by Alisa Adams
“Mary, it is time we left. We must put many more leagues between my father and us. If we leave now, we might just make it to Inverness by nightfall.”
“Just a little more,” said Mary. She was still captured by the beauty of the Highlands. The twilight had already retreated in the face of the force coming from the fiery orb in the sky that had started to turn yellow from red. The lie of the land slid away from her as light cast shadows on the hillocks, glens, and mountains. As the sun rose in the sky at a pace that seemed impossible, the landscape acquired visual momentum and velocity, breaking into fragments, rolling and thundering down mountains and crags.
“All right, blossom. We must go now.” Alastair sat up and slid from under the plaid. She immediately missed his warmth as she pulled on the garment to recover her body. He rummaged in Mary’s knapsack, removing the oats, a bannock, and a wooden bowl. “I will make us some breakfast before we leave.
Mary watched him fuss over the fire he had just brought to light. She had seen it done many times before on the journey north, but somehow the process still intrigued her. First, Alastair had created a spark by striking steel across the sharp edge of a flint. The rock had sheared off tiny flakes of metal, producing the sparks that fell onto dry pine needles and small twigs. After that, he had blown on the birthing flames until a constant flicker emerged, making a fire that burned steadily.
“This’ll keep us fed until Inverness,” he said, stirring the mix of oats and water in the pot with a spurtle. “It’s important I do this – turning it to the right with my right hand – lest the devil come looking for me.”
“Yes, I know. Murtagh mentioned that already. Why is that?”
Alastair shrugged. “I dinnae ken – tis what was told to me since I was a laddie.”
It took about half an hour until he was satisfied that the concoction in the pot had thickened sufficiently. In the meantime, he had added salt. He ladled the porridge into the wooden bowl. When he was done, Alastair walked over to Mary and held out his hand.
She frowned at him. “Why do you want me to get up? Can’t we eat sitting down?”
“Nah, in the Highlands, it is tradition to eat yer oats standing up.”
“I see, and I suppose we can’t make an exception?”
He shrugged. “Why would we? And besides, lounging about on yer arse for too long, no matter how lovely it is, makes for skiving wallopers. Come now – up with ye, lass.” Alastair pulled Mary up to her feet. He handed her the bowl and wooden spoon, while he ripped a large chunk off the bannock, which he handed to her also. “Ye eat first, blossom. I will put out the fire. After that, we go.”
The town of Inverness lay by the North Sea on the eastern coast of the British Isles. The settlement hugged the shoreline, almost merging with the sea. Mary could see the beautiful shores sprinkled with dwellings; the town itself and the surrounding countryside – the rolling fields unfolding before her down to the sea – combined to render the perfect picture.
“Inverness is often called the capital of the Highlands. It means the mouth of the River Neuss.” Alastair’s voice came across deep and sticky as a bear’s growl collective with molasses. It sent a shiver of pleasure down Mary’s back. She could listen to him forever. She looked in his direction. He sat proudly on the back of his horse, overlooking the scene. His muscular legs cased the horse’s flanks, making it seem that his physique became as one with the steed in imitation of a centaur.
“Macbeth supposedly murdered King Alastair at his castle in Inverness. There’s a new one now built by King David. If ye look closely, you can see it.” He waited a moment before saying that they should complete the journey and find an inn for the night.
Mary could make out a wooden palisade surrounded by a ditch as they approached the town. The place seemed massive after Diabaig. At the gates, Alastair exchanged a few words with the watchmen stationed there. They were fortunate that their journey had been so swift for the gates would close the moment the sun set, and no one would gain admittance to the settlement until the following morning.
Entering, there was still a bustle of activity. It was apparent that the place flourished. Alastair had explained on the ride over that many fishermen operated there and that there was also a shipyard. Furthermore, it was a thriving port, exporting produce such as wool, fur, and hides. Getting closer to the center, Mary saw the first stages of a bridge being built across the River Neuss. Wooden scaffolding encased the birthing stone structure. It was a city in the making.
“Come, Mary, I know of a wee tavern close to the harbor. It’s a tad out of the way so we need not worry about being discovered. We can hopefully spend the night there.” He guided his horse down a narrow street, leaving the main thoroughfare.
They had dismounted due to the traffic of people, draught animals, and pigs that roamed freely as they cluttered the street. Some parts of the road were made of stone and others of dirt. In places, it had deep ruts from the many carts that passed that way. What Mary noticed the most was the smell of humanity and filth. It stood in such contrast to the freshness of Diabaig. In Inverness, the proximity of so many people gave off an almost stifling air.
“Look out, Mary.” Alastair pulled her to one side before she nearly stepped on a pile of leftover food and other substances she recognized as very unsavory when she looked down. A little further afield, she saw a woman chuck the contents of a chamber pot onto the street. It was generally frowned upon as the town’s council forbade it, but there was no authority in place to counter the act.
“Here we are,” he announced.
They stood in front of a door. Above it hung a sign with the name of the establishment. ‘The Wheatsheaf’. Mary rolled the word on her tongue.
A gust of warm air assaulted her face when Alastair opened the door. The dense waft that came at her like a moving wall was a commingle of cooking aroma, sweat, and an overall putrid odor. It was dingy and dark inside. A fire in a hearth and a few sconces with flickering flames provided the only lighting. They walked up to the counter where a short, bald man with a frowzy appearance stood with a buxom woman in a grimy dress and no older than nineteen.
“We’ll have two of yer pottages and a jug of ale,” ordered Alastair, slapping a coin on the bar.
The landlord shook his head. “Sorry, friend, but we’re closing the doors for the night. The curfew is about to begin.”
“I forgot to mention, we’ll also be needing a chamber for the night and stabling for the horses.”
The short man studied them for a moment, his gaze resting on Mary for far too long. “Yer wife, is she?” he asked at last, skepticism playing on his face.
“Aye,” answered Alastair without hesitation.
Mary frowned. She thought a moment why that was important. Then it finally dawned on her that it was not fitting for an unmarried woman to travel with a man who was not her husband, father or brother.
The landlord nodded as he ferreted away the money on the wooden worktop quicker than it had materialized. He then dipped a pewter pitcher into a large barrel, removing it brimming with ale. “Ye can sit over there,” he said, pointing at a table in the corner of the establishment. “My best room is free, and one of my lads will take care of yer horses. It’ll cost ye two more of those coins though.”
Alastair removed some more money from the inside of his plaid and thwacked the metal on the counter. Afterwards, he guided Mary across the low-ceilinged room that was nearly empty because of the curfew. Only one other man sat at a table close to the fire eating his stew. He produced occasional feral grunts as he wolfed down the brew. He took no notice of the newcomers.
“This is just what I needed,” said Alastair, draining his tankard after he had filled two for him and Mary.
“Yes, traveling makes you thirsty.” Mary sipped down the beverage with far more restraint than the clansman.
“And the kissing. I could do that all day to ye, blossom.”
Mary twinkled her eyes at him. “If you are lu
cky, you might get a few more of those when we go upstairs after supper.”
“And I will be more than obliging, wife.”
Mary giggled. She felt the reckless exuberance of being on the road with this man. There was nowhere she’d rather be than right there, in the seedy tavern in Inverness. She did not know where their path would take them other than to England and her father. If what was happening between her and Alastair was real, then maybe her father would let her marry him – he was the son of a laird after all. She bit her lower lip. Aren’t I getting a little ahead of myself? she thought.
“A copper for yer thoughts, Mary. You’ve been smiling away like ye just saw something that took yer fancy.”
“Well, I did. I am with what I fancy right now. And it makes me content.” She batted her eyelids, immediately coaxing a blush onto her face for flirting with him so brazenly.
“Then, I am happy to be of service.”
“Yer food,” said the curvaceous serving woman slapping two wooden bowls on the table. She left only to return with a bannock, which she deposited in front of them with the same hasty un-courteousness.
Mary dipped her spoon in the brownish, congealed liquid. No matter how distasteful it looked, the aroma fanning out of the bowl reminded her just how hungry she was. Alastair pulled on the crust of the bread, grimacing at how hard it was.
“This ruddy bannock is like a rock. Trust that bastard to serve stale bread. I just hope it is not full of weevils to boot.” With a grunt, he freed some of the bread, which he proceeded to dip into the pottage. “Never ask what is in it,” said Alastair with his mouth half full. “It can have all manner of things lying about the kitchen and environ. Sometimes, they chuck in an old draft horse that was well passed it. Ye get just about anything – blood, entrails, if yer lucky carrots…”
“I thought you said not to talk about it.”
Alastair guffawed. “Aye, blossom. I did. Eat up now while it’s still hot.”
They ate in silence until their bowls were scraped clean with the bread that had fortunately softened when it was left in the stew. To Mary’s surprise, it had been surprisingly savory. She felt a warm glow in her belly that made her drowsy. She was exhausted from the road. Every limb on her body ached. The food and ale had added to her tiredness.
“It’s time we got ye to bed before ye pass out.” Alastair stood up. He held out his hand for her to take.
It did not take them long to mount the stairs to the first floor where they found a narrow corridor with three doors leading from it. Alastair directed them to the furthest one at the end of the hallway. He opened the door with a heavy key, provided to him by the owner, and entered the chamber with Mary in tow.
The wood beamed ceiling hung so low that he had to bend over. The building was so constructed because the limited height provided more warmth during the colder months of the year. There was also a fire burning in a small hearth. Alastair walked up to the bed and started to undress without a moment’s hesitation.
“What are you doing?” asked Mary, frowning at him.
He shrugged. “Removing my clothing. We don’t need a plaid to stay warm here.”
Mary spun around to face the door as Alastair continued to remove his garments unashamedly. In moments, he was stark naked. Even though she could not see him, embarrassment harassed her face with a rosy tint. She had not expected this. Did she have to do the same? She couldn’t disrobe, not with a man in the room. She heard a rustle as he slid under the covers. Gradually, she turned to face him again. It was too soon. She gulped when she caught a glimpse of his nudity before it vanished from view. The force of her blush grew even stronger. He was absolutely perfect.
“Are ye not joining me?”
The expression on his face was so innocent that Mary could not help smiling at him. “Yes, I’m coming.” She removed her vest, shoes, and tartan until she was only clothed in a smock. Not feeling quite as free-spirited as Alastair, she decided to leave that on. She quickly walked up to the bed and climbed on, gratefully accepting Alastair’s welcome as he lifted the quilt.
Lying there, all she could think about was that he was naked beside her. Those thoughts made the neurons in her head perform unbelievable feats. One moment, she wanted to roll over and kiss him, the very next, she only wanted to touch it again and then a few heartbeats later, she was afraid of the naked man next to her. She had never lain with a man before. What if she was not able to please him? Would Alastair leave her and go back to Aila?
“This is cozy, eh?” Alastair turned to face her, resting his weight on his elbow
Frozen on the spot, Mary nodded. Her gaze bonded to the ceiling. Before she knew it, she counted the wooden beams she found there. “Yes, it’s lovely,” she croaked out.
He nudged her chin up with his thumb. Her lips parted with a sharp intake of breath. He stared into her eyes. It was not a lustful gaze, but one of wonderment. He stayed like that for a while until his eyes dropped. That was when he saw it… The gentle rise and fall of her chest… The soft rose in her cheeks… The skittish look in her eyes, flitting to his lips and then quickly away.
Understanding abruptly seeped through him like warmed honey purling through his veins. Could it be? Was it possible that he loved her and would do anything for her? The thought sent warm ripples of shock through his body, thinning the air in his lungs. His gaze gentled, taking in the vulnerability in her eyes, the fright in her face, and all he wanted to do was hold her, and comfort her.
Mary did not know how to respond. The way Alastair looked at her broke down any resistance or fear she might have had. His gaze radiated such emotion and power. Mary found herself realizing that she would let him do anything to her. She trusted him with her life, her heart and… her body.
As if under a spell and able to read her mind, his gaze was drawn to her lips, parted and full. The sound of her shallow breathing filled him with a fierce longing. “Oh, Mary.” He sighed, moving closer until he was nearly on top of her. In slow motion, he bent toward her, closing his eyes to caress her mouth with his own. A weak gasp escaped her as she stiffened, but he couldn’t relent. To taste her lips again was far more than he bargained for, and he drew her close with a raspy groan. With a fierce hold, he cupped the back of her neck and kissed her deeply, gently, possessive in his touch. His fingers twined in her hair, desperate to explore.
Before he knew it, beyond his comprehension, her body melded to his with an answering groan, and he was shocked when her mouth rivaled his with equal demand. Desire licked through him, searing his body and then his conscience. With a heated shudder, he gripped her arms and pushed her back, his breathing ragged as he held her at bay.
“We can’t do this, not all the way, blossom,” he whispered into her mouth. His breathing was labored. He dropped his hold and exhaled, gouging shaky fingers through disheveled hair. His gaze returned, capturing hers and riddled with regret. “Believe me, Mary, as much as I want to, I’ve learned the hard way to take things slow. I know if I continue kissing ye, I won’t be able to hold back.”
Mixed emotions flowed through her. A part of her wanted him to throw away his restraint and do with her as he pleased. Another was grateful for his control. It showed her that he respected and cared for her. She had felt the beast on his lower body again. It was as hard as it had been that morning. While he kissed her, it had nestled against her pelvis, probing and seeking. It had felt so strange and at the same time erotic to feel a part of him react to her so. Mary wanted more of it. She was hooked. But how would she convince Alastair of this wish without appearing wantonly libidinous?
Alastair kissed her again, albeit with far less passion. He stroked her cheek, pressing his hand against her skin. “Yer so beautiful, blossom. I could gaze into yer eyes for all eternity and never get bored.” Another kiss followed, and then he rolled onto his back. “We best get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”
Mary moved closer to him. She placed her head on his chest, listening to the bea
t of his heart. She draped one arm across his torso, pulling him toward her. “Alastair – Alastair.”
There was no reply as the deep rumble of his snoring filled the room.
It was the third day since Mary and Alastair had left Inverness. Fortunately, they had not run into any of the clansmen from Diabaig. It appeared that Alastair’s ruse had worked. Heading east instead of south had been a clever move. There was no way they would be discovered now. The Anglo-Scottish frontier lay only a few more miles to the south and then Mary would be home again.
She knew that she should feel happy. And yet, something heavy weighed on her. She and Alastair had never really talked about what was going to happen to their burgeoning relationship when they got there. Her feelings for him grew stronger by the hour. They had spoken of their childhoods. Mary had even opened up to him about her mother who died giving birth to her and her sister. Alastair had halted his horse and kissed her after that.
The way he behaved around her stood in such sharp contrast to the way he was when they first met. Back then, she had thought of him as a brutish cad. Now, Mary knew different. Alastair had a sensitive disposition under his burly masculine exterior. She sensed it when he held her, she heard it when he spoke to her, and she felt it when he kissed her. As much as she appreciated it, it was not all she wanted from him. Mary found herself wanting the Alastair of old back, even if it was only for a moment.
For three nights, one in the inn and two on the land, she had lain in his arms, listening to him breathe as he gradually fell asleep. They had always kissed before that, but just when Mary was about to open up to him completely, he would pull away. He would look her in the eyes as if he was apologizing. Mary always regretted it when she saw the blistering carnality in his gaze glaze over and soften as if water had been thrown on it, dousing his ardor. She had asked herself what held him back. Was it her? Were his feelings not in line with the words he spoke?
