by Alisa Adams
They partook of the feast till they were both satisfied then looked around for a way to be alone. They wanted no ribald comments, teasing, or, worst of all, bawdy drinking songs.
Davie had managed to slip into the shadow of a pillar, but Mairi was still besieged by well-wishers, when suddenly Alexa appeared, grabbed her hand and shooed her off to Davie's side before blocking the stairway with her body. They would be grateful to her for the rest of their lives!
* * *
"Thank the Lord!" Davie sighed as he pulled his new wife onto the big feather bed with him. Their bedroom had been warmed in advance with a massive log fire in the grate, and it cast warm dancing patterns of light and shade that dispelled the cold blue twilight outside. Downstairs they could still hear merriment, but soon it would subside, and all noise would fade away.
"An' good afternoon, Mistress Elliott," he added. "By the way, thank ye for marryin' a big eejit like me!"
"Davie!" She chuckled and gave him a playful punch on his shoulder. "Ye might be a big eejit, but ye're my big eejit!"
They lay for a while looking into the fire. Strangely, the Davie who had wanted to tear the wrappings off his new wife and make her his at once was gone, at least for the moment.
The Davie who was lying beside her at that moment was a man of deep tenderness. He was content to hold Mairi 's pliant body in his arms in the most contented way till she was ready for him.
Presently, in the soft stillness of the warm, peaceful room, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
* * *
They were woken up in the gray dawn by a maid coming to light the fire, which had gone out during the night. They lay giggling for a while under their blankets as she bustled about her work in a very embarrassed fashion.
"No' quite the weddin' night I imagined, hen!" Davie said with wryness.
"Then it had better be a good weddin' mornin' instead," Mairi whispered, pulling his head down for a kiss.
Her wedding gown was creased and crumpled since she had slept in it the night before, but Davie peeled it off her gently and reverently, then looked at her for a long time. His gaze dwelt lovingly on the white skin of her throat and the tender curves of her breasts, her tiny waist, womanly hips and the long shapely columns of her legs.
Mairi Sutherland Elliott was a beauty.
She lay for a while, content to be worshiped, as she watched his eyes began to glow with desire. She took off his shirt and plaid as lovingly as he had taken off her dress.
She gasped. She had never seen a man's body as finely sculpted as this. In the hovel in which she had grown up, there had always been men in every form of undress moving around without shame. However, to see this big and gentle body, and know that it now belonged to her alone, lit a fire in her that she had never imagined experiencing.
His chest muscles were round, powerful and dusted with fine light brown hair, and his upper arms looked strong enough to lift oxen. She had never seen anything like the tiny ones on his stomach arranged in three little rows down to his navel. None of her skinny older brothers had them, she was sure.
His thighs bulged with strength and yet none of his sheer masculinity frightened her. It reassured and comforted her because she knew it would only be used in her defense and for her protection.
"Oh, Mairi," he whispered. "Mairi Elliott, ye are the bonniest lass I hae ever seen!"
Mairi could not reply because she was smiling through tears of happiness.
He began to stroke her, going slower and gentler than he wanted to, restraining his urges till she was ready for him. She felt his soft skin rubbing against her, warm from their pleasure already. When he kissed her mouth, throat, and breasts, she felt the teasing rasp of his stubble on her skin, and she had never imagined such delight.
Davie had been with a few girls before, but not like Mairi, wrapped in a cocoon of love, needing to give her as much pleasure as she was giving him. His limbs tangled with hers as he moaned her name against her mouth. Then he felt her straining against him and knew that she was ready, then, slow and tender, made her his.
She hardly felt the pain as they came together, but she screamed a few moments later when the most delicious wave of sheer delight washed over her. It came and went, came and went, finally leaving her body shuddering out and abandoned to a pleasing lassitude as it subsided. Then they were kissing, kissing, and kissing, till she thought she might die of love.
Davie's eyes had never beheld anything as wondrous as Mairi 's face as she reached fulfillment. Her eyes widened in shock for a second and then she howled with utter pleasure.
His own moment of climax surprised him by its fierceness, but all he could feel now was an overpowering joy. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her forever, but at last, he drew the blankets back over their naked bodies and laid his head on the pillow beside her, looking into her eyes.
"Thank ye," she breathed out. "Thank ye, Davie. I never knew – I never believed it would be like that."
"Neither did I, sweetheart," he murmured, smiling. "Mayhap it willnae always be like this, but we will aye love each other, will we no'?"
"Aye." She nodded.
Mairi stretched and yawned, giving Davie the chance to kiss her breast again.
She laughed. "I'm hungry!"
"Well, Mistress Elliott," he said resignedly, "there's naethin' else fer it. We need tae get oot o' bed."
"Is there no' some kind o' magic that can bring ye breakfast in bed?" Mairi groaned.
Just then, there was a tentative tap at the door, and they exchanged puzzled glances.
"Who is it?" Davie called.
"Breakfast, sir!" called the voice of one of the kitchen staff.
Davie got up and wrapped his plaid around himself, then went to the door and fetched the gargantuan feast Moira had ordered them from the kitchen.
Mairi looked at it in wonder.
"It seems that there is breakfast magic efter all!" Her voice was incredulous.
The tray was overflowing with food. There were bannocks, kippers, scrambled eggs and black pudding. To wash it down, there was a great pitcher of ale, and when they had worked their way through it, they both knew they had overdone it.
"Husband," Mairi groaned out, "d'ye feel a pressing need tae go back tae sleep?"
"Aye, Mistress Elliott," he replied wearily, yawning. "I dae."
So they did, and when they woke, they made love once more.
They were drowning in it.
34
Setting Off
Donald and Dougall had told Mairi about their journey first, as befitted her special status as their sister and family, but although she took the news stoically, they knew that she was breaking inside. These tall young strange men, still only boys really, were off on the biggest adventure of their lives, and who knew if they would even come back? She wasn't even sure if they would grow out of their armor before the journey's end.
The Wallace? The Bruce? What did those names mean when her brothers were only just starting to shave? Alexa had equipped them with all the skills they needed to become warriors on the battlefield, but there was nothing she could do to make their adolescent minds grow faster.
At this age, hero-worship was in their blood. At the moment, the Wallace and the Bruce were giants of mythology, but the filthy reality of battle was different. She knew this from listening to a wounded knight who had come back from the battlefield having left behind an eye and an arm.
"Lads," she said doubtfully, "are ye baith sure? Certain sure in yer hearts that this is the path ye want tae walk? Whit if one or baith o' ye doesnae come back? Whit if ye lose a limb? Or yer sight? Or yer manhood? And whit if ye are captured an' tortured by thon English devils?"
The sight of her face, so riven with misery, gave them pause for a moment.
"Sister," Dougall said gently, "'tis a long road an’ there is plenty o' time fer oor minds tae change. Dinnae fash yersel'. Donald an' me have nae wish tae die. All we wish is fer oor country tae be f
ree."
"An' ye think ye can make it so by givin' it yer lives?" Mairi asked, sighing.
"Aye," Donald replied, smiling tenderly. "An' we will see ye again, Sister. I knaw we will, fer we are no' good enough tae get intae heaven an' no’ bad enough tae get intae hell!"
Mairi laughed, but that night, as she received her husband's love, it was mostly to comfort her troubled spirit.
Gregor's sister, brother, and grandfather came to see him, but no one could make him change his mind. His father had resolutely refused to see him again, so it was with a heavy heart that he prepared to make the journey south.
There would be many other shrines to see to commune with other pilgrims, but he was unsure if any of them was going as far as the Holy Land. He knew about the conflict there, of course, and thanked God he was not a warrior for Christ like the Templars. He may have been schooled in the martial arts, but that part of his life was now behind him.
It had been unexpectedly hard for him to say goodbye to Lorraine, especially the new Lorraine who was now shining with love in Graham's arms. She reminded him with an acute stab of anguish just how much he would miss on his lonely journey.
Yes, his mind would be liberated and expanded, filled with the love of God, but sometimes there would be no replacement for the comfort of a pair of warm and loving arms on a lonely night. He hoped his journey of the mind would be enough.
The day of all the departures was one of kissing, weeping and praying. No one had ever imagined Gregor being a pilgrim, but then no one had ever imagined the Sutherlands being routed either.
It was close to Christmas, so they said Mass quietly before the two pilgrims and the two knights began to ride away.
Just as they did, though, a horse came flying at a thunderous speed through the main gate, which had been opened for their exit. It skidded to a stop by Gregor's side, and his father got off, breathing heavily. His face was covered in tears. He dropped off his mound and grabbed Gregor into his arms.
"My son," he breathed out. "Forgive me my hastiness and selfishness."
Gregor smiled happily, looking into his father's eyes,
"There is nothing to forgive, Father." He cupped the laird's cheek in his hand. "There never was."
"I could only see what I wanted," his father whispered. "Not what was best for you. If this is your chosen path, my son, then take it, and go with my blessing and love."
Gregor nodded, smiled and kissed his father's forehead.
"Go well," he whispered, "with my love too."
The laird pressed a little pouch into Gregor's hand, and then his son and the priest they were gone.
He stood, trembling, till Moira came and put a warm woolen blanket around him, then led him inside.
Moira's healthy baby boy was born in the early morning of Christmas day after an agonizing but mercifully short labor. Annag had never seen such an anxious father but made allowances for his history. Deaths in childbirth of both mother and baby were all too commonplace but no less heartbreaking for that.
As Iain held his son and kissed his wife in the first moments after the birth, he could hardly speak. He just looked at the little morsel of new life that he and Moira had made, its face anything but tranquil, little fists punching the air indignantly. Though he was filled with the love of a new father, Iain was smiling as he handed the baby back to Moira.
"Thank you, my love," he said tenderly. "I have never felt so blessed. But I must confess that I did hope he would be a little happier to see me!"
Moira was lying exhausted on the pillow but giggled as she took the baby. Annag helped her to settle him on her breast where he sucked greedily with snuffling, contented gulps.
"Annag," Iain said dreamily, "is he not the most handsome little boy you have ever seen?"
Annag, who had been asked the same question a thousand times before, and always gave the same answer, replied happily:
"Aye, my Laird, the most handsome indeed. Jist like his faither."
Annag bustled about tidying up, which she did as quickly and efficiently as possible.
This was a special time for the new family, and she had no wish to intrude. So, she left Moira, Laird Iain and young Iain Alex Drummond to their own devices.
Another love match had been made.
There was no Lorraine, Graham, Mairi, Gregor, or even Dougall and Donald for Alexa to talk to, ride with or drink wine with anymore. Moira and Iain, along with everyone else it seemed, were totally besotted by the new baby, but Alexa decided to be enchanted in a little while – once it had stopped turning red and screaming. As she had judged before, she was not cut out for motherhood.
Since there was no one of her own age to amuse herself with and no young man in the district thought her a decent marriage prospect, she thought that perhaps a visit to Inverness might cheer her up.
She had had no invitation from the McGregors, but mayhap they would invite her once she was there. She just about had time to ride the distance before New Year.
"But we are Christening the baby!" Moira wailed on hearing the news. "You are his godmother!"
"I am not going to the moon, Sister," Alexa pointed out, "just to Inverness. I can be his godmother when I get back."
"But it's the middle of winter!"
Alexa gave her a sharp sideways look.
"Moira, I love you," she said patiently, "but everyone with whom I have anything in common has gone. I'm lonely here, and I need some new company."
"I know you have always been fretful and restless," Moira said sullenly. "But do not forget those who have your interests at heart, Mistress Montgomery.
"Despite the fact that you want to keep that honorable surname of yours, a man will come along someday, and you will beg him to change it for you. You have never believed me, or anyone else who told you the same thing, but it will come to pass, I promise."
Only if he’s French, she thought.
Alexa looked at her stern face and shivered.
Ten minutes later, she was gone.
35
Towards Inverness
Fortunately, Alexa's 's constitution had been made more from Adam than from Eve, for which she was infinitely glad in the first days of her journey, which was rocky, slippery, winding, and totally unforgiving in every way.
She spent most nights huddled in whatever shelter she could find with a little fire and her furs to keep her warm, and usually had no trouble sleeping because she would pass out from sheer exhaustion.
She usually managed to make herself a hot breakfast of thick porridge and goats' milk and was stacked up with as much traveling food as she needed for two weeks. If she ran out, she had a crossbow!
On the last night of her journey from Gairloch, she stopped for the night in the coziest cave she had seen so far beside the road. There was plenty of firewood nearby, and the floor was covered in a blanket of dried fir leaves. Alexa had spread a deerskin on the ground and prepared the fire for cooking when suddenly she realized she was not alone.
The clatter of hoof beats and jingling bridles coming up the path toward her alerted her immediately to the presence of other travelers, now almost upon her. She heard the whickering and blowing of their horses and then deep rumbling of voices speaking in some tongue she could not, at that moment, understand. It was certainly not Gaelic or English.
There were two of them, and Alexa, alone in the small space, was terrified. Although bandits were few, they were by no means unknown in this part of the Highlands, and a woman alone in the wilderness could take no chances, no matter how innocent strangers looked.
By now they had seen the fire and her horse, Jenny, standing quietly beside the path. Alexa waited tensely behind a tree, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, waiting to see what they would do next.
Both of them were covered from head to foot in thick woolen cloaks, and their faces were invisible, but she could hear with some incomprehensible relief that one was a woman.
Her voice was lighter, and when she laughed,
it sounded like the tinkling of altar bells, which was so incongruous to the wild dark night that Alexa almost laughed herself. When the laugh was answered by a male one, it was like a deep drum which made Alexa shiver in fear.
Alexa stepped out from behind the tree as the strangers dismounted and advanced with her sword pointing straight at the man. He had seen the fire, so he was not totally unprepared, but even so, he flinched as he saw the scintillating needlepoint of steel under his nose. Perhaps he had expected a more gracious welcome.
"Throw your weapons down," Alexa said as menacingly as she could.
The man was intimidatingly large and looked as though he could pick her up and throw her in the fire with one hand. The woman stood stock-still behind him, not a muscle of her body betraying that she was anything more than an effigy.
The man silently did as he was bidden, a richly carved sword and pointed dagger hitting the floor a moment later.
Alexa waved her weapon at the woman, indicating that she should do the same, then a smaller dagger and sword hit the ground.
"English?" Alexa asked.
The man nodded.
"Kick them over here," Alexa barked out. In a second the weapons had skidded over to lie at her feet. "Now sit."
Swiftly she tied both their hands with the spare rope she always kept on her saddle then she began to move around her makeshift camp preparing her meal.
Neither captive could take their hood off so Alexa could not see their faces. She got on with cooking, ignoring the soft sobbing from the woman and the low, soothing noises from the man. If they were robbers, this was just the kind of ploy they would use to gain her sympathy.
Presently, the woman began to weep openly, and the man made a growling noise of anger.
"S'il vous plais—" he began, but Alexa whipped around on him.
