“I planned to go riding this morn, but I thank you for your offer, Chieftain,” Blair explained.
“I’m not sure that riding this morning is best for your constitution,” Artair responded. Blair refused to be embarrassed and willed her cheeks not to blush. She kept her attention on her porridge. “You see, a woman’s body is more fragile. Such vigorous activity too often will surely weaken your already weaker body. I wouldn’t want Laird Cameron to return to find his—lady—ill.”
Blair could imagine a wealth of words Artair would have preferred to calling her a lady. She would never give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was sore from making love almost all night, but she was desperate to be away from the keep, even if only for a few hours.
“Your council will be kept in mind.” Nay, it willna. I’ll ignore it, ye oaf.
“Suit yourself. But know there will be no hot water for a bath,” Artair warned. “Lady Robena is having the ovens cleaned today,” Artair warned.
Blair slid her gaze to Robena, who looked surprised at Artair’s announcement but soon recovered, shooting Blair a sympathetic look. Blair looked down at her half-finished bowl of porridge and decided she’d had enough. Discussing her intimate life with Artair, even in a roundabout way, was ruining her mood. Hardi’s departure already saddened her. She excused herself and found her guards before spending most of the day away from the keep.
Blair’s second and third days were not much better. Artair continued his condescending comments, which made Blair bite her tongue so many times she was certain it would be shorter in a week’s time. At what point do I put an end to this, even if it causes a scene? I dinna want to read poetry aboot forlorn lovers because I must feel the same way. I dinna want to rest every afternoon to keep from overtaxing maself as the weather warms. I’m nae a bairn nor his expectant wife. I dinna need to be sent to bed. Nae, I dinna need ye to explain to me that Hardi will surely nae want a wife with hands like a fieldworker. If ye offered Robena adequate help, I wouldnae be involved. I dinna understand why he expects her to do so much with so little help. If any lady-wife must have hands like a servant, it must be Robena.
Artair’s unceasing advice forced Blair’s wandering mind back to the present during the third evening’s meal. She picked at her overcooked, charred duck. It was the first time anything came out of the Inverlochy kitchens that wasn’t of superior quality. She looked at Artair as he began his newest explanation of why she should understand a man’s world.
“Lady Blair, moping won’t bring Laird Cameron back any sooner. He has important business that he conducts as laird. He mustn’t be distracted, because leading his clan is a heavy responsibility. He will visit you when he can make time to leave the more pressing matters until later. You’ll understand once you’re married longer. You’re still young.”
Blair couldn’t decide which part of Artair’s supercilious comment irked her the most. However, it was the first time he’d acknowledged that they were married. The lesson in how to be a wife, specifically one married to a laird, made her want to drive her fist into his priggish visage. She opened her mouth to thank him for his insights when the door to the keep opened. Blair gripped the armrests of her chair to keep from running into Hardi’s arms. When his eyebrows lifted as if to ask why she wasn’t greeting him, her restraint withered. She rose and glided from the dais. She fought the urge to run, but her pace increased to what she was certain was a trot when he opened his arms to her. Neither considered their audience as Hardi lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was brief, but held all the intensity it normally did.
In the near-silent Great Hall, Hardi’s voice carried to those sitting closest to them. “I’ve missed ye, wife.” Those within earshot repeated his comment, and it spread among the diners. Four words gave their relationship more credibility than the ring Blair wore. They stood with their arms around one another as Hardi leaned forward to whisper to Blair. “The only evening meal I want is ye. How close to the end are ye?”
“Nay more food is being brought out. I will share ma trencher with ye,” Blair kept her voice low. “But stay away from the duck. I dinna ken what happened, but it was on the spit too long.” Hardi took Blair’s arm even though he wanted to hold her hand, and they made their way to the dais. Hardi assisted Blair with her seat before taking his. She added more food to Hardi’s side of the trencher and remained quiet while he ate.
“You are learning to be a wife, Lady Cameron,” Artair commented. Blair noted it was the first time the chieftain acknowledged her by her proper title. She’d chosen not to fight that battle and continued to respond to Lady Blair rather than insist upon being addressed as Lady Cameron. She was aware it was for Hardi’s sake, not hers. “I feared you would bombard Laird Cameron with questions. No mon wants to hear yammering the moment he sits down.”
Hardi straightened to glare over Blair and Robena’s heads. He narrowed his eyes as he laid down his eating knife. “While I appreciate my wife’s attentiveness, I was about to ask her why she wasna speaking. I look forward to the sound of her voice, and would like to hear how she’s spent her time while we were apart. I’d be insulted if she didna have questions for me.”
Hardi returned his attention to their trencher, but before he took another bite, he asked from the corner of his mouth, “Is he always that insufferable?”
“Aye,” Blair didn’t hesitate. She wouldn’t lie to Hardi, and she saw no reason to downplay Artair’s obnoxiousness. “He seems to have an endless supply of advice.”
Hardi looked down at his food and suddenly was no longer as hungry as he had been when he rode into the bailey. He put out his hand for Blair’s and rose. He disregarded Artair’s calls for them to share a dram or two of whisky while they discussed topics that would surely bore their wives. He ignored Artair’s indignant snort. He led Blair to the stairs and didn’t look back.
Thirty-Three
Once inside their chamber, Hardi and Blair tore at each other’s clothes. Closer to a wall than the bed, Hardi pressed Blair back against the hard surface, raising her leg over his hip, his cock pressing against her seam.
“Wet for me already, mo ghaol?”
“As wet as ye are hard,” Blair grinned. “Is this one of those times ye want to fuck rather than make love?”
“It is.” Hardi thrust into her. The only sound became their moans as Hardi surged into her over and over. Their difference in height soon had Hardi lifting Blair and carrying her to the edge of the table where her comb and ribbons lay. They scattered to the floor as Blair sat on the edge, but when the table began an ominous creak, Hardi walked them to the bed. He came down over her as they clawed at one another, and Blair met each thrust with her own.
“Hardi,” Blair moaned. “Dinna hold back.” With Blair’s encouragement, Hardi lost control. He fisted her hair as he moved with an urgency and roughness he never imagined.
“Blair, what’re ye doing to me?”
“I want to feel how much ye desire me. I want all of it.”
“Ye want me to fuck ye harder than any woman before. Ye want me to desire ye more,” Hardi growled, his words punctuated by thrusts. “Ye dinna need to worry, Blair. I have never needed aught more than I do ye. If ye want me to give ye all that I can while I fuck ye, I willna turn ye down. If me losing control is what ye need to know ye possess every part of me, then I’ll gladly give it to ye.” Hardi pinned Blair’s arms above her head as he continued to grasp a handful of her hair.
“Take me and do whatever ye want. Just dinna stop,” Blair moaned. Her body now trapped beneath Hardi’s, she wanted to give herself over to him, wanted him to know she was his. In the next breath, the pleasure the friction of their bodies created broke free. The wave of ecstasy bowed her body off the bed as she tightened her core. The need to hold Hardi within her was something out of her control. Hardi’s hand released her wrists to move to her hip. His fingers bit into her backside as he spilled. The jets of his seed seemed endless as his cock throbbed within her.
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Hardi’s spent body lay atop Blair’s as they panted, their minds trying to make sense of what they’d shared while their bodies attempted to recover. Without thought, Blair’s fingers roamed over Hardi’s back, stroking the taut muscles. Hardi pressed soft kisses against her neck as his hips continued to rock within her, the movement small and gentle. A nagging sense of regret and self-doubt crept into Blair’s mind as they lay together, Hardi continuing to bask in the moment until Blair grew uneasy, and he sensed it.
“What’s the matter?” Hardi asked as he continued the tender kisses. When Blair didn’t answer, he pushed up onto his forearms. She stared into his eyes as though she searched for something, but he understood she was searching within herself. “Blair, what’s wrong?”
Blair’s brow furrowed. Her emotions were still too charged, and she feared she would cry, only making things worse. “I dinna ken why I become so possessive when we make love.” Blair closed her eyes to dam the tears she felt threatening. “I canna help it. Even when it’s wild like this, ma mind insists that it’s lovemaking.”
Hardi cupped Blair’s head as he kissed her. It was hungry and demanding. Blair sighed as she gave into it, welcoming Hardi’s forcefulness. When Hardi pulled back, Blair was unsure of the meaning in his eyes. The uncertainty made her chest pinch. “Blair, as much as ye want me to show ye how I desire ye, I want the same. I need the reassurance too. Ye arenae a possessive woman by nature. Ye dinna try to control me or demand aught from me. If ye’re possessive of me when we’re making love, I feel loved. I feel like ye willna give me up or turn away from me. I want to give ye all of me, and I want to ken ye’ll accept it and that ye’ll protect it.”
Blair cupped Hardi’s cheek and strained to reach his mouth with hers. The kiss was brief and tender before she settled back against the pillow. “How are ye able to express what passes between us so well? How do ye understand me and what I need so well? I’m the woman. I’m the one who should speak of feelings, and yet there isnae a brawer mon than ye, but ye can explain the deepest emotions I have.”
“Because I recognize them. They’re what I feel too.”
“But ye have the words to describe it. I canna seem to sort out ma own feelings enough within ma head, let alone explain them to ye.”
“Did ye assume that because ye’re more educated than me that ye would reason it out when I couldnae? That ye should be able to speak of something so deep better than I could?” Hardi felt his temper and pride flair, but it didn’t compare to the ice that entered Blair’s eyes.
“Hardwin, dinna ye make this aboot who’s smarter or who’s more learned. It’s aboot me being a woman, and ye being a mon. I feel like I should be able to speak ma feelings, but I canna. I just dinna ken how. I’m embarrassed that ye can, and I come up with naught. It’s ridiculous, and I ken that, but it makes me feel lacking. If aught, it shows ye’re the more intelligent of the two of us. Dinna ever, ever doubt ma respect for ye because ye learned to read and write after me. I dinna think there is aught that will ever make me angrier and more defensive. One emotion I do understand is that I’m fiercely protective of ye even if the threat is yer own self-doubt.”
“I’d say ye understand me well, mo chridhe. I suppose it makes me unusual to talk aboot feelings, but as long as ye dinna think I’m weak for it, then I’m happy we understand one another,” Hardi admitted.
“I swear by all the saints and archangels, I love ye more than I ever thought a mind and heart could.”
“I love ye.” Their kiss soon became passionate, and Hardi’s body responded with urgency. “I need ye again, Blair.”
Blair moaned as she raised her hips. “I havenae had nearly enough.” There was no frenzy this time, kissing as Blair cupped Hardi’s cheek and tunneled her fingers into his hair. The drawn out, slow movements enhanced the exquisite pleasure. This time, tenderness and devotion replaced their insatiable hunger. Each slow glide of their bodies spoke to how neither wanted their intimacy to end. When their climaxes swept over them, it was a wave that lapped at every inch of their cores rather than crashing over them.
“Hardi, mayhap the word for what we did earlier is fucking because of its intensity, but I meant what I said,” Blair gazed into Hardi’s eyes, needing to share her thoughts while they joined their bodies. “It’s lovemaking to me, and it means as much to me as what we’re doing now. I love ye in more than one way, and the distinct ways we make love is the best that I ken how to explain it. I may never have the words like ye do, but how I move with ye, how I sense what ye want, that’s how I can express maself, mo ghaol.”
“I am at a loss for words, leannan. What ye said is perfect, and ye take ma breath away. I canna explain how much I love ye, but I do.”
They drifted off to sleep in one another’s arms and awoke the next morning in the same position. Their soft smiles and knowing look said they wished they never had to leave their bed. But both knew the day would begin and spending it in bed may have been what they wanted, but it wasn’t what they could do.
Thirty-Four
Blair and Hardi avoided breaking their fast by gathering a loaf of bread and half of a wheel of cheese before leaving through the postern gate. There was a loch a brief walk from the keep, so they made their way there and sat beneath the shade of the trees along the bank. Hardi pulled a missive from his sporran, hesitating for a moment before handing it to Blair. He’d opened it the day before but hadn’t understood enough of it. It was the excuse he needed to justify to himself leaving Tor Castle to see Blair. He’d fought himself, barely maintaining the willpower to remain at the keep rather than rush to see Blair. But not understanding the missive meant he no longer had to battle his longing.
“Bran intercepted this yesterday. He was on the way to let ye ken I wanted to visit but duty prevented it. He rode out and caught up to one of ma men returning from Inverlochy. Bran told him that he’d come out to check on a clan member who lives away from the village and was on his way back anyway. Bran offered to take the missive, so the mon could have a drink at the tavern in the village. I tried to read it since I thought it would make more sense in Scots, but I dinna understand it all.”
Hardi handed the parchment to Blair. She glanced at it, but when she saw no salutation, she turned it over to see if the sender addressed it to anyone.
“Do ye ken who it’s for?” Blair asked.
“Nay. Bran asked who he should give it to, expecting Alan to say me, but the mon shrugged. Bran told me Alan only kenned he was to bring it Tor. When he asked who it was from, Alan said he didna ken that either. He picks up missives from behind a stone in the western wall.”
“Someone’s hiding and passing messages. If this mon, Alan, came from here, then someone expected the message at Tor and may have been expecting a messenger to carry a response here. Or mayhap this is the response. I didna hear aught yesterday aboot a Cameron rider approaching, and I didna see anyone. I never knew anyone from yer clan was here. Who do ye think would pick Alan to be a messenger? Is there a reason?” Blair’s mind swirled with questions.
“Alan is the grandson, son, and nephew of men on the council. He’s been a messenger for years. I’m sure nay one thought twice aboot him leaving or being gone. If anyone noticed, they probably assumed he was on an errand for me.”
Blair nodded as she looked down at the missive. She read aloud, her stomach churning more with each word.
Your last message was very reassuring. We are making progress, and we will have what we want in a matter of sennights. That Hardwin doesn’t see what is beneath his nose proves he’s incompetent to be laird. He’s pathetic.
The fool says he married the lass. Mayhap they handfasted, but I think he said whatever would get him under her skirts. They hump throughout the night. He’s like a rutting stallion, and his mare has no shame. But that suits us. While he’s distracted by tupping his bride, he won’t notice the coins missing from his coffers. I don’t fear him knowing how many go missing. He may be able to count the coin
s in front of him, but he can’t add them together. With nay one keeping the ledgers properly, you should be able to explain away the losses as expenses for the keep. Our fletcher hasn’t questioned the order of the fresh arrows, so he isn’t asking where they went.
They are counting on the arrows as part of the payment to oust the pretender. I pray your assurance that he has no command over the warriors is true. Make sure most still see him as their equal, not a man who can issue orders. We have two moons before they are ready to strike. This gives you that amount of time to finish the tunnel. You’ve promised six sennights. If you fail, so does our plan. You have accomplished an impressive amount with only five men digging. When the time comes, he will surrender because he’s weak, but he will claim it’s to protect his people. Once the pretender is dead, there is naught keeping you from claiming your position.
Blair and Hardi stared at one another, both speechless once Blair finished reading. Blair grabbed Hardi’s hand as her heart raced. “They’re going to kill ye. This isnae just aboot ousting ye. If they need to kill ye to succeed, then ye are a greater threat than they admit, which only puts ye in more danger.”
“But who are they? Nae just the ones exchanging missives. But who are the ‘they’ that’s preparing to strike? Is it the Macphersons, the Mackintoshes, the Davidsons, the Grants, the entire Chattan Confederation? I dinna ken which direction to look other than east.”
“The Grants? I thought yer clan resolved yer fight with them.” Blair shook her head in confusion.
A Saint at the Highland Court: The Highland Ladies Book Six Page 21
