Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3

by Ceci Giltenan

  He had vowed, perhaps foolishly, that he would not push her; he would give her all the time she needed. He had agreed to wait until she was ready, in fact until she asked him. He never promised not to do everything in his power to get her to ask him. He smiled to himself. I can win this battle.

  Now he stood with his very flustered bride in their chamber. “Gillian, ye needn’t say anything. I simply wanted ye to know.” The desire to kiss her almost overwhelmed him but instead he turned away and began to remove his boots.

  “What are ye doing?” There was a slightly shrill edge to her voice, perhaps brought about by her nervousness.

  She couldn’t see his grin. “I’m taking off my boots. I didn’t lie to the clan. It has been a long day, and frankly, I am ready for bed.”

  “Bed?” The pitch of her voice went even higher.

  “Aye, Gillian. I’m exhausted, I need to sleep.” However, he was fairly certain he would not sleep well with this beautiful woman sharing his bed chastely.

  “Oh. Aye. Sleep.”

  His grin broadened. He schooled his features before turning to face her. “Aye, lass. I made ye a promise and I intend to keep it. I won’t truly make ye my wife until ye ask me to.” He continued to undress until he stood in front of her wearing only his léine. He had to force himself not to laugh at the shocked expression on her face. “Is something the matter?”

  “Nay, I just—well I didn’t think—I mean—ye’re undressing.”

  “Aye lass, I told ye, I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

  “But, there is only the one bed. Ye look as if—do ye mean to sleep without clothes?”

  He stood and gave her as surprised a look as he could muster. “Are ye in the habit of sleeping in yer clothes?”

  “Nay, but—”

  “Well, neither am I.”

  “But surely ye don’t mean to—”

  “Gillian, we are married. We talked about the need to appear married to everyone. Although I don’t expect visitors, it would look terribly odd if for some reason we were found sleeping in our clothes, especially on our wedding night. I have given ye my word that I will give ye all the time ye need, but now I need to get some rest or I will collapse.”

  He walked past her to the bed, placed his sword and dagger within easy reach and pulled off his léine, giving her an unhindered view of his bare arse before climbing under the covers. Her shocked gasp nearly made him laugh aloud, but he forced down his amusement, turned his back to her, and pulled the covers over his shoulders.

  “Ye don’t expect me to—to...”

  Fingal gave what he hoped sounded like an exhausted sigh. “Gillian, lass, ye too are practically dead on yer feet. The only thing that I expect is that ye will get in this bed and get some rest. Please, lass.”

  She must have stood still for several moments. He tried to make his breathing smooth and regular as if he were relaxing into sleep. Eventually she moved around the room. She took an inordinately long time to undo the braids from her hair and brush the thick dark tresses. He would dearly love to run his fingers through that silk instead of lying here imagining it.

  Eventually, he heard the rustle of her clothes as she removed them before padding softly to the other side of the bed. Through squinted eyes, he saw that she still wore her shift, but it left very little to the imagination. The outline of her full breasts made him want to caress them. The merest glimpse of her long beautiful legs as she climbed into the far side of the bed sent his imagination reeling. Oh, what heaven to have them wrapped around him. God’s bones he had to put such thoughts out of his mind. She curled into a ball, as close to the edge of the bed as she could without falling off. Control yerself man, it will be sometime before ye win that prize.

  Fingal watched her surreptitiously until she finally fell asleep. Awake she seemed so serious and capable, so very in control he had forgotten she was just nineteen. In sleep however, her features softened and the worry lines relaxed. He could see a bit of the carefree lass she had been up until a year ago. Malcolm be cursed, he had ruined so many lives.

  Fingal wasn’t sure how long he watched her sleep, but eventually he must have fallen asleep himself. He woke at some point in the middle of the night. The covers had been kicked off and the fire in the hearth had burned too low to fend off the chill, but a warm body lay curled tight against him. Gillian’s shift rode high on her thighs and her bare legs were entwined with his. It was exquisite torture having her so close and not being able to move or caress her. However, to do so might wake her and send her scurrying to the edge of the bed again. Her nearness was worth the torment. As gently as he could, he eased the covers back over both of them.

  ~ * ~

  Gillian came slowly awake. She was so very cozy and warm she nearly ignored the pink light of dawn and nodded back to sleep. Cozy and warm? Her eyes flew open; something was amiss. Oh dear God, Fingal lay sound asleep on his back, snoring softly and perhaps, drawn to his warmth, she had wrapped herself around him. Her head lay on his chest and one leg was thrown over his, resting between his thighs on his naked groin. The only thing that could possibly be more embarrassing would be for him to wake and find her there. She would simply ease herself off and out of the bed. He would never know.

  Ever so gently, she tried to raise herself off his chest only to have him throw his arm around her in his sleep, pushing her firmly back down. She wasn’t at all sure how she had slept so well pillowed on that chest in the first place. Although toasty warm, it was rock hard. After a few moments she felt his grip relax a bit so she tried again. This time his other arm encircled her, effectively trapping her where she lay sprawled on top of him.

  She decided to give it one more attempt. She wiggled a bit to try to slip from under his arms. Evidently her movements woke him. To her dismay he groaned and opened his eyes. They twinkled oddly bright for someone just rousing from sleep. “Good morning, Gillian.”

  She blushed furiously. “Uh...good morning, Laird.”

  “Really, lass, do ye suppose ye could call me Fingal? After all, we are married and yer knee is perilously close to unmanning me.”

  “I’m sorry, Fingal, I-I-I must have gotten cold.”

  “Aye, I can tell.” He released his hold on her and she scrambled away, taking the covers with her. When she realized that she left his body gloriously uncovered she gave a squeal and tried to cover him. He chuckled heartily and stayed her hands. “Tis alright, Gillian, I was getting up anyway.” He rose from the bed in all of his spectacular nakedness. By the saints, he was a well-formed man—tall, lean, and well-muscled. She realized she was staring at him boldly when he turned and caught her gaze. She looked quickly away, more embarrassed than she thought possible. He chuckled and pulled on his clothes.

  Not wanting to sit in the bed staring at him, she too jumped up. Thankful for the meager covering provided by her shift, she began to dress with her back to him. When she turned around she found him watching her. He seemed captivated. She found that odd but before she could parse out what it might mean he picked up his dagger, pulled up his left sleeve and made a small shallow cut on his forearm. “Fingal, don’t, what are ye doing?”

  He smeared the blood on the sheets, wiping his arm clean. “I am giving no one reason to think our marriage isn’t real or that ye didn’t come to me as a pure bride. That is the evidence of yer virginity.”

  “Fingal, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. Thank ye. Ye didn’t have to do that, I could have...” What could she have done?

  He cocked his head and gave her an odd look. “Gillian, yesterday I vowed to honor and protect ye. I would be a cad worthy of yer scorn if I did anything less.”

  Chapter 7

  Gillian’s first morning as a married woman was starting in as bewildering a manner as the previous day had ended. The man who she married, who she firmly believed she could not even learn to like, had left her confused and off-balance. It wasn’t only the respect and gentleness he demonstrated that surprised her. The rea
ction she had to him as a man was completely unexpected. When he looked at her or touched her, she felt an oddly pleasant fluttering in her belly. However, when she woke draped over his naked body then was treated to an unimpeded view of his spectacular masculine form, that fluttering went to an entirely new level.

  Her mother only added to her confusion when she greeted Gillian in the great hall with a kertch she had made. All married Highland women wore this square of pure white linen covering their hair. It was folded into a triangle to represent the Holy Trinity, under whose guidance the bride would walk. A married woman wore it tied around her head, or held on by strings tied under her chin. Generally a bride’s mother placed it on her the morning after her wedding. The fact that her mother did this didn’t shock her. She might not have wanted the wedding, but she would have been mortified if Gillian didn’t wear a kertch. Gillian still remembered how scandalized her mother had been when Lady Katherine MacIan had dined in the great hall with her hair uncovered.

  What surprised her was the warmth her mother displayed. Gillian and Fingal were already seated at the table breaking their fast when her mother entered the hall and rushed to the table. “Oh, Gillian, ye are up already. Good morning. I had hoped to be waiting for ye. Are ye well, lass?”

  Her mother’s enthusiastic greeting alone was a bit of a surprise. “Good morning, Mother. Aye, I’m very well.”

  “I have brought ye yer kertch, lass.” Her mother moved behind her, placing it on her head, wrapping the ends under her hair and tying them on the top of her head. “Gillian, as ye begin yer marriage in the sight of God, may ye continue to be guided by the Holy Trinity throughout yer days. May a hundred thousand blessings go with ye under this kertch.” Then her mother put her arms around her from behind, embracing her warmly.

  This was terribly out of character and Gillian didn’t quite know what to say. She settled on basic politeness. “Thank ye, Mother, please sit and break yer fast with us.”

  Her mother agreed, took the seat next to her, and chatted happily while they ate. It wasn’t that she never did this; she just usually reserved this behavior for Fallon. Gillian loved her mother but their relationship had always been a bit strained. Over the last year things had been tenser than ever. Perhaps Lana had finally realized no one could alter the course of events put in place by the king. Still, on top of the internal upheaval she experienced over her reaction to her new husband, this chattiness left Gillian dumbfounded.

  Her mother managed to occupy her full attention while they were eating. At one point, Fingal laid a hand gently on her arm, drawing her attention. “Gillian, there is much to be done here to ensure our defenses are adequate. The king’s guard left this morning to return to Edinburgh. Niall will be staying with his men for few more days. We have some plans to discuss. Is there anything ye need before I go?”

  Fingal’s gentle concern surprised Gillian. All she could manage to say was, “Nay, thank ye for asking.”

  He leaned in to give her a quick kiss before leaving the table. The unwelcomed fluttering returned to her belly at this sweet gesture.

  When Fingal was out of earshot Lana wrinkled her nose. “Thank goodness he is gone.”

  This was the mother Gillian knew. “Mother, please don’t say things like that. This is his hall, he is our laird.”

  “I pledged my loyalty. That doesn’t mean I have to like the man. Tell me ye aren’t falling for him. He is a charmer, always has been, but don’t be fooled, Gillian. Never forget who his mother was.”

  “I couldn’t possibly forget that, Mother,” she snapped. The warm fluttery feeling from Fingal’s kiss was replaced by the cold, hard reality of her mother’s words. However, she remembered what Jeanne had said to her yesterday. The best way to honor yer father’s memory is to see this clan become great again. The best way to do that is to become yer husband’s ally and see to the welfare of our people. Jeanne was right. She was also right when she predicted that Lana would be one of those who would try to interfere. Gillian needed to put some distance between herself and her mother so she could try to process all of her strange feelings. “Please excuse me now, Mother, there is work to be done.”

  “Aye, there is, but first ye must go with me to see Rhiannon today.”

  “Mother, the snow must be nearly knee deep and I have hundreds of things to attend to here. Surely it can wait.”

  “She was heartbroken that she couldn’t see ye wed. Bless her, she has grown a bit frail this winter. A visit would mean so much to her.”

  “She has never been overly concerned about a visit from me before.”

  “Ye are Lady MacLennan now.”

  Gillian leveled a stare at her mother. “I have been Lady MacLennan since Aunt Meara died.”

  “I know, but now, with the king’s order and the wedding and all, it’s somehow more official. Please, it won’t take long, Gillian. She wants to hear about it all from ye.”

  “Not today, Mother. Perhaps I can go in a few days when things have settled down a bit.”

  “She may not be up for a visit in a few days. I promised her ye would come today. She will be very upset if ye don’t stop in.”

  Gillian couldn’t believe her ears. This was beyond foolish and so very typical for Rhiannon. She liked receiving attention, but only on her terms. Although the MacLennan women seemed to dote on her, she kept them at arm’s length until she wanted them for something. It had always been that way with her mother and yet Lana adored her just like the rest of the clan’s women. Gillian knew there was no use arguing. Her mother would harangue her all day until she gave in. Better to have done with it early.

  “Fine. We will go for a short visit, but only a very short one. I have too much to do here.”

  Her mother beamed. “She will be so thrilled.” Leaning closer, she whispered, “she might have some words of wisdom for ye. Perhaps she has seen something ye should know.”

  Gillian sincerely doubted it. “Let me just fetch some warmer boots and a mantle. I will meet ye back here in a few minutes.”

  Before long she and her mother crossed the courtyard to the curtain wall and out into Brathanead’s village. Everyone they met offered her warm wishes for a happy marriage. A little part of her wanted to scream, but she accepted their kindness with grace. Before long they reached the edge of the village. They still had a little way to go before reaching Rhiannon’s hut at the edge of the forest.

  “Mother, why does Rhiannon choose to live so far away?”

  “I think this is where Olghar wanted to live.”

  “But he has been dead for years. Surely it would be better and safer for her to live in the village.”

  “Perhaps, but she cherishes his memory. I suspect she doesn’t want to leave the home they shared. Besides, it isn’t as if she lives there alone, Gillian. She has Coby living with her.”

  “Aye, she has Coby, but he is a guardsman and spends much of his time at the keep anyway. Ye left our cottage in the village after Da died.”

  “That isn’t the same at all. Meara had become the chieftain and was training ye to take over. We needed to be in the keep. Besides, Rhiannon enjoys the quiet and solitude. She also has her little Blaze to keep her company when Coby isn’t there, although I will never understand why anyone wants a dog in the house.”

  Gillian smiled. Blaze was a lovely little dog and in her opinion he had been the highlight of any visit with Rhiannon for several years. “Aye, Blaze is a sweet little beast.”

  “Don’t get any ideas, Gillian. Dogs don’t belong inside.”

  It occurred to her that she was Lady MacLennan now and if she wanted a pet, she could have one. She very nearly said so but decided not to risk goading her mother at the moment.

  By the time they reached Rhiannon’s cottage, Gillian was chilled to the bone. They knocked on the door and heard Blaze’s wild barking. After a few moments Rhiannon appeared. “Lana, Gillian, what a surprise. Oh, I suppose I should call ye Lady MacLennan now, but ye have always just been sweet Gi
llian to me. Ye don’t mind, do ye?”

  “Of course not, Rhiannon.”

  “What brings ye all the way out here on such a cold day?”

  Gillian was at a loss for words. Hadn’t they been invited, or more accurately, compelled? Lana spoke up. “Rhiannon, ye asked me to bring Gillian by today so ye could hear about the wedding.”

  “Ah right, I remember now. It slipped my mind. I’m a little busy this morning, but I suppose ye could come in for a bit.”

  “Oh we’d love to, wouldn’t we, Gillian?”

  Gillian sighed. “Yes, thank ye for inviting us in.” In Gillian’s experience this was typical for Rhiannon, but she was getting on in years, maybe her memory was suffering.

  Once inside Gillian and Lana took chairs by the fire and Blaze immediately put his head in Gillian’s lap for some attention. Rhiannon busied herself making them a warm tisane to drink as they chatted. The aroma was very strong, smelling of mint, thyme, and some herbs Gillian couldn’t identify. The flavor was equally strong, but liberally laced with honey it was not unpleasant. “I don’t think I have ever tasted an infusion quite like this one, what is in it?” Gillian asked.

  Rhiannon smiled. “It is my secret recipe. It is an ideal tonic. It contains thyme, comfrey, camomile, and several kinds of mint. It is wonderful for the digestion. It can help relieve a headache, toothache, or joint pain. It is good for gout. Why, it works miracles for a colicky baby. In fact, speaking of babies, it can help a woman conceive fine strong sons.” The old woman winked cheekily at Gillian. “I’ll give ye some to take with ye.”

  Gillian blushed and sputtered into her mug, causing Rhiannon and Lana to laugh.

  Rhiannon grinned. “Gillian, lass, ye are a married woman now, and to Fingal MacIan no less, as braw a warrior as ever drew breath. Ye have no cause to blush like a maid.”

  She had no intention of telling Rhiannon she was, in fact, still a maid and thus had no use for such a beverage. “Aye, I suppose ye are right but he isn’t Fingal MacIan anymore. He has taken the name MacLennan.”