Norwyck's Lady

by Margo Maguire

  “But I don’t ever intend for my father to discover—” A soft noise nearby startled Mairi and made them both look up. “Mice,” Walter said. “We’d best get a few cats from the castle yards in here to take care of them.”

  Mairi closed her eyes, not so certain that the noise had been a mouse. What if it had been one of the girls?

  Sir Walter put his hand upon Mairi’s head, as he would a child. “You are weary, lass. Find your bed. And may God be with you.”

  The morn brought with it a chilly wind. Mairi and the girls stayed indoors, playing music, playing finger games and sewing delicate linens for the chapel. Mairi did not know where Bartholomew’s brothers were, except that they had not gone outside the castle walls with the patrol. ’Twas likely they were out on the practice field, as was their habit.

  Kathryn’s mood was somber, reminiscent of days past, when she would not accept Mairi’s help with the gittern.

  Mairi did not expect the child to be miraculously transformed, but it was difficult to see her revert back to stubbornness after they’d made such progress.

  Eleanor was restless, as usual, but somehow managed to sit still for extended intervals while they worked on the altar cloths.

  Mairi worried about Bartholomew. Had Norwyck’s men been engaged in battle? Had he been injured? When would he return?

  There was no way to satisfy her desire for answers. Time passed slowly, broken only by the noon meal. At least John and Henry arrived with Sir Walter for supper, and helped to dispel some of Mairi’s worry.

  “They found signs of camps in the hills,” Henry said.

  “And one just north,” John added, “along the coast.”

  “But no Armstrongs,” Sir Walter said, catching Mairi’s eye.

  “Camps so close?” Kathryn asked. Worry darkened her eyes.

  “They’re—” Henry began, but John interrupted.

  “Nay, Kate,” he reassured her. “They’re a good way off. There’s no danger to the castle or the village.”

  “Why do they make camps?”

  “We don’t know,” Henry said.

  “We only just heard about them from one of Bart’s men, who came in last night.”

  “Why didn’t Bartie come home?” Eleanor said. That lower lip protruded in a manner that was becoming all too familiar to Mairi, though she felt the same. She wondered where Bartholomew was, and when he would return. “’Twas cold last night.”

  “Aye,” Henry said with a grin. “’Twas.”

  “And why are you so glad of it?” Kate asked him harshly.

  “’Tis what men do,” Henry replied as he dug into his supper. “Ride all day, engage the enemy, sleep out of doors…” He stopped eating for a moment to sigh. “Is that not right, Sir Walter?”

  The older man suppressed a smile. “Nearly, Hal.”

  “When do you leave for fostering?” Kathryn asked.

  “I don’t know, Kate,” Henry said. “But soon, though. Bart sent out letters to all the lords of Northumberland.”

  “Don’t worry, Kate,” John said with a grin. “We’ll soon be rid of him.”

  Henry playfully tossed a crust of bread at John’s head, and the children all laughed and jested until the meal ended and they dispersed.

  When ’twas bedtime, the boys and Walter disappeared, and Nurse Ada arrived in the solar to get Eleanor and take her to bed.

  “Nay!” the girl protested. “I want to stay with Kate! Please let me go with her to her chamber!”

  “Eleanor—”

  “’Tis all right, Nurse,” Kathryn said with a loud sigh. “I will let you come tonight, but that’s all, Eleanor. You must go back to the nursery tomorrow.”

  Eleanor clapped her hands with joy. “Lady Marguerite, will you give us another tale tonight?”

  Mairi nodded. “Aye,” she said. But not another Scottish story. She would think of something entirely different to tell these girls.

  “Does this arrangement suit you, my lady?” Nurse Ada asked Mairi.

  “We’ll muddle along tonight, Nurse. Thank you,” Mairi said with a smile, and Ada left them. Mairi turned to the two sisters. “Shall we put away our needlework and get you ready for bed?”

  Before long, Mairi was tucking the girls together into the big bed. The fire in the fireplace flared comfortably, and Mairi made herself a place upon the bed. “Have you ever heard the story of Pegasus?” she asked.

  “Do you mean Bartie’s horse?” Eleanor asked.

  “Nay, I mean the first Pegasus,” she said, “a mighty horse with wings.”

  The girls shook their heads, and Mairi began to tell of the Greek horse, a myth that had been told for many hundreds of years. And as she spoke of Pegasus and his rider, the hero Bellerophon, Mairi could think only of Bartholomew as he rode his huge warhorse through Norwyck’s hills, and wonder when he would be home.

  The girls soon fell asleep, and Mairi returned to the solar. No one was about, neither Bart’s brothers nor Sir Walter. Would that she had told the Pegasus tale on the previous eve! Then she would not have put Walter in the position of having to lie to Bartholomew about her identity.

  Mairi was restless. Too unsettled to sleep, she tried sewing for a while, but soon put her needle down and began to pace. Surely Bartholomew would return soon. Talk of Armstrong camps nearby worried her, and she tried to remember what that braggart, Carmag, had said about his forays into English territory.

  Months ago, when Carmag had come for her in France, he’d boasted of his conquests against the English lords, and how he and Lachann had made themselves wealthy men with the livestock and goods taken from under their enemy’s noses. Mairi dearly hoped that if the MacEwen laird had a camp in the hills, Bartholomew would not come across it. She wanted him back at Norwyck, healthy and without battle wounds.

  ’Twas frightening to think how much she’d grown to need him, how deeply she cared for him and his family, especially since she jeopardized all with her lies. She knew she had no choice for the truth would cause an even more dire state of affairs.

  It began to rain, and Mairi watched as the cold drops hit the windowpanes with vicious force. Bartholomew and his men would need to take cover from this weather, mayhap making a camp of their own. In that case, they would not return tonight, and Mairi would be on edge all night long.

  She forced herself to stop pacing, and sat down with Kathryn’s gittern. She turned the pegs to tune it, then began to play, hoping the music would relax her. She shut out the sound of the pouring rain and tried to empty her mind of all thoughts of Bartholomew.

  After strumming a few chords, she played a song that required all her concentration, an intricate piece she’d learned from a French minstrel who had visited her town several months before. She bent her head over the gittern and willed her fingers to move quickly and accurately over the strings, stopping and starting again every time she made a mistake. Which was often.

  She could not get Bartholomew out of her thoughts. n Still, she worked at the music, even more persistently than before, until she could stand it no more. She left the gittern on the settle and arose, just as the door flew open.

  Bartholomew!

  Mairi gasped when he stepped into the room, kicking the door closed behind him. He opened the buckles of his hauberk and shed the heavy garment, letting it drop where he stood. His linen shirt was wet and dirty, as were his hair and face. He looked entirely disreputable and dangerous, and Mairi took a step back as he took one forward.

  His eyes burned darkly, and they never left hers as he strode across the room. When he stood before her, practically pinning her against the wall, he lifted one hand and cupped her chin.

  “I have thought of naught else but you,” he rasped, his tone sounding angry to Mairi’s ears. “While I traversed the hills looking for the enemy, I could see little but your face in my mind, feel your naked legs wrapped around me, weigh your heavy breasts in my hands.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Se
venteen

  He brushed her mouth with his lips, barely restraining himself, afraid he would crush her with the intensity of his need.

  He shouldn’t care.

  He’d come into the solar with every intention of laying her out before the fire and having his way with her. But when he’d seen the fear in her eyes, he had softened his intent. He wanted her willing, intrigued, excited by his touch. So he held back, and touched only her jaw with his hand, her mouth with his own.

  And waited for some sign that she wanted him as profoundly as he wanted her.

  Her breath caught and she opened her eyes. Suddenly, her arms were about his neck and she was kissing him fiercely, pressing her body against his soiled clothing, without a care for her own.

  Bart did not think twice. He pulled her to him, cupping her head, thrusting his tongue through her lips. She met it readily, and the heat of her mouth made him ache for the heat he would find when he tore off her clothes and made himself one with her.

  She lowered her hands. Pushing his tunic aside, she slid her hands up the quivering flesh of his abdomen, his chest. Without breaking the kiss, she touched his nipples.

  Bart heard himself utter a groan. He had to be inside her. Immediately.

  Moving quickly, he whisked her into his arms and walked toward the fireplace, where the gittern lay upon the settle. Setting her down, he moved the instrument, threw his tunic off, loosened his laces, then moved to cover her body with his own.

  She was trembling, but that did not keep him from shoving her skirts up, baring her legs. He hesitated then, but she slipped her hands around his neck and pulled his head down, taking his mouth in a searing kiss.

  She made a small sound as her tongue engaged his, as if she had waited hours, days for this moment. A stunning intensity of emotion filled him suddenly, and he moved his head so that he could look at her.

  Neither of them spoke. As her eyes searched his, he shifted his braes and entered her with one smooth thrust, squeezing his eyes closed with the pleasure of their joining.

  When he began to move, Marguerite matched his rhythm. For as cold as he’d felt just moments ago, he was burning now, with a frenzy he’d never known before. His muscles quivered with tension and he reveled in the sensations her body brought to his. He took her lips again and kissed her fiercely, swallowing her cries of pleasure, pouring every bit of passion into her as he reached his own crest.

  Shuddering, he lowered himself and gathered Marguerite in his arms, holding her until his heart stopped pounding and his breathing slowed. He had never known such emotion, nor felt so intimate with another person…not even his own wife.

  ’Twas dangerous thinking.

  Still, his lack of control appalled him. He’d had no intention of ravishing Marguerite the moment he walked through the door. Yet he’d been unable to control himself once she’d shown her own eagerness.

  Bart lifted himself onto his forearms and met Marguerite’s eyes, unfocused and dazed as they were. It did not help that her reaction to their coupling was every bit as marked as his own. He did not want to feel any connection with her beyond what they shared in bed.

  Her insinuation into his family, into his village, was incidental. She was no more interested in his brothers and sisters or in the condition of the villagers than Felicia had ever been.

  He pushed himself off the settle. Silently, Marguerite sat up and rearranged her skirts. She did not glance up or meet his eyes, but Bart refused to allow her to remain unnerved. He reached down and took her hand, drawing her up to her feet. Without letting go, he kissed her soundly and squired her to the door.

  “Come with me,” he said in a low tone.

  She made no reply, but went with him as he left the solar and walked through the gallery toward his bedchamber.

  Mairi felt the heat flush her cheeks as she followed him out the door—the door that had been left unbarred. Anyone could have walked in on them while they were so intimately entwined.

  She could hardly believe her actions. She’d nearly accosted him when he’d come through the door. Eventually, when he took a moment to reflect upon their interval together, he would no doubt be disgusted by her indecent behavior.

  Mairi swallowed her embarrassment and let Bartholomew lead her to a chamber at the far end, beyond Kathryn’s new room, and far from the nursery. She had made up her mind to be his leman, and intended to fulfill the role. After all, she planned to spend the rest of her days at Norwyck, hidden from Lachann Armstrong. She would not think of any consequences now, but would force herself to live within the moment.

  They stepped inside and Mairi realized ’twas Bartholomew’s bedchamber. A large bed was elevated upon a dais and draped with a heavy, rich red cloth. A fire burned on the hearth, and candles set upon several tables illuminated the room. A tub of steaming water had been placed in front of the fire.

  He turned and faced her, lowering his head to nip playfully at her lips. “Will you serve me?” he asked between kisses.

  Mairi knew he referred to the bath, and to the custom of the lady of the house serving, or bathing, the lord, but she could form no reply as he battered her senses with his lips, and his hands.

  He slipped his chausses and braes down his long legs, taking his hose with them until he stood entirely naked before her. The sight took Mairi’s breath away.

  He was beautiful. Mairi made a conscious effort to calm her pounding heart as she viewed his broad chest with its small, beaded nipples, and his tightly muscled abdomen, and watched as he climbed into the bath and sat down.

  The tub was barely large enough to contain him. Mairi touched his shoulder and stepped behind him. She picked up the clean washing cloth that had been left nearby and, using the soap provided, began to wash Bartholomew’s back.

  He groaned and leaned forward, giving her greater access. She pushed his glossy, black hair aside and ran the cloth over his neck, sliding it around to the front to touch his throat. Entirely compliant now, he tipped his head back, giving Mairi complete control.

  Bartholomew’s body intrigued her. She could do naught but admire the taut flesh over hard muscles, and savor the differences between them.

  Finally she dropped the cloth into the water and used her bare hands to wash him, touching him without reserve or embarrassment, until he grabbed her hands and stood, with the water pouring off him. He stepped out of the tub without regard to the puddle he caused, and took Mairi into his arms.

  He kissed her hungrily, as though he had not just made love to her only moments before. Mairi responded eagerly.

  “Nay…slowly this time,” he whispered as he took her hand again and led her to the bed. He pulled down the blankets and turned back to her. “Allow me,” he said.

  Drawing out his sensual onslaught, he slowly ran his hands up her bodice, lingering over her breasts as he unlaced the ties that held it together. When ’twas open, he slid it down her arms slowly, touching his lips to her shoulders, then to her arms as he bared them.

  Mairi closed her eyes and shivered with the pleasure of his touch. Her skirts fell to the floor, and as she stood before him wearing only a thin shift, he spoke. “So very beautiful…”

  His words, more than his kisses, made her feel lovely and desired. He slipped her shift off her shoulders, and when she was fully naked, he lay her on the bed. “I would have you in daylight, in order to see you better.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “There needn’t be any secrets between us, Marguerite,” he said, nuzzling her neck, cupping one breast.

  She could not heed his words now, not while his lips were on a sure course toward her nipple, and he would soon suckle there, where she craved him.

  “I thought today would never end,” he whispered, looking into her eyes. Mairi had felt the same, but she was incapable of speech, or of thought, while Bart seduced her again. He made love to her slowly, carefully, touching every part of her, including her heart…her soul.

  He took such care that Mairi could a
lmost make herself believe she was more to him than a convenience, a mistress to be used…and discarded when he tired of her.

  ’Twas still dark when Bart awoke to sounds in his chamber. The fire had burned low, but he could see Marguerite nearby, hastily donning her clothes.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I must return to my own chamber, my lord,” she said without stopping.

  “Why?”

  At this, she paused. “My lord, ’twould not do for your sisters to find me here.”

  “My sisters never come to my chamber,” he said, but then realized he was wrong. Eleanor had not only come in, but had taken the Norwyck jewels from a locked case here.

  “The servants, then,” Marguerite countered. “’Twould not do for Rose to find me gone from my own bed.” She raised one hand to hold her hair back as she stepped into her shoes, and the motion gave her an aura of vulnerability. Bart did not care for it.

  “’Tis not her concern, or anyone else’s,” he said harshly as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He picked up a heavy robe from the back of a chair and slipped it on.

  “Still,” Marguerite said, “I must go. ’Tis unseemly…I mean, I should not…” Flustered, she bit her lower lip and tried to think of a better way to say she did not want to be found naked in his bed.

  Bart almost felt the guilt that Walter had tried to heap upon him with regard to Marguerite. ’Twas likely she was a true lady of gentle birth, from a household in France. And he had defiled her.

  “Come,” he said, unwilling to consider the matter further. He picked up a candle, took her arm and stepped out of the chamber into the chilly gallery.

  Quickly, they made their way to the stairs and the tower room, where Bart hurriedly relit the fire. Marguerite stood watching him, clearly misunderstanding his intentions.

  “Get undressed,” he said. “And climb into bed. I’ll come and warm you as soon as this gets going.”

  “Nay, my lord!”

  “Aye, my lady,” he said, grinning at her discomfiture. “If you’ll not spend the night in my bed, then I’ll finish it here in yours.”