She gasped, face registering pain, and then, as he pressed through, pleasure again.
He felt the tension drain from him. He had not harmed her. She was still willing.
He pushed into her and then pulled out, losing all restraint. All he wanted was to feel her and carry on feeling her. To feel that warm wetness as he filled her faster and faster.
He felt her shudder under him even as he began to lose awareness of anything but the rising sensations in himself, and then, suddenly, they were both crying out, gasping and sobbing as the feelings of intensity and wonder crashed over him and filled him and left him, spent, in her arms.
He lay against her, relishing the wonder of how he felt. He had never felt so complete, so wonderful, so calm, in his life. He didn't want to do anything or go anywhere, and only wanted to stay here in her arms, knowing only this moment.
She lay below him and, shuddering with the intensity of his emotion, he kissed her. Her lips enfolded around his tongue and he felt his whole body throb in utter bliss.
Later, he rolled off her and lay beside her. He looked into her eyes.
She was smiling at him. She reached out and touched his face.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too.”
His joy was complete. He slept beside her, her body pressed to his, and knew he knew utter bliss.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WAY AHEAD
THE WAY AHEAD
Light filtered over Ambeal's eyelids, warming her skin. She opened her eyes. Morning. She sighed. She felt full and fulfilled. She rolled over and smiled at the man who lay in the bed beside her.
Alf. Her husband.
The thought made her shiver with delight. She moved closer, her body feeling the warmth of his skin as she did so. She rolled onto her side and he looked into her eyes.
She sighed as he kissed her, and the heat and longing of the previous night fired again in her veins. When his leg pressed up between her thighs she gasped.
They made love again and again, then, sated with desire, they lay in peace and quiet, together.
Ambeal looked into his handsome face, feeling her heart overflowing with love. She leaned closer and her mouth pressed his cheek.
“I love you,” she whispered again and he nuzzled her ear.
“I love you, too.”
She smiled, his lips tickling her. She giggled and rolled over.
“I suppose we ought to get up.”
He sighed. “I suppose.”
He sat up, and she sat up as well, and looked around the room, feeling dreamy and warm inside. She couldn't quite believe something so special, so exciting, had entered her life. The room was the same, but she was changed. She had lain with her husband and felt the sweetness of that.
She saw him turn to get out of bed and slid out also. She felt full of life, excited for the day to begin. She drew back the covering from the window, letting the light stream in. She stretched.
“Mm,” she said.
She turned round to catch him studying her. The look in his eyes as he devoured her body with his gaze made her want him again and she smiled.
“Alf, we should dress.”
“Quite,” he nodded properly.
As she dressed she felt a sweet joy soak through her. She was happy to be alive in a world where she and Alf could be together. Everything was beautiful.
He dressed first and helped her with her buttons. She wore the green dress with the ocher underskirt, the one she had thought old-fashioned but was, nevertheless, still her favorite.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. “I could eat you.”
She chuckled. “It might prove difficult.”
“Today, nothing is difficult.”
She frowned. “Yes, it is.”
“It is?”
“I thought getting out of bed was very difficult. Didn't you?” she queried.
He chuckled. “Yes, dear. Indeed yes.”
“Well, then,” she said, brushing her hair back from her face and smiling coyly at him over her shoulder. “It's not all easy.”
“No,” he chuckled. “It's not.”
They went for breakfast in the solar. It was late, but as they went up the hallway, they could still hear voices drifting up to them.
Ambeal paused beside Alf in the doorway. The servants were there – Donnell and Mrs. Ainsley.
“Is breakfast still being served?” Ambeal asked. Mrs. Ainsley giggled.
“Of course, milady.”
Ambeal blushed. It was uncomfortable, feeling as if the two were making deductions about them. She looked at Alf.
“Shall we have breakfast?” he asked from beside her. “I'm certainly hungry myself.”
Ambeal flushed as he mentioned his hunger. Sure he was thinking about other things.
She took a seat opposite him and helped herself to the oatcakes that Mrs. Ainsley had left there as she went out again.
“So,” Ambeal said before taking a mouthful of the delicious hot oatcake. “How was the negotiation? You must tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”
Alf chuckled. He looked nervous, almost, and Ambeal frowned.
“What happened?”
“The strangest things happened,” he said. “I was hoping to tell you as soon as I could,” he added. “Perhaps you can help me to make sense of them.”
Ambeal frowned. “I hope so.”
When he finished telling her the tale, she stared at him. She felt as though someone had kicked her in the stomach. Her own father had made arrangements, almost certainly lethal, to frame Alf? She had no idea what to say.
“He is wicked,” she whispered.
“He is ambitious,” Alf agreed. “And I think I do not fit his picture of an ideal husband.”
“No,” Ambeal agreed quietly. She was starting to see several things very clearly. Alf was problematic to her father. He wanted her to marry Beiste. He had always intended Beiste as his successor. She realized that now. However, this being her father, it wasn't just about the bond he felt with a lad who'd been his ward. It was about influence. Beiste's father owned a large territory to the western border of their own.
He wants Beiste to be thane of Bronley and add that territory to our own.
That is typical, she thought. He did not care for his own ambition, but if by his foresight he bequeathed a massive territory to his grandchild, the future McDonnell, that was enough for him.
“What, my sweetling?” he said. Ambeal shook her head. She wasn't ready to tell him. Not yet.
“Nothing,” she replied. She stared across the room at the tapestry covering on the wall, brooding. What could she do?
“Should we ride later?” Alf asked.
“Mayhap,” Ambeal said thoughtfully. She was not in the frame of mind to discuss their plans today, or even to think of anything else besides what she would do.
“Well,” Alf said, pausing. “I should see your father soon, but afterward I am certain I could find time to walk in the castle grounds, mayhap?”
“Perhaps, Alf,” Ambeal agreed. He looked hurt and she felt a stab of guilt. She didn't mean to hurt him. “Sorry, dear,” she added awkwardly.
“No,” he said gently. “Don't be, dear.”
Even so, he looked confused and Ambeal felt guilty for her sudden distance. She just couldn't focus on anything right now except the horror of discovering just how ruthless her own father was.
How can I trust him when he can double-deal so?
She shook her head. Now Alf would have to face him too. What would he say? She was so happy this morning, her whole body feeling renewed by the night she'd spent. It was a pity to have to spend time worrying now.
“I think I'll take a walk,” she said brightly. “Will you join me?”
“I should speak with your father first,” Alf said solemnly.
“Oh,” Ambeal said. She felt upset, though she could not have said why exactly. She was trying to feel joyful and carefree and he k
ept on raising the topic of her father.
“Well, when we've finished breakfast I may as well check the grain storage,” she said tersely. “We've been worrying about the supplies.”
“Oh?”
She paused, considering recounting to him the worries she'd had while he had left, but she could see he was distressed and the thought of addressing her father was enough for him. She decided to let it lie.
“Well, then,” she said again, reaching for the pitcher of milk and pouring some out. “I think I shall head off to the grounds now. If you'll excuse me.”
“Indeed,” Alf replied genially. Ambeal stood and pushed her chair in, heading for the hallway.
When she got there, she leaned against the wall, feeling confused and quite upset.
Alf was angry with her now. Her father was, more or less, a murderer. Her father also wished her to marry a man who was the sort to bribe farmers to tell his lies.
She sighed. Even in spite of all of that, she would not be sad. She had such a lovely sensation deep inside her, the pleasurable ache of first loving, and she was not going to be sad for anything.
She leaned back and looked out of the long arched windows, letting the sun warm her. She relished the sore ache in her belly from so much pleasure, and then she went upstairs.
“Milady,” Bronna called out cheerfully. She was cleaning the room and Ambeal guessed that she knew what transpired here last night. She felt a delicious embarrassment that was just a little touched with pride. She had crossed a threshold into another world of maturity. She was proud. She was also glad Bronna knew of it.
“Hello, Bronna,” she said, feeling her good mood reappear. “I think I'll go for a walk about the grounds. Is Ewan in the stable?”
“He should be, milady. If he's not out with the hounds now.”
“I'll seek him out. I plan to ride later and need to know which of our horses is ready for a good long gallop.”
“I'm sure he'll be there milady. You look well.”
She blushed. “I am well, Bronna. Thank you.”
“You look well rested, too.”
Ambeal shot her a look. Was that surprise in her voice, or teasing? She wasn't sure.
“I slept very well,” she said.
Bronna kept on looking at her, brow raised.
“What?” Ambeal said, though she was laughing as well. They both giggled.
“Nothing, milady,” Bronna said, looking down innocently at her hands as if nothing could be further from her thoughts than teasing her. “Nothing at all.”
They both laughed.
Ambeal headed outside, feeling her spirits lift.
She was truly, overwhelmingly happy.
The day was surprisingly warm outside and Ambeal drew her light outdoor cloak close around her shoulders, walking briskly across the courtyard to the stables.
“Ewan?” she called.
“Morning, mistress,” he said gravely.
Ambeal raised a brow at him. He usually called her “milady”. Had he guessed her news? She blushed.
“Ewan, I wish to ride later. I think we have a suitable horse for my husband? And I wish to take a horse in need of exercise.”
His eyes twinkled at her. “Well, my lady. Sounds like you plan to have a long ride! Your father's hunting-stallion, Swordswift, is in need of a good ride. He's not been out for too long.”
“I'll take him, then,” Ambeal said decisively. “Thank you, Ewan.”
“Of course, milady.”
The sun still beat down through fast moving clouds, and the soft breeze whipped at the hood of her cloak as Ambeal crossed the lawns and headed to the kitchen garden. She loved the industrious feel of the place, with its sprawling flowerbeds of chives and savory vegetables, its fragrant borders of rosemary and thyme.
Settling on a bench under an apple tree, she sat and closed her eyes in the sunshine, feeling the peace and happiness settle on her.
She rested her hands on her belly, feeling the satisfied ache there and letting herself revisit the memories of the previous day. Then, still smiling, she drifted on through the copse of trees. She was so in love! She was so happy. She had never felt quite like this before.
In the copse she thought she caught sight of someone on the ramparts. With a cloak that looked like brown velvet, she was fairly sure it was Alf. When she left the copse and headed up the path, she noted two figures up there talking. Was it her father with him? She shaded her eyes to see. She nodded to herself. Wanting to know what they were saying, she decided to head inside.
She knew it was probably wrong of her to spy on them, but she had to know what was being said. There was a place in the hallway outside the lookout tower where one could hear the speakers on the rampart as if one was standing beside them. She recalled it from her childhood when she had sneaked up to hear what her father was discussing with envoys or when she had sat idly there and simply overheard the guards talking to each other.
Slipping through the bright corridor, she positioned herself in the hall just outside the rampart. Their voices were muffled, to her annoyance. She could hear very little. She heard the words “my heir,” and she heard the words “recent visit.”
Her heart sank. Who was he saying was his heir? Did he mean he was going to make Beiste his heir despite the request to do otherwise? He wouldn't!
She was about to try and hear more, but she heard footsteps in the hallway and quickly ran to hide. The maidservant came past with an armload of clean linen.
When she had gone, the footsteps from the rampart told Ambeal that the two men were coming back inside again. She quickly ran to the head of the stairs and went back down again.
Outside in the colonnade, she paced. She found herself trying to work out the meaning of what she had just heard. On those two phrases alone she could hang a lot of possible explanations. The best one was, of course, that he would agree to the plan and allow Alf to be his heir, as was right. Of course the second possibility was that he intended Beiste to be his heir and was going to break the terms.
“He would be wild to do so,” she said aloud. “If he did, it would bring a feud down on our heads, I'm sure of it.”
She paced back from the outdoors into the house. The wind was rising and it was getting chilly out there. She went up to her bedchamber and tried to sew, but she felt restless. A glance at the play of sunlight told her it was almost luncheon. She cast the sewing aside and went down to the solar.
“Alf!” she smiled up at him. He gave her a tired grin in return.
“Ambeal.”
“You look like you've had a long day,” Ambeal commented, coming to sit in her usual place opposite him.
“I have, Ambeal,” he said quietly. She frowned.
He was being perfectly polite, but he seemed distant somehow. She wondered why.
“Were you planning to...Oh! Father!”
Her father walked in with another man behind him, a tall, bearded man she thought looked like a prosperous trader.
“Ambeal. Sir, this is my daughter. Ambeal, this man is Adair Carline...he's an envoy from Beiste's father.”
“Oh.” Ambeal stared at her father. “Well, if you wish to meet alone...” she glanced about and pushed back her chair. Her father lifted an arm.
“No, daughter,” he gestured to stay seated. “We have plenty to discuss, but nothing that cannot be done in the full ear of everyone. Stay, do. Our guest wants to break his fast and I'm sure you wish for some luncheon too.”
“Yes, Father,” Ambeal murmured. Mentally, she was fuming. Outwardly, she seemed polite. What in the name of decency was he doing there? Surely whatever Beiste wished to discuss with her father he would have already done so? What was this man here for?
She glanced across at Alf but he was looking at his plate, clearly trying to distance himself.
Oh, that helps! Ambeal felt a flare of anger. Here these men were, discussing things which directly concerned her – and him too – and his only contribution to the matter
was to sit there like a haddock while they did it?
“I trust your ride had good weather?” Ambeal asked politely. The man frowned as if she had spoken French.
“It was good.” He said finally, considering the matter a while. “Thank you, milady.”
“Good. It's been sunny.”
“It has.”
That was the most conversation he made. Ambeal despaired, closing her eyes. She had to know what he discussed! If it was some diabolic plan of Beiste's to get the inheritance he believed he earned, she had to find out now. Yet how was she going to do that if they refused to talk to her?
“Alf,” she said urgently, deciding that mayhap they would talk to him. He blinked at her.
“What?”
He was looking so despondently at his plate and then up at her with doleful eyes that she lost patience. “Nothing,” she snapped.
She looked down the table at where her father and the other man conversed, their voices just out of earshot now. She sighed.
“Excuse me, sir, Father. Alf.”
She stood and, pushing in her chair, walked lightly from the room and into the hallway. She headed upstairs, desperately needing time alone to think. She went to her bedchamber, sat down heavily on the embroidery covered stool by the dressing table and covered her face in her hands. She wanted to cry.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Milady?”
Ambeal frowned. “Come in,” she called. It was Bronna. Her grave face appeared around the door, a serious smile softening her eyes.
“My lady. Is something amiss?”
Ambeal shook her head. “I'm well, Bronna. Just tired,” she lied. “I was considering starting a sewing project...do you think a new tapestry for the great hall? I was planning one with stags on it, for the Dunkeld crest.”
Bronna smiled. “A marvelous plan, my lady.” Displaying the crest of her husband's family in the great hall would be a small defiance to her father. Bronna understood her motivation, evidently. However, what was wrong with Alf?
Ambeal sighed. “Bronna?” she asked as they chose embroidery threads together.
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