by LAURA HARNER
Miranda kept her eyes closed, turned her face to the side, and made a small non-distinct sound. He stilled his hands and his hips. “Nay, lass. I wish to hear you; tell me what you want, what feels good, else I might stop.”
The words felt like an echo to him, though he was positive he had not said them to another lass. He waited, his brief pause helping him regain a small measure of his control. Miranda shifted her hips underneath him, before she finally met his gaze. Her lids were half lowered, sexy looking eyes that belonged in the bedroom. In his bedroom.
“Did your own hand feel as good, Miranda? Did it feel as good as this?” He rubbed a small circle around her nub with his fingers. She gave a small shake of her head, and her breath hitched in her throat.
“Did you feel like this?” he asked as he pushed his cock deeper inside and moved his hips in a circular motion, filling her completely. Again, she shook her head.
“Tell me,” he rumbled, needing to hear her words.
“Nothing feels as good as you make me feel, please, don’t stop,” she breathed, looking up, and he saw the naked desire in her gold-flecked eyes.
He laughed again, and then, as she requested, he didna stop for a verra long time.
****
Randi couldn’t control the sounds that escaped, and she nearly sobbed with pleasure as she came, her every sense filled with Gabhran. He roared as the first spasm of her orgasm hit, and with one final thrust he buried himself to the hilt, and spilled his essence deep inside. Their bodies shuddered and rocked as they continued to be pleasured by aftershocks.
Randi knew her pleasure was increased a thousand-fold by her feelings for this man. He might not be her Gabhran exactly, but she recognized enough of him, that when she fought through his barriers, pushed back the darkness, she felt that same passion, that same intense feeling of destiny stir deep in her soul. She might be inexperienced, but this was love and she let the feeling fill her as the pleasure of their shared orgasm lingered.
Gabhran leaned in to kiss her tenderly, covering her lips, her face, her hair, before he rolled onto his side pulling her with him, so they remained face to face. He stroked her hair and gazed into her eyes, as if trying to read deep into her soul.
“Tell me what this is, wife?” he asked, but not in the accusatory tone he'd used before. His voice was filled with wonder, his eyes with hope. “What is it I feel from you, lass? Is it possible you have feelings for me? Could you grow to love me, Miranda?”
Randi gauged what he was feeling, the uncertainty in his steel-blue eyes and once again let the love she felt flow through her. She cupped his face in her hands and met his gaze, hers steady and strong. “It seems, dear husband, that somehow fate brought us together.”
Then she repeated a variation of the words he’d said to her in New Orleans, not knowing if his memories could be reached. “You have touched my heart, you make me want to stay in one place and one time with you forever. I don’t know how or why, but yes, husband, I do love you.”
Gabhran covered her hands with his and then placed them over his heart. “Och, woman, you shake me to my core, you make me question everything in which I believe. You hold the dark feelings I have inside at bay, and bring in the light, you make my verra soul sing. I doona know how or why, but aye, lass, I love you, too.”
Randi's heart nearly burst through her chest when he said those words, they were the same words of love he’d given her in another place in time. He loved her through the ages.
This time when they made love, it was slow and sweet, filled with many kisses and murmured words of love.
*
When the morning came, Randi snuggled deeper in the covers and listened as Gabhran stepped from her room into the hallway and called for the guards. He ordered a fire and breakfast for his chamber and a bath be prepared in hers whilst they were eating. He returned to her bed, kissed her sleep-tousled hair, and held her close.
“Good morrow, wife.”
Randi smiled at the endearment, remembering how barbaric it had sounded when she’d first heard him use it, now she loved hearing him refer to her that way. She liked calling him husband, too. If they ever made it back to…well, he would just have trouble ever taking those words back, no matter where they were.
He fingered the chain around her neck and traced its path to the small bag nestled just above her breasts. He hefted the bag in his palm, as if weighing it. “What is this, my love?”
There was no choice, she would tell a lie in order to save him.
“Do you believe in fortune tellers, Gabhran?” she asked smiling as she grasped his hand, keeping it firmly closed around the gris gris. She sensed the malevolence of the Dark Spirit as it belatedly realized what she was doing.
He started to laugh at her question, but obviously realizing she was perfectly serious, he thought for a minute before answering.
“Do you believe in Druids, lass?” he finally countered.
His question took her completely off-guard. She was expecting a silly, romantic conversation, one in which she would convince him to wear this chain as a token reminder of her. Could she tell him more? Not the truth, or at least not all of it, but maybe some combination of the two stories.
“Yes,” she replied honestly, “I believe in Druids. So what about you, do you believe in Druids and fortunetellers, seers and magick?”
“Aye…” he trailed off as if he looked inward at an internal debate. “There was a time when I believed in a great many things. I think maybe I forgot for a while, but aye, I believe.”
“Then listen with your heart and I will tell you about my fortuneteller.” And Miranda began to weave a tale that was mostly true. She told of Marie, a fortuneteller who lived in a faraway village who had told Miranda her father would arrange a marriage for a price to a man who was her destiny. “Marie warned me that the man was filled with great power and passion but was being consumed by a terrible darkness. Marie said the man would either love me throughout time or he would kill me.”
She kept her hands around his, and he still held the gris gris. His breath was rapid and shallow, his gaze intense. Oh yes, he is going to believe me.
“Go on, lass,” he encouraged her.
“I asked her if I would know love with this man, and she said he was my destiny, that I would love him with every measure of God and man, but unless the darkness could be pushed back, he would kill me within the year. She gave me this to wear as a small measure of protection, but warned it would only be truly effective if the man wore it freely and without reservation. She said if I put it on my husband without telling him what it was or if he didn’t believe in the power it contained, then like as not, he would kill me.”
Her eyes were filled with tears as she met his gaze once again. “I know of your darkness, I can feel it sometimes. It harbors great hate for me. It knows me now, and it knows of this small charm. Will you wear it?” she finished simply.
She felt a moment of panic, as he started to remove his hand. Everything depended on his wearing the gris gris. She’d been so sure that he believed her, she had told him far more than she’d intended. She knew the Dark Spirit was hovering, just waiting for the opportunity to possess Gabhran completely. She was afraid.
She stilled his hand, and asked again, “Will you wear it, for me, Gabhran?”
Chapter Twenty-one
Ian Worthington ushered the messenger into the great hall, and demanded an update, even though he was not the Laird. The messenger did not hesitate, he knew Ian was the trusted companion of MacLachlan, and the message was from Ian’s father, ‘twas important that the men be gathered at once.
“Please, sir, your father bids you and the Laird gather your men and ride. The Comyn is sending his guard to take your family’s holdings, they are only three days away. The king’s men are engaged near Stirling and he bids you hurry to your father’s lands. He will send men as soon as he is able, but he is counting on the men from both MacLachlan and the Worthington clans to hold the la
nd. The king has sent his banner, under which you are to ride.”
“Aye, lad, you have done well to get here so quickly. Go to the guards let them know to prepare, I will speak with them shortly. And send one of the messengers you find there back to my father, we will arrive late on the morrow. Then I bid you rest.”
Ian began the preparations to leave immediately. Damn Gabhran for deciding to spend the day with his wife. He needed him so they could depart as quickly as possible. It would be a hard ride to arrive on the morrow, with only two short stops to rest and water the horses, but it couldna be helped. Ah well, let Gav have his last bit of tupping for the time, ‘twould be at least a fortnight before they could return. Mayhap the lass would be with child by the time they returned and the darkness that had been consuming his friend would rest for a bit.
Ian was shocked to find it was the Comyn they would be facing. He had thought ‘twas not but a clan battle for which they were returning. Ian’s family had been loyal to Robert e’er since he claimed the crown and had been amply rewarded with additional lands and wealth. The lands were far in the south of lowland Scotland, and if the Comyn was successful in obtaining them, it would be a tactical advantage to the invading English. The Comyn believed himself to be a legitimate contender for the Scottish Crown, and ever since Robert had seized the throne, the Comyn had been undermining the king at every turn. The Comyn must be intending to join forces with the English against Robert.
Ian started to meet with the various members of the castle staff who would remain behind, making final preparations. He was thankful Alexander had managed the estate so well before his death, there was little to do in preparation to leave. The stable master was already saddling horses. Quincy, the leader of the guard, had already begun to review the battle plans with small groups of men and identified the contingent that would remain behind to guard the castle.
The housekeeper’s name was Agnes, and she had been with the MacLachlan’s since Alex and Gav were infants. She had helped the boys after their parents died, and Ian would wager there was naught in the castle of which she was unaware. Before he could offer her directions, she told him she had gathered the kitchen staff, and they were even now packing the dried foods that the men would carry with them on the journey. She bade him not to worry, the staff was well in hand and all was in ready in case the men needed to be gone for an extended period of time.
Ian thanked Agnes, then began to shuffle his feet and looked away as he tried to find the next words he wished to say.
“I will make certain the Laird sees you before we ride to…give instructions, for how to…care for the Lady, in his absence.” Ian knew she was confined to her chambers, and that did not make him happy. He thought his friend was wrong to treat the woman in such a fashion and it had been a sore subject between them the last week. He would endeavor to get him to relax his standards while they were gone.
“Och, lad, be you wishing to tell me how to treat the Lady? After the night and today, she will have run of the estate, doona fash yourself.” She fanned herself as she turned away, continuing to comment as she walked away from him. “Aye, from the state of their chambers, the bath, and the plaid he took on their ride, I fair say, ‘twill be a wonder if either can walk.”
Ian laughed and felt relieved as Agnes walked away. If she said their relationship had changed, then it had.
He called for a horn to blow from the walkway on the outer wall, a sign to all the men within hearing that it was time to prepare for battle, to meet up at the castle. He wondered if Gabhran would hear the horn.
****
With Miranda securely in his arms, Gabhran thought about the change in direction his day had taken. When his wife had so solemnly requested that he don her bag of magick, he’d slipped the chain around his neck, swearing to always wear it. Then to seal the moment, he had made love to her while they waited for breakfast to be brought to his chamber.
After breakfast, they returned to Miranda’s chamber, in which the maids had restored order while they’d eaten. The large tub was once again filled with hot water. The fragrance filling the air was elemental and earthy, grass, cedar, and musk.
Feeling a bit wicked, Gabhran had climbed in the tub first, drawing a complaint from Miranda that he was going to use all the hot water.
“Come here, love,” he invited, beckoning her nearer. “Remove your robe and join me.”
He watched as Miranda let her robe drop to the floor, her long golden blonde curls spilling about her, teasing him with a glimpse of her breasts. His wife was a goddess he thought as he realized this was the first look he had gotten of her in good light.
She had long, lovely legs that fit around him perfectly, when he was buried deep inside. Her breasts were full and round, the nipples a dusky rose, that tightened into hard pearls. He knew she loved it when he pulled her nipple fully into his mouth and sucked hard. He would put babes at those nipples. But not too often he amended quickly, he wanted to make sure there was time for him at her breast as well.
His gaze dropped to the hair at her juncture, ‘twas the same honey gold, and he knew the curls were silky against his cheek. He would taste her today, when he made love to her in the circle under the sunlight.
She stood before him and watched as he stroked his shaft in the lightly oiled bathwater. He raised his gaze to meet hers and they both smiled, remembering how the previous evening had started, and then Miranda blushed, but her gaze still lingered.
“Would you like to finish that yourself, husband, or would you like some help?” Miranda asked saucily. His shaft jumped in his hand, and he made a low growling noise deep in his throat.
His smile was feral. “I want you to climb in this tub so I can bury myself inside you wife. Now.”
Miranda smilingly complied and positioned herself above him so he could slip the tip between her lower lips, inside her wet opening. She took him in one slick motion, lowering herself onto his shaft, they spilled water everywhere as they made love again.
He left her to soak a little longer, and when he returned he was dressed in riding clothes, a white linen shirt, black leather trewes, and his leather boots. He looked at his wife, a vision of loveliness in the tub, her skin flushed from the heat of the water and the heat of their passion.
“Would you like me to wash your hair, love?”
Randi sighed as he gathered her hair and dipped it in the smaller hair basin next to the tub. He used the rose-scented rainwater to wash away the oils from their bath, leaning in frequently to capture her lips in a kiss or press his own lips gently against her head. He helped her out of the cooling water, dried her gently before helping her pull her short-sleeved chemise over her head.
“Shall I call Lissa to help you finish, or can you be content with my fumbling aid.” He smiled.
“Don’t leave me; just help me slip this on.” She handed him the lavender overdress, and he laced the back for her. He gathered her damp hair and after kissing the length of her neck, he squeezed the water from it with a towel, then brushed it carefully. When he was finished, Miranda gathered it into a long tail, and they walked from their chambers, hand-in-hand.
Gabhran pulled her up onto his horse and together they had explored the castle grounds for hours. He had taken her down to the sandy beach, then back up along the far ridges and hills that she’d been unable to see from her room. He told her of the lands, and of the people, of the history of the place. They were so in tune with each other that she’d asked him not to hide his heart when a wave of sadness had washed over him.
He hadna answered her at first, just pointed up ahead to a copse of trees, and said they would dismount there. Miranda leaned back into his chest, and lightly ran her fingers the length of his rock hard thigh.
When they rode through the trees, he felt her surprise when they emerged in the center of the grove.
“Standing stones,” she exclaimed.
“Aye, do you know of them, then?”
“No, only just that
they exist. “
They dismounted and Gabhran spread the plaid on the ground along with a pack Cook had given him before they left the castle. He opened the pack to reveal a light meal and a skin of wine.
“Sit with me, wife, and I will tell you a story while we eat.” He told her then of his family and how his parents had died. Of how he had been the wild, younger brother, always making things difficult for Alexander. He told her tales of Druid training with the Gailtry.
Finally, he told her of how he and Ian, after drinking one night at an inn near Inverness, had met a man who claimed to be a powerful sorcerer. For a sizeable fee, he promised to sell them a small book he claimed was full of ancient dark spells used by the gypsies for thousands of years. He held the book open but would not let either man touch it until gold was exchanged.
Ian and Gabhran had stepped away and talked it over. They had decided that if it were true, that this book contained dark spells of the gypsy, then they couldna let this man keep it, they both sensed danger in the air around him. Gabhran removed the coins from his sporran and held them out to the stranger. The stranger grabbed his hand and held tightly while he thrust the book into Gabhran’s other hand. Gabhran fell to his knees, immediately filled with a sense of cold, of emptiness, of blackness. The exchange of gold for dark magick changed everything in an instant. He could no longer access his Druid senses.
He’d been filled with shame at his foolishness and spent his life since then looking for ways to lessen the feeling of blackness that threatened to overwhelm him. The blackness liked it when he fought, so he sought bloody battles and eased his conscience by fighting for the king and his loyal clans. The blackness liked it when he tupped, so he sought the company of whores, never the same one twice, knowing he was never worthy of love. The blackness hated it when he was close to anyone, so he’d rarely come home, and had avoided his brother.
