Once Upon a Plaid

by Mia Marlowe

  This time, however, he’d told her to try not to come.

  And perversely, she’d never been wound so tight. She danced along the edge of release, advancing, then retreating, just like in the volta. Come here. Go away.

  She ached—blood, bones, and womb—she ached so intensely, she feared she’d shatter like a brittle bit of crockery if he didn’t let her come soon.

  “Now?” she whimpered.

  “Soon, love, soon.”

  She drew in a deep breath but his warm musky scent shoved her closer to the edge. Go away. William had said to wait and she was determined to be honest this time. She was going to try.

  Then Will climbed atop her. Balancing his weight on his elbows, he entered her. He drove his full length home in a single, slow thrust. She closed her eyes as his thick shaft slid into her.

  Katherine expanded to receive him, stretched taut. It had been so long since she’d held him like this, she’d almost forgotten what it was like to be filled with him. She teetered on the edge of release, fighting the downward spiral in her belly.

  Go away, she ordered her impending climax. Will had a plan for them. She was determined to make it work as he wanted this time.

  William held himself motionless, willing her to regain control, but in her heightened state of awareness she felt the blood pounding through him like a second heart between her legs.

  He was as primed as she.

  Why had he not released them both?

  He cradled her cheeks with his palms and searched her face, his eyes feral in the dimness. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers and began a rhythm with his tongue to echo the thrust of his hips. She rose to meet him, desperation making her sob into his mouth.

  Come here.

  The wanting was so keen, a sliver’s edge from pain.

  Did he know she’d lied before? Was that why he wouldn’t let her body go now?

  Doubt made her release sidle farther away.

  Come here.

  Whether he said so or not, she was ready to welcome her bliss, but pleasure retreated again. She turned her head to pull her mouth from his. “I can’t—”

  “Dinna fret about if ye can or can’t. Dinna try so hard. Just be, lass.”

  He knew. He knew she’d pretended. And he’d pretended all along that he didn’t know. A lie for a lie. That’s what they’d come to.

  “Now, lass. I know ye want to,” he finally said. “Come to me when ye will.”

  Of course, she wanted to. With every fiber of her being, she longed to feel those deep contractions pounding around him. She wanted to squeeze him tight without consciously working those little muscles, for her body to claim his and not let go. She ached for pleasure to crackle like heat lightning along her limbs, for the force of her release to make her body buck under his.

  But instead, her pinnacle slipped farther away with each thrust. She tried. Her body tensed with concentration as she tried to call back the moment, back to the place where she’d been about to tumble into the waiting abyss and didn’t care because William was there to catch her. Bliss would buoy her up.

  But she couldn’t find it.

  Will was saying something in rhythm with his thrusts, but his voice faded in sibilant echoes and she couldn’t hear him. She knew he was right there, pumping in and out of her body, but she felt as if he were a long way off.

  She was alone. And she couldn’t find her way back to him.

  Her moisture began to dry up. What had begun as pleasure was turning quickly into burning pain.

  A small sob escaped her throat. She didn’t mean for it to. She meant to lie very still and bear up until he was finished because she loved him. She didn’t want to hurt him by admitting her body wouldn’t rouse to him.

  William evidently could hear the difference between a sob of lust and a sob of pain. He stopped, pulled out, and rolled off her. Losing him so suddenly made her feel as empty as when Stephan had been taken from her arms that last time.

  Will lay beside her, staring up into the thatch of the ceiling, not touching her. His chest heaved. The air was musky with sex, pregnant with unfulfilled promises.

  “Lord, Katherine, ye’re tearing my guts out.” He flung a well-muscled arm up and across his eyes. “Can ye not bear me at all?”

  It wasn’t that. “Of course, I can bear ye,” she murmured.

  “Ye just dinna love me any longer.”

  She loved him fine. She loved him too much. It was all her fault, she wanted to say. He did everything just as she liked. Even making her wait had added so much wicked anticipation to their lovemaking. Until she had too much time to think instead of just feel.

  Once she realized he’d caught her in the lie, nothing would go right. Her body didn’t work properly. Not to make love to her husband. Not to carry his child.

  She owed him that annulment. It was the best thing she could do for him. She couldn’t tell him how she loved him or he’d never agree to it.

  After this, surely he’d agree to send a request to Rome. That deadly silence was back. It hung between them, rotten as a cancerous growth. She reached over to lay a tentative hand on his shoulder, to soften what she was about to say. He startled as if she were an adder poised to strike and scrambled from the bed.

  “William, I—”

  “Not a word, woman,” he growled as he pulled his shirt over his head. “It took ye too long to answer. Whatever ye might say now will no doubt be a lie. God knows our marriage bed has been.”

  She flinched at the anger in his tone.

  He wrapped his plaid around his waist. He didn’t take time to pleat it, but simply strapped on the belt to hold it in place. He plopped into the only chair in the chamber and, with a grunt of effort, tugged on his boots. Then he stood. The room was too dim for her to make out his expression, but pain radiated from his stiff stance.

  “I’ll trouble ye no more, my lady.” Then he turned and disappeared down the spiral stairwell.

  On the eighth day of Christmas

  my true love gave to me eight maids a-milking.

  —From “The Twelve Days of Christmas”

  “Fine. Someone to help with the chores. But what good are milkmaids when I havena got any kine?”

  —An observation from Nab,

  fool to the Earl of Glengarry

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nab sat in his tower room, fiddling with the book of poetry by the light of a tallow candle. It seemed he’d been there for hours, waiting and hoping that Dorcas would be able to slip away from her duties to join him. Since Lord Glengarry had been feeling poorly, he’d sent Nab away, saying it hurt to laugh.

  “Hurts to laugh,” Nab muttered. Of all the foolish things. Laughter was supposed to do a body good. Like medicine, the Good Book said. Yet laughter caused Lord Glengarry pain. “And they call me odd.”

  But it was just as well. After Nab reminded the revelers in the keep that the Rod of Misrule, which was what he’d taken to calling William’s scepter, had still not been found, his followers scrambled to continue the search. Nab had plenty of time to himself. He used it to ruminate on all the poems in the book so he could be certain to present Dorcas with the best one this time. He was worried about making a choice, though, because he’d felt the one about the poor bald fellow was rippingly good.

  It had a catchy rhyme scheme and Nab thought “well-thatched” was a clever way to describe a full head of hair. Dorcas hadn’t been the least bit impressed.

  Nab sighed. There was just no telling what a lass might fancy.

  He’d finally settled on a poem, but he fretted about it. For one thing, it didn’t even rhyme. For that reason, he wasn’t sure what it was doing in a book of poetry, but someone must have thought there was something to it or they wouldn’t have painstakingly copied it in ornate script.

  He ran through the words again, his lips moving as he read silently.

  “Has that book bewitched ye?”

  He looked up to see Dorcas climbing the last of the steps.
No, ye’ve bewitched me, danced on his tongue. That’s what a lover might say.

  But Nab wasn’t a lover. He was a fool.

  “I was just practicing a poem.”

  “Oh, good. So ye found one, did ye?”

  “Aye, would ye like to hear it?” He scrambled to his feet. Somehow, he thought the poem might seem more impressive if he was standing.

  “In a bit. I need to rest myself. Between seeing to Lady Margaret and helping out in the nursery and following Cook’s every uppity order, I’m all done in.” She sank onto the wolf pelt, her legs tucked neatly beneath her skirts. Then she patted the spot next to her.

  Nab sat, obedient as a child, and opened the book. He cleared his throat noisily.

  “What’s wrong with ye?” Dorcas demanded. “Ye sound as if ye swallowed a bullfrog.”

  “No, I was just fixin’ to read ye a poem.”

  “And I asked ye to wait. Honestly, Nab, can’t a lass stretch her legs a bit first?” She suited her actions to her words and leaned back on her arms while she lifted first one foot and then the other a few inches off the floor. Pointing her toes, she drew small circles in the air.

  She had neat, slender ankles.

  Nab swallowed hard. His tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth and that hot, jittery feeling—the good one, not the bad—began to spread through his whole body. He couldn’t read a poem now even if his hope of heaven depended upon it.

  Fortunately, he wasn’t expected to even speak. Dorcas was capable of carrying on a conversation all by herself. She went on about which scullery maid was sweet on which stable lad and how many of the laird’s guests had found themselves twisted up in someone else’s cloak besides their lawful spouse’s during the course of the Yuletide revelries.

  “There’ll be hell to pay when they return to their own homes, I assure ye,” she said.

  Then she berated Cook for her high-handed ways and complained bitterly that the nursemaid left all of Tam’s napkin changing for her to do.

  “And it’ll only get worse once the newest little bairn is born, for then there’ll be two wee bums to keep clean.” Dorcas sighed, but then a dreamy smile spread over her face. “But I’ll not deny ’tis a fine thing indeed to hold a new little one in my arms.”

  This confused Nab so much, he was finally able to find his tongue. “But I thought ye said another bairn would make more work for ye.”

  “Some work I dinna mind so much. And caring for a new babe is that sort of work. Because they’ve not been long in this world, they’ve a bit of heaven’s fragrance still clinging to them. That’s why ye watch them even while they sleep, lest the angels come to take them back. But that’s when they’re clean, of course.”

  “And when they’re not clean, even Old Scratch willna take them.” Nab made a horrible face and pinched his nose.

  Dorcas laughed.

  Pride swelled Nab’s chest. Usually when people laughed at him, he wasn’t quite sure what he’d done or said to make them do it. This time, he’d tried to make someone laugh and succeeded. That the someone was Dorcas made it even better.

  And while Dorcas made much of how babies smelled, he thought she smelled pretty good herself. He leaned toward her and sniffed.

  “Seems to me ye’ve a bit of heaven clinging to ye too,” he said.

  “Och, that’s only a slice of mince pie. Would ye like some?” She pulled a wrapped parcel from her pocket, and between the two of them, they made short work of the treat. Nab was a trifle disappointed that she was too busy licking her own fingers to lick his this time. “My old mam always told me the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

  “Really? That seems a bit awkward because my heart is here and my stomach is there.” He touched first his chest and then his belly. Then he squinted quizzically at Dorcas. “Just where did yer mother think to make her entry?”

  This time when she laughed, Nab had no idea why.

  Then her merriment faded and she frowned down at her hands in her lap. “I think a bairn is the cause of Lord and Lady Badenoch’s troubles. Or rather, the lack of one.”

  After what Nab had overheard on the curtain wall on Christmas Day, he was sure of it, but as much as he liked Dorcas, he didn’t feel he should add to her arsenal of gossip.

  That quiver was already full.

  “But if they love each other, it will all come right, dinna ye think?” he asked as he dusted his hands together to shake off the last of the mince pie crumbs since no finger licking seemed imminent.

  “I hope so. Ye should see her with wee Tam, though, when she thinks no one sees. Her arms are aching for a bairn of her own and nothing else will fill them.” Dorcas leaned her chin in her hand. “And before I came here, I saw Lord Badenoch stalking around the great hall this night like a lost soul when he ought to be in his lady’s bed.” Dorcas made a tsking sound. “Thinking on them makes me sad. I dinna see what they’re to do. I’ll be needing that poem now to cheer my heart.”

  “Oh!” The book had left his hands at some point while they were eating mince pie and talking about Lord William and his good lady and become hidden under them. Nab scrabbled through the mass of old horse blankets and the wolf pelt and came up with it. Then he flipped through the pages till he found the right poem. He started to rise.

  “No, stay, Nab. I may not know how to read, but I like to look at the page while ye do. I follow the marks and squiggles with my eyes. ’Tis sort of like a maze on the pages. I find it restful.” Dorcas leaned into him and settled her head on his shoulder. “Go ahead. I’m ready to hear my poem now.”

  Nab drew a deep breath and forced himself to read slowly so he wouldn’t stumble over any of the words.

  Love me truly!

  My heart is constant.

  Ye possess my soul.

  Ye tangle up my thoughts in silken cords,

  But I dinna wish to be freed.

  Even if ye’re afar off,

  My spirit is with ye, not in my poor body.

  To know such love is to know the torture of the rack.

  “Och, Nab!” Dorcas gasped and threw her arms around him. “I had no idea ye loved me so exceeding fine.”

  Nab’s eyebrows shot skyward. He’d had no idea either. He’d thought he was just reading her a poem.

  Then she palmed his cheeks and kissed him right on the mouth. It was a bodhran-busting, bell-jangling sort of kiss and it reverberated clear to his toes.

  Maybe he did love her exceeding fine. He decided it was worth another kiss to find out.

  On the ninth day of Christmas

  my true love gave to me nine ladies dancing.

  —From “The Twelve Days of Christmas”

  “Whist! I canna talk now. I’ve a passel of dancing ladies cavorting about my mind, aye?”

  —An observation from Nab,

  fool to the Earl of Glengarry

  Chapter Eighteen

  Will woke when one of the men-at-arms near him loosed a snuffling snore. He rubbed his stiff neck and looked around. Most of the castle’s inhabitants were still asleep where they’d collapsed at the end of their carousing last night.

  He pushed himself upright from the slouching position he’d assumed sometime during the wee hours. The big Tudor chair flanking the fireplace in the great hall wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but it beat curling up in his plaid on the floor. The rushes were none too sweet after a few nights of Christmastide revels, though plenty of Lord Glengarry’s guests were sprawled on them. William’s other choice had been to head for the stable and make himself at home in the haymow, but little Angus had presented him with so many rat carcasses of late, he decided the chair was his best option.

  He’d claimed it for the last three nights.

  He damned sure wasn’t going to return to Katherine’s bed. Her welcome would freeze a man’s balls more surely than a wintry blast.

  But evidently she didn’t have that effect on dogs because the terrier came hopping down the spiral staircas
e, presumably after sleeping with his mistress all night. He made a beeline across the hall and jumped onto William’s lap without an invitation.

  “Trying to stay on both our good sides, are ye?” He scratched Angus behind the ear, setting his hind leg thumping. “Or are ye just using me to stay out of reach of the deerhounds?”

  From their place before the banked fire, the big dogs raised their heads and curled back their lips to show their teeth at Angus. The terrier barked at them, safely ensconced in Will’s arms. A number of sleepers scattered about the hall rolled over, cursed, and then sank back into slumber. The deerhounds flopped back down, jaws resting on their forepaws, studiously ignoring Angus. As long as he had William’s protection, the little dog wasn’t worth the effort.

  “Careful, laddie.” Nab’s voice came from the foot of the spiral stairs. “Pissin’ into the wind is like to get ye wet.”

  “Angus isna smart enough to heed your advice, Nab.”

  “Weel, if it comes to that, only a fool would take advice from one.” Nab crossed over to squat beside Will’s chair as he often did beside Lord Glengarry’s. “But I wasna talking to the dog. I was talkin’ to ye, William.”

  “Me? I’m just sitting here minding my own business.”

  “No, ye’re not. Ye’re neglecting yer business. Ye said ye were going to woo Lady Katherine, but ye haven’t spoken a word to her the last few days. Odds bodkins, if she enters a room, ye leave it. Whatever’s ailing the pair of ye, ye’re being stubborn to spite yerself about it.”

  “Ye’re right, Nab.”

  “I am?” A smile split his lean face.

  “Only a fool takes a fool’s advice.” William put Angus down. The dog scrabbled under the trestle tables, then streaked across the hall to the spiral stairs. The biggest deerhound rose and gave chase but pulled up sharply at the foot of the steps while Angus bounded up them. Lord Glengarry didn’t allow his hunting dogs into the family’s portion of the keep, but the little terrier had no such restrictions. He was free to go and come from his mistress’s chamber as often as he wished.