Her heart jumped, pounding a tattoo. Lingering sexual desire of the dream flared. She wanted him. The mind-consuming reaction dumbfounded her, how this man ignited this dark response within her, whilst St. Giles―so like him―did not.
She thought Challon remained unaware of her presence. Confused by her own body and his warring emotions, she started to turn away.
His words stopped her. “Your father was wise, gifting your lady mother with this window. ’Tis quite peaceful standing here, watching the world come awake.”
“Aye, ’struth.” Tamlyn felt perplexed. Peace was not what she sensed roiling within him.
Unsure, she crossed the room. “My mother loved it. She died here, you know. My father had the servants fetch his chair from the Great Hall. He carried her in and held her in his lap, rocking her frail body. They watched the sun rise together…” The words lodged in her throat and she could not speak more.
Even after all this time it still hurt. The image of her father holding the woman he loved more than life, humming to her as she passed over, brought tears to Tamlyn’s eyes. The sorrow as strong as if it were yesterday. Tamlyn had thought Hadrian would go mad. She would never forget that insane, animalistic howl that arose from him as he had sensed her spirit no longer lingered.
A blanket hung around Challon’s shoulders like a mantle. Lifting his arm, he partially opened the cover, a silent invitation to share the warmth of his body. Tamlyn did not hesitate, but rushed to that promise of comfort. His intense heat dispelled the coldness of the heartrending memory.
Challon enfolded the wool about her and pulled her near. “You still cry tears for your lady mother. How old were you?”
“Five and ten.” She slid her arms around his waist greedily absorbing his fire.
“I barely recall my lady mother. She died trying to give my father another son. I was only five. After her death, Guillaume and Destain’s mother raised me. She was a kind and gentle woman. My brother, Darian, was from a maidservant.” Challon lifted her chin so she would look at him. “What is it? I felt your heart miss a beat.”
When she did not answer, he stroked his thumb over her cheek. It was hard to imagine a warrior so used to wielding a sword being so gentle. She looked up into his eyes, sensing so many contradictions within this man.
“Tamlyn, you must learn to speak your thoughts. How else are we to know each other?”
She nodded. “My father loved my mother deeply, honored her above all others.”
He nodded faintly. “Go on.”
“’Afore I said I wouldst marry with you if you agreed to two conditions. I spake I ask two things only.” She moistened her lips, fighting to get the words out.
Challon’s head lifted as he drew in a frustrated breath. “I promised I shall wed you in your rites—though I have no idea what I agreed to. Howbeit, as for your father, I fear there is little I can do.”
“Surely, Edward would listen to you? My lord father be no friend of Clan Comyn and the Balliols. He killed Balin Comyn for trying to kidnap my lady mother on their wedding night. Why he rode out under their banner still be riddles neither my sisters nor I understand. Raven thinks he went to parley, make terms for peace like Edward has done so many times in the past.”
He kissed her forehead lightly. “I shall do what I can, Tamlyn. If it were within my power, I wouldst see him released. These days, Edward little listens to anyone.”
She swallowed her rising tears. “’Tis not that. I wouldst ask one more thing.”
“Yet another condition, Tamlyn? You play games? Bend your mind to the coming reality. We shall wed.”
“Still, I ask this last thing.”
He exhaled, his temper growing short. “Last one, Tamlyn. I want your agreement after this. No more dragging of your feet. We needs must move forward.”
“If you speak your troth with me, then I expect three vows to be held true. The final one: I shan’t accept a lord husband who keeps a leman.”
“If?” Challon moved so fast she had no time to react. He pushed her back to the wall beside the window, his mouth taking hers. The ruana slid down her shoulders, the stones cool to her exposed back. But Challon was all fire. He used his lips, his teeth, his tongue, working her mouth until she gave him what he wanted. Head spinning, sensations eddied through her blood until it was painful. He was not rough, but he devoured her, kissed her with a savage fury that was terrifying.
She felt as if she were losing herself. His warlock’s power was suffocating her will to resist.
Tamlyn pushed against his shoulders. Challon was strong, the muscles of his beautiful arms rock hard, unyielding. He refused to break the kiss, but finally sensing her panic, gentled his demand. The slow, tender siege to her senses was more devastating. It saw her fear scatter, cast away upon the winds of Annwn. Instead of pushing against him, she clung to him, her fingernails biting into his skin. Shaking, she feared her legs would not hold her.
His hand snaked cross her belly, and then lower. The fingers of his right hand sifted through the soft curls. Shocked, she squeaked within the kiss, as his middle finger intruded farther pushing over her mound, along the wet crease, and finally into her body.
He broke the kiss and lightly nipped her lip. Moving the finger in and out slowly, he spoke low husky words, “Feel how your body weeps honey for me.” He chained kisses up her jaw, then to nuzzle her hair against her ear. “I want to taste that honey.”
Her eyes batted thrice as it registered what he meant. “But that be—”
“Be what, sweet Tamlyn?” His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Wouldst you deny me?”
“But surely men do not—”
“Aye, they do. Think on it, my faidhaich. My mouth moving on you…my tongue thrusting in you.” He moved his finger slowly, agonizing, making her body jerk in response.
Tamlyn was shocked by his suggestion, thinking this was not right. Then, Challon’s hand worked magic and her mind instantly conjured the dark image, of him on his knees before her, doing everything he promised.
And she wanted that. Ached for that.
Her thighs clamped around his hand, holding him, as lightning arced through her, exploding within her brain until the world seemed to come apart in a million pieces, then slowly put itself together again.
“Sweet mercy.” Julian sagged against her, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as his whole body tensed to steel.
Tamlyn listened to his labored breathing. Not moving, she feared he might fall since he leaned heavily on her. Just as she grew concerned, he straightened up. Putting a hand above her shoulder, he loomed over her.
“You give me that, when I want, faidhaich—every time I want—and then there won’t ever be a question of a leman.”
Chapter Seventeen
Gràdh uillt soilleire nuair a dh'aois anaman beantuinn.
(Love burns brightest when Auld Souls touch.)
— Auld Scots Adage
As dawn kissed Glen Shane, Tamlyn joined the women of the clan and left Glenrogha, heading to the Sacred Orchard of the Silver Bough to keep the rites of Beltaine―their May Day.
Tamlyn smiled as Raven hurried her steps to catch up. Her sister linked arms and gave her an impish half-smile. “Morn, Tamlyn. Sleep well?” With a lift of the brows, she leaned forward to exchange knowing glances with her twin, who approached to Tamlyn’s right.
Over the years, she had grown accustomed to the twins having a special bond. It seemed one beyond The Kenning, as if they spoke directly to each other’s minds. Ofttimes, their closeness had left her feeling an outsider. Howbeit, as they reached womanhood, she had learnt to accept it for what it was—something that touched them because they shared a birth.
“Aye, I rested. Auld Bessa’s tansy saw to that.” She put her hand over Raven’s where it rested on her upper left arm.
Again, Raven exchanged glances with Rowanne, and then questioned, “The Earl Challon sleeps with you?”
Tamlyn nodded. “He says we needs must co
me to ken the other. Calls it bundling.”
Rowanne gave a faint chuckle of mocking, and rolled her eyes, looking off to the side. “She does no’ ken what you ask, Raven.”
Raven’s smile spread, but she tried to suppress it. “Very well,” She leaned closer so the sides of their heads met, lowering her words so they did not carry to the other women following. “I was asking if he touched you.”
Still confused by her own emotions, of her body’s betrayal, Tamlyn little wished to tell her sister aught about Julian Challon. Images of them in the solar flooded her mind, and heat rolled through her body in a wave of fire. She looked ahead not wanting to meet the probing stares from either sister. “Aye...he has touched me.”
Rowanne snorted. “Not touch, Tamlyn. Touch you. Has the earl lain with you?”
Tamlyn opened her mouth to say yes, but Rowanne laughed aloud, mocking. “Pray the goddess saves us from naïve little sisters! Dearling, has the mighty Dragon taken you? Be you still a virgin?”
“Ro—” Raven spake in caution.
Tamlyn could feel her cheeks burn bright. Too bad The Kenning did not give her the power to wish her sisters back to their holdings. “Nay...Aye.”
Rowanne frowned at them both. “By the Lady, it canno’ be both! ’Tis no’ something you have to reflect upon.”
“Nay, he has no’ touched me—by that meaning. And aye, I still be a virgin...I think.” Tamlyn tried to tug her arm from Raven’s clasp, but her darker sister held firmly.
“Think? The Goddess weeps! Our dear father neglected to explain a great many things to you.” Now it was Rowanne’s turn to blush. “To us all.”
Only, Tamlyn sensed it was distress—not embarrassment—for Rowanne. Brushing out with her gift, she tried to understand her fair sister. Only, Rowanne resisted the fey intrusion.
“Stop it! Do no’ try to rob me of my thoughts, Tam. They be my own.” Rowanne met her stare, trying to hold it. Tears welling in her brown eyes, she quickly looked to the side, blinking them away. Finally, when she regained control of her emotions, she turned back. “I ask to how things go betwixt you. Does he treat you well? The Lord Dragon warms to the role of conqueror. Demanding the people of all three fortresses kneel to him. Commanding Raven and I marry with his brothers—when they finally choose. No’ asking! Just like we are prized horses to be picked or not. He breathes fire and dictates we obey his will. His brothers choose. Mayhap he would earn less enmity shouldst he permit Raven and me to pick. We have no say in the matter—wed or else, at the king’s whim. The least he could do would be offer us what has always been our rights in Clan Ogilvie. Servants speak that Sir Destain even jested about jousting for our hands. ’Tis wrong, Tam.”
Tamlyn reached out to snag Rowanne’s arm, so they all three were linked. “I...truly understand your questions and concerns–”
“Concerns? How can you just submit to his decrees?” Rowanne demanded. “Does it no’ bother you? Nay, you just do what he wants.”
Again, Raven issued the warning. “Ro, ’tis no’ fair to—”
“Och, stuff a rag in your mouth, sister dear. We may be twins, but we be nothing alike.”
Raven laughed softly. “You say those words as if I wouldst find disappointment in that truth.”
Her twin compressed her mouth in a frown. “Mayhap I shall help you in putting that rag in your mouth.”
“Peace, sisters. ’Tis Latha Bealltainn. A day of joy.”
Raven leaned into her side to hug her. “Ignore, Ro. She worries overly for you, and fashes if the Dragon treats you well.”
Tamlyn nodded, knowing Rowanne’s marriage had not been a happy one. She rarely spoke of the baron of Craigàrd since his death. Once, she had intruded on Rowanne’s thoughts and it had disturbed her to discover just how much her sister had hated the man she married. When she pushed Rowanne for answers, her sister would only say men were ever deceivers, and to never trust the face they show the world.
“I just do no’ wish to see you harmed, Tam.” Rowanne’s chest moved with an exhale, trying to control her emotions. “You have gone into this too trusting. Trust only leads to betrayal.”
“Aye, things seem too easy to some, but fighting against this—what will it bring? Our lord father left us unprotected when he rode to Balliol and Comyn standards. Of all the cork-brain things to do! The Shane wouldst never support the Comyns in aught! So, his daughters raise a muckle hue and cry and try to resist the will of Julian Challon? What will that beget us?
More troubles, cypher on that. I have walked through the Dragon’s mind, witnessed the sights—the smells—of what Edward Longshanks can do to a town when they fight him. I do not want that foul evil visited upon our peaceful valley. The Men of Challon are our last—our best—hope at saving our lives here. Mark this and heed well: If we fight Julian Challon, the English king shall take pleasure in raising his dragon standard and sending forth his hoard of mercenaries to sweep through this land. You saw the men tied to the stakes and whipped for trying to rape me. Auld Bessa said you witnessed this whilst I was held in the lord’s chamber. Did you no’ see the metal of those English tailed dogs? Stop me if my words are less than truth.”
Neither sister spoke. They just gave a small nod.
“Oh, aye, it would have been better if these Challon warriors came here when our father asked them this year past. Come in peace instead of a time of war. They did not. And now days are different. We must deal with what be, no’ our foolish pride. Only a stupid woman wouldst not see we needs must make the best of this, else something worse shall come rolling through these hills. Honor be bone-deep in the men of Challon blood. They will become one with this land—if we show them the way. They shall become our shield.” Tamlyn spoke from fierce passion, knew she was right in this, and it was of import her sisters came to terms with these realities. “Life seldom be as we wish. We needs must bend things to our will, bend these men, until they fight for us, not Edward Longshanks.”
“The warding of the passes no longer protects us.” Raven conceded. “That—or the Men of Challon were fated to come to us. You may be the youngest, but mayhap you are wisest.” She paused and kissed Tamlyn on the cheek. “Come, Evelynour awaits us.”
Gnarled apple trees twined high to form the entrance to the ancient grove, and beneath their arched branches stood Evelynour, waiting for them. Muted shafts of light filtered through the spring leaves, haloing her long white hair that fell all the way to her knees. Her near lack of color lent her the appearance of an angel descended to earth. Named after the goddess of the orchard, no elder could recall a time when she was not there serving the members of Clan Ogilvie. In spite, she appeared ageless, the scores of years little marring her lovely face. Pallid lavender edging toward grey, her eyes were so translucent many oft mistook her as being blind. Her milky skin burned easily under the sun, thus few ever saw her except at dawn or in the gloaming. She seemed most at ease in the haar, as if her greyness made her a part of it.
Gowned with fragrant blossoms, the silver-limbed apple trees held the promise of a good harvest. Tamlyn laughed as petals fluttered from overhead, raining down on her hair and then to the ground, blanketing it as thick as snow. The ghostly fog shifted and swirled around their grey trunks, embracing the grove and rendering it a fairyland of white and grey.
As she entered the orchard, Tamlyn was imbued with a sense of peace. There was a harmony, a balance about this sacred place. She wore a plain white kirtle, same as the other women of the clan, all in accord with the foggy wonderland.
On Beltaine morn, the women and young girls came to wash their faces with dampened apple blossoms. ’Twas believed the dew and blooms worked magic to make them beautiful.
To renew the life of the orchard they would plant three rows of apple seeds. Thirteen in each. Come summer one tree would be marked for death, and at Samhaine, the wood of the apple tree would burn in their balefire. A symbol of the Wheel of Life.
For as long as she could recall, Evelynour w
elcomed them to the grove on Beltaine. The Three Wise Ones of the Wood were the mothers of the two Clans in the truest sense. They taught lessons needed for life, guided the clans with the ways of the stones. They were charged to keep the oral history, and advised through counsel of their special gifts.
After the death of her lady mother, each woman played an important role in molding her. Yet, in some ways, Tamlyn felt closest to Evelynour. Therefore, when they embraced it was more a mother-daughter exchanged than teacher-disciple.
Lighthearted, the women gathered hands and wove their way through the rows of apple trees. They sang a chant to Evelynour, Goddess of the Apples, asking her to bless them with a plentiful harvest. When they were done, they gathered fallen flowers wet from the morning dew and brought them to their faces.
The scent was heady. Breathing deeply, Tamlyn let the essence wash through her being. Apples were magical. They provided delicious treats in summer, cider come autumn, and with careful handling slices could be dried and stored for winter. Apple petals were at the center of any love-drawing spell, so the blossoms were valued and gathered for sachets and possets.
Kneeling on the ground, Tamlyn brought handfuls of the blossoms to her face. She inhaled the sensual aroma and cleared her mind of all thoughts. “Oh, Goddess Evelynour, please guide me on the right path of choices I face,” she whispered, “please, let Challon be the one.””
♦◊♦
Julian reined Pagan to a halt. The powerful Friesian stallion fought against the bit, wanting to run. Instead of letting the prancing destrier have his head, he turned him in a circle, as he tracked Tamlyn through the Sacred Grove.
He slowly rode along the hillcrest, keeping watch on Tamlyn. He spotted her entering the sheltered area under the boughs of two ancient trees. All the women wore the same, simple white kirtles. High ranking ladies of the clan wore silver girdles about their waists, whilst the remaining females had donned ones made from sewn material of green.
A Restless Knight (Dragons of Challon Book 1) Page 21
