by Amy Jarecki
“I missed my courses a fortnight past and they still haven’t shown. I could be wrong, but I think not.”
He tapped his fingers to mouth. “Late summer, then?”
She cringed. “Aye, most likely.”
“A year younger than Duncan.” Grinning, Colin bounded out of his chair. He lifted and cradled her with ease, spinning her in a circle. “’Tis the best gift you could have given me. It will make returning home all the more sweet.”
“You are not angry?”
“Why would I be?” He rested her on the bed and clasped her hands. “The only folly is I will not be here for his birth.” Biting his lip, Colin glanced away.
She understood his pause only too well. With every breath, a shred tore from her heartstrings. Soon he would be sailing away to fulfill his knightly duty. She mustn’t show him the depth of her despair. Pushing up, Margaret sat straight and squared her shoulders. “I do not want you to worry, husband. My father says I am stronger than any woman he’s ever met. I will bear you a healthy child and live to hold you in my arms again.”
He sat beside her. “I must make arrangements.”
Dear Lord, if only I could cling to him and plead for him not to go. “I shall manage. Besides, I have Effie.”
“That you do.” Colin reached for her hand and smoothed his palm across it thoughtfully. “I do not think I could survive if I lost you.”
“Nor I you.” She held his palm to her lips and kissed. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Could she capture his scent and keep it in a stoppered vial? “Let us think on it no more this night. I want to hold you in my arms and feel our bodies join. It is a memory I’ll need to lock away and cherish until your return.”
With a deep chuckle, he lifted her silver circlet and tugged the wimple from her head. “Then we shall make this a night to remember through all eternity.” Casting the headpiece aside, he led her to the hearth and flung cushions to the floor. “First I want to watch the flames dance across your skin.”
He grasped her shoulders. “Stand perfectly still. I can touch you, but you cannot touch me.”
Heat tightened her loins. “Is it a game you wish to play?”
“Aye. I want to strip you bare.”
Moving behind her, he first unbraided her hair and ran his fingers through it all the way down past her bottom. His hand slid up her hips and unlaced the back of her gown. She took in a deep breath as the wooden slats inside her bodice eased their constricting hold. He slid it from her shoulders and ran his hands down over her breasts. Closing her eyes, Margaret moaned and circled her head back until it rested on his chest.
“You mustn’t touch me, wife.”
She liked it when he made up new games. With a tug, he unlaced her shift and pulled it over her head. In just a few flicks of his fingers, she was completely naked, excepting her hose and slippers. Colin stepped around and gazed at her front. Margaret reached out her arms, but he held up a finger. “Only I may touch.”
She smiled. “When will it be my turn?”
“After you have been completely and utterly ravished.”
Margaret laughed. “And who’s to determine that, me or you?”
He knelt. “I think I’ll allow you that honor.” My, he is confident. He removed her slippers. His fingers tickled as he untied her ribbons and languidly slid her hose down each leg. By the time he pulled the last one from her toes, her inner thighs were already quavering.
Colin reached for her hand. “Recline on the pillows.”
She did as told, watching his manhood respond beneath his kilt. She rested comfortably on the rug with a pile of cushions behind. It was nearly impossible to resist her urge to tear his clothes from his body and pull him atop her. Completely naked, she was at his mercy. Oh yes, she undoubtedly would do to him every succulent thing he tried with her.
Kneeling at her side, he kissed each eye and kept his hands to his sides. His lips caressed her cheeks and found her mouth. He allowed Margaret to return his kiss, and she plunged her tongue into him, sucking with ignited fervor.
Colin continued to tickle her with feathery kisses down her neck and each arm, licking each finger as his dark, sultry eyes watched her. When he at last reached her breasts, they ached for his touch. His swirling mouth lingered, teasing her nipples, suckling them until she cried out.
He nipped down to her navel and entered it with his tongue, giving her an erotic preview of his cock entering her core. Margaret prayed he would part her legs and lick her there, but he slid his mouth down and up each leg. When he kissed her arches, she thought to grasp herself and come to her own touch, but she resisted committing such a sin.
“Colin. Pleeeease.”
Without a word, his eyes grew even darker with his wicked smile, and he pushed her legs open with his shoulders. He slid down onto his belly, keeping her legs apart. He’d never held them this wide, but she nearly convulsed with the ecstasy of being completely prone to him. He stared at her womanhood and inhaled. “God, you are divine.”
He licked her fully. Margaret whimpered as her sensitive flesh quivered.
“Again,” she demanded, so close to release, he could not possibly stop. Colin slid his tongue in and out of her and then sealed his mouth over her flesh and suckled. Blinded by the intensity of the flame coiled at her apex, she cried out, thrusting her hips, circling them around his merciless kisses.
Stars crossed her vision as her body exploded into a sea of shuddering joy. When she finally recovered her senses, she pulled him into her arms. “You were right. Every time is better than the last.”
He rested his head on the pillow beside her. “I love you.”
She stared into his eyes, filled with intense rapture—something far greater than passion or desire. He did love her, and Margaret returned his love with every fiber of her being. “And I you.”
***
Colin had nearly fallen to sleep in Margaret’s arms when she moved. “Now you.” Still naked, she stood and tugged his arm. “You must stand.”
Immediately awake, he chuckled. This would be fun. His wife was never one to buck a challenge. God bless her.
She was so much smaller than he. Margaret nearly had to stretch her arms and rise to her toes to remove the plaid over his head. Taking her time, she slid his dirk from his belt, his eating knife from his sleeve, and unlashed his daggers from his calves. Her small fingers tickled him as she unfastened his belt and sent his kilt falling to the floor.
His linen shirt tented above the hem. Unlacing the bow under his chin, she tried to pull it over his head, but couldn’t reach. Willingly, he kneeled and she tugged it slowly, drawing out his torture.
“Up,” Margaret commanded.
Colin raised a brow her way but obeyed, his cock jutting from his loins like a tree limb. Her breasts swayed while she walked around him, her eyes appraising him as she would a fine stallion. He wanted to throw her down and make love to her right there, but it was Margaret’s turn to take the reins.
As they were now both naked, his boots and knee-length hose tied with black flashes were out of place, but that did nothing to detract from his yearning. She picked up his hand and licked his finger, then stretched out at arm’s length and curtseyed. “May I have this dance?”
He chuckled and reached for her, but she stepped back.
“A volta, but you cannot touch me…only I you.”
That would be difficult during the lifts, but Colin played along.
Her swaying breasts enticed him as she danced, swinging her hips, naked—her bottom was more suggestive than he’d ever dreamed. No woman had ever danced for him without a stitch of clothing. He could scarcely recall the steps.
For the lift, she circled her leg around his hips and ground her mons into his manhood. Colin swallowed. All he had to do was back her into the wall and slip inside. Twirling away, she bent over the chair, her lovely bottom teasing him. He groaned and moved swiftly, his cock aching to enter her from behind. But Margaret spun from her pose
and curtseyed deeply. Rising, she panned her eyes from his boots, stopping at his swollen member, then collided with his gaze, the lust darkening her deep pools of green, sending him into madness.
She inclined her head to the rug. “’Tis your turn to recline.”
If she touched his cock right now, he’d spill across the carpet. His ballocks burned with fire as he sat against the cushions. She stood over him, hands on her voluptuous hips, as if deciding where to start. She gave him reprieve by removing his boots and hose—not really reprieve. She kept her exquisite body just out of hand’s reach. Fingers twitching, he forced himself not to lean forward and trace his hand along the curve of her hips. Obey the rules of the game he must, lest he lose. He regained a semblance of control until she kneeled and straddled his legs.
For everything holy, her hands did not slide to his flesh, but cupped her breasts and pushed them together. Colin’s tongue flicked out and tapped his top lip. If only he could bury his face in her plush velvet valley.
“Do you like to see me touch myself?” she whispered.
“Aye,” he growled hoarsely.
Her gaze dipped to his loins. “I like to watch you stroke it.”
He moved his hand, his fingers aching to give him release.
“No. Not this time.” She smiled like a devil cat.
Margaret kept her hips in the air as she leaned down and kissed his thighs. Blessed be the saints, would she be so bold as to take him into her mouth? How charmed was he to have a wife so brazen? Her tongue flicked kisses around his manhood, but didn’t touch it.
“Open.” She slid down and forced her shoulders between his legs. One gnash of her teeth and his breeding days would be over. But straddling her made a bead of seed leak from his cock. She tickled his balls with her tongue and then suckled them. Never in his life had any woman turned his cods into tight, raging fireballs. His cock tapped his abdomen, rigid as the blade of his sword.
Margaret fluttered kisses up along the shaft without grasping it.
God save me. “Pleeeease,” he groaned.
She gripped the base of his manhood with her small fingers and slid her mouth over it. Moaning, Colin’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He clenched his bum cheeks, and gnashed his teeth. “My God, I can take this no longer.”
In one move, he pulled her over him and impaled her onto his aching member, her sheath so tight and slick, he wouldn’t last but a few strokes. He grasped her hips and slid her up and down. She arched her back, finding that spot she craved to have rubbed.
Colin’s heart raced and his lips trembled as he worked her hips faster. Margaret gasped, and he exploded, his seed shooting into her as she cried out and shuddered with her own release.
When his breathing finally slowed, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “How in God’s name will I survive without you?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dunstaffnage Castle, 5th December, 1455
Colin opened the door to Margaret’s chamber. She sat on a stool while the chambermaid brushed his lady’s long tresses. Like spun silk, her hair glistened with amber highlights reflecting off the fire. He stepped inside and cleared his throat.
Margaret looked up and her face brightened with the smile he’d grown to love. “My lord. Is all well?”
“Aye.” He shifted his gaze to the maid. “Please leave us.”
He watched the woman exit and then bolted the door behind her. “I need to speak to you without prying ears.” He returned to Margaret and clasped her hands between his. “Before I take my leave, I must give you a token in utmost secrecy.”
He reached in his leather purse and pulled out two silver rings, one large, one small, both encircled with the same Celtic design that had no beginning and no end. He took her right hand and slid the smaller ring over her index finger. “I had two identical bands forged. And then I had the mold destroyed so never again will a ring be cast thus.” He slid the larger one onto his finger. “We will wear these as a silent reminder of our bond.”
Margaret held her hand up and examined the polished silver band in the candlelight. She then grasped his hand and compared hers to his. He admired the workmanship, too. The rings indeed were identical, with a woven pattern encircling both. A gasp caught in the back of her throat. “Oh my, Colin, they’re beautiful—so intricate.” An errant tear streaked down her cheek.
Colin dabbed her eyes with his sleeve. “If you should receive my ring from afar, you will know I have fallen. Tell no one of our pact—henceforth, the rings shall be referred to as our token signs.”
“Tokens,” she repeated. “How clever of you, how utterly thoughtful.”
He grasped her palms in his. “I cannot express enough the importance of keeping this pact secret. Tell no one what our tokens are.”
“’Tis like a cipher.”
“Of sorts,” he agreed.
Margaret glanced aside. “And if I should perish, I will have this ring sent to you in the Holy Land.”
Colin pulled her into his embrace. “You will not fall, nor shall I. These tokens are to be an ever-present reminder of the depth of our love.”
Sadness reflected in her lovely eyes. “I vow I shall never remove mine.”
“Nor shall I.”
Margaret squeezed his arms and then stepped back. “I also have a gift for you.”
She went to the board and opened the velvet-lined box she kept there. “My mother gave me this on our wedding day. It was passed down through the male heirs of her family for countless generations, but since there was no male heir in her time, her father gave it to her upon marriage to my da.” Margaret pulled out the large crystal stone she’d worn at their wedding and cradled it in her hands. “Legend has it the man who wears this charmstone in battle will live to vanquish his enemies, and anyone who drinks the water into which it has been dipped will have good health and a safe journey home.”
Colin didn’t know what to say. The gem was a priceless heirloom—part of her dowry. “Are you sure?”
“What good are its charms to me whilst you’re risking your life in battle?” She held up the necklace. “Kneel.”
Colin did as she commanded. “You honor me.”
Margaret fastened the chain and stood back to admire the stone. “The bold setting suits you far more than it does me.”
She opened her arms. Colin needed no more encouragement. He embraced her, his heart near bursting. Why, when love reached its pinnacle, did something always happen to shatter his happiness? Why had he been so pigheaded when they’d first wed? If he’d given in to his heart, they would have shared many more nights in each other’s arms.
He nuzzled into her hair. “I wish I could be here for you when your time comes.”
“God willing, I shall be fine.” Margaret’s voice had a slight tremor.
He dipped his chin and kissed her, showing the passion and pain that filled his soul. If only he could devour her and take her spirit with him, he might find solace in his destiny. He held her tightly and showered her with kisses. “I swear to you I will not take a blade to my beard until I return to you.”
“Make haste, husband, for I like you best with your face smooth. It will be such a shame to cover your beauty with unkempt whiskers.”
Colin’s heart twisted into a hundred knots. Damn it all, he knew this was coming. Why did Margaret have to look at him with soulful eyes and pretend this was all right?
He hugged her tightly. “Do not worry about Kilchurn. Focus on the babe growing inside you, for he will be a testament to our love.”
“If only you could stay long enough for the birth.”
“I wish it could be so.”
She cast her gaze downward. “If you must go, I shall deliver you a healthy bairn and then see to it your castle presides over Glen Orchy for your return.”
He cupped her lovely face in his hands, torn between two loyalties. “If it’s a boy, name him John for my order, and if it’s a girl, name her Margaret after t
he love of my life.”
***
Margaret thought her heart would burst as she walked down to the pier beside Colin. She held her chin high and clenched her teeth to fight back her tears. Lord Glenorchy wanted her to show a strong front and be supportive of his men. But every fiber of her being wanted to scream and wail, plead with him not to go.
She clutched his hand with all her strength, walking alongside him as if she were heading to her own execution. Behind them, Mevan stood guard from a respectable distance to ensure Margaret made it back to the castle safely after Colin’s galley sailed.
Once they arrived on the pier, he wrenched his fingers free and grasped her shoulders. “I promise I will write to you upon every available chance.”
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
He pulled her into his embrace and pressed his lips to her ear. “I love you.”
“Don’t go,” she whispered.
He held her at arm’s length. “I will make haste to return to your arms.”
“I will hold you to that, my lord.”
He dipped his chin and gave her a much-too-fleeting kiss on the lips. “Until then, you will be at the forefront of my every thought.” With that, he turned his broad shoulders and proceeded up the gangway and onto the ship.
Margaret touched her fingers to her trembling lips. When would he kiss her again? With a stuttered breath, a tear slipped from her eye and streamed down her cheek.
“Cast off,” Colin boomed.
Maxwell offered her a quick salute before he pulled the ropes over the hull. At the bow, the black Portuguese cannon sat upon the deck like an invitation to death. The cast iron gun was big and ugly. It embodied the frightful dread roiling on her insides.
Gradually, the galley ebbed away. Clutching her arms to her body, Margaret stood alone and watched Colin sail out the Firth of Lorn. Dark clouds loomed above and a cold breeze picked up her veil. It cut through her cloak like knives, but she remained. On the pier she stood until the galley became a speck on the horizon, and then disappeared, swallowed by dark blue waters.
