Gavyn locked his arms around her waist and nuzzled her ear. “I’m always surprised that this thing betwixt us only gets better. Truth to tell, wife of mine, I wouldnae be surprised if it kills me one of these days. Too much pleasure can’t be good for any man.”
She let a smile lighten her speech, “It seems to me you have naught to worry about. It’s obvious you are in fine fettle.” She ran her palms down his arms, moulded the hard bulge of muscle and sinew unhampered by fat. “Even when we first met I could see that.”
“And here I thought you could see naught but my scar.”
Kathryn pushed against his chest, hands fisted to prevent her fingers reaching up to touch the scar he hated so much. “It worries you more than it does me. I barely notice it anymore, and I’m certain that it bothers you more than anyone living at Dun Bhuird.”
“It offends Brodwyn, and Harald mayhap a little less. I can tell by the way their eyes shift away as if it frightens them,” he said, leaning into her, his weight holding her against the door.
And more, she realised as his shaft hardened inside her again, filling her with a sensation that almost stole her words, made her stumble. “If it … does frighten them … then it’s not the look of the scar…” Her breath caught on a groan of overwhelming pleasure, as she closed her eyes.
Gavyn flexed his hips, his jaw tensed as he forced his question through tight lips, “You were saying?”
“I was trying to say that folk know your reputation and are intimidated by the power you exude… Oh, yes…” Kathryn felt the ridges in the wooden door cut into her hips. She would be marked. She paid that no mind. Her whole world centred in the place they were joined. Naught else mattered but the shaft pounding inside and the man wielding it. She had no notion of how she had come to this, and at this moment, she didn’t care as she waited for the supreme gratification to take her.
Gavyn let the plane of his forehead balance on the plank holding the door together. The wood felt rough, but he had no energy to do anything to improve the situation. His ear was moistened from Kathryn’s harsh breathing. He could tell she was drowning in the sensual bliss they engendered as one being—he filling her, she abandoning control.
Aye, it was a miracle, and he wished it could be like this between them all the time.
Surely it wouldnae last.
Mayhap that was the reason he felt no rush to withdraw out of her body.
Truth to tell, being inside Kathryn was the only time he felt at home, which was a dire comment on the state of affairs at Dun Bhuird.
Slowly he pulled out of her and let her feet touch the floor, yet he couldn’t let her go. Instead he held her close, hand on her neck. The act of stroking Kathryn’s vulnerable nape was an instant reminder of her tender years. He looked down; her cheek lay softly against his chest and gradually her breath gentled, signalling their raging desire had melted away. Finally he kissed her brow then released her, saying, “This has been an unexpected pleasure in the middle of the day.”
As he turned to retrieve his plaid, she swiftly smoothed her plain grey kirtle till its folds hung once more to the floor. He preferred her in blue to match her eyes, he decided as he kilted his plaid around his waist and held it with his broad leather belt. Strange how he had become used to the feel of the soft worsted shifting around his limbs, the unexpected comfort. He cast another glance at his wife and thought … the convenience.
He held out his hand to Kathryn. “Come here, wife,” a command she obeyed without question. Unusual. Taking her hand he tugged her closer to the window, to the light. “Do you realise how seldom we spend time together in daylight? I’ve just discovered how much I like looking at you.”
Kathryn glanced down, unused to flattery. That had been Astrid’s prerogative. Her cheeks felt warm as he tilted her chin, and to make light of the moment, she mentioned, “Strange. As I recall we didn’t do a mighty lot of looking.”
“Well, I am looking now, and I’ve decided we should get to know each other,” he told her bluntly.
She took a swift breath, swallowed hard, unsure how much more knowing he had in mind, since they had spent every night together in the Bear’s big auld bed since Gavyn returned. She narrowed her eyes to give him a tentative stare.
“What I mean is, I know next to naught about you, nor you of me. I’m of a mind to remedy that. The crops are in … and Abelard has the masons under his thumb and seems to be enjoying the challenge of making sure they don’t waste any of that silver I brought home.” His mouth curved up at the corners and she noticed a dimple in one cheek, the side away from his scar. “There’s never been a better time to discover Bienn á Bhuird. Soon the leaves will turn and winter will be blowing down over the mountains, confining us to the Dun. I thought you might be persuaded to act as my guide.”
“I would enjoy that as I’ve seldom managed to travel farther than the crofts outside the wall since the Bear was killed.”
His face returned to his usual stern mien, as if she had pointed the finger of blame at him. Would she ever learn to mind her words? As if make matters worse, she followed her instincts and allowed herself a laugh as dry as her mouth and blundered on.
“You’ve no notion how happy I was to realised the masons wouldn’t be reduced to robbing my father’s cairn for stones.” She paused a space to take a short breath and continued, “Did I tell you how handsome the curtain wall and gate towers are starting to look. I should have realised that the world of wars has moved on. Dun Bhuird will be more like Cragenlaw, a stronghold to make our enemies think twice afore attacking it. I thank you for ignoring my reluctance to change. When you lose everyone you hold dear it’s natural to want to cling to all that is left to you. For me that was Dun Bhuird.”
When she dared glance at him again, she saw a glint of admiration lightening his dark eyes and decided her venture had worked.
Believed it when he proclaimed, “You are brave as well as bonnie, Kathryn. Few women, never mind men would have the courage to admit what you have, and I’m not so hard-headed, or indeed blind, that I can’t admit you had good reason to feel as you did.” He took her hand again, held it while his thumb rubbed across her knuckles. “How say you, Kathryn Comlyn, will we start over—all except our nights. I have no wish to change the only time when we have learned to come together with mutual satisfaction.” He caught her gaze and she nodded. “The next braw day, I’ll have horses mounted and you can teach me about Bienn á Bhuird and show me your favourite places. I want to see them all, but we can take our time, mayhap become friends while we visit the places that can’t be taken in at a mere glance.”
Friends?
She had never thought to be his friend the way his sister Morag was to the McArthur, so when she said, “Yes, I’d like to do that,” it meant more to her than simply showing him how beautiful the Comlyn clan lands were beyond Dun Bhuird.
“Good,” he nodded, as if satisfied. “I’ll tell you when I’ve made the arrangements.” He strode away, his back to her as he opened the door and walked out into her herb garden.
Her stillroom felt larger now he had gone—a reminder of how much room he took up in her life, in her bed, in her thoughts. She supposed his intentions were good, and one day, if the fates smiled on her, he would no longer simply tell her about the arrangements he would make for her, but ask her as well.
Success. Nhaimeth felt pretty pleased with himself. He, Jamie and Rob had six trout betwixt them—had caught, or, rather, guddled the fish in a calm patch of water he had remembered lying at the far end of the lochan—a shallow wee bay away from the torrent tumbling frae the waterfall on the cliffs at the far side of Dun Bhuird.
What would have suited him best would have been a wee fire at the side of the lochan and a tender trout stuffed with wild fennel. Instead, Jamie, who had become exceptionally staid for a lad his age, hadn’t wanted to stay away frae the Dun too long. Which meant their trout would be left to the tender mercies of the cook at Dun Bhuird. Everyone knew the cook
was a proper tyrant, though one with a dab hand at roasting a side of venison, yet he missed the delicacy necessary to the cooking of trout. Nhaimeth’s only hope was to get the fish handed off to whichever of the young scullions the cook was abusing that week.
So, while Jamie elected to remain in the stables a while longer and polish his gelding’s rump yet again, he and Rob headed for the hall.
“Oh-ho. What’s this, Nhaimeth ma lad? Teaching my nephew to poach are you?”
Nhaimeth chuckled. “I’ve merely been teaching him one of the essentials of staying alive in a wild land when all ye have are yer bare hands.” Rob came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder but said naught, mayhap because he was too busy laughing, and he didnae stop when Nhaimeth said, “However, Laird, since that glint in yer eyes is mighty green, I think bribery is called for, and since there are three of us and six fish, we are willing to share.”
“And rightly so,” Farquhar scowled. His voice rumbled as he continued the game. “One for me and another for my lady wife and I won’t cut off yer hands.”
Nhaimeth took a step back, eyes wide as he stared up Rob’s uncle. “Is that what they do in France?” he mumbled. He hadn’t had as much to do with Morag’s brother, even though they had sat at the high board beside him most nights.
Farquhar grinned, “No, but I’ve heard that’s what they do to thieves in the Holy Lands. I suggest you two lads avoid the place—though I doubt that Morag would let either of you go on a crusade.”
Rob answered, “Unlike you, Gavyn, neither of us has any ambition to cross the sea to a foreign land.” The lad chuckled again, “Especially not Jamie. He’d be terrified something might happen to his precious horse. We have to drag him out of the stables these days. I’ve no notion what has got into him. He had a great time this afternoon helping us catch the trout, yet he couldn’t wait to get back. Now he’s brushing the beast again. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were a woman, but he no longer competes for Lhilidh’s attention.”
The three of them began walking abreast in the direction of the slope, with Nhaimeth in the middle of what felt like two giants—Rob the shorter of the two.
“What’s this, Rob. Have you decided to abandon Lhilidh as well?” Gavyn questioned.
“It’s not that. I really like her. She is very good company and one of the bonniest lasses around, but it wouldn’t do to give her notions. I’m too young, and so is she.” He grinned, “Nhaimeth might be in with a chance though.”
Nhaimeth felt his face darken. It wasnae like Rob to tease, though he had a notion the lad was playing up for his uncle’s benefit. “Ye ken fine the lass is like a sister to me and deserves my respect. Aye, and ye want to remember that as well, Rob.”
“Nhaimeth is right. The lass is special. Kathryn treats her like a sister.”
“I was only jesting. I would never insult the lass. It’s easy to see, just talking to her, that she thinks Kathryn hung the moon and stars in the sky. All I meant was, I have plans and, until they’re accomplished, marriage has no part in my future.”
Nhaimeth noticed a slight pout that showed Rob’s age, and the lad confirmed it, saying, “I have barely fourteen years under my belt, time enough for lasses and bairns.”
That said it all as far as Nhaimeth was concerned. His best friend had no intention of bringing another bastard such as himself into the world. It was one thing to be the McArthur’s true heir, but his father hadn’t been there to protect him and Morag, back when he was needed by them—the reason Rob had always appeared much aulder than his real age. Nhaimeth had nae the slightest notion what Rob’s plans were. He was only certain that he would be part of them, come hell or worse. He couldnae anymore imagine his life without Rob in it.
But the Laird was asking where they had caught the fish, so they described the lochan and the enjoyment they’d had guddling for fish. “Well,” said the Laird, “mayhap you can show Kathryn and me the way there the next fine day. Now the harvest is over, I’ve promised her a few wee outings. There is a lot of Bienn á Bhuird I have still to see.”
With that promise left hanging in the air, the Laird went ahead and entered the hall and he and Rob sought out the kitchens and the bad-tempered cook.
Chapter 18
It rained for four days without stopping and, truth to tell, Kathryn was happy about it. She was feeling unwell, squeamish, and welcomed Gavyn’s habit of rising afore the sun. Since her marriage, she too had delighted in starting her day by catching the sun climbing out of the east, but that had changed since her husband came home to Dun Bhuird.
The last few mornings, she’d had trouble lifting her head off the bed, and this morning she had actually been sick the moment her feet touched the floor. Lhilidh had run to her with the basin she would normally have washed in, but today she was thankful for the lass’s quick-witted attention while feeling naturally embarrassed about emptying her stomach in front of someone, even Lhilidh.
After she finished, the pair of them simply stared at each other, eye meeting eye, both aware of what this change in Kathryn’s health meant.
Ach, she’d been imprudent not keeping a count of the days that her courses were due and, when she realised, she had told herself it was only her body getting used to what it meant to be married. Yet if she couldn’t fool Lhilidh, there was no longer any point in attempting to fool herself.
Kathryn was hard pressed to know how she felt—happy or no—about the outlook. Certainly, she had been married for more than two years, though a wife less than three months. As for her fertility, she hadn’t given it a thought, despite Gavyn’s nightly exploration of her body. Was this the result of his statement on the day they wed, his expressed wish for lots of sons? Farquhar’s sons? She wished she knew.
Would his ardour cool, knowing she was with child?
No need to tell him, not yet awhile, not until she was certain and the bairn big enough to move inside her and make its presence felt. All she had to do was keep quiet and beg Lhilidh to do the same. She had been unwise, and now was the time to rectify matters.
If she were with child, then her whole life would change again—the second adjustment to her way of doing within only a few months. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words, and made do with telling Lhilidh, “I’ll make up a potion today to prevent the nausea. You can bring me some every morning, before I rise and after the Laird has left the apartments.”
“I can dae that. Nae sense of having a mess of rumours buzzing about the place until yer sure. Ye can count on me,” she declared, and hurried away with the basin.
Jamie was a lot more amusing than Harald. The lad’s intentions were always to please her, to give her pleasure. If she went down on her knees afore him, it was because she wanted to, and the lad always paid her back tenfold with his enthusiasm for the task—unlike Harald, who thought only of himself, his needs, his wants. And those had become more perverse since he had come back to Dun Bhuird after visiting their cousin.
He was Jarl of the lands just o’er a day and a half’s ride through the glens on the other side of Dun Bhuird into Caithness—and the reason Erik Comlyn had never had to worry about an attack frae the northwest for, like them, he was related, a cousin and much closer than her and Harald. Everyone knew fine why the King of the Scots had replaced the Bear with Gavyn Farquhar. He wanted a fierce warrior with the same stature as Erik. Like many others, she had been surprised he would leave Kathryn in charge while he went off to France. However, she had seen it as a good time to persuade Kathryn that Harald’s misdemeanour wasn’t as bad as the McArthur had painted, which meant he could join her again. Then, when he returned, she discovered that Olaf and all the island’s jarls were fighting off sporadic attacks from the Irish.
She wouldn’t have put it past Farquhar to have organised it, for it had suited his purpose fine. But even he didn’t have that much power.
Dun Bhuird would, though, be a lot less safe when word got out about the treasure hidden under the mountain. Har
ald had done his bit there, telling Olaf about the riches Farquhar had retrieved frae France, and she waited with anticipation for their cousin’s first move on the Dun.
Tonight they were in the burial ground again—Harald’s suggestion—and he was waiting when she slipped through the gate in the half-dark, since it was their misfortune to be a night when the lights were dancing in the sky. She remembered how Astrid used to love to watch and how she had been jealous of her. That had all changed. Might as well be jealous of these poor souls who lay under the sod on this side of the gate.
She jumped as Harald spoke from the shadows thrown by the wall. “I was beginning to think ye had changed yer mind,” he said it carelessly, satisfied that he had startled her.
“Now why would I do that? I just thought that I should be careful. There’s little folk take for granted these days. Someone’s always watching since that murder. Let’s not make them wonder why we spend so much time together.”
“We’re cousins. Isn’t that enough?” he mocked.
She sniffed. “There was plenty of comments when ye disappeared after slicing Farquhar, which wasn’t very well done of ye. Harald, ye shouldn’t give yer hand away too soon.”
He laughed, snorted like a pig, he was so damned pleased with himself. “It was irresistible. I couldnae stay my hand. Do ye never give in to an urge?”
She thought of Jamie, but turned it around by saying, “Ye ken I have. Who better?”
“I’ve a few urges ye can satisfy tonight.”
“Why else are we here?” she murmured, catching sight of his expression as the lights danced directly above them. It wasnae reassuring. He looked too pleased with himself. Cocksure fitted his expression and his intent. And on that thought, she decided not to tell him that she thought Kathryn was with child. Later would do when she needed to bend him to her will.
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