped his plaid from around his waist and unwound himself from it. He heard her gasp and, reaching out, he pulled her around and set her down on the bed. He took in the sight of her long, lithe curves, the tight tips of her breasts beckoning to be kissed, the sensual slope of her belly, the sweet tuft of black hair below.
He lay beside her, leaned on his shoulder and faced her. “Everythin’ will be well,” he promised on the tenderest whisper he could manage. “I will see to it.”
“I am not afraid, Cainnech,” she assured him, her warm, honey-scented breath falling on his face. “I wish to join with you and bring you pleasure.”
What had he done to deserve such a wife? “Lookin’ at ye gives me pleasure.”
She stared into his eyes and ran her fingers over his smile. “I feel the same way about you. Still, I want more. Do you not?”
He bent in close to her lips. “Aye, I want more.”
They coiled their limbs around each other, unable to get close enough.
“Does it pain you?” she asked of his heavy cock resting between them. “May I touch it?”
She ran her fingertips along his length, stretching his control to its limit. He groaned and grew even harder. When she closed her fingers around him, he grazed his teeth over her erect nipples and moved over her. They explored and enjoyed each other’s bodies with their fingers, lips, and tongues.
Taking his time at such pleasures was a new experience for Cain. Each kiss, every moan he pulled from her would be forever emblazoned on his memory. He would never forget this night with her. He loved her. He loved, and it didn’t hurt.
He told her while he kissed her body, tasting the sweet fruit of her breasts, the tight nub between her milky white thighs. His brave, beautiful woman didn’t flinch at his scandalous exploration and delight. No. She writhed in his mouth and drove him mad with the need to have her.
When he lifted himself above her, she smiled, ready to take him.
I will be tender. I will be tender. He chanted the litany over and over in his mind.
“Thank ye fer takin’ me as yer husband,” he said against her mouth as he lowered his body and rested himself on her.
Her warmth and inviting arms were nearly his undoing. He slipped his hand between them to guide himself to her entrance. He closed his eyes, afraid of hurting her, but her long legs parted for him.
“My love,” she whispered on the sultriest of breath, “thank you for taking me as your wife.”
He pulled her legs around him and pushed forward.
Tender.
He pushed a little more, leaning down to kiss her face, her neck, and to tell her he loved her. He moved slowly, grinding his teeth with the effort not to thrust into her. She held him as he pushed deeper, breaking her veil. At times, he paused and spoke softly to her when it seemed too painful, but she would not release him and, finally, she began to move under him.
Burying his face into her neck, he groaned and kissed a fiery path to her ear. He pressed her hands to the bed on either side of her and twined his fingers through hers.
He pushed forward on his knees and lifted her up with the force of his thighs. He almost withdrew, and then thrust himself deep into her.
She was sleek and tight around him. When he lifted his face from her throat, her languorous, sensual gaze captured his. They shared an intimate smile and then she closed her eyes and arched her back.
He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked until she undulated like a wave beneath him.
She grew tighter, wetter, hotter around him, gripping his shoulders. He released her nipple and clenched his jaw, watching her surrender all to him. She cried out. He sank into her again, surging against her slowly and with scintillating purpose until they both found their sweet release.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Aleysia opened her eyes to the morning sun shining through her unshuttered window. She felt Cainnech’s heavy weight on her and looked down to find him sprawled across her belly, asleep. Both of them dusted with rose petals.
He wasn’t so heavy that she could not breathe—at least he wasn’t last eve. She tried to move. He let out a little snore and snuggled deeper into her.
Oh, her heart swelled with love. She would not have believed it was possible to love anyone the way she loved him. She settled her gaze on his big, broad hand resting on her arm. He’d been careful with her, tender—and he’d pulled from her a part of herself she didn’t know existed. A wanton, scandalous side she discovered she liked and wanted to explore.
Beatrice had been quite right. The pain hadn’t lasted long before it was replaced with pleasure. And oh, Aleysia had never felt anything like it! Everything he did to her felt charged with fire, driven by pure male demand, and tempered with love.
She was happy, happier than she’d ever been before. Cainnech loved her and the villagers still loved her, as well. The men didn’t hate her. She looked down at the man in her arms. If she must bow to his king, she would. She would do anything for him.
He moved atop her, waking from his slumber. She ran her fingers through his hair while he kissed her belly and then lifted his head to smile at her.
“You slept well, Husband?” Her body believed he was her husband, but her mind still had difficulty.
“Aye,” he told her groggily. “I did.”
She decided she loved how he looked in the morning, his languid lids and sleepy smile, the first things she saw. She ran her palm down his corded, scarred back and then blushed when her gaze fell on his firm, naked bottom.
Could she take him again? She felt a bit sore…there. How many times did a married couple join together? Every day? She hoped so.
He leaned up on his palms and gazed down at her. “What is that smile aboot?”
“I was thinking about joining with you again.”
He arched a brow and quirked his mouth at her. “Oh? Ye liked it then?”
“Aye,” she laughed softly and looked away.
He moved up her body, wedging himself between her legs. “Ye will find me ready, Wife.”
Someone rapped at the door.
Her husband growled like an angry bear. “What is it?”
“Cainnech,” Father Timothy’s voice came through the door, a note of urgency staining his voice. “I must speak with ye at once.”
The instant Cainnech pushed off her, Aleysia sat up and pulled the bed coverings to her chin. She watched her husband lumber out of bed and snatch up his plaid. He went to the door, tying the plaid around his waist, and yanked open the door.
Aleysia listened as the priest spoke.
“King Robert has arrived. With him are Sir John de Granville of Avranches and a section of Norman soldiers.”
“No!” Aleysia cried out.
Cainnech said something to the priest in a low voice and shut the door. He didn’t stop her when she bolted from the bed and began dressing.
“What does he mean to do?” She was glad he didn’t ask whom she meant. She didn’t know. Both. What were the Normans doing with the king?
“Dinna fear, lass,” Cainnech tried to comfort her. He came close to where she stood and took hold of her frantic fingers trying to braid her hair. “I will go see what this is all aboot. Ye stay here. I will send Matilda in to ye.”
“Cainnech,” She pulled on his arm when he moved for his léine. “What if the king—”
He came back to her and took her in his arms. He leaned his forehead against hers and said in a low, rough voice that seared across her soul, “Aleysia, I will never be taken from ye, my love.” He kissed her, a promise, and then broke free, pulled on his léine and boots, and left the solar.
Aleysia listened to the door close and shut her eyes. Sir John had returned for her. What could he do now that she and Cainnech were married? Would he try to contest it? She would kill him if he did. She’d need a dagger or two. She knew just where to find them.
She hurried into a fresh pair of black breeches, a woolen léine of dyed blue, an
d a black bodice. She had no intention of luring Sir John into a fight he would lose.
Bastard! Was this the man her cousin had chosen for her? One who couldn’t take no for an answer?
Why was he with the Bruce? She would soon find out. Her heart thrashed wildly in her chest and she had to redo her braid three times, but she sent Mattie away when her friend arrived with no further news.
She set off soon after to fetch her daggers from under the cupboards in the kitchen.
The great hall was swarming with men. Cainnech’s men mixed with the Bruce’s, who had not joined them yet, and the Normans eyed them all while they gathered together near the hearth fire, whispering amongst themselves.
Aleysia found Cainnech standing with his men. The King of Scots hadn’t graced them with his presence yet.
She entered alone, her head held up, shoulders straight. She took a step toward Cainnech, but Richard blocked her path. She smiled briefly at her old friend. “Where is the Bruce?”
“He is speaking with Sir John, I believe. Aleysia,” he said. Something hard in his voice stopped her when she would have moved toward her husband. “What did he do to you to make you agree to wed him?”
She blinked. “Cainnech?”
“The Scot, aye. Am I to believe he did not coerce you? Perhaps using Lismoor to gain—”
“Stop it. Has it not occurred to you that I love him?”
His eyes grew as hard as his tone. “No, it has not. They killed your brother. They took your home. You have been planning their deaths for four years!” He shouted the last and Cainnech and some of his men turned to see what was going on.
“And you want me to believe you have put that all to the side because you love him?”
“That is enough,” Cainnech appeared beside her. “Amish, take him to the keep.”
Aleysia didn’t question his decision, but called his men to gather around the table. Her hands shook. She could hear her heart thumping in her chest. Every part of her screamed not to do it, but it was long past the time they knew the truth.
“You are all my friends,” she told them, trying to calm her nerves. “I have not had a chance to tell you that I am sorry for everything that took place in the forest when you arrived. I am no longer the person I was that day—or four years ago.”
“We understand why ye did it,” Rauf told her.
The rest of the men agreed. Her relief was overwhelming. Perhaps things would turn out all right, after all. Save for Richard, who would come to his senses once this was all over.
She moved under Cainnech’s arm when the King of Scots was finally announced. It took three men and a trumpet. Aleysia rolled her eyes. When she saw Sir John enter after him, her gaze went cold. She instinctively felt for one of her daggers tucked inside her bodice. Her eyes slanted to her husband and she found him watching her.
“Commander MacPherson!” Robert the Bruce’s boisterous voice filled the hall.
Cainnech turned toward him with a smile and released Aleysia to bow to him.
“Yer Majesty,” he called out. “Welcome to Lismoor Castle.”
Robert the Bruce wasn’t overly tall, but she remembered Giles speaking of him once during one of his visits. His size didn’t matter when it came to his skill and his courage. One did not have to be a Scot to hear the tales.
His dark eyes drifted to her, and then sized her up from boots to braid. “Miss d’Argentan, I presume?”
She nodded, suddenly caught speechless that Robert the Bruce was standing in her great hall, believing he was here to decide her fate. That was why Sir John was here with him. Pity he didn’t know it had already been decided the moment Cainnech MacPherson set foot in her forest.
“What brings my lord here?” Cainnech asked rather boldly.
If the king, who reached Cainnech’s shoulder, took offense, he did not let it show. “I was leavin’ Fife when I received word from Sir John here,” he turned toward the Norman, standing close by, “that there was some sort of dispute between ye and him over a woman. When I met with him, I told him that ’twas I who ordered she be wed.”
“Yer Majesty,” Father Timothy interrupted with a smile. “There is some—”
“Ah, Father Timothy, ’tis good to see ye!” the King of the Scots greeted him with open arms.
After a tight embrace, the priest stepped back and bowed, losing his nerve to continue.
“Sire,” Cainnech tried to take up where his friend left off.
The Bruce held up his hand to cut him off. “Sir John has already been promised to Miss d’Argentan by her cousin, Lord Geoffrey d’Argentan of Normandy.”
“Aye, Sir John showed me his letter,” Cainnech agreed.
“So then?” the Bruce asked, holding up his hands. “What is the dispute? Hand her over.”
No! Aleysia took a step back. Cainnech stepped in front of her.
“Sire, she is my wife.”
“Yer—” the king worked the word around his tight jaw. “—wife?” He turned to Father Timothy. “Ye married them. When?”
“Yesterday, Sire,” the priest told him. “They are in love. Meant to be by God’s own hand!” He shouted when the king would quiet him.
“Do ye want to be removed, Father?” the king asked.
Before anyone moved, Aleysia stepped forward and did her best to smile. “Sire, I do not want to marry Sir John. I love Cainne—the commander. What difference does it make which of them I take as a husband? My castle and my land will still be yours.”
The Scottish king’s face was unreadable. His tone, when he spoke, was sweet and condescending. “Miss d’Argentan, it doesna concern ye what difference it makes to me. If ’tis not I who stands behind this agreement, I will send Sir John off to yer King Edward and ye will see who he chooses fer ye. Aye?”
“He wants Norman allies,” Cainnech told her boldly facing his king. “That is why he wants ye to wed Sir John.”
“I see bein’ here hasna had a good effect on ye or the priest,” the king said, holding up his hands. “Ye will take yer men and leave after the ceremony.”
“What ceremony?” Cainnech demanded. “She is my wife before God and witnesses. Ye canna—”
“I will never swear my allegiance to you!” Aleysia swore as four of the king’s men stepped forward. “I want to make my plea before my king, Edward.”
“Yer Majesty,” Sir John stepped back when Cainnech reached out for him. “This is a volatile place. I wish to take Miss d’Argentan away tonight. I will take her to England.”
“Robert,” Cainnech said, commanding the king’s attention. “I have fought many battles in yer name, was willin’ to give my life to yer cause. Dinna repay me this way. I love her.”
Tears filled Aleysia’s eyes until her vision was blurred. She swiped her tears away and moved closer to him.
“Cainnech, if this were anyone else,” the king said regretfully. “But what ye say is true. I need this alliance. Imagine our force with the Normans on our side!”
Cainnech shook his head. “Nae. I can never give her up.”
“I understand there is a dungeon here. Dinna make me throw ye in it,” the king warned. “I canna let ye stand in the way of this.”
Cainnech ripped his sword from its sheath. “Let the Norman meet me on the field.”
“Nae,” the king warned again. “Put yer sword away.”
“Sire,” Cainnech pleaded. “Dinna make me do this.”
“My love,” Aleysia placed her hand on his arm. She didn’t want him to fight the king’s men. Some were men he knew and he might not make it out alive. “Please, put your sword away.”
He looked at her with his heart in his eyes. He wouldn’t lose her. He would do anything but lose her.
“Ye will leave tonight,” the king told him once his sword was sheathed.
“Then I will leave with my wife.”
“Take him away,” the king ordered. “And relieve him of his sword.”
Father Timothy held out his hand as if
to stop them. “Sire, please.”
Cainnech fought six of them off before Nicholas and some of the others leaped into the fray. Once Cainnech saw his brother in the fight, he stopped and commanded Nicholas to stop as well.
Aleysia watched them push him away. He looked over his shoulder at her and then smashed his forehead into the next man who pushed him. The man fell to the floor as if dead.
When he was gone, the king gave the fallen man a pitied look and then turned to Aleysia. “Ye will leave with Sir John at once. Ye are England’s problem. Not mine. And ye,” he turned to Sir John, “will remember who ’twas who helped ye today.”
“Who betrays his friend,” Aleysia bit out. “I will not remain at Lismoor while you are king. Let Sir John wed one of your other puppets.”
“Our time is done here, Miss d’Argentan,” the Bruce told her. “I suggest ye go make ready fer yer trip.”
Oh, she felt for her dagger, she was ready.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cain waited alone in the light of a single candle in the depths of Lismoor. Put in the dungeon by the man he’d served for more than a decade. The betrayal cut deep and Cain would never forget it, but now was not the time for such thoughts. Now, he had to find a way out of Lismoor’s dungeon. He knew there was one, for Aleysia had escaped. Unless she’d already had the key with her.
He searched the cell for over of an hour but, in the dark, he could find nothing. He shouted for someone to come and then continued searching for the key. He was surprised to see Richard step into the torchlight by the entrance.
He rushed to the bars. “Richard, help me get oot of here!”
“’Tis too late,” he said, coming closer, looking drained and miserable. “He took her.”
Cain threw himself against the bars. “Sir John? Where?” he demanded when the old knight nodded.
“To England. He denied my company. Oh,” he lamented. “This is not what I wanted when I wrote to Geoffrey d’Argentan. I only meant to protect her.”
“Ye wrote to him?” Cain asked, stunned. That was how Sir John knew to come here. “’Tis too late now fer regrets, Sir Richard. But ’tis not too late to protect her. Help me get oot.”
