by Mary Wine
The metal was cold, but the plaid was warm from his skin. She pulled the leather tail free and then loosened the buckle. There was a soft sound as the wool hit the floor. A swift sense of satisfaction filled her as she let him press her lips apart and tease her tongue with his.
She shuddered, shaken to her core.
He scooped her up, carrying her away from their clothing. Kissing her with a hunger that ignited a storm of need inside her.
There was no reason to think. Sweet sensation reigned supreme, offering her a feast of delights. She had some dim awareness of him carrying her through to the darker room where his massive bed was and lowering her onto it. He cupped her head, holding her in place as he sent his tongue into her mouth.
It was so bluntly sexual.
And she loved it.
He gathered her close, holding her against his body as he moved her farther up onto the bed. It was soft, taking her weight as he let her down and lowered himself on top of her. He was hard against her thighs. He lifted her knees, parting them so he might settle between her legs. She was pulsing, throbbing with need, caught in a moment of anticipation as she waited for that first intimate touch against her sex.
He stroked her breasts first, soft, delicious strokes, before he leaned down and suckled one of her nipples. She gasped, arching up as it felt as though his mouth was burning her.
But it was a wonderful sort of torment, one she craved more of. She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him to her. He kissed his way to her other breast, the sensitive skin of her nipple puckering tight in anticipation. Every little second felt impossibly long while she waited for him to claim that peak with his mouth.
“Oh…yes…”
She didn’t know what she was saying, only that she was too full of churning delight to hold it all in. She needed to arch and twist and lift her hips toward him.
She needed…needed him.
“More,” she demanded, opening her eyes.
His eyes brightened with hunger, his features drawing tight with need. It was frank and edgy, and her insides twisted at the sight. He smoothed his hand down her body, rubbing her belly before venturing lower to where her sex was spread open for him.
“Laird… Laird… Come quickly! That mare needs help…”
The lad was halfway into the chamber before he realized exactly what they were about. His face turned red before he spun around, his kilt slapping his knees because he moved so fast.
“Ye must come…quickly,” the boy stressed in a squeak.
“Are they doing it?” Finley’s voice came through the doorway.
“Almost…” Skene replied.
Bhaic roared, pushing off the bed and turning on their unwanted guests. Her chemise was still guarding her sex.
“No, they did nae get to it,” Skene said as he turned away.
Ailis grabbed the bedding and rolled across the wide expanse of the bed until she was covered.
“But the mare… Hamas says she’s going to die if ye do nae come now.” The lad was trying to hide his sniffling.
“I’m coming,” Bhaic bit out. He cast her a glance before grabbing his plaid and tossing it on the table to pleat it. “And then, I’m going to church to repent so the Lord can have done with tormenting me.”
The boy turned around and looked at her, his eyes wide. “Has she bedeviled ye then? Like they say she has?”
Bhaic buckled his kilt and took a deep breath before reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Only so far as a fair lass should, lad. Ye’ll understand when ye’re a man. For now, do nae be looking upon me wife when she’s in me bed. That’s a pleasure only a married man gets.”
The boy turned his back on her, leaving her facing Bhaic. He pointed at her. “Stay right there.”
She slowly shook her head, earning a grunt from him.
“Spitfire,” he mouthed before he let the boy take him away.
Five
“Well, come on now.”
Helen had arrived.
“Ye aren’t planning on waiting in that bed until that mare foals?”
Ailis raised her head and sent Helen a withering look. Helen laughed but turned away before Ailis got a good look at her face.
“What is it?” she asked as she crawled from the bed.
Helen waved her closer and cautioned her to be quiet as they got near the outer door of the chamber.
“They were just getting ready to do it!”
“I’m going to tan that lad’s arse!”
“Damned mare!”
“Now we’ll be stuck with her for at least another day…”
Helen was turning purple as she tried not to laugh out loud. Ailis rolled her eyes before going over to where her dress was puddled on the floor. She picked it up and wrinkled her nose.
“Here.” Helen came forward with a surcoat. Ailis recognized it and slid into it.
“I’ve got a bath waiting down in yer chamber. Thought ye’d like to bathe before putting on some clean clothing.”
“It’s beneath ye to act as maid to me, but I appreciate it.”
Helen offered her a satisfied smirk. “The truth is, I am enjoying telling every one of those arrogant cows who think they are something special what I want, and that I am going to get it for ye.”
“Have ye been unhappy here?”
Helen shrugged. “I prefer to think of it as lonely, for it keeps me sane. But the lot in the kitchens is overly proud, and that’s a fact. Ye’ve got yer work set out for ye, and no mistake. Tending to ye puts me in a fine position to watch. And that pleases me very much.”
Finley and Skene shut their mouths when Helen opened the door. Ailis bit her lip when she saw how disappointed they both looked. Like a pair of boys who had arrived too late to get any jam with their bread.
Ye’re the one disappointed…
She felt her cheeks growing hot with the thought.
But she was disappointed.
Bhaic had been too.
She was definitely growing warm by the time she made it down to her chamber. The memory of how hard he’d been behind the tail of his shirt was unshakable.
Ha! ’Tis the memory of how he made ye shiver in the stable that is making ye hot…
She couldn’t deny it. Actually, she slowly smiled. It did seem that fate wasn’t finished toying with her just yet.
She laughed softly because she realized she wasn’t quite done toying with him either.
Perhaps she owed the Earl of Morton a kind thought or two.
Fate certainly did have a strange sense of humor.
Very strange indeed.
* * *
Bhaic climbed the tower stairs well after midnight. He was fairly certain his boots weighed triple what they had when he put them on that morning. Kam and Lyel were sitting outside Ailis’s door, playing cards. They looked up at him expectantly, hopefully—like a pair of puppies who wanted meat off his plate.
He shook his head. He stank of horse and sweat. Not exactly the way he’d planned to enjoy his bride.
Certainly not the way a maiden deserved to be deflowered.
He paused inside his chamber, staring at the slipper tub sitting in front of the fire. He walked across the floor to it and dipped his fingers into it. The water was warm from the heat hitting the metal. A length of toweling and a lump of soap were sitting nearby. A fresh shirt was neatly folded and waiting as well. Next to the soap was a small bottle of wine. The glow from the hearth turned it ruby red. A cloth covered a plate, and his belly rumbled, reminding him that he’d missed supper.
Ailis had remembered.
He suddenly grinned like a besotted fool.
Having a wife had benefits he’d never taken the time to think about. For certain, Duana had never thought to
make sure he had a bath waiting for him. It was a personal thing. Something he realized he valued greatly. A quiet intimacy, one that stoked feelings he’d never associated with his female conquests.
He stripped and sank down into the water, still enjoying the glow of tenderness. It was truly tenderness, for a man was expected to shoulder what life demanded of him. A dutiful wife might be obedient, but he couldn’t be cross if Ailis did only as he commanded.
She’d chosen to do more, chosen to think of his comfort and not just the requirements of her position.
He used the soap to wash the scent of horse off himself, rinsing his hair twice before crawling out lest he end up asleep in the water. Lifting the cloth from the plate revealed a round of bread and a chunk of cheese, along with some fresh berries. It tasted better than many a feast he’d sat through, because he was so hungry.
He crawled into his bed and stretched. There was a slight scent clinging to the bedding, and it stirred his cock even as he slipped into slumber.
Ailis.
Tomorrow, he was going to hunt.
And bring in his prey.
* * *
Ailis beat him down the stairs by an entire hour. Bhaic went searching for her and found her in the kitchens with every last lad who worked there lined up in front of her. He leaned in the door frame, watching her as she took stock of what each one was wearing. She made them lift their feet to show her the soles of their shoes.
“Spending yer days idle, I see.”
Bhaic turned to find Marcus behind him. “I thought ye were overly concerned about the status of me union.”
His brother’s lips curved into a smirk. “I’ll admit, it’s becoming amusing the way the two of ye can nae seem to…connect.”
Bhaic sent his brother a profane gesture. Marcus slapped him on the shoulder. “Ye might as well come along with me to the crossroads. Yer bride is nae going to have any time for ye until tonight.”
“Trouble?”
Marcus shrugged. “Maybe…maybe no. Heard Lye Rob Gordon was seen raiding.”
Fifty men were already waiting in the yard. Bhaic mounted and rode out with them.
* * *
The day was overly long.
Ailis discovered the afternoon sun moved at a snail’s pace. She tried to focus but looked up from her lists more than she should have.
The cook finally rang the supper bells, but Bhaic wasn’t at the head table. The hall was more pensive than normal—everyone was waiting to see if the laird’s sons returned in good health. It was something she’d grown up accepting as a harsh fact of living in the Highlands. One reason men were so loyal to their clans was it was the only way to ensure safety. The farmers scattered across MacPherson land depended on the reputation of the MacPherson retainers. A lone man working his field might have his sons, but had little else to keep the neighboring clans from destroying his home.
Of course, that was why she was there. To end a feud that had placed a strain on those working the land near the border of her father’s land and Bhaic’s.
Just as Helen had been taken to ensure her father didn’t retaliate. So imperfect a solution, and yet, there appeared to be no other way.
The bells on the walls began to toll. Ailis listened for a moment, catching the rhythm. She smiled, because it was a happy one, not a frantic call to arms.
“I suppose that would be yer husband returning,” Helen said.
Ailis nodded and rose from her seat. They both walked down the aisle and out onto the steps. Bhaic, Marcus, and the MacPherson retainers had flooded into the yard.
But there was someone else with them too. Symon Grant was happily clasping hands with Shamus.
“And there is yer bride,” Symon declared. The men in the yard parted to clear a path between them. The Grant Laird studied her for a long moment. He looked over at Bhaic and punched him in the shoulder.
“She looks as though she’s had far too much sleep. Ye must no’ be looking close enough at the lass to see what a prize she is.”
“I’ll thank ye to stop looking so closely at me wife.” Bhaic made it to her and pulled her into his embrace.
He kissed her thoroughly, to the delight of those watching. “And just maybe, the rest of the world will let us have enough time to enjoy being wed.”
She laughed softly, slipping her hand across his chest. He caught her gaze, and for a moment, nothing else mattered but the man holding her.
She was ready.
His expression tightened as his arms did. Then Symon was wrestling him away. The MacPherson retainers enjoyed the company of the Grant retainers. Flasks were pulled out of saddlebags and inner doublet pockets.
Ailis appreciated it, sitting at the head table for a time to enjoy a cup of spiced cider before the male conversation made her cheeks sting. She climbed the stairs to her chamber.
But Helen wasn’t there.
In fact, she hadn’t seen Helen since she’d gone out to see Bhaic return.
The state of her chamber further alarmed her. The bedding wasn’t pulled back. The water pitcher wasn’t refilled, and dirty dishes remained from the lunch she’d partaken of at the table.
Ailis turned and went down the stairs.
* * *
“Ye should be above stairs.”
Ailis stopped. Marcus was leaning in the passageway’s arched door frame. He was half-shrouded in shadow and looked as if he was very much at home that way.
“We told her that,” Finley said from behind her.
“Helen is missing,” Ailis said.
“Ye do nae know that.”
“I do.” Ailis looked to Marcus. “She always rights the chamber, and it hasn’t been done. I am worried something has happened to her.”
Marcus listened with an unreadable expression. Beyond the shadowed doorway, Bhaic sat with Symon and Shamus at the high table. They were in deep conversation, their expressions tight.
“Go back to yer chamber, mistress. Ye’ll see yer hand woman tomorrow,” Marcus told her.
“Ye know where she is?”
Marcus looked back toward her and gave her a single nod. There was something in his expression that chilled her blood. She looked past him at Symon Grant.
“Did ye have her locked away because her laird is here?”
Her voice had risen. Marcus abandoned his lazy stance instantly, facing off with her and backing her deeper into the shadows. Had she not backed up, he would have barreled straight into her.
“Take yer mistress above stairs and see that she stays there. Bound and gagged if necessary.”
The settled-in feeling she’d had shattered, cold, hard circumstances rushing in to torment her.
“Ye bloody brute.” Insulting him wasn’t going to gain her much. She made to dive around him but was caught from behind.
Finley and Lyel proved just how devoted to Marcus they were. She got out half a sound before something was wrapped around her head and tied across her mouth. They pulled her right off her feet and started carrying her up the stairs. She strained and twisted, but they tossed her into her chamber with ridiculous ease.
She ripped off the gag as they retreated, Finley eying her. “Ye heard him, mistress. Make a fuss, and I’ll have to truss ye up like a pig on the way to market.”
He closed the door in her face as her temper flared. She’d wrapped her hand around the handle before she accepted the harsh facts.
The gag was lying over her shoulder.
She’d end up bundled for market. There was no way to avoid it. A wave of helplessness went through her, washing out the foundation of trust she’d been building her new life on.
She and Helen were both hostages. Commodities to be traded and used to ensure peace.
Tears stung her eyes, and there was no way to hol
d them back. The sight of her personal things only made it worse, because it felt as though she was settling into her prison.
Marriage, prison. It seemed that for a Robertson, there was little difference.
* * *
Bhaic crawled up the stairs, certain he’d never been so tired. Kam and Skene tugged on the corners of their bonnets when he passed Ailis’s chamber.
It stung that she was there and not in his own, but honestly, he had to admit he was too tired to be patient.
So maybe she was wiser than he.
It was a humorous thought, one that had a smile curving his lips as he fell asleep.
* * *
Ailis wasn’t at the table in the morning. Bhaic had to wait for Symon to depart before he headed back up the stairs to discover her escort sitting outside her door, looking bored. Finley perked up the moment he saw him.
“I’m near starved,” the retainer said.
“Go.”
He didn’t knock but pushed the door in. “Why are ye up here, madam? Ye need to think of the men assigned to ye. They do nae have a waiting woman to bring them their meals.”
She flipped around. “I am here because yer brother had me imprisoned in this chamber last night, and Helen is suffering the same fate somewhere else.”
Bhaic stopped halfway across the chamber. “Be careful what ye accuse me brother of. He thinks first and often only of the clan. I’ll no’ have ye disrespecting him.”
Her face darkened with temper, but she made an effort to swallow it. “He had Helen locked away so she could nae seek out her laird while he was here. When I went looking for her, Marcus was waiting for me and told Finley to bring me up here. To bind and gag me if I didn’t go quietly. I have been a prisoner in this chamber.”
“But no’ any longer.” Marcus had come up the stairs behind him. His brother gave the door a shove closed before continuing. “Symon has cleared the gate.”
“It is no’ yer place to deal with me wife.” Bhaic’s tone was deadly.
Marcus didn’t back down from him. “But she is no’ yer wife yet. Which makes it me concern when there is a possible way for her to escape the castle.”
