by Amy Jarecki
As if she could hear his thoughts, she opened for him. The air flooded with her scent. His tongue darted out and lapped her. Moaning, Margaret thrust her hips forward, opening her sex to him. He spread her wider with his fingers and swirled his tongue around her sensitive button. She rocked against him, and ran her fingers through his hair.
He slid a finger inside her slick, wet core. She mewled, her thighs quivering around his face.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice hoarse, incredibly erotic.
Colin took her cue. He slid his finger faster while his tongue relentlessly licked.
Margaret’s breathing sped until she gasped. Her body stiffened, then her thighs convulsed with earth-shattering quivers. Crying out, she came undone in his mouth.
Clenching his gut against his urge to release his seed, he continued to lick until her breathing ebbed.
She tugged at his shirt. “Now you.”
Chuckling, Colin stood. “I’ll not have you using that arm.”
“But…”
He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Gently he rested her atop the pillows.
“I want to undress you,” Margaret persisted. “Here I’m completely bare, whilst you remain clothed.”
Colin tugged off his shirt. “I’ll remedy that fast enough.”
***
As she reclined on Colin’s bed, Margaret’s insides still pulsed. Her inhibitions and fears fled. She wanted Colin to see her naked, and more so, wanted to feast her eyes upon his flesh. When he discarded his shirt, she bolted upright. Another ugly pink scar slashed across his powerful frame.
“Goodness, what happened?”
“’Tis nothing.”
“Did your armor not protect you from such a blow?”
“I had no armor.”
Margaret traced her finger along the jagged wound—trailing from his right chest, it marred his well-toned flesh all the way to his left hip. “Why?”
“’Twas when I escaped from the filthy Turkish dungeon.”
With every word, the atrocities he’d experienced unfolded. How long had he been imprisoned? What was it like? How did he escape? Margaret pushed these questions from her mind and kissed the puckered flesh. She ran her lips down every painful inch, her insides tearing, her heart bleeding for him. Reaching his hip, she pressed her cheek against his warm skin. “What can I do to take your pain away?”
He smoothed his hand over her head and grasped a lock of hair. Raising it to his nose, he inhaled and closed his eyes. “To hold you in my arms again is all I need, mo leannan.”
She unbuckled his belt. He kicked off his shoes and removed his hose. Wearing nothing but his linen braies, Margaret stared at his manhood straining against the thin linen. She reached for them with her good arm and tugged, but she only managed to expose part of his hip.
Grinning, he helped her push the undergarment to the floor.
Margaret’s breath stuttered. “It has been so long.”
He crushed her in his arms and kissed like a man starved. His tongue danced with hers, his hard body plying her flesh. The thick column of his manhood jutted against her mons. The coil of hot desire filled her again. But this time she must have him inside her.
His kiss eased as he cradled her in his arm and pulled back the bedclothes. With one arm, he lifted her and set her atop the linens.
Colin crawled beside her, kneeling. Carefully, he placed her injured arm on a pillow. “Are you sure we should do this?”
“Aye.” She panted. “I need you to join with me and become one. I cannot wait much longer.”
He pushed between her legs and kissed her. Gradually, he lowered his body until his manhood caressed her hungry flesh. Sparks sizzled deep inside her womb.
“I’m dangerously close to spilling my seed.”
“We have a lifetime ahead of us.” She grasped his shaft and guided it to her entrance. His groan thrummed through her fevered womanhood. “I want a daughter this time.”
He thrust deep and pulled back. His breathing sped with every plunge. He filled and stretched her, rubbing the spot that would send her to the stars. Margaret bucked against him, mewling uncontrollably. His scent enveloped her. His cock filled her. Every inch of skin craved more until she froze at the pinnacle of ecstasy. In one earth-shattering burst, she pulsed around him. “Colin, oh Colin. I will love you forever!”
With a roar, Colin thrust and exploded within her. His body shook with his violent release, his breath coming in staccato gusts.
After, Margaret rested in the crux of Colin’s arm. She floated like in a dream, tickling her fingers over his powerful chest. She grasped the charmstone and rubbed its polished surface. “It looks untarnished after all you’ve been through.”
He grasped it together with her fingers. “Aye, I daresay the legends are true. I could have died any number of times, but your charms remained with me.”
“Then it truly is a precious heirloom which must continue to protect our family throughout all generations.”
“We shall cherish it and see our kin does as well.” Colin sighed and wrapped Margaret in his arms. “At long last, I can sleep soundly with you nestled by my side.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Tromlee Castle, 3rd August, 1462
Colin hated to leave Kilchurn the next day, but he could no longer allow his men to act in his stead. Argyll had come to fetch him, and together they rode onto the neighboring lands. Tromlee was but an hour’s ride—an ideal location from which to prey upon a grieving lady and her vast estate.
Colin had killed more men than he could count, but never did he have a yen for it. Today, however, he not only wanted Ewen MacCorkodale’s blood, he wanted complete ruination of the man and his clan.
The Black Knight’s men guarded the curtain wall and gates, weapons at the ready. No one said a word when he rode beneath the portcullis. Not a soul filled the cobbled courtyard. Even the blacksmith’s hammer had been silenced.
Dismounting, Colin faced Maxwell. “Where is he?”
“Bound and under guard in the solar on the second floor. His men are all contained in the pit.”
Colin nodded and marched into the dank, moss-covered keep, with Argyll on his heels. He clamped his hand around the hilt of his sword. One clean swing and he could behead the fobbing traitor.
He clenched his jaw so tight his molars ached. He’d force himself to adhere to Margaret’s wishes. She’d borne the worst of it.
Arriving at the solar door, he nodded at the sentry to open it.
Ewen MacCorkodale’s fear permeated the room like shite. Colin slowly slid his dirk from its scabbard and stepped up to the cur. He’d like to cut the bastard’s bindings and face him down right there, man to man…but that was not what Margaret wanted.
Instead, Colin stood beside him and watched the sweat trickle from his brow. “Uncomfortable, are you?”
Ewen stared ahead. The coward jolted when Colin used his dirk to cut the gag from his mouth. Then Ewen had the gall to smirk and stretch his jaw.
Colin smoothed his blade along the swine’s neck. “The pieces of the puzzle fall into place at last. You were the mind behind Walter’s treachery. You have always tried to swindle me and take what’s rightfully mine.” Colin pushed the blade hard enough to break the skin. “Why?”
Ewen leaned his head away from the weapon. “Ye are arrogant. I fought alongside you to rid Scotland of the Douglas threat, and to whom did the king award lands?”
Colin smirked. MacCorkodale had brought up the rear and cleaned up the carnage whilst Campbell men fought the battle. And he reckons he’s entitled? “Funny. I didn’t see you beside me when I stormed the keep.”
“You always were too proud to give a care for those who stood behind you.”
“I beg to differ,” Argyll said.
“’Tis the earl spewing off for you now, is it?”
Colin frowned at his nephew. He’d handle this. “You took advantage of a woman. Where are my letters?”
&nbs
p; Ewen looked sideways. “Burned.” He chuckled. “Every one of them.”
Argyll stepped in. “What happened to the messengers?”
Ewen smirked. “I couldn’t allow them to walk away, now could I?”
Colin slammed the bastard’s face with the hilt of his dirk. “You murderous, milk-livered coward.”
Blood streamed from the corner of Ewen’s mouth. He lowered his gaze and licked.
Pacing the room, Colin worked to calm his boiling blood. When finally he’d regained his composure, he faced his quarry. “Lady Margaret requested leniency, though I cannot say I agree.” He sheathed his dirk. “Out of respect for her wishes, Argyll will fit you with irons and drag you to Edinburgh. If you survive the journey, you will stand trial in his majesty’s court.”
Ewen blanched. Fitted with irons, once found guilty, it would be easy for the king’s men to hang him from the battlements alive. It could take weeks for him to die while the crows pecked at his flesh. Colin could live with such a verdict.
Good.
“I will petition for your lands to be stripped and passed to the Campbell clan.” Colin snatched his dirk and buried the blade into the table. “And then I shall think on you no more.”
A stream of sweat bled from Ewen’s temple. “You cannot do this to me. No respectable chieftain should be disgraced by irons—”
Argyll and the guard muscled the traitor out of the room.
Colin balled his fists against his urge to murder MacCorkodale here and now. “Aye, no respectable chieftain should.”
Ewen’s bellows echoed down the passage. Colin sat in a chair and rested his head on his hand.
“What shall we do with the others?” Maxwell asked, stepping inside.
“They’re all murderers and backstabbers. Hang them.” Colin stood and opened the cupboard. Had a single letter survived?
“Pardon, m’lord.” A serving maid stepped in, holding a leather satchel. “Are ye looking for your missives?”
Colin snapped up his head. “You know about them?”
“Aye. I couldn’t save them all, but I hid those he didn’t burn straight away.”
Colin strode forward and took the satchel from her hands. “Why did you not spirit these to Lady Margaret?”
“I hoped I could one day.” She lowered her gaze. “He’s my laird. I didn’t know all he’d done until now.” She hid her eyes with her hand. “I cannot read. I’m ever so sorry.”
Colin placed a hand on her shoulder. “’Tis nay you who needs to be punished. It was brave to come to me. I thank you.”
***
Sitting on the floor in Colin’s chamber, Margaret held a kerchief to her face as she read Colin’s letters. She could not make it through a whole missive without shedding tears, each passage more impassioned than the next. If she had but received one of these, she never would have allowed Ewen MacCorkodale to become so close.
She steadied her breath and read aloud. “…Every night when I return to my cot, I think of you. Memories of your winsome smile, your tenacious spirit and the way our love grew deep roots during our short time together gives me solace. Without you, I would not be able to withstand the misery that surrounds my every waking moment…”
Taking a deep breath, she fanned herself with her hand. “I cannot believe not one messenger made it to Kilchurn.”
Colin sat beside her, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. “Ewen intended to claim our lands and sell you out. Duncan and John would have ended up with no inheritance. He’d already had the deeds drawn. He only needed to marry you.”
Margaret wanted to scream. “He promised he would recognize the boys’ birthright.” She wailed into her kerchief. “I cannot believe I was thus deceived.”
Colin rested his hand on her shoulder. “At last ’tis over, and our boys are well protected.”
With these missing letters combined with her horror of finding the annulment papers, Margaret could withhold her questions no longer. Through bleary eyes, she stared at the missive in her hand, the penmanship declaring undying love. “When I thought you dead, I unlocked your document box and found annulment papers.” She dared glance at his face, his eyes expressing shock and the horror similar to how she’d felt on that day. He truly does love me.
Shaking his head, Colin held up his palms. “I must explain—”
She placed her hand in his. “There is no need.”
“But you must know. I thought I’d destroyed those documents. I-I drew them up in haste shortly after we’d arrived in Dunstaffnage.” He pulled her onto his lap and smoothed his hand over her hair. “Oh, Margaret, my love, I was so confused. Once I’d learned what a loving soul you are, and the enormous talents you possess, you would have had to move heaven and hell to make me sign them.”
Margaret blinked, and a tear slid down her cheek. “After reading these letters you wrote, with all my heart I believe you.”
He nuzzled into her hair. “Ah, lass. You are so fine to me.”
She dabbed her eyes and reached for the next missive, filled with a tale of woeful pain and suffering. “Will the Turks never stop?”
“They are an evil force. The Arabs war with each other as much as they do with the Christians.” He shook his head. “Their beliefs are as strong as ours.”
“Will Christendom prevail?”
“The infidel may march into Jerusalem, and they may crush the Hospitallers, but no one can take down the power of Rome.”
She folded the vellum in her hands. “Are you certain?”
“All of Europe will be at war if they try.”
Margaret placed her hand on Colin’s arm. “Please promise you will never go back.”
“War is for a younger man.” He kissed her cheek ever so tenderly. “Besides, I could nay again leave your side.”
She returned his kiss. “Thank you.”
The door opened and she scooted aside, beckoning the lads. Giggling, Duncan ran to Colin and John to Margaret.
“’Tis time for the evening meal,” Duncan said.
John wiggled onto Margaret’s lap. “I’m famished.”
“What shall we eat?” Colin arched his brows with a devious glint in his eye. He pretended to bite Duncan’s foot. “Laddie toes?”
Duncan squealed. “No!”
Laughing, John darted toward them. “We’ll eat Da’s nose.”
“My nose?” Colin grasped both boys and wrestled them to the ground, gnashing his teeth with a huge grin. “I’d much prefer younger meat…bwahahahaha.”
Margaret laughed, watching Colin roll on the plaid rug with his sons. This is how it should be. Finally a family again, their boys would grow into great men in the shadow of the honorable and powerful Black Knight of Rome.
The End
Author’s Note
This work of fiction is loosely based on the legend of Colin Campbell, the First Lord of Glenorchy. I found a few different accounts of this legend during my research and tried to pull the most important facts from each. Per the Black Book of Taymouth, Colin Campbell, First of Glenorchy, was also known as the Black Knight of Rome (or Black Colin of Rome), and it is believed that he participated in three tours in the Crusades. Though he was married four times, I only mentioned three wives in this story. His last two wives were Margaret Robinson and Margaret Stirling, respectively, and I could not discern for certain which one was responsible for the building of Kilchurn Castle, thus I took literary license and chose Margaret Robinson.
After they were married, Colin was called away by the Pope for this third and final crusade. It is believed he spent most of the seven years away with the Knights Hospitallers (The Order of St. John) on the Isle of Rhodes fighting the Ottoman Empire. As legend has it, Ewen MacCorkodale did try to woo Margaret during the seven years Colin was on crusade. Ewen intercepted every missive from Colin to Margaret and killed the messengers. Margaret was unaware of Ewen’s treachery and only agreed to marry him when it appeared there was no hope for Colin’s return.
&n
bsp; The tokens were mentioned in every version of the legend (though one represented a broken ring, and the other, two rings). The charmstone still exists today and is housed at the family estate at Taymouth.
When Colin was called away shortly after their marriage, Margaret was left to build the keep and raise Duncan. The genealogy charts I used aren’t clear on the date of John’s birth, but the lad did grow up to become the Bishop of the Isles.
Also, for those who might wonder, Glen Orchy is a glen in Argyllshire, and is two words. The title, Lord of Glenorchy is one word, thus the different spellings in this book.
Excerpt from Amy’s Next Release:
A Highland Knight’s Desire
Highland Dynasty Series~Book Two
Coming March, 2015
Chapter One
Melrose Abbey, January, 1478
Before she knelt, Meg stole a glance behind her. A silent sigh slipped through pursed lips. As he’d promised, her tenacious guard wasn’t standing at the rear of the nave watching. She had a number of things she wanted to accomplish on this pilgrimage, most importantly, gaining an audience with the abbot. After pleading nearly the entire two-day journey from Tantallon Castle, she’d convinced the guard to allow her a modicum of freedom—at least within the walls of Melrose Abbey.
Out of the corner of her eye, a bronze cross flickered. It sat atop an altar in a quiet aisle chapel. Meg tiptoed over. She’d have complete solitude there.
Kneeling, she folded her hands and gazed at the cross. She’d prayed endlessly for guidance, but presently her mind blanked. She closed her eyes. Ah, yes…
Firstly, thank you for our safe passage, and thank you for all my blessings…aside from my unruly red hair and my claw of a hand, but we’ve discussed that hundreds of times. I’m well aware Arthur will be unable to find me a suitable husband. I must take matters into my own hands…Well, give them over to you, God. That’s where I belong, serving you. Please help me gain an audience with his holiness, the abbot that I may make my wishes clear and take up the veil…
