by Amy Jarecki
Chapter Fifteen
Kilchurn building site, 30th October, 1455
Margaret dashed up the hill to Alana’s cottage. Her friend would be thrilled at the prospect of feasting with Lord Glenorchy. Finally, the MacGregors and the Campbells would shed unease and become fast allies, just as both clans desired.
Out of breath, Margaret knocked on the rickety wooden door.
When Alana opened, her round face stretched with concern. “M’lady? Whatever is wrong?”
“Good…news.” Margaret placed her hand on her chest and caught her breath. “The traitor has been brought to justice.”
“They caught Walter?”
“With his hands filled with Campbell coin.” Margaret couldn’t allow herself to show untoward exuberance for the death of another, even an enemy. She crossed herself. “He’s no longer of this world.”
Alana mirrored Margaret’s action. “’Tis for the best, m’lady.”
Margaret smiled and grasped Alana’s hands. “Agreed, and we shall celebrate with a gathering this eve.”
Alana’s eyes lit up. “And Lord Glenorchy has approved?”
“Aye.” Margaret laughed. “Ask the men to kill a steer before he has a change of mind.”
Alana clasped her hands over her heart. “Oh thank heavens. Our prayers are answered.”
“It appears we’re making progress, though there’ll be much to accomplish once winter is over.” Margaret rested a hand on her new friend’s shoulder. “Besides, we need a great hall for our gatherings. We’ll be lucky if the clouds stay at bay this eve after such a beautiful day.”
“I shall pray they do. This could well be our last opportunity for a feast before the frosts move in.”
“Can you spread the word?”
Alana pulled her cloak from a peg and draped it over her shoulders. “My oath, I will straight away.”
“Excellent. I must bathe and find a way to soften these ugly calluses on my hands. If Lord Colin sees them, I’m afraid he’ll tie me to a mare, send me back to Dunstaffnage and lock me away.”
Alana studied Margaret’s palms. “Blisters? My word, m’lady, what on earth have you been doing?”
Margaret bit her bottom lip. “A bit of labor to encourage the men.”
“You’re right, Lord Glenorchy won’t like this a bit.” She held up a finger. “I’ve just the thing.” She pulled Margaret into her little cottage and lifted a small stoppered pot from the shelf. “This salve will fix you up in no time.”
Margaret accepted the pot. “Aye? What’s in it?”
“My own concoction—made from simple houseleek.”
“Honestly? The weed that grows upon the thatch?”
“Aye—’twill take the sting away and your skin will be smooth as new. Just use it twice a day for a week.”
Margaret offered a polite curtsey. “Thank you ever so much.”
Alana walked her outside. “Leave the heavy work to the men. A highborn woman shouldn’t be up to her elbows in mortar.”
Chuckling, Margaret made her way back to the cottage almost as quickly as she’d ascended the hill to Alana’s home. After working in the mud for days, she needed a bath and a clean gown. She couldn’t help but skip. Oh to dance again. She could hardly contain her excitement.
***
Colin had walked the grounds with Tom Elliot, amazed at how much had been achieved during his absence. By the way the stonemason repeated her name, there was no doubt Margaret was the driving force behind the progress.
She’d attacked his sensibilities, trying to avert his anger. And he’d fallen into her ploy without a second thought.
When he arrived at Dunstaffnage and found she hadn’t returned, he’d actually had annulment papers drawn. He’d made it eminently clear her main concern was Duncan, and she’d defied him.
But now, he second-guessed his actions. Had she been right to stay? Not that he agreed with her about Duncan. Perhaps he could let the issue rest for a fortnight or two. Regardless, he would have a serious conversation about her future priorities before the day ended, but quite obviously, Margaret possessed the ability to pull together and organize the men where others had failed. Still, he’d keep the annulment papers locked away. If she continued to defy him, her liability would outweigh her worth.
Colin looked the stonemason in the eye. “You’ve done well, Tom. I expect to see this level of progress come spring.”
“Aye, m’lord.” Elliot bowed his head. “If the shipments arrive on time, I reckon there’ll be no further delays.”
“I believe we’ve buried that problem for good.” Colin glanced toward the cottage. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve something I must see to straight away.”
He was quickly learning things were anything but dull when Margaret Robinson was around. She seemed giddy about the feast, which Colin honestly welcomed. However, he desperately needed a bath and a shave.
In the entry, Colin removed his cloak and armor, except his breastplate and hauberk underneath. Maxwell would be along shortly to provide assistance. Always a relief to shrug out of a cumbersome coat of arms, he sighed. He headed back to his rooms and hesitated. There was movement within. Drawing his sword, he pushed inside.
Colin’s heart flew to his throat. His groin ignited into an almighty flame. Margaret stood in a washbasin without a stitch of clothing. Her arms quickly flew across her breasts and she sat in a rush, with water slopping over the barrel’s sides.
Colin blinked and rested his sword beside the door. He should have averted his eyes, but he’d already seen her. Rounded breasts, full and ripe as sin, tipped with rosy buds, they defined succulent perfection. His fingers twitched. His palms could almost feel her soft flesh when his gaze had traveled to a slender waist. Then the shapely curve of her hips didn’t disappoint. Before she splashed into the water, the dark chestnut brown triangle hiding her sex teased him, aroused his most base desires.
Wide-eyed, she stared at him. “A-are you planning to stare at me through my entire bath, m’lord?”
Colin licked his lips, and an unholy erection shot to rigid and jutted against his braies. Thank heavens the quilted codpiece beneath his hauberk covered it—barely. “Excuse me. I was not expecting to see you in my chamber.”
She slipped her arms around her knees and pulled them tight to her body. “Where else would you have me stay?”
Of course she wouldn’t sleep in the surgery, and she’d slept in this very chamber when they were traveling from Stirling. He crossed to the hearth and sat in an upholstered chair. “Apologies. I wasn’t thinking.”
“So…are…are you going to stay here?”
He turned his seat to face the fire. “I’ll keep my back averted, if that makes you more comfortable.” Why should he leave? This was his cottage and Margaret was his wife—at least until he signed the annulment papers.
“I’d be far more comfortable if you were not here at all.” Her gaze seared into his back. “But if you must stay, I do appreciate your chivalry.”
“A man should be able to gaze upon his wife without shame or embarrassment from either party.”
“Is that so? I’m afraid I have little understanding of what you speak.”
The water trickled. Colin’s erection refused to ease. What was she doing? Could he catch a glimpse of her breasts if he turned his head slightly? He tried it. Blast. She’d shifted so she had her back to him—but silken, naked shoulders were delectable. His tongue shot out and tapped his top lip. If only he could taste her.
Colin clenched his fists. What was he doing, ogling Margaret? She must have known he’d come sooner or later. Was she trying to tempt him to her bed under the guise of innocence?
The smell of her soap wafted through the air. “What’s that scent?”
“’Tis a lavender concoction from Loch Rannoch—my favorite.”
“It is very nice—almost too nice.”
“Why do you say that?”
Why does her voice have to make my heart thrum lik
e a lovesick fool? “It does things to my insides it should not.”
She emitted a nervous giggle. “You are funny. I doubt anything could affect you on the inside.”
“Not much can.” At least that was what he’d told himself over and over until he firmly believed it. “I’m pleased with your work here.” Perhaps changing the subject would relive the painful ache beneath his braies.
The water stopped trickling. Colin took a chance and glimpsed. She regarded him over her shoulder. “Thank you, but you promised not to look.”
“That I did.” He faced the fire and watched the flames dance across the wood. “Things have not been easy these past months.”
“I know.” Her voice was but a whisper.
He waited for Margaret to continue, but the water started sloshing again. “I am very concerned for the welfare of my son.”
“I assure you, m’lord”—a marked surety returned to her tone—“your son will be well cared for and educated. I give you my word I shall not abandon him during your indeterminate absence. As soon as he is able, I shall teach Duncan to pray, read and calculate sums.” The water trickled. “But first of all, I do believe I will teach him how to love. That is the first and most important lesson for all infants.”
Warmth spread through Colin’s breast. “I daresay I agree.”
“Truly?”
“Aye.”
“I think the bairn will thrive here.”
He sighed. “Glen Orchy is a magical place—so peaceful it always puts my mind at ease.”
“That is a sign you’re meant to be lord of these lands.”
Colin stood. He walked toward her and reached out his hand. “Allow me to wash your hair.” What the bloody hell am I doing?
She crossed her arms over her breasts and snapped her gaze to him. “You promised you’d keep your eyes averted.”
He touched her tresses and ran his hand through them until his fingers met water. “I did, but I was wrong to do so.” His voice deepened with his longing. He picked up a wooden bowl and knelt beside her.
Margaret’s brows knitted when she met his gaze. Without removing her arms, she leaned forward and allowed him to ladle the water over her head. He took his time, massaging the water through her thick tresses. “May I have the soap?” he asked.
Margaret released one arm and fished through the barrel. Keeping her head down, she held up the soap. Colin wrapped his hand around her slender fingers. Tingles jittered up his hand, all the way to his shoulder. Reluctantly, he slid the cake from her grasp.
She took in a stuttering inhale. Unable to determine if his touch had affected her as it had him, or if she was merely cold, he wished he could see her face beneath her locks.
He lifted the cake to his nose and inhaled. As he closed his eyes, the fleeting picture of Margaret standing unaware and completely naked ravaged his mind. If only he were in heaven, he could gaze upon such beauty for an eternity.
Thoughts of the past would return to haunt him, but not in this moment.
Colin used circular, languid strokes to work the lather into her hair. Suds streamed down her flawless back, marked only by an adorable mole atop her shoulder blade. He squeezed the ends of her gloriously long tresses and watched the bubbles pop. His fingers trembled with his need to touch her.
“Mm.”
Christ almighty, does she ken how sensual she sounds?
His erection lengthened with her blissful moan, so soft, he wondered if she’d actually been aware she’d uttered it. The fragrance floated around him, tempting him to nuzzle into her neck, push her arms away from her breasts and knead them. As soon as he saw her naked, he should have turned and walked out the door. Now she had him in her clutches and he was powerless to flee.
“Hold your hands over your eyes so I can rinse.” His voice took on a deeper tenor, one he couldn’t remember hearing…ever.
Margaret obeyed, keeping her arms tight over her breasts, though creamy flesh peeped through the crook of her arms.
When the soap completely washed away, leaving a wall of chestnut hair hiding her face, he sighed and set the bowl down. He pulled her locks to the side and peered at her face. Margaret slid her fingers to her chin and blinked at him. “Thank you, m’lord.”
“I hope these big hands weren’t too rough.” His voice was still husky.
“You were as gentle as a chambermaid.”
He stared into her pools of green, his heart thundering in his ears, the almighty strain beneath his braies relentless. He could think of nothing else but this moment and the exquisite, wet woman whose eyes captivated his soul. Her tongue shot out and moistened her bottom lip. Rosy as a pink bloom in spring, her mouth begged him to kiss it. Before his mind could trigger a rational thought, he covered her delectable lips, unleashing the passion coiled deep in his groin.
Closing his eyes, he parted her mouth with his tongue and showed his wife how to kiss a man. He slipped his hand to the back of her neck, frustrated he could not move closer, could not press his manhood against her body and show her the extent of his desire. His tongue plied hers until a gentle moan erupted from her throat. Her posture softened and she responded, her mouth becoming more impassioned.
With a deep breath, Colin eased away. Margaret’s hands remained tight across her chest. He covered them with his much larger palms. “You are a beautiful woman.”
She blinked. “But I thought…”
He grinned. “You thought what?”
Her gaze dropped in opposition to the blush crawling up her cheeks. “You didn’t find me attractive.”
He tugged her hands. She resisted. “Let me look at you.”
Margaret nodded and dipped her chin. As he gently pulled her arms to the side, the ball of fire in his groin spread through his chest. “Holy Mary, Mother of God,” he croaked. Beneath all her clothing, Colin never imagined she’d be so—so exquisite. On their wedding night, he’d taken her in her shift. In his haste, he hadn’t paid a lick of attention to her beauty.
Margaret tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “You should never be ashamed to bare your flesh in front of me.”
Her chin ticked up. “I should dress for supper, m’lord.”
He released her hands, and she flinched. She blew on her palm and cradled it to her chest. “Are you injured?”
Wide-eyed, she shook her head. “No, m’lord.”
He chuckled. She’d never be one for cards. “Show me.”
“’Tis nothing, really.” She held out her palm. Scabs crusted across it.
“What did you do? Build the water trough on your own?”
She hid her hand against her body again. “Not exactly.”
“Tell me.”
“When the sand came in, I got so excited, I picked up a shovel and…” She showed him both maimed palms. “I’ll be fine in a day or two. Alana gave me a salve.”
He should admonish her, but she looked like a downtrodden puppy—except for the satin breasts teasing him just above the water. He resisted his urge to drop to his knees and kiss her again.
Then his gaze flashed to the bed. No, he’d not give in to his desires. She’d driven him to the point of drawing annulment papers. It would take more than a passionate kiss to change his mind.
“Very well—but I don’t want to hear of you doing hard labor ever again.” He used his “commander” voice to ensure she understood the gravity of his warning. “I’ll bring a plaid to sit upon, and see you at the gathering.”
***
Margaret stayed in the water until it became uncomfortably cool. Her lips still tingled. She raised her fingers to them and closed her eyes. At first his mouth had been forceful, though not overbearingly so. When his tongue entered her mouth, it startled her. She thought to pull away, and then recalled how much she longed for Colin to kiss her on their wedding night. Her curiosity needled. With shallow breaths, she gave in. His gentle hand slid to the back of her neck and held her lips against his. Beard hair tickled a bit, but Margaret was far
more distracted by everything else, like her hammering heart and the unexplained melting of her insides.
His mouth demanded she taste him. Mmm. Fresh rain and spice. With trepidation, she probed with her tongue and met his. Gently, the warrior swirled with such passion, the knot in her shoulders released and liquefied. Tight, warm desire spread between her hips, like it did when she used to think about Lord Forbes in a short doublet and matching hose. No. This kiss embodied a far greater intensity.
When Colin deepened the kiss, her breasts ached to press against him and rub. In that moment, it was all she could do to keep her arms crossed and not launch her wet body out of the bath. What on earth would spur her to such unbridled passion? Colin Campbell, the fierce Black Knight, was a quandary at best.
Everything turned cold when he pulled away. Did she catch a flicker of regret in his eyes? She pondered, trying to recall his expression. Then he had to keep touching her hands until he ran his thumbs over her blisters. Goodness, he looked cross. She thought he’d burst into a tirade for certain. But he didn’t raise his voice—a wee bit stern, perhaps.
When she held up her hands, her nudity shamed her, especially when he studied her breasts. Then he turned away and left her to dress. She’d almost wanted him to stay. Almost. He’d looked toward the bed before he took his leave. If he’d stayed they could have ended up wrapped in the bedclothes rather than at the gathering.
She shuddered and reached for the drying cloth. Colin might come to her bed again one day. She clung to the hope he would not.
He doesn’t even like me. Not really. A lonely void gripped her heart. Was this her lot in life? She might have an unhappy marriage, but she’d made friends here in Glen Orchy. She’d established her place as lady of the keep. Colin couldn’t take that away from her.
After Margaret dressed and rubbed in Alana’s soothing salve, she did her best to dry her hair by the fire. She braided it and covered her head with a rose veil, secured in place with a green velvet band encircled with gold cord. Since leaving most her things at Dunstaffnage, she hadn’t much to be creative with.
