“We feared you would not return this night, sir,” the porter said.
“I am late, to be sure, but would not let my wife and father worry until the dawn.” Fergus did not need to urge Tempest to trot toward the stables, for the stallion knew where to find food and shelter.
“The smith will have a tale for you of your wife, sir,” the porter cried merrily and Fergus looked back in curiosity. He did not slow Tempest, though, who was resolved to reach the stable as soon as possible. The ostler met them at the door, his chemise hanging loose as if he had tumbled from his bed to tend the steed.
“Hamish! Here, boy!” a man shouted, and Fergus saw Farquar waving to Hamish from outside the smithy.
“Go then, and let us all be dry as soon as possible,” Fergus said to the boy. “I thank you for your company this day. I will have some hot stew sent from the kitchens for you and your aunt and uncle.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Hamish bowed his head and rode on to the smithy.
Fergus saw Farquar seize the palfrey’s reins and lead her into the smithy, then heard his rumble of concern.
“Such a night!” Stephen declared as he guided the stallion into the middle of the stable. “And such mud! My lord, you look to have ridden through an untilled field.” He divested Tempest quickly of his saddle and blanket, putting them both aside and beginning to rub down the horse. “Every item soaked beyond compare. It will take a week to see it dry!”
“It was less than an ideal day for this journey, to be sure, but my obligation is completed now,” Fergus acknowledged. At a minute sound, he pivoted and caught a glimpse of a woman peering out from the stairs to the loft.
It looked like Agnes.
But the ostler had a wife. Had he imagined that face in the shadows?
When Fergus looked more closely, the maid was gone, if she had ever been there in the first place. “Are you alone this night, Stephen?”
The ostler gave Fergus a quick look. “Of course, sir. I waited for your return before going home.”
Fergus frowned, for he sensed an untruth, but he said no more. He reached for a brush, but Stephen waved him off. “Go the hall, my lord, and see yourself warmed. I can manage this one well enough.” Tempest tossed his head and whinnied, as if in agreement, and Fergus headed for the kitchens.
In truth, he was most intent upon seeing Leila, though there were responsibilities to be tended first. Fergus was met in the kitchens by Xavier, who chided him for taking such a risk with his health. He requested that a pot of hot venison stew be sent to the home of Hamish’s aunt and uncle.
The boy should have a sip of eau-de-vie as well, Fergus reasoned, then continued into the hall. He smiled to see his father and Leila sitting by the fire, their heads bent together. His heart glowed that Leila had done just as he had envisioned and he was reassured to see his father at ease.
Then Leila rose to her feet, her delight clear. “Fergus!”
“Tell me you did not fear for me,” he said, but she ran toward him, her concern more than clear. He caught her in his arms and held her tightly, feeling that she was trembling. “Did you not remember that I promised,” he whispered into her hair.
“You promised that you would return for the evening meal,” she chided, pulling back from him a bit. “Which was completed hours ago.” She dropped her voice to a whisper and he saw her relief in her eyes. “I was most concerned.”
“I thank you for sitting with my father, so he did not dwell upon my delay.”
“He invited me to join him. He is a delight.” Leila held his gaze for a moment. “And your quest?” she asked with care.
“My obligation is served,” Fergus said firmly. “And I was most vexed that I could not return to hearth and wife with greater speed.”
“You just wish to know what the King of Samarkand saw in his brother’s garden,” she teased and Fergus laughed.
“I did, indeed, though we have another matter to attend first.” He bent and kissed her, intending to reassure her, and heat flared within him when she surrendered to his touch.
“Aye, I see the reason for your return!” his father teased and they ended their embrace with reluctance. Leila’s eyes were sparkling in her relief, and Fergus resolved in that moment to spend the night showing her the extent of his regard for her.
She plucked at his cloak, disapproval replacing her fear. “You are wet to your very marrow, sir.” She turned and clapped her hands. “Iain, my lord must have a very hot bath, if you please,” she said slowly, her Gaelic perfect, and Iain nodded agreement.
“Thank goodness you yet have a measure of eau-de-vie,” she continued in French to Fergus. “It will drive away the chill.”
“My thoughts, exactly,” he agreed. “They are sending venison stew for Hamish, and he should have a measure as well.”
“Of course,” Leila agreed. “Go and sit with your father by the fire. I shall manage it all.”
“Thank you.”
Leila smiled then hastened up the stairs to fetch his flask. Fergus watched her, liking her reliability as much as her practicality, then joined his father. The fire was wonderfully warm and after embracing his father, he stretched out his hands to the blaze.
“There is more than one way for a man to warm himself,” his father teased.
“You will have your grandson soon enough, Father.”
“I am old,” his father complained good-naturedly. “I have earned the right to be impatient.”
They chuckled together as Leila came back down the stairs. She poured Fergus a cup of eau-de-vie, then carried the flask to the kitchens after insisting upon Fergus remaining where he was. She orchestrated all exactly as he would have done, and he liked that their thoughts were as one.
He sipped of the liquid and it sent a welcome heat through him. Indeed, he caught his breath at the vigor of it, then recalled Leila’s words.
“What does she mean, I yet have measure of eau-de-vie?” he asked his father, belatedly realizing what she had said. “Have you been indulging in it?”
“Nay, not me.” Calum grinned that Fergus was mystified. “By all accounts, Lady Leila encouraged Nellie to walk again today and has won the avid support of Farquar in so doing.”
“And what has that to do with my eau-de-vie?”
“I believe it was part of the solution.”
Fergus pursed his lips. “They say it has the power to raise the dead.”
His father scoffed. “Not that. It merely proves if a man is dead. If he fails to cough or respond when that is poured down his throat, there is no point in wasting more. Nay, Lady Leila used it to clean the hoof of the plow horse, from what I am told.”
“They do use it in medicines in the east,” Fergus recalled.
“Aye, and she seems to know much of it. Your wife has been busy this day, my son.” Calum nodded with approval, drinking the last mouthful of wine. “I like her well, Fergus. You could have done much worse.”
“Indeed,” Fergus agreed.
“How fares Isobel?”
“She is married and pregnant,” Fergus replied. “And perhaps less than I remembered her to be.”
“Perhaps less than you wanted her to be.” Their gazes met for a moment of understanding. “Do not blame yourself. I thought she had more merit in those days, as well. There was no one more shocked than me when we heard of the wedding.” His father patted his arm just as Leila reappeared, then directed the boys who carried buckets of steaming water to the solar. “Do not sacrifice the gem in pursuit of the glimmer, Fergus.”
“Nay, I will not be such a fool as that.” Fergus smiled and clasped his father’s hand tightly. “My father, you see, taught me what is of import in this life.”
Calum chuckled contentedly and pointed to the solar above. Fergus laughed at his teasing, but he rose and bade his father good night. He took the stairs three at a time, determined to show Leila his newfound appreciation of her and her charms.
* * *
There was something differe
nt about Fergus. Leila noted immediately the glow in his eyes and tasted the heat in his kiss. She could not name the cause, but she cared less for the reason than the change itself. He regarded her as if she was a marvel, as if she was the sole woman he desired, and his expression made her heart thunder.
What had happened this day? Perhaps they had defeated some peril on their journey, one that had made his return all the sweeter. Leila wondered if he would ever confide it in her. She scarcely dared to hope that Isobel had proven herself to be unworthy. Nay, Fergus would love a woman forever once his heart was surrendered.
Leila was desperately curious, but she reminded herself sternly to accept what she was granted and not be greedy for more.
To have Fergus intent upon her had been her dream. Demanding the reason for his newfound attention might dismiss it, and Leila did not intend to risk that.
He followed her to the solar much sooner than she had anticipated, and the boys hurried to fill the tub. A steaming bowl of stew and a cup of ale had been brought from the kitchens for Fergus and awaited him. Leila was still lighting candles and coaxing the coals in the brazier to burn with greater enthusiasm when her husband appeared.
Though her mouth went dry at the sight of him in the portal, she spoke quickly. “I fear all is not yet prepared, my lord.”
“Where is Agnes?”
“She was overly tired today, so I dismissed her after the evening meal.”
“She is not in the kitchens.”
Leila flicked a glance at the boys and they departed with their empty buckets. “I am not her keeper, Fergus.”
He laughed. “Nay, only her tormentor. I found it curious that she would have left the hall on such a night as this.”
“Perhaps she sleeps in some corner.”
Fergus sobered. “I thought I saw her, actually. At the stables.”
“Truly?” Leila could make no sense of that. “Why would she be there?”
“I do not know. Perhaps I was mistaken.” He smiled again and came to her, his gaze warm upon her. “Neither of us wish to talk about Agnes,” he said quietly and Leila smiled.
“I am glad to find that we are in agreement, my lord.”
“You owe me more of that tale,” Fergus reminded her. “The one of the queen in the garden,” he added. “But it will have to wait.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed.” Fergus lifted a hand to Leila’s cheek, his caress making her tingle. He let his fingertips trail down her throat, then arched a brow when he found the cord with the two keys. “I have had good advice that we should lock the portal,” he whispered, bending to kiss her beneath her ear.
Leila closed her eyes and sighed contentment at the touch of his lips upon her skin. “An excellent idea,” she murmured in agreement.
Fergus slid his fingers into her hair and cupped her nape, tipping her face up to his so that her circlet and veil fell away. Leila did not care, for his mouth closed over hers in a most satisfactory way. He deepened his kiss as he had not in the hall and she leaned against him, welcoming his touch. His kiss was both languid and fiery, as if he had all the time in the world to sample her and coax her passion. There was a new demand in it, and Leila was fiercely glad.
Whatever had happened to cause the change.
When Fergus lifted his head, her heart was pounding and his eyes were shining. She raised her fingertips to the pulse at his throat and he captured her hand, then kissed her palm, never breaking his gaze. “My beautiful wife,” he murmured and Leila’s heart fluttered. “I hear you made a conquest of Farquar the smith this day.”
She smiled at the recollection. “He was most concerned about Nellie, the plow horse, and her injured hoof. I was lucky that my uncle’s solutions worked as well as they did, but of course, I will check upon her on the morrow.”
“You might sleep late on the morrow,” Fergus murmured, his lips tracing a beguiling path over her cheek. Leila nodded, knowing it was a distinct possibility if her husband was amorous.
Fergus lifted the cord with the keys over Leila’s head, brushed his lips across hers, then strode across the chamber to lock the door. She missed the heat of his presence immediately, but the look he cast her from the portal sent new fire through her.
Leila caught her breath, for the solar felt smaller and more intimate, simply because the door was locked. “You should bathe before the water cools,” she said, hearing the tension in her own voice.
“I would bathe with you.”
“I am sure the tub is not large enough.”
“I am sure it is. You are tiny, after all.” Fergus smiled and held her gaze as he shed his boots. He stood them by one brazier. His cloak had been cast over a bench in the hall, and Leila knew she should help him to disrobe. Instead she found herself watching as each increment of flesh was revealed. His leather jerkin was the first to be removed, though it was dark with water as well. He unbuckled his belt and laid it aside, then unwound the length of wet plaid. She made to take it from him, even as she admired his legs, but Fergus waved her off.
“It is too heavy in this wet state,” he said and spread it upon the clean floor. His chemise was cast aside next, and he wrung it out with a grimace before leaving it with the plaid. Leila watched the muscles ripple in his arms and shoulders as he moved, and felt her mouth go dry. His braies were abandoned then and he stood nude before her. His tan was fading, she noted, but he looked no less vital than he had when first she had met him.
And no less alluring, to be sure.
He smiled slowly and took a step closer. “I wanted you to know how I missed you,” he murmured. “And what prospect sustained me on this day.”
“I thought you would bathe to drive the chill away.”
Fergus chuckled. “There is more than one way to do that.”
There was a twinkle lurking in his eyes and she glanced down, blushing a little at the sign of his enthusiasm for their night together. He came to her then, kissing her cheek as he untied the sides of her kirtle with gentle fingers. The garment was quickly discarded and her chemise after it, a little growl of pleasure emitted by Fergus as he locked his hands around her waist and lifted her for his kiss. He held her fast against his chest, teasing and tasting her, keeping her captive to his salute, and Leila flung her arms around his neck, wanting only more. She liked the feel of his chest hair against her breasts and the strength of his grip upon her. She liked the new hunger in his kiss best of all, and the feel of his erection against her belly.
She thought when he took a step that he would go to the bath, but instead, she found herself cast atop the furs on the bed. Fergus laughed at her surprise, then claimed one of her ankles. “You cannot bathe in your stockings,” he chided, casting away her shoe. He bent and untied the garter with his teeth, his eyes gleaming and his breath sending delicious shivers over her thigh. Leila shivered as he slowly smoothed the stocking down with one hand. His palm was warm against her skin and he followed the stocking’s course with a row of kisses.
He removed the other with the same attention to detail and Leila was certain they would then savor the bath. Instead, Fergus eased atop her, his shoulders between her knees, and caught her hands in his own. He laced their fingers together, smiled with such purpose that Leila wondered at his intent, then bent to kiss in that most intimate spot.
She gasped in pleasure and surprise.
He chuckled, then caressed her with his tongue. He teased her, moving so slowly that Leila feared she would die of anticipation. The furs were soft beneath her, Fergus was warm and strong atop her, and the pleasure he conjured from deep within her was more intoxicating than eau-de-vie. She heard herself moan in pleasure as she never had before, but he was relentless in his assault. He coaxed her passion steadily, making her want him more with every passing moment, ensuring that she murmured incoherently and clutched at his hands. But two nights in his bed and she was convinced that no man ever would love her with such diligence as Fergus.
She cried out his name
when the pleasure erupted, locking her legs around him and holding his hands so tightly that her nails dug into his flesh. Her heart was racing as if she had run a league, but Fergus smiled down at her, evidently as satisfied as she was.
“You cannot have thought all day of doing that,” she charged and he laughed.
“You think not?” He kissed one of her palms then placed her hand upon his shoulder. He did the same with the other, easing himself atop her so slowly that she smiled in anticipation.
“You thought of this, perhaps,” she teased, then gasped as he eased inside her.
“I thought of both,” Fergus admitted. He wiped his mouth, then bent to kiss her ear, carefully holding his weight above her. “I thought of my lady wife crying out my name as she found her pleasure,” he whispered. “And I schemed how I might best convince her to do as much.”
“Your plan succeeded, and did so very well.”
Fergus shook his head, slowly moving deeper. Leila arched her back to welcome him. “I think it a scheme that should be tested again to prove its merit,” he rumbled and she laughed despite herself.
“How many times?”
“A dozen,” he said, looking into her eyes. He looked content and confident, his eyes gleaming. Leila thought of a predator making his claim and was more than glad to be the object of his affections and attentions.
She shook her head. “That will not be sufficient to gauge its reliability,” she said solemnly and was rewarded by the flash of his smile.
“Nightly?”
“Perhaps daily, as well.”
He chuckled, then moved so deliberately within her that she gasped in pleasure. Her reaction clearly pleased him for he repeated his movement and Leila allowed herself to moan. “I love that sound, Leila,” he said, his voice turning rough. “I vow to make you moan nightly for the duration of our handfast.”
Leila ignored the mention of the end of their time together and smiled at him instead. Indeed, she made good progress at capturing his attention and in this moment, could only hope for the best. “And what if I seek a similar sound from you?”
The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance Page 18
