by Amanda Scott
The thought of her undressing him excited him, but he was too impatient, so although she helped unlace his doublet, he did not wait for help with his shirt, yanking that garment off over his head and sending it after her gown.
Her nimble fingers were busy at his belt, and his breeks, boots, and netherstocks soon went the way of their other clothing.
Maggie Malloch watched with a fond smile.
“They’ll be safe now, I warrant,” Claud said, joining her.
“Aye, for now,” she said.
“Must you leave again, Mam?”
“Aye, a storm’s brewing in the north, and we’ve folk involved, so I’m tae look after things there.” Her tone was bitter. “Jonah Bonewits were at fault and thus ha’ been banished from the Circle, but I overstepped, too, they say, and must prove m’self again tae keep me own place there.”
“Ye’ll do it, Mam. I ken fine that ye will.”
“Aye, laddie, but your feckless father made a vile kettle o’ stew this time, so I mean tae put him out o’ the stew-making business for good—one way or another.”
Claud shivered, but when she waved her pipe and disappeared, he followed, leaving the lovers in sole possession of the little glade.
Patrick was magnificent by moonlight, Beth thought, looking lovingly up at him. In truth, he was magnificent in any light. The sight of him made her forget everything but her desire. The grass was like a soft bed beneath his cloak, and if it was damp, the dampness did not touch them.
“I want to kiss you, Patrick.”
“Kiss me then, lass. Kiss me everywhere.”
“Everywhere?”
“Aye, everywhere,” he said, stretching out beside her on his back and adding with a lazy smile, “if you dare.”
Beth felt her nipples harden at the thought of what he wanted her to do. She continued to gaze at him for a long minute more, enjoying the way the moonlight played on the hard muscles of his chest and other interesting bits of his anatomy, one of which was standing at attention, begging for her notice.
“I dare,” she said, rolling to her side and stretching to kiss him lightly on the nose, the way he had so often kissed her.
“That’s a start,” he said.
“Aye, and there’s your mouth, too.” She lingered over his mouth, tasting his lips and, when he parted them, thrusting her tongue inside. But when it quickly became apparent that his patience and lust would soon overwhelm his delight in what she was doing, she ceased her exploration of his mouth and kissed his chin as lightly as she had earlier kissed his nose.
From there, she kissed a path to his chest, lingering occasionally to taste him, then moving to his nipples. When he gasped, she knew he was enjoying her attentions, but although she teased his nipples a bit, she did not linger there long. Moving lower, caressing him with her hands, then with her lips, never giving him an indication of where she meant to kiss him next, she tormented him the way she knew he would delight in tormenting her, until the tip of her tongue began to trace a line along his inner thigh. She felt his body tense then, and when she grasped him, she felt his flesh pulse beneath her fingers and heard his breath quicken.
She kissed the pulsing flesh, then stroked upward with her tongue, amazing herself with such wanton daring, delighting in his reactions.
“Oh, lass.” He reached for her with both hands and pulled her upward, caressing her spine with one hand as his lips possessed hers and his tongue parted them to enter her mouth.
Her tongue teased his for some moments, and then he kissed her neck and shoulders, pausing to tease her nipples briefly as he worked his way down her body. She shivered, and he warmed her by stroking her, one hand moving to her breasts, full now and demanding his touch. His free hand moved to her legs, and when he stroked the inside of one thigh, her body began to move, urging him on. His mouth claimed hers, and she responded with a moan, moving a hand to guide him inside.
He eased his way into her, and her body welcomed him. When he paused for a moment, she held her breath, savoring the sensations that he stirred in her. Then he kissed her more possessively, and the waves of pleasure heightened. He began to move, gently at first, then more demandingly, and her body leaped in response to his. When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, it was as if he possessed her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. The world around them had vanished, and there was no one left but the two of them. The fiery sensations increased, sending rivers of heat coursing through her until she thought she could stand no more. But there was more, and more, until her body seemed to explode.
But he did not stop, even then, moving faster and faster until she could not seem to breathe, and then at last, gasping, he collapsed atop her.
He was still after that for a long moment, although his breath was hot against her neck, tickling her. He was heavy, but she did not mind.
“Speak to me, sweetheart, or I’ll think I’ve crushed you,” he murmured.
“You haven’t,” she said, “but you are a bit heavy.”
He eased to one side, and she drew in a long, deep breath of contentment.
“Beth, Patrick, are you out here?”
Molly’s voice, sounding annoyed, carried easily to their ears.
“Faith,” Beth muttered, “she sounds just like Drusilla did the day we met.”
“Nay, lass, Molly could never produce a screech to match that shrew’s. Nevertheless, I expect we should go back before she turns all Dunsithe out in search of us. Where did you put your gown?”
“I did not put it anywhere,” she reminded him. “You threw it over there somewhere. Where are your breeks and boots?”
“With your gown,” he said, rolling over to collect them. “Here, slip it on quickly. She’s nearly upon us.”
Beth chuckled. “Art shy, sir?”
“Nay, lass, but I’d not want to shock Molly.”
“Or Kintail,” she said, still grinning.
Patrick laughed. “Now, you have the right of it. I don’t want to think about what he’d do if he found me naked in his wife’s presence. Hurry up!”
Still chuckling, Beth scrambled into her gown and let him tie the laces. When Molly called to them again, she shouted, “Over here!”
By the time Molly appeared at the edge of the glade, they were decently clad and standing to greet her.
His arm across Beth’s shoulders, Patrick said, “Did you fear we’d been taken by the enemy?”
“We did not know what to think,” Molly said as her large husband appeared behind her.
“I told you so,” Patrick said to Beth with a grin.
Fin said grumpily, “What the devil brought you two out here?”
“It certainly was not the devil,” Patrick said, still grinning, his arm still possessively around Beth. “ ’Twas the moon that enticed us, laird, only the moon.”
“Aye, you’ve been moon mad all your life,” Kintail said. “But I expected Beth to show better sense.”
“Oh, no,” Beth said without a blush. “I am as moonstruck as Patrick, I fear.”
Kintail shook his head and put an arm around his wife, urging her to turn away as he said, “I think, my love, that we are very much in the way here.”
“Molly!” Nell’s voice floated through the night.
“Sir Patrick, are ye out here?”
“Ho, Sir Patrick!”
“Faith,” Patrick exclaimed. “Did you turn out the whole castle?”
Beth grinned at him, but Molly said, “We’ll head them off.” Slipping free of Kintail’s arm, she pushed him ahead of her. “Tell them all to go back inside, sir,” she commanded. “They are more like to heed you than me.”
“I do not know why they should; you never do,” Kintail said loudly enough for Patrick and Beth to hear.
Laughing, Patrick drew Beth close and hugged her. “Do you like having your own family, sweetheart?”
“Aye, sir, very much, although it seems strange to know they were there all along, whilst I’ve had no idea that th
ey existed.”
“You had your dreams,” he reminded her.
“It wasn’t the same, though. I thought they were just dreams.”
“Is it all right now—that we’re married, I mean?”
“Aye, sir,” she said, looking into his eyes. “It is right and true, I think.”
He smiled, and they stood looking at each other for a long moment.
“Ah, sweet Beth,” he murmured. “You have become my very life to me.”
He kissed her again, but she soon made him stop. “This place has become too public,” she said. “Perhaps we can find some privacy in our own room, although with wee folk keeping watch, one never knows.”
Laughing, clearly not intimidated by any wee folk, he scooped her up in his arms and walked with her back through the woods to Dunsithe.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed The Secret Clan: Hidden Heiress. Those of you with further interest in the period may enjoy reading The James V Trilogy by Nigel Tranter (Coronet Books, 1995), while those who are interested in the wee folk will enjoy An Encyclopedia of Fairies, Hobgoblins, Brownies, Bogies, and Other Supernatural Creatures by Katharine Briggs (Pantheon Books, New York, 1976).
Although the Scottish Reformation came years after its European and English equivalents, in 1560, the reasons for its occurrence are similar, and although Cardinal David Beaton strongly resisted reform, he contributed much to the process. The great corruption of the Kirk from the top down was the main reason the reformers prevailed in the end. Priests enjoyed carnal relationships, and many married. Almost any blessing or benevolence was up for sale, and the good fathers were up to their ears in political corruption as well. David Beaton controlled the Scottish Crown through his influence on James V, and the burning of an innocent for political reasons resulted in Beaton’s assassination in 1546.
Arthur and James, the two sons of James V, died of a mysterious illness not long after Arthur was born, and thus it was that James V’s heir was Mary Queen of Scots. She was born 7/8 December 1542, seven days before the death of her father.
Witchcraft, in and of itself, did not become a capital offense in Scotland until 1563, but witches were shunned and punished, and treason was a capital offense. Thus, too often, persons charged with witchcraft were found guilty of treason as well. Janet Douglas was burned for witchcraft amounting to treason in 1539.
Once again I want to express my heartfelt thanks to Pam Hessey of the California Hawking Club for helping me learn about hawking and falconry, and even more particularly for her anecdotes about training hawks, two of which I used in this book. Any errors are mine (but do remember that Sir Patrick had help from the wee folk, so perhaps you can just blame Maggie Malloch).
Many thanks also to my agent, Aaron Priest, and his wonderful assistant Lucy Childs, and to my editors, Beth de Guzman and Karen Kosztolnyik. All four of these amazing people are constantly swamped with work, yet somehow always have a moment to spare, and I want them to know I appreciate that.
As for Maggie Malloch, you will meet her again in the story of Sir Patrick MacRae’s sister Barbara and the tangle she creates when she attempts to deal with an unscrupulous Highland sheriff and the legendary hero who dares to challenge him. Look for The Secret Clan: HIGHLAND BRIDE at your favorite bookstore in early 2003. In the meantime, happy reading!
Sincerely,
http://home.att.net/~amandascott
Highland Bride
Prologue
Scotland, the Highlands, October 1540
With the coming of darkness, an eerie, creeping mist began to drift across the glassy surface of Loch Ness, quickly thickening and rising to blend with mist from the surrounding rain-soaked hillsides until dense fog carpeted Glen Mor—the Great Glen—and cloaked the darkly menacing mountains that flanked it to east and west.
Occasionally an errant breeze would stir for no apparent reason, swirling the mist enough to reveal a pale, silvery glow from the full moon above. Otherwise, the Great Glen lay shrouded in impenetrable darkness of the sort that kept wise men indoors, because men of lesser wisdom had been known to disappear on such nights, never to be seen again, as if the monster of the loch had taken those lost souls to one of its secret caves in the murky depths.
Thus, it was that four local men had sought shelter at an isolated alehouse near the western shore of the loch some ten miles south of Inverness. The alemaster, Ian Fraser, was a barrel-chested man of middle years, well able to keep a peaceful house. Moreover, he knew all four men and although one was a young troublemaker of the first order who was ever too quick to draw his sword, the other three usually knew better than to stir his temper.
All might have remained peaceable had the conversation not taken an unfortunate turn.
At a pause in what had been aimless discourse, one of the men muttered with a sigh, “Faith, lads, but this be a night fit only for ducks and fish.”
“Aye, sure, and mayhap for foxes,” suggested another with a quiet chuckle.
“Do not speak to me about accursed foxes,” growled the troublemaker. He was a young man, still in his twenties, and handsome despite the sour look on his face. It was said that young women found him charming, but the other men in the alehouse had seen little if any of that charm.
“Peace, lad,” the oldest of the four, a grizzle-bearded, burly man said calmly. “We’ll talk o’ summat else.”
“Mayhap I do not travel with my usual tail of men tonight, Rory Malcolm, but you’ll address me properly nonetheless. Moreover, I ken fine what you are thinking. You’ve all heard what that vulpine villain did at Bothyn, have you not?”
Silence greeted his words.
“Well? Have you not?”
“Aye, we heard,” Malcolm said in his peaceable way. “ ’Twas nobbut a prank, and no harm meant.”
“No harm?” The speaker’s voice rose. “No harm, you say! Did the villain not sneak into Bothyn Castle, stronghold of the sheriff’s own family, and manage by unnatural arts or other villainy to enter at dead o’ night and arrange for buckets full of excrement to be emptied over me as I rode out next morning?”
“I’d say he did ye a kindness,” declared the fourth man. “Is your father no the new Sheriff o’ Inverness-shire, and are ye yourself no his sheriff-substitute?”
“You know that I am,” the troublemaker said belligerently. “But my father is scarcely new to his position. He has been sheriff for nigh onto six months now.”
“Aye, well, but his lordship were sheriff for thirty years and more afore him,” the alemaster said.
“And his lordship’s own cousin a murderer, I’d remind you.”
“Perhaps, but Sionnach Dubh were mostly peaceable whilst his lordship looked to the law hereabouts, and now he do be stirring again,” Malcolm said.
“I told you,” the other snapped, “I don’t want to hear about the Black Fox!”
“Aye, sure, but he only worked a bit o’ mischief at Bothyn,” Fraser said. “I’m thinkin’ ye should be grateful he were content wi’ just showing ye that your defenses required refinement, and didna slit your throats.”
“Aye,” said the man who had first mentioned foxes, having kept silent since. “Ye should guard your home better, lad. ’Tis only sensible, that, particularly since ye now ha’ the duty to live in and look after Sheriff’s House in Inverness, as well.”
“Do you dare suggest we do not guard our residences? We do, and well, but the Fox is the devil’s own spawn, or he would not slither through keyholes in the dead of night. He would face his enemies, man to man and sword to sword.”
Fraser chuckled.
Instantly, the troublemaker’s temper flared. Leaping to his feet, he snarled, “By Jesu, do you dare to laugh at me?”
“Peace, lad,” Fraser said. “I didna laugh at ye but at the silly notion that the Fox be afraid to meet any man wi’ a sword. ’Tis said, and truly, that he be the finest swordsman in all Scotland.”
“A myth, I tell you, a nonsense! I warrant you�
�ll next believe that he rides the Loch Ness monster, waving his sword as he plunges with it down to its lair.”
“We’d believe nowt o’ the sort, only that the man’s a grand swordsman.”
“I am the best-trained swordsman in the glens,” he declared. “Or do you forget that I trained in Italy? Moreover, my sword is the finest in the Highlands.”
Whipping his weapon from its scabbard, he waved it menacingly.
“Mind what ye’re about now, lad,” Fraser warned sternly.
“Call me ‘sir,’ damn you! I say the Black Fox is a damnable coward! Does anyone dare deny that?”
The others remained prudently silent.
“By Jesu, then, I tell you he is a thief and a murderer, and as soon as I get the chance, I’ll show him and all Scotland who is the better swordsman.”
“Shout hallelujah then, ye ill-natured puppy,” snapped a deep voice from the back of the room. “God has granted your foolish wish.”
So fixed had everyone’s attention been on the flashing sword and the swordsman’s complaints that no one had noticed the door slowly opening.
Even now, the light of the little fire barely reached the figure that filled the doorway, making him seem to be just a shadow against the mist. Like the night behind him, he was cloaked in black, and either the hood of his cloak or some sort of mask concealed his features, for only his eyes, glittering with reflected firelight, were visible to his startled audience. Then, deftly swirling his cloak, he revealed the pistol he held in his left hand and the sleek-looking sword in his right.
“We’ll ha’ a fair fight, lads,” he said, gently gesturing with the pistol.
“Dinna burden yourself, sir,” Malcolm said. “We’re a peaceable lot, and we favor fair play.”
Nodding, the intruder slipped the pistol back beneath his cloak. “Come at me then,” he said softly to the troublemaker, “if your feet will carry ye.”
