by Amy Jarecki
Thank God I moved my wife and babe to her parents’ home in Carlisle.
Lord Percy had sent Isaac ahead on the off chance something of this nature would happen. Riders paid to deliver missives from the king could speed ahead faster than any army. They had posts established. When a horse tired, they’d pass their messages to another rider who’d proved his speed. News traveled fast in the lowlands of Scotland, just as it did in Northern England.
No man could be on the run for long without everyone the wiser.
As Lord Percy approached, he held up his hand and commanded his retinue to come to a halt.
Isaac rode up beside him. “They’ve barricaded the city gates—you’ve already been accused of murder.”
Lord Percy smirked. “Well then, if they’d only known, they could have seized you and this whole mess would have been resolved.”
Isaac clamped his lips together. He’d best keep his mouth shut, else his employer would not hesitate to hand him over to the Melrose sheriff. An earl had a much better chance of obtaining a pardon than did a lowly man-at-arms.
“King James sold us out already?” Lord Percy scratched his beard. “Miserable, backstabbing Scottish bastard.”
“We shall need to stick to the byways.” Isaac pointed. “We can follow the river to the east and give Melrose and Dryburgh a wide berth.”
Percy frowned. “The horses are spent.”
“We’d best not stop until we reach the cover of Thornielaw Wood.”
Percy shook his head. “No.”
“Are you mad?” Isaac immediately wished those words hadn’t spewed from his mouth. “I beg your pardon, my lord. But do you wish to be caught?”
“I assure you, I am quite sane.” Lord Percy drew his sword and slammed Isaac in the chest with the flat side.
With no time for Isaac to deflect the blow, his breastplate caught it full force. He squeezed his knees in an attempt to remain mounted, but his horse whinnied and reared. Crashing to the ground with a thud, Isaac lay on his back and tried to catch his breath. With each gasp, his world spun.
“If you ever disrespect me again, I’ll use the sharp edge to take off your head.” Then Percy laid the rein across his steed’s neck and turned northward. “They’re expecting us to cross the border. We shall disappoint them.”
Meg had never been so happy to see anything as she was when they rode out of the forest and Kilchurn Castle loomed against the moonlit sky. The keep cast a serene shadow on Loch Awe, and if she had not seen it before, she would have thought the place enchanted.
Aside from a few breaks and a brief rest to change horses, they’d ridden nonstop. Everything ached. Her eyelids refused to stay open, and her head bobbed forward in rhythm with her horse’s steady gait.
But Meg had no intention of sleeping. Not until she set Duncan to rights. She thought it fortunate they had arrived at night. It would be easy to slip into the keep and spirit Duncan up to his chamber without alerting his mother and sisters.
Once inside the inner bailey, Sean and Eoin helped Duncan dismount. Grimacing, his teeth reflected white in the moonlight. And though it was dark, Meg could tell his face had taken on an ashen pallor.
Meg took charge. “Take him to his chamber. Robert, fetch the bath and buckets of hot water.”
“Aye, m’lady.”
No one questioned her directives. They were all most likely too tired to balk. She didn’t care. If anyone had said a word, she would’ve issued a quick retort.
Meg clung tight to her medicine bundle and followed the men up the dark stairwell. Duncan’s strained grunts echoed through the tower. Just as bad, the sickly pall from the gaol clung to him and wafted to her nose. So strong the odor, she had to turn her head to the side.
The men stepped into the passageway on the third landing and headed straight to Duncan’s chamber. Meg thanked her stars she’d been there before. Once they cleared the door, she rushed past them and pulled the duvet down to expose the linens. “He’ll need to be bathed.”
Eoin helped Duncan hobble to the edge of the bed. “You don’t mean for him to sit in a tub?”
“I can cleanse him here, but I’ll need fresh linens.”
“I’ll fetch them,” Sean said.
Meg set her bundle on the table. “Thank you.” She then set to striking the flint to light the candle on the bedside table.
The men helped Duncan climb onto the bed and lie on his side. He moaned when his head met the pillow.
Eoin wiped his hands on his chausses. “What can I do?”
“Light the fire, then help Robert with the water buckets.” Meg glanced to the bowl and ewer. Soap sat beside them atop a folded drying cloth. “Once I have the water and the linens, I’ll have all I need to tend him. You men should seek your rest.”
Eoin placed a hand on Meg’s shoulder. “You need to sleep as well.”
“I shall, once I’ve tended to Duncan’s needs.”
“I could fetch the healer.” Eoin struck the flint.
Duncan pushed up on his elbow. “I would have no other hands care for me but those of Lady Meg.”
Heart fluttering, she snapped her gaze to the bed. He flopped back onto his side with a whooshing exhale. The effort seemed to be the last Duncan could muster.
“The water.” Flicking her hands, Meg shooed Eoin away. “Make haste.”
Once the men had left, she opened her bundle and pulled out the avens oil. Meg’s hands trembled. The whole time they were riding, all she could think about was getting Duncan into his chamber and applying her healing salve. But now that she was alone, so many emotions coursed through her. She looked at his broad-shouldered form resting on the bed with his back to her. All she wanted to do was wrap him in her arms and hold him for eternity.
But he was hurting. He’d been half conscious the past several miles—rode the entire distance in the cold without a shirt. She crossed the floor and placed the bundle on the table then caressed his shoulder. “Are you awake, my love?”
“Mm.”
At least he was conscious at some level. The door burst open. Eoin and the others entered with water, linens and a trencher of bread and chicken. “I thought you could use some food.” He pulled a flask from the back of his chausses. “I’ve brought a flagon of whisky as well.”
“My thanks to you all.” Meg faced them. “Now off with you.”
“Are you sure you no longer need us?”
“Quite certain.”
“Get the bloody hell out,” Duncan brayed like a wounded bull.
Meg wasn’t sure if he knew what he was saying. She bent over him. His eyes were closed. She clasped her palms and bowed her head to Duncan’s men. “I’ve no doubt everyone will be in better spirits on the morrow.”
“Aye,” Sean said. “Duncan always turns into a swollen-headed ogre when he hasn’t had enough sleep.”
They all seemed reluctant to leave, so Meg spread her arms wide and led them to the door. “Everything will be fine. I’ve brought some powerful essences with me. I’ll have Lord Duncan set to rights in no time.”
When she finally closed the door, Meg sighed. She’d cleanse Duncan first. No use wasting the salve when I’d just turn around and wipe it off.
She stood back and looked at his tattered woolen chausses. They were hardly worth saving. “I shall unfasten your belt and then cut off your hose.”
Duncan’s only response was deep breathing. Meg relaxed. He needed to sleep, and she could care for him whilst he did so. After removing his boots, she picked up the shears and made quick work of removing his chausses and braies. Holding the smelly garments at arm’s length, she carried them to the hearth and tossed them on the fire.
She dipped the cloth into the bucket of tepid water and lathered it with soap scented with lemongrass. Humming a ballad, she worked the lather over Duncan’s skin, ever so careful to avoid his injuries. Her breasts grew heavy and her throat thickened to the point where she could no longer hum. Though he’d been starved, his body still
maintained its well-muscled tone. Every inch of him was sculpted by the chiseled muscle beneath.
Reverently, she lifted his arm and smoothed the cloth down the underside until she met the apex where his hair thickened. Meg swirled the cloth a wee bit more vigorously then wrung it out in the bucket. Once freshly lathered, she reached over him to cleanse his chest. Her breathing stuttered while she ran the cloth down the bands of muscles on his abdomen. Meg could have sworn they rippled at her touch.
Her fingers began to quaver again when she reached the black curls surrounding his sex. Their coupling was still fresh in her memory. She may be condemned to hell, but her womanhood grew hot with a yearning so powerful she had to clench her muscles to fight it back.
As if his sex were as fragile as a porcelain figurine, she cradled it, smoothing the cloth in languid strokes. He lengthened in the palm of her hand. Meg cast her gaze to Duncan’s face. His eyes remained closed, his breathing steady.
Emitting a stuttered sigh, Meg continued the bath, cleaning between his thighs and carefully running the edge of the cloth through his toes. She reached under him, and once she had Duncan as clean as possible without moving him, she shifted to his head and ran a soapy cloth through his hair. She then repeated every movement to remove the soap.
Duncan shivered a bit.
“Are you cold?”
As she expected, he made no reply. Meg methodically swirled the drying cloth over his skin until his tremors ceased.
“I must apply the avens oil.” She reached for the vial and poured some on her fingers. “It might hurt a bit, but I can see yesterday’s application has done some good.” Meg had no idea why she kept talking, other than it soothed her to do so. She hadn’t lied when she said his wounds looked better. They’d scabbed over and were not as angry red as they’d been in the gaol.
When she touched her fingers to Duncan’s back, he jolted, a hiss slipping through his lips.
“Are you all right, my love?” Meg gasped. She needed to stop calling him “love.”
Duncan relaxed into the pillow. “Mm.”
Truly, he was awake at some level. She continued with her work. “Your skin looks like it was scalded. What did they burn you with?”
“Lead.”
Meg’s heart skipped a beat when Duncan uttered the word. She’d heard of the use of molten metal to extract a confession, but to see the practice actually used seemed as archaic as crucifying someone. God forbid.
Smoothing her fingers down his back, she gently rubbed in the salve. When she hit a hard spot, she leaned in for another look. A farthing-sized piece of lead still clung to his back. She scraped it with her fingernail, but decided not to pull it off. With luck, the lead would slough away in time like a scab, and to remove it at this stage would only serve to cause him more pain.
When certain every wound was properly dressed, Meg moved to the basin and washed her hands. She stood there for a moment, pushing suds through her fingers and regarding Duncan’s naked form through shuttered lashes. Odd, but she cared not what his men would think when they discovered she’d stripped him bare. He no longer smelled of the dungeon, and his wounds would soon heal.
If Duncan shunned her, she would at least be content in the knowledge that she’d helped him recover from an abominable ordeal. The food on the table caught her eye. She shoved a bite of chicken in her mouth and washed it down with a swig of whisky straight from the flagon. She clapped her hand over her mouth and coughed. Her eyes watered with the flame burning her throat. How can men drink this?
Meg walked to the foot of the bed and leaned on the bedpost. Duncan had to be the most beautiful man in all of Scotland. His long legs weren’t slender, but sculpted with solid muscle and peppered by bold black hair. If she weren’t so completely exhausted, she would like nothing more than to stand and gaze upon his magnificence all night, but her legs could hardly withstand more punishment.
Gyllis’s chamber was one floor above. She should slip up there to sleep. Meg tiptoed across the floor.
“Stay.”
She stopped and scanned the room. No one besides Duncan could have uttered a word. She returned to his side. “Are you awake?”
“Aye, lass,” he slurred.
She swiftly crossed to where she could see his face. “Are you in much pain? I could give you some valerian. ’Tis what I gave to Tormond to make him sleep.”
He smiled, but his eyes remained closed. “Nay. Come here and rest in me arms.”
“I really should…”
“Pl…ease.”
How could she resist the deep tenor of his voice? “Are you chilled?”
“Mm.”
After bolting the door, Meg pulled the duvet over his shoulders then crossed to the other side of the bed as if she were Duncan’s wife. Her hands started to tremble again. She removed her wimple, unlaced her gown and slid it from her shoulders. The heavy wool whooshed to the floor. Wearing only her shift, she climbed under the bedclothes and slid across the chilly linens until her body spooned into Duncan’s warm chest.
With a satisfied moan, he slid his hand over the dip in her waist and placed his open palm on her abdomen. “I shall never let you go. Not ever again.”
31
Once Meg crawled into bed with him, Duncan gave in to his exhaustion and slipped into heavenly sleep. With his woman in his arms, the pain eased. When he woke, a sliver of light shone through a crack in the window furs.
Though his head throbbed, he’d never felt so alive. Meg slept cradled against his body the entire night, and he’d been more than content to have her there. Her red tresses tickled his face. Duncan drew in a deep inhale, blessed with the heavenly bouquet of wildflowers. Meg’s sweet scent could make him swoon. Yes he, the leader of the Highland Enforcers, could go weak at the knees simply by being too close to Lady Meg.
He tugged her closer. The pillow-soft cheeks of her bottom cradled his rigid cock. He didn’t know when he’d become erect, but by the searing heat in his groin, he could have been as hard as his sword all night.
His hand smoothed up her belly and found a pliable breast. A wicked nipple jutted through her linen shift, and he swirled his fingers around it. He nuzzled into her neck and flicked his tongue from the base of her nape up to her ear. “Are you awake, my love?”
Meg shifted her lovely bottom against him, the slightest moan escaping her lips.
“I want to ravish you.”
She brushed her hand over the fingers toying with her breast. “Aye, Duncan.”
He loved how her lilting voice spoke his name. But then she rolled to face him and rose up on her elbow. “What are you saying? Should you be so vigorous whilst you’re healing?”
He grinned at the concern expressed in her eyes. “To be depraved of your love would injure me far more than any mortal blow.”
Her next breath stuttered as she stared into his eyes and cupped his cheek in her hand. “Love?”
“Aye. I know now that I love you. I cannot bear to think of living without you, Lady Meg.”
She slid her arm around his back and tugged.
Duncan winced.
She quickly released. “I want to wrap you in my arms, but I’m afraid I’ll cause you pain.”
He grasped her fingers and guided them to his hip. “Put your hands on me. You know where.”
With a nervous chuckle, she swirled her fingers across his abdomen, her knuckles lightly brushing the tip of his manhood. Duncan moaned with pleasure. “Your mere touch will make me come undone.”
Her tongue shot out and tapped her top lip. “Is that so bad?”
“Nay, but I want this time to last.” He tugged her shift up. “And first I want to feast my eyes upon your exquisite beauty.”
She emitted another of her nervous chuckles. “I’m not all that much to look at, I say.”
Ignoring her, he encouraged her to lift up while he tugged the gown over her head. Meg’s eyes narrowed with a flash of fear, and he fluttered kisses along her jaw-line to calm
her. After he eased her back onto the mattress, he gradually pulled back to his knees.
“My God, you are exquisite.”
Meg crossed her hands over her body.
“Nay.” Duncan grasped her wrists and gently tugged her hands to her sides. “You’re more beautiful to gaze upon than a marble statue.” He leaned over her and kissed her mouth fully, swirling her tongue with his, igniting a desire he never knew existed within.
She closed her eyes and smoothed her hand over his stubbled jaw, ever so careful to avoid touching his back. Languidly, he trailed kisses down the length of her neck until his mouth met with an erect nipple.
Her full breasts were velvety soft, tipped by rosebuds. Her skin was the color of unblemished porcelain. So many women used lime to make their complexions like Meg’s, but not a one could come close to her loveliness.
Duncan gave in to his passion and caressed her while he suckled her breasts. Rising to his haunches, he smoothed his fingers down the curve of her waist, drinking in her womanly shape. Meg’s hips flared seductively, framing a nest of red curls.
Ever so lightly, he flicked his thumb between her legs while he stretched out beside her. His cock pushed into her hip—so rigid, he wouldn’t last much longer. “Open your legs for me,” he whispered.
She complied and reached for his swollen member. When her fingers wrapped around it, seed leaked from the tip.
Kissing her neck, Duncan slipped his finger inside her and swirled while she stroked him. Without thought, his hips thrust. She milked him with a steady movement. His breathing sped. His mind could think of nothing but claiming her. “I can wait no longer.”
“Make love to me.”
He needed no more encouragement. Climbing between her legs, he hovered over her. “You are so fine to me.”
Her tongue flicked out and smoothed across her top lip. She cast her gaze down and grasped him. Then her crystal blue eyes met his, and she guided his manhood to her opening. Duncan could scarcely breathe for the emotion swirling through his entire body. This is what it is like to truly love a woman.
