by Amy Jarecki
Somehow, this wasn’t enough. She must dare to be bold. “Now you.” She moved aside.
Colin chuckled and pulled the bedclothes away. He slid his hand down and unclasped his belt. Casting it aside, he lifted his hips slightly and tugged the plaid off, dropping it to the floor. She stared at him. Tight heat pooled in her womb—her longing so intense, it hurt. Margaret could no longer remember the pain caused when he entered her on their wedding night. She craved to try it again. A flicker in the back of her mind reminded her of a fleeting moment of pleasure. Could she grasp the stirring again and make it last?
Colin wrapped his fingers around his member and stroked. “It cannot hurt you again. Never like the first time.”
Alas, he understood her fears. Mouth parted, she watched him stroke himself, her own longing torturing until the insides of her thighs quavered.
Colin placed his palm between her shoulder blades and gently laid her down. Hovering over her, his lips moved intoxicatingly closer until they caressed hers. Licking her lips open, his tongue filled her mouth and kissed her fully. Prone, she allowed him to trail his deft fingers down her naked body. His mouth covered her heaving breast. Margaret arched her back and cried out as his fingers slipped into her womanhood. Every fiber of her being ached for more. She moved against his blessed touch, the tension mounting, her drive pushing her to some unknown brink of insane bliss.
Colin moved between her legs and kneeled. His eyes flashed with his rapturous grin. “I want to take you to a place you’ve never been.” He dipped his chin, staring at her womanhood, his face only inches from her sex.
Was he going to kiss her there? She tried to close her legs, but met with hard shoulders. “Colin. You mustn’t.” She could scarcely utter the words, her body so inexplicably aroused.
“Close your eyes and give into the most erotic kiss of all.”
Margaret dropped her head to the pillow and tried to breathe.
When his warm tongue caressed her flesh, a high-pitched gasp came from the depths of her soul. He licked again and turned everything molten. He claimed her mind—sensations curled through her body with a wave of unbridled, searing heat.
Powerless to flee, Margaret circled her hips in rhythm with his deftly relentless tongue. Every sinew in her body went rigid, driven by her insatiable need for more. She bucked harder—strange whimpers erupted from her throat. Suddenly, the crest of the wave unfolded like surmounting the top of the highest peak in the Highlands. With a cry, her insides burst into pulsing euphoria.
When Margaret finally opened her eyes, Colin smiled at her with the most devilish grin she’d ever seen in her life. “I want you to come again.”
“Come?”
“Reach your woman’s pleasure.”
She chuckled. She could do that again? But this time when he ran the pad of his thumb across her sensitive spot, he showered her skin with kisses until her hips again rocked with desire. He rose to his knees and handled his erect member. “I want to make love to you.”
Margaret didn’t understand it, but her loins craved to have him insert his manhood inside her. She wanted to feel him fill her and slide in and out, as he’d done with his fingers. She nodded.
Colin guided it toward her. Margaret gritted her teeth and tensed, ready for the pinch. But he held the head just inside. “Am I hurting you?”
“Nay.” Her voice breathlessly trembled.
Staring into her eyes, he slowly inched inside until he hit a spot that made her moan.
“I’ve filled you, m’lady.”
Margaret moved her hips, straining to rub that spot again. He withdrew, then slid back with more ease—pleasuring her more than she’d ever dreamed possible. She grasped his back, then boldly slid her hands to his buttocks and showed him she wanted more friction. Colin thrust faster. “That’s it, lass, you command the tempo.”
He let her take the lead until she sank her nails into him, trying to force him deeper and deeper. The driving longing came again. If he stopped, she’d shatter. She cried out and whimpered, reaching her peak. Colin sped, sliding his manhood in and out. His entire body tensed and shook with a deep, bellowing roar.
He collapsed over her, breathing deeply as if he’d just returned from a rousing spar. Taking his weight on his elbows, he nuzzled through her hair and peppered her neck with kisses. “Mo leannan. You are sweeter than honey to a black-hearted knight.”
Margaret closed her eyes and ran her fingers along the hardened flesh of his back. If only this moment would never end.
“I’ve been so unbelievably wrong, wrapped up in the agony of grief.” He brushed his lips over her mouth. Closing his eyes, he tasted her again, their tongues dancing in glorious harmony. Colin tapped his forehead to hers. “You are the most amazing woman I have ever met.” He kissed her cheek and then the other. “Was it good for you, wife?”
“Aye.” A single syllable was all Margaret could utter as she savored him, all of him. She held him close, filled with euphoria. At last, they had truly become man and wife.
After kissing her temple, he rolled to his side and clasped his hand to his crown. “Och, my head hurts.”
She gasped. How on earth had she allowed him to be so vigorous? I’m such a muttonhead. Margaret sat upright. “My stars, Colin. You could have torn your stitches with all that liveliness, or worse.”
She stood and pulled her shift over her head. “Do you need some poppy juice? Some willow bark tea? You must be famished.”
Colin reached for her hand and pulled her back onto the bed. “We’ll worry about breaking our fast later. Rest beside me for a moment. ’Tis far more comfort than a bowl of porridge and a cup of mead.”
Colin never cared to lie abed, but this day it had become a pleasant enjoyment watching Margaret take charge and dutifully dispatch everyone who happened by. Effie and every single one of Colin’s inner circle of loyal men paid their respects. Astonishing. Margaret set each person to task. She worded her orders with such fineness, everyone willingly acquiesced to her wishes. The first being William, who was instructed to ensure every man, woman and child on the castle grounds was aware Lord Glenorchy was well, eating and spending the day at his leisure—Colin would hear supplications in the great hall on the morrow.
She’d set Maxwell to task, asking him to send a missive to the MacGregors inviting them to Duncan’s christening, which she’d abruptly decided would take place in three sennights time. Ah yes, she dispatched Fionn to notify the priest.
Margaret turned and grinned at Colin with Duncan in her arms—Effie had been directed to enjoy some fresh air while Margaret cared for the babe. She missed not a step, carrying him around on her hip, setting things to rights. How could he have been so wrong about her?
Finally, she returned to the bed and sat. She held Duncan out. “I think this should be a family day, since you’re abed and yesterday was the bairn’s first smile.”
“You don’t say?” Colin smoothed his hand over Duncan’s black locks. “Do you have a smile for your da, laddie?”
The babe scrunched up his face and launched into an earsplitting wail. For a moment it reminded him of the horrible night he spent wallowing in the depths of despair, listening to Duncan’s cries echo down the passageway. But Margaret swept him from Colin’s arms and put her little finger in the babe’s mouth.
Instantly, Duncan started suckling, quite content to be held to her breast. She smiled down at the bairn and slowly withdrew her finger. “There, there. Have you got a smile for me?” She emitted the cutest high-pitched laugh Colin had ever heard. Duncan gave her a huge, gummy grin. She giggled again and tickled his tummy. “You smiled, yes you did, you sweet little laddie.” Margaret shifted her gaze to Colin. “Did you see him?”
“Aye. He’s going to be a lassie killer, with dimples like that.”
“I daresay he will—just like his da.”
Colin gazed into Margaret’s fathomless green eyes. She was attracted to him. He thought she’d been when they first met in t
he market, though since he’d behaved like such an arse, he scarcely gave her a chance know him. That she hadn’t decided to hate him for all eternity completely boggled his mind.
He grasped her free hand and held it to his heart. “Can we start anew?”
“Pardon?”
Of course she wouldn’t make it easy for him. “I’m afraid I’ve been despondent, withdrawn since we married.”
“Aye. You’ve been grieving.”
“I was that obvious? You didn’t deem me indifferent?”
She bit her bottom lip and lowered her lashes. “At first I thought you hated me, but Effie explained how much you loved Jonet, how hard it was to lose her.”
Colin grew quiet at the mention of his former wife’s name. His lips quivered when he tried to smile. He tightened his grip on Margaret’s hand. “Aye, her death tore out my heart. I never thought I could…” He swallowed back the words.
“Could?” she probed.
Colin almost said “love again,” but stopped himself. Was he in love with Margaret? Her very presence picked up his senses, as if he were a predator and she the prey. Lately, when she was near, he could think of nothing else but to say he loved her. That would be irresponsible so early in their marriage—especially with the annulment papers still locked away. “I never thought I could ever feel again,” he corrected. Thank heavens he hadn’t signed them yet. He wouldn’t be needing them after all.
Margaret chuckled and raised his hand to her lips. “Mayhap that knock on the head did you some good.”
19
Dunstaffnage Castle, 12th November, 1455
Colin’s head didn’t feel much better the next day, but he refused Margaret’s tincture to soothe the throbbing pain. They agreed he should sit in the great hall and hear supplications. If he stayed abed too long, rumors could spread and embolden his enemies.
Margaret clasped the Campbell plaid across his shoulder and fastened it with a bronze brooch. “I’d like to sit beside you this day.”
He brushed her cheek with his finger. “Aye, but ’tis not a woman’s place.”
“Then I shall bring my lute and provide entertainment for your lordship.”
He eyed her. “I suppose no one will think the better of it. And your music shall calm my aching skull.”
“My thought exactly.” She patted the brooch and smoothed the wool. “It will also give me an opportunity to observe without anyone the wiser.”
“You shouldn’t become accustomed to it,” he warned.
“Oh? And who will be hearing supplications when you’re gone?”
Colin clamped his mouth shut. He’d not thought of his journey to Rome in days, and after realizing how much he needed to make up to Margaret, he hoped Jacques de Milly could do without him this crusade. Surely if the Hospitallers were in dire need, the grand master would dispatch another missive. No matter what Colin did, he’d feel guilty. He either must leave his new wife behind or turn his back on the brothers of the order. Neither choice was palatable. He preferred to put it off as long as possible.
Lute in hand, Margaret followed him down the winding stairs to the great hall. An assortment of crofters and other poorly dressed men were already assembled around the tables near the door. Colin preferred to have the commoners sit at the low tables, where they wouldn’t be able to hear him on the dais. There was little privacy, but he tried to limit embarrassment for all parties.
William manned the door and kept their weapons. No one approached Colin armed, though he was sufficiently fortified with a dirk in his belt and daggers in the flashes of his hose. Maxwell always stood behind Colin, fully armed with claymore and an assortment of weapons. The lad knew well any confidence he heard on the dais must never be repeated.
The benches scraped over the floor while people stood and bowed. Colin nodded and bade them to sit.
Margaret perched upon a stool across from Colin, a respectable distance away. She strummed. The pounding in his head ebbed. She was right to keep the atmosphere light. Colin nodded to Maxwell. The lad was never late.
The first crofter climbed the steps, bonnet in hand, a bold plaid draped around his waist and shoulders, fastened with a thick leather belt.
Margaret’s strumming grew a tad softer.
Colin nodded. “Good morrow, Hamish.”
“Good morrow.” The crofter’s timeworn face frowned woefully before he bowed.
“What brings you to Dunstaffnage so early this morn?” Supplications always started slowly.
“Malcolm is stealing my sheep. Three gone in a week, I say.”
Colin picked a speck of dirt from under his thumbnail. “And have you proof?”
The old fella spread his arms wide. “Me sheep are grazing in his paddock.”
“Is Malcolm here to defend himself?” Colin scanned the faces in the hall.
“Nay, that milk-livered barnacle wouldna show his face.”
Colin had heard the same tale a hundred times before. One man’s word against another’s, most likely. “Are your animals firebranded?”
“Aye, an X on the right hip of every lamb and ewe.”
“Very original of you.” Colin looked to the rafters. “Sheep stealing? Bloody oath, you’d think we were on the borders.”
Margaret strummed faster and knitted her brows. Evidently, she thought Colin should do something to retrieve Hamish’s sheep. That was exactly why women were omitted from supplications. Colin cleared his throat. “Hugh,” he hollered. “Go with Hamish and inspect Malcolm’s sheep. If any are firebranded with an X, they should be returned.”
Hugh looked up from his morning meal. “Aye? But nearly everyone uses an X to firebrand their sheep.”
Colin rapped his fist on the table. “Hamish shall lay claim to no more than three.”
Margaret smiled. Hamish too, and he bowed obsequiously. “Thank you, m’lord. I’ll nay forget this.”
Colin rolled his hand impatiently. He could wager Malcolm would present before him on the morrow.
The next subject who climbed upon the dais blurted out he wanted an annulment.
Margaret launched into a woeful ballad of lost love. Colin could scarcely keep a straight face. In hindsight, having her serenade him was not the best idea he’d ever had. He squared his jaw and regarded the older man with consternation. “Why on earth do you want an annulment, Jamie? Has Morag not provided you with three bairns?”
“Four, m’lord, but she refuses to stop badgering me.”
“Good God, man. Have you no cods? If a woman is nagging you, ’tis because you’ve allowed it.”
Margaret’s lovely voice slid down a dreary scale.
Jamie shook his shaggy, greying curls and stepped in closer. “I can no longer bear the sight of her.”
Colin scratched his chin. Jamie looked a tad long in the tooth as well, fat belly and all. “Has your wife the means to support herself if you abandon her?”
Margaret’s tune became suddenly cheerful.
“Nay.”
“Do you think so little of Morag that you are willing to let her starve? What of your offspring?”
Jamie hung his head and clenched his fists.
Ah ha, the old blighter. “You have been unfaithful, have you not?”
He nodded.
“Find ye a priest. Confess, and do not come back here seeking ruination of the woman who birthed ye four healthy Campbells and lived to tell about it. Women are to be respected for their pains. Mayhap ’tis why she’s nagging you—you haven’t shown her proper respect.”
Margaret’s strumming became so invigorated, she might as well have stood and applauded. Though Jamie scowled, Margaret’s smile put Colin’s mind at ease. It wasn’t easy to settle disputes of the marriage bed.
Colin’s head pounded. He should have taken Margaret up on her tincture.
The day progressed with a barrage of petty woes, all of which were dispatched with little effort, until a man ascended the stairs, his haircut in the shape of a bowl, his hose dual color
ed—one leg green and the other red.
Colin would have thought him a court jester if his doublet had matched his chausses. “’Tis a bit early for Yule, what say you?”
“Yule? Nay. ’Tis the latest fashion.” The lad removed his feathered cap and bowed. “Donald MacLean, at your service. I’m told you are in need of a factor, m’lord.”
“Have you now?” Colin stood and walked around the odd fellow. “And where do you hail from, Donald MacLean?”
“Taynilt, the other side of Loch Etive.”
Colin focused on the man’s ridiculous hose. “I’m well aware of where Taynilt is, but not of you. Why haven’t I seen your face around these parts?”
“I know not. I’ve lived here all me life.”
“And what do you know about factoring?”
“I’m good with numbers, m’lord.”
“I see.”
Margaret strummed a minor chord, launching into another of her sad ballads. Colin resumed his seat.
“Tell me, Mr. MacLean, have you ever had dealings with the MacCorkodale clan?”
Colin caught the slight shift in the man’s eyes. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his bonnet tighter. “Ah, no, m’lord.”
Margaret stopped strumming and locked eyes with Colin. He nodded, appreciating the silent delivery of her opinion. He felt the same. Never trust a man in two-toned tights. Colin scratched his chin. “I’m sorry, but you are a little late. I’m afraid I’ve already appointed someone to the job—someone from the Campbell clan.”
“But—”
“That is all, sir. Good day.”
Margaret climbed down from her stool and sat beside Colin. “You’re looking a bit pale. Shall I send for some willow bark tea?”
Colin pressed the heel of his hand over the sore spot. “I need something a bit stronger. Perhaps a tot of good whisky.”
