by Sandy Blair
They’d fattened her up to eat!
And she’d never forgive Angus. Such deceit was beyond...beyond...
At the bottom of the stairwell, Birdi slammed against a clansman coming in. She slapped him out of the way with frantic hands and raced straight ahead. Fifty steps, just fifty steps to get out of this dreadful place. Run straight and ye’ll find the arch. Heart slamming against her ribs, hands before her, she ran, mouth open, sucking in as much life-giving air as Goddess would allow. Halfway across the bailey she realized she’d stopped counting. Just go, an inner voice bellowed, and you’ll find the sea. Just go!
Aye, better to drown than be burned alive.
Nay, she wouldn’t drown. She swam like a fish and would make good her escape.
Running through the arch, ignoring the shouts and pounding feet behind her, she sent a final sacred prayer to Goddess, asking for the sea to welcome her.
Without hesitation she ran straight into the heaving white foam roaring at the end of the stone quay.
As the bone-breaking cold engulfed her, knocked the breath from her chest, she felt the sea grab hold and pull her to its bosom. She kicked with all her might and rose, but the sea clutched her gown, kept trying to pull her back down. Her arms clawed at the water, her left arm strong, and her right made nearly useless by her struggle. Why had she not stripped before plunging? Oh, Goddess. Help!
She kicked furiously, until her legs screamed for reprieve. Finally she felt the top of her head break through a wave and into the sun, but then—before she could grab a breath of air—she was pulled down again. She stopped fighting then. She was simply too small to break free.
As the sea spun her in its liquid embrace, she confided to Goddess, Ah. I ken now. I lived as a stranger in yer land and shall now die a stranger in yer sea. So sad, but somehow so fitting.
Chapter 19
As Angus raced through the great hall’s doorway after Birdi, he heard Lady Beth shout, “What the hell just happened?”
A very good question. He wanted to know as well. One thing was certain. Something had terrified Birdi. He hadn’t heard such keening, seen such horror on a woman’s face since his time in France.
He bounded down the stairs, taking them three at a time, pushed through the open lower door and into the bailey. He saw her; arms out before her, jet curls billowing behind her like huge black wings, as she raced through the raised portcullis. “Birdi! Wait!”
When she didn’t stop but raced on, he cursed and ran after her. Merciful Mother of God, if she doesn’t stop she’ll run right off the end of the quay.
To his horror, just as he set foot on the quay, she did precisely that. She never hesitated; never looked back, just ran straight into the crashing waves.
“Nooo!”
He tore off his heavy jerkin as he ran, then dove into the pounding surf after her.
Freezing cold knocked the breath out of him and he kicked to the surface, where he gulped air and spun, searching for her. “Birdi!” Oh, Christ, please, I beg ye, help me find her. He couldn’t see for the tears and brine. “Birdi!” She can’t drown, please don’t let her drown. “BIRDI!”
The waves ebbed and he spotted something dark floating just beneath the green waves to his right. He dove and found her floating like a dark angel; arms extended, eyes closed, black curls resembling silk flotsam as she hovered in her blue gown.
Lungs aching, he grabbed her under the arms and kicked for the sun.
He broke the surface, gasped, and lifted Birdi higher, thrusting her head out of the water, only to panic when it lolled backward. “Ye canna be doing this twice, Birdi. Wake up!” Kicking to stay afloat, he shook her. “I’ll not have it, ye hear!” She coughed then, spewing seawater like a whale. She gasped a few times, coughed again, and opened her eyes. With the next breath she screeched.
“Birdi, ‘tis me.”
“Nay!” She fought, arms flailing, teeth bared like those of a cornered she-wolf.
“Birdi, for God’s sake!” He had all he could do to keep them both above the waves surging toward the boulders. Pinning her arms and still kicking frantically to keep afloat, he shouted, “What the hell has ye so frightened?”
Gasping, she yelled, “I willna, I willa be burned. Let me drown!”
“What? Birdi—” He sucked in more air to them both from perishing. “Listen,” he panted, “no one is going to burn or drown, I promise. I’d never let that happen. I love ye!”
She froze then. Just gaped at him. “Ye love me?”
There it was. He did love Birdi, didn’t want to, didn’t understand the how or why of it, but aye, he did love his Birdi.
Good bye, Donaliegh.
“Aye, Birdi, I love ye, I do.”
“Oh Angus!” She threw her arms about his neck, sinking them both.
God, she felt good as her tongue sought his, cold and frightened as she was. Cold and exhausted as he was, for that matter. But they’d best continue this on dry land.
He kicked, surfaced and, keeping a tight hold on her, made for the quay. Hearing shouts, he looked up and found Duncan and Ian reaching for them. Dozens of clansmen stood at their backs.
Duncan, having the longest arms, caught Birdi and heaved her up and onto the quay. Ian grabbed Angus’s shoulders and roughly hauled him up and over the boulders. On solid ground again, anxious to get to Birdi, he bellowed, “Out of my way!”
Angus found her in Beth’s arms, Duncan’s cloak wrapped about her, her pale skin nearly blue. Begging Beth’s pardon, he scooped her into his arms. “Are ye all right?” The woman would be the death of him.
Teeth clicking like a squirrel’s, she whispered, “I’m sorry, but I thought—Aaaaaahhh!”
Her magnificent ice-blue eyes bulged like a frog’s as she continued to screech and point to those surging toward them.
“What? What has ye fashing now?”“
Birdi clawed at Angus’s chest. “Get him away!”
He raked the crowd, looking for a Macarthur, a Gunn, someone or something that wasn’t right. “Who? What?”
She gasped, “The priest!”
Not understanding but willing to do anything so long as she stopped keening, he shouted, “Remove Fat John. Now!”
To his left Duncan ordered, “Ian, take Father John back to the keep.” Ian, scowling, grabbed the rotund priest’s arm.
The priest sputtered and fumed as Ian, saying something about mead, dragged him away.
Lady Beth heaved a sigh. Knowing Ian, she had little doubt she’d find their gluttonous priest out cold in some storage room within a few hours.
But she had more pressing problems at the moment and caught Kari’s eye. “Mistress Kari, please run ahead and stoke the fires in Angus’s room.” As the woman took off at a run Beth yelled, “And ready a bath!”
She took Duncan’s arm and followed Angus and his lady into the keep. In a whisper, Beth asked, “Do you know why she fears him so?”
Duncan leaned toward her to avoid being overheard. “If Angus is tale is true—and I’ve nay reason to doubt him—Birdi has every reason to fear Father John. She’s nay doubt heard tales of cumberendra.”
“Of what?”
“Church-ordered burnings at the stake. Witches usually, but heretics, as well. Birdi is a cailleach, a pagan healer and according to Angus, an extraordinary one.”
“You’re not serious?”
He nodded and slowed, letting those who traveled behind them pass. When the last had done so, he whispered, “I’ve wished to rid myself of Fat John for years. More so now than ever. If he remains, Angus will take his leave, and that I’ll not have.” He huffed. “My problem now lies in getting Fat John to leave of his own accord. I canna boot him out, as much as I’d like. The bishop would be here thrice, threatening excommunication and raising tithes.”
“I see.” Beth had wanted to rid herself of the priest since arriving at Blackstone. The man—intent on converting her—was still harassing her, but not until today did she realize her hu
sband wanted him gone as much as she did. Splendid!
She patted Duncan’s arm. “Just leave it to me.”
~#~
His hands full, Angus shouldered open the guest quarter’s door and found Birdi up to her neck in warm water.
She peeked over the rim of Beth’s huge tub. “Is he still down there?”
Angus shook his head, dropped the flagon of hot mead and the tankards on the fireside table, and then knelt beside her. He reached for the fragrant rose soap bobbing on the water, a gift from Beth. “He’s locked in the west wing. Ian will keep him there.”
“All right, but so long as he’s about I have to stay here.”
His poor wee Birdi. He lathered the soap in his hands and murmured, “Sit up.”
When she did, knees bent and clutched to her chest, he eased the bubbles across the lace scars on her back. “Now, why didn’t ye tell me ye feared priests? I’d have kept him from ye.”
She hunched her shoulders. “I thought...I feared...I didna ken if—”
“...if I was in league with the priest?”
Turning scarlet, she nodded. “Aye, but then I didna ken that ye loved me. I was sure ye loved Mary and I—”
“Whoa. Who is Mary?”
“Hale Mary, the one ye whisper to each night and when ye’re most upset. Ye ken. The one with honey hair and beehive breasts.”
Oh my God. She’d heard him praying and had assumed...He couldn’t help it. He started laughing.
Looking indignant, she slapped his arm. “What, may I ask, do ye find so humorous?”
Angus wiped the tears from his cheeks with the backs of his soapy hands. “Love, do ye remember the tale of the Blessed Virgin and the Immaculate Conception?”
Birdi narrowed her eyes at him. “How could I not? Ye kept me up half the night making sure I would.”
Because she looked so splendidly indignant, because it felt so good to be home, because she loved him and he loved her, because he’d lost Donaliegh and his chiefship and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it but laugh, he laughed again, this time until it hurt.
Birdi, apparently deciding he’d lost his mind, huffed and sank beneath the bubbles.
She ran out of air about the same time he caught his breath. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms. “Birdi, I do love ye so.”
“Good, because I do too, though why I should when ye jest at my expense and—”
He silenced her rebuke with his lips. She sighed and opened her mouth to him, her arms encircling his neck. He dove heart-first into Birdi’s sweet moist richness.
As her tongue made a tentative exploration across his, he rose, hauling her out of the water, and pressed her to him. His hands slid up her spine, memorizing every detail of the warm, slick flesh, then slid down and lingered on her fine hurdies, enjoying their firmness. Wanting more, needing her to understand his need, he grasped her deliciously round bottom and pressed her hips into his swollen groin. She growled deep in her throat and raised a leg, wrapping it around his. Ah, she wanted him as he did her. No question.
The room was warm, but not anywhere near as warm as the blood surging through his limbs. He wanted her, all of her, and now there wasn’t a reason on earth why he shouldn’t consummate their union.
He carried her to the wide, four-poster canopied bed. She mewed and reached for him as he pulled away.
“Patience.” He ripped the clothes from his body and dropped down beside her. Heart racing, he drew her to his chest. As his lips slid down the smooth flesh of her neck, seeking the ultimate prize, the nipples of her well-formed breasts, he whispered, “Ye’ll now be mine in truth, Lady MacDougall.”
“How so?”
He didn’t bother to answer. She’d find out soon enough.
Chapter 20
Birdi groaned deep in her throat as Angus kissed the side of her right breast, as his hips pressed against her thighs. She wanted...wanted, oh, she didn’t ken what she wanted, but ‘twas something verra important. His strong hand then cupped her breast and his lips edged closer to the peak.
Aye, aye.
When he latched on as babe might, something deep within her hips caught fire, and she groaned yet again. She arched to give him better access and dug her nails into his back to pull him closer. Oh Goddess, thank ye.
When he groaned, “Aye, lass,” her heart soared. He kenned this deep desire within her, this terrible need to touch and hold, to be caressed for the first time in her life. He would quench this thirst. She was certain of it. More importantly, she was sure she would never get enough.
Angus felt certain he’d die from pure joy, so luscious was the feel of Birdi beneath his hands and mouth. When she threw a leg over his thigh he pulled her into his hips and slid a hand down her backside, seeking the secret place he longed to occupy. Was it warm and wet enough yet? Please, Saint Bride, let it be so.
He moved a tentative finger forward and slid into delicious moist heat. She moaned into his mouth as her slick woman’s dew coated his finger and eased his passage. Oh aye, ‘tis blessedly ready. He tried a second, wanting to increase her pleasure, and found her tight. Far too tight, he realized, for a man his size. Ack!
‘Twas logical, but what to do now? He’d tupped more women than he had digits but never a virgin. No decent man did.
While he pondered, she groaned and slid a hand over his hip. As she explored his hurdies with a light touch, he tried counting the nails in the shutters.
When her hand delved deeper and caressed his balls, his mind screamed, Just get on with it. She is, after all, willing and needy.
Aye. He closed his eyes, and ran the tip of a second finger through her slickness. Hoping to keep her mind on his mouth, he nibbled on her lower lip. As his tongue plunged into her sweet mouth, his finger imitated the movement his swollen phallus would soon take. To his relief, she moaned and pressed her hips against his hand. He did it again with the same results.
“Do ye like that?”
Panting, eyes half open and unfocused, she whispered “Aye. More.” He rolled and settled between her thighs, his weight on his arms and her hips tipped up to greet him.
“More, Angus, please.”
“Aye, lass.” He wanted more as well, rubbed against her, mixing his fluids with hers, and then with one hand under a fine hurdie to hold her secure, he slowly pressed forward. She immediately stiffened.
Birdi, suddenly wide-eyed, whispered, “What happened?”
“Sssh, ‘tis all done. From here on ‘tis only pleasure.”
Brow furrowed, she didn’t appear convinced.
Their gazes locked, he grinned and slowly eased out, then slowly back into her. God, her eyes were as clear and deep as a fresh-water pool. He could drown in their depths and die a happy man.
He lowered his mouth to hers and again tasted the mint she’s sampled on the biscuits she’d eaten. He withdrew and eased forward again. This time her hands slid into his hair. Birdi then took over their kiss and pressed her hips into him. Ah, my sweet lass.
As his pace slowly increased, so did Birdi’s. Only moments later she suddenly flew past, her breath hitching, her eyes glazed. She grabbed onto his arse and rocked, fingers digging in deep. Oh, Birdi.
He’d been with some robust women, but none like this. She wanted, and she wanted him now. He increased the pace of his thrusts, sliding over her, the fine hairs of his chest brushing her nipples so they stood high and proud. Come on, Birdi, come on.
She shattered then; keening his name, her back arched, her legs stiffened, and her nails digging deep into his hips as she reached for the stars.
He waited for her final spasm to pass then rocked into her fully. Once, twice, and then exploded into the deep, potent richness of Birdi MacDougall.
Panting, his heart finally slowing, he managed to open his eyes. Birdi was watching him; wonder gracing her lovely features. “Did I hurt ye, lass?” He hoped not. The last few minutes were a blur.
She ran a tentative finger along his
lower lip. “Oh nay. ‘Twas wondrous, truly.” She then smiled and asked, “Can we do it again?”
He laughed and rolled with her clutched to his chest.
~#~
As gloaming settled over the land, Lady Katherine Elizabeth MacDougall sat in Blackstone’s solar, gazing at her reflection in her small, silver-backed looking glass. Satisfied with her artistry, she cleared her small dressing table of her homemade make-up and brushes, then swept away the telltale dusting of soot from its surface and snuffed out all but one candle.
She crawled between the cool sheeting and loosened the bed drapes behind her, which threw her into shadow. She fluffed her pillows, picked up her book, and settled in for what she thought might be a long wait.
To her surprise, the knock came quickly. Their priest in residence—a man who served others, she suspected, only to better serve himself—was apparently more worried about Birdi’s reaction to him than Beth realized. Good. His distraction would work to her advantage. Schooling her features into what she hoped was an expression of hopeless despair, Beth moaned, “Come in.”
Father John poked his head through the doorway. “My lady, I come at yer husband’s request, but I also wish speak to ye about Sir Angus MacDougall’s ladywife.”
I bet you do.
As he hurried toward her, Beth eased forward just a bit, so he could catch a glimpse of the dark red spots marring her face through the artfully applied—if she did say so herself—faint dusting of ash by the light of the candle.
He came to an abrupt halt five feet from the bed, his hand flying to his mouth. “Oh, sweet mercy, ‘tis black plague.”
She nodded and held out a hand to him, which he ignored, so she dropped it. “Father, I ken I’ve not been very receptive to yer past attempts to bring me to the One True Faith, but as ye can plainly see matters have suddenly changed. As ye can imagine, my husband is most distressed.”
Father John nodded with the rapidity of a woodpecker. Good. “I’m so glad ye ken our dilemma.” She offered him a weak smile, one she hoped conveyed how gracious she thought him for not bolting out the door like he no doubt itched to do. “The MacDougall asks two things of ye. First, ‘tis my husband’s wish and mine that ye provide me with daily instruction, so I might be properly prepared and receive the blessed sacraments, and...”
