Meghan bridled at his dismissal of her abilities but swallowed her ire. Robert no doubt had a husband in mind, someone loyal to him who would ensure Clan Innes remained firmly behind him. She had to keep her wits about her in order to escape whatever marriage of policy he had arranged.
“Surely my men fought well and honorably, the acts of my uncle notwithstanding,” she said carefully, stalling for time while she searched for an argument that would dissuade him from ordering her marriage.
“They did well enough, though when they discovered your absence they fled the field. ‘Twas only by force of arms did my men convince them to remain in the battle.”
Meghan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “The men of my clan would never commit such a cowardly act,” she whispered fiercely.
The king took a leisurely swallow from a bejeweled goblet. He wiped his mouth on the cuff of his tunic before answering her. “I did not accuse your men of abandoning the field in fear. In truth, when they discovered you’d been taken, they meant to follow and rescue you from the English.”
A surge of warmth stole through Meghan’s veins at proof of her kinsmen’s love for her. “And why did you not allow them to rescue me? There were not a dozen soldiers who captured me.”
Robert shrugged negligently. “At the time I thought you had betrayed us and I had more need of their sword arms. Surely you understand that in battle I cannot be wondering if your clan has left the field because you’ve been hurt or captured. Capable you may be, but your clan needs a laird to follow into battle. I require a laird for your clan to follow.”
Meghan wanted to argue that he had no right to make such a requirement. The words were on her lips, about to spill recklessly forth when William caught her eye. He frowned and gave a small shake of his head. Aye, he does have the right, William’s look said and Meghan realized the truth of it. When she committed her clan to Robert, she pledged herself to his rule.
With a feeling of dread, she asked, “I assume you have such a laird in mind.”
“Aye, I do,” Robert said, his attention fully focused on her.
She flicked a glance at William. His mouth was clenched in a thin line and he looked like he was about to be ill. Meghan’s heart pounded in fear. Dear God, if William did not like the man he must be awful indeed! Visions of brutal warmongers filled her head and she had to clear her throat twice before speaking.
“And may I know your choice?”
“I should say you do know him. Cousin, will you stand?”
Meghan glanced frantically at the gathering of men. They were probably all his kin! To whom did he refer?
When no man stood, Robert laughed. “Will, get your arse out of that chair!”
Meghan looked at William while hope and fear built apace within her. He did not meet her gaze. His expression was closed, wiped clean of any betraying emotion. Did he not wish to marry her? She loved him, she would admit that much, but pride would not allow her to marry a man who did not love her in return.
William slowly stood and joined her in front of the group of smiling men. He did not take her hand, nor did he say anything.
“Your Grace,” Meghan blurted.
Robert lifted an eyebrow in inquiry.
“I will obey you and marry to provide my clan a battle leader, but I’ll not marry a man who is forced into wedlock. No good can come of such a marriage.”
“Meghan, no!” William said, finally turning to look at her.
She refused to meet his gaze, instead staring steadily at Robert.
“Are women not forced into marriages every day?” he said, a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth.
“Aye, but…” Meghan knew not how to respond. She only knew that she would have William’s love or she would not have his hand.
“Meghan,” William said again, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to face him. “’Tis not against my will that I marry ye!”
Meghan felt her eyes fill with tears. “Then why did you not—“
He crushed her to him, running his hands along her back, pressing her tightly to him.
“This was not how I wanted this to happen,” he murmured into her hair. “I was going to seek ye out today and ask ye to marry me. Only if I had your consent would I have approached Robert. I swear I had no idea what he had planned.”
Though a sweet joy swept through her body, Meghan could not contain the tears that raced along her cheeks. William felt them against his own and took her face between his hands, gently rubbing the tears away with his thumbs.
“I love ye, Meghan. I’ve wanted to marry ye ever since that day in the glen.”
“And I love you,” she replied with a teary smile.
He pulled her against him again and his lips found hers in a kiss of heat and relief, love and desire. The pounding of their hearts filled their ears and was only drowned out by the clanking of tankards against tables as the gathering of men demonstrated their approval.
Chapter 21
William entered the solar that he and Meghan had been given as a honeymoon suite and saw his bride sitting in a window seat, watching something below in the bailey.
He paused in the doorway, content to study her before announcing his presence. She was bathed in the golden late-afternoon glow from the window and her hair gleamed with fiery highlights. He gazed appreciatively at her lush curves, which were erotically displayed by her full-cut but nearly sheer chemise. Backlit as she was, he could see that her shapely legs were curled beneath her. The firm rise of her breast made him instantly firm himself. Repressing such thoughts for the moment, William continued his perusal. Her high cheekbones were flushed with the bloom of health and the happiness of heart. Her generous mouth was curved in an amused smile and her thick lashes cast delicate shadows on her creamy skin. And then there were those adorable freckles.
William marveled that after the turmoil of the last weeks—after the misunderstandings and misconceptions, after the threats to their lives, their families, their country—after all of that, they had somehow managed to find again the love which they had glimpsed in that long-ago strawberry glade.
Straightening, William walked forward and peered over Meghan’s shoulder, trying to discover what amused her. She did not start when she noticed his presence, merely reached up to take his hand as she explained what she saw.
“The Bruce men are trying to hide the fact that they are suffering from their shocking overindulgence in spirits last night. They are practicing their swordplay, but when they think no one is looking, they hold their heads as if their hands are the only things keeping their skulls from splitting.”
William chuckled. He had spent many such practice sessions in much the same condition. “And what of the Innes men? Are they of a far stouter breed or did they not indulge in spirits last night?”
“Oh no, they are suffering also. Though their faces are green, they too are swinging their swords. However, every so often, one of them will run over to that clump of bushes and loose whatever food he’s managed to choke down today. Look! There goes young Ewan MacNeely—eww!” she said, turning her head delicately. “He didn’t quite make it!”
William laughed and then bent and kissed her sun-warmed head. She quickly lifted her lips to his and returned the kiss, sucking on his lower lip until it tingled. He took her face gently between his hands, reveling in the velvet texture of her face, the silk of her eyebrows. His hands moved up, tangling in her hair and he pulled her to stand in front of him before sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to the sturdy bed.
They said not a word, merely panted a little as they struggled to quickly remove their clothes. They came together with a smoothness that bespoke familiarity and a passion that was as new and fresh as their first encounter. With knowing fingers, they sought out places of pleasure and discovered new ones. With lips that did not utter a word, they spoke of love and life. With a glance they confirmed the feelings that would last a lifetime.
William ran his sword-roughened
hands up the length or her smooth legs, parting them gently, then shifted his weight forward to rub his hardness against her softness. She gasped a delicate, “Ahh,” and raked her nails over his buttocks and up his back. He teased her with just the head, toying with her sensitive entrance until she pleaded for more.
“Not just yet, I think,” he whispered hoarsely.
Opening her eyes, Meghan frowned in disappointment, then smiled knowingly. Leaning up, she drew her tongue around his small nipple, causing him to inhale sharply. With a self-satisfied moan, she nibbled on the taut peak before sucking hard on it. William could not control the sharp jerk of his hips as he plunged into her welcoming warmth.
Meghan’s moans grew in intensity as William’s thrusts deepened. William watched the color rise in her beautiful face, tiny beads of sweat making her skin shimmer. He felt an intense sense of pride when he brought her a shuddering climax that was separate and distinct from his own overwhelming arousal. As her body quivered in its last spasms of pleasure, he allowed himself to dive over the pinnacle of intimacy, collapsing against her fragrant shoulder, his breath coming in wracking pants.
Some moments later, after they spiraled lazily back down to reality, they lay in a companionable silence, content in the mere presence of one another.
When his breathing finally evened out, William found himself thinking of their hastily arranged wedding ceremony. Robert had decreed they be married that very night, allowing only enough time for Meghan to borrow a suitable gown and the cooks to make a celebratory feast.
All of Robert’s court and as many of the servants who could slip away from their duties had attended.
The men of Meghan’s clan had attended also—not in their dress costume, but suited for battle for they thought to rescue her from Robert’s custody. When they arrived just minutes before the ceremony, Meghan laughingly explained that she was to wed William. The leader of the would-be rescuers, Morris Macdonald, looked at William approvingly before clapping him on the back with a blow that made William stagger in spite of his greater height and size.
Once they said their vows, the event quickly turned into a raucous celebration with the men of the previously adversarial clans blatantly trying to out-befriend each other. As a result, wine and ale disappeared in amazing quantities and the stone keep all but shook from the vigorous dancing which followed the wedding feast.
William smiled as he remembered how he and Meghan were able to slip unnoticed from the great hall. The distasteful bedding tradition was blissfully forgotten by the sodden wits of the wedding guests, the newly crowned King of Scotland included. He and Meghan had been able to spend their first night as husband and wife in delicious privacy.
A frown wrinkled William’s brow as he remembered how Robert had pre-empted his own plans to ask for Meghan’s hand. He glanced down at his wife who was snuggled against his side and wondered if she resented the king’s high-handedness.
“Will ye marry me, Meghan?” he whispered, thinking her asleep.
Though her eyes remained shut, she smiled and cuddled closer. “And did you drink too much wine, my love? We’re already married.”
Suddenly wanting reassurance–an unexpected and rather unpleasant emotion, he decided—William rolled to his side and waited until Meghan opened her eyes.
“Had Robert not ordered us wed, had you the luxury of choosing your husband...”
Meghan’s smile softened and she laid her hand on his cheek.
“Would ye have chosen me?” he asked.
“Aye. I would have chosen you, my sweet Will. Yesterday and today and for all the tomorrows of my life I choose you.”
Uncertainty vanishing like mists before the sun, William grabbed his wife to him, crushing her in his embrace. She did not complain, merely hugged him back just as tightly.
“I love ye, Meghan.”
“And I you.”
About the author…
History came alive—literally—for Michelle Morrison when she attended a medieval recreation event shortly after university. Happy endings were a given as she met and married her own personal knight-in-shining-armor. She very quickly learned that writing historical romances was vastly more fun than technical writing and has since written five such novels. Michelle lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
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