by Amy Jarecki
Her provocative movement made a bit of his seed leak from the tip of his cock. Bending his knees, he slid himself between her buttocks, her slick moisture spreading along his manhood. Helen arched her back and her delectable bottom pressed against him. “What are you doing?”
He rocked his hips to show her what he wanted, while he continued to finger that taut button that was driving her mad. “I’d like to try to enter you from behind. But only if it pleases you.”
She rolled her hips atop him. “Is that possible?”
“If you have an adventurous spirit.” He slipped his hand away from her breast and smoothed it down her spine. On the way back up, he encouraged her to lean forward. “Place your hands on the bed.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder with a seductive grin. “Being adventurous is new for me—and a bit scary.”
“And ’tis my duty to ensure you enjoy it.” He grasped his cock and guided himself to the edge of her opening.
Helen moaned.
Holding on to her hips he watched himself disappear inside her. Then he reached forward and swirled his finger around her mons. “Does it feel good for you?”
“Mm.” She ground her hips into him, taking him deeper. “I like your idea of trying new things.” Her words came out breathless.
His thighs shuddered as he watched himself slide in and out, maintaining himself on the ragged edge of control.
Eoin focused on Helen’s passion until her breathing sped and her buttocks shook against his legs. Her mewls made his heartbeat race. As she gasped, nearing her peak, he let himself go and increased his thrusts. Working his finger faster, Helen cried out and arched her back.
Her quavering insides milked him until he no longer had control. Thrusting, watching her naked bottom spread open to him with her back arched, his seed erupted from his body with a bellowing roar.
26
Helen lay in Eoin’s arms content and satiated, like she imagined a woman should always be when at rest with her man. With Maggie sound asleep in her crate, and her annulment granted, Helen hadn’t a care. “The only thing I miss is my lute,” she whispered. “I love music.”
“Me as well. I love to listen to you play…and sing. The last time I heard you, I could have sworn you could contend with the king’s minstrels.”
She wiggled against him. “I wouldn’t go that far.” Though he exaggerated, Helen did enjoy hearing his compliment.
“I don’t lie,” he continued. “I would have been quite happy to have reclined in my seat and listened to you all evening.”
“Och, that’s very nice of you to say.” She craned her neck and looked at him. His face was peppered by the dark shadow of a new beard, giving him a rather devilish look. “I remember you played the pipes rather well. Do you oft have a chance to play them of late?”
He picked up a lock of her hair and drew it across his nose, as if he couldn’t get enough of her scent. “Definitely not as of late—the occasional fete or funeral is about all I can manage. Bagpipes are a bit clumsy to tote around on the back on my horse.”
She chuckled. “I remember when you and Duncan used to practice in the hall at Kilchurn.”
He trumpeted out his nose. “Don’t remind me. We sounded like a pack of howling cats.”
She rolled with laughter at the memory of it. “Especially Duncan. I don’t think he ever got the hang of it.”
“Nay, piping didn’t have enough action for him. He’d make every excuse not to practice.”
“Then why did you become so good at it?”
Eoin smirked stared off across the chamber. “I guess when I think about my days of fostering with so many talented lads, piping was something I could do better than the others. Duncan, Sean, your brother, John, and I were quite a foursome, and very competitive. But not a one could touch me when it came to the bagpipes and knowing that made me want to practice all the more.”
“Funny, but I always thought you were the best at everything. You were the only one who could give Duncan a walloping in the sparring ring.”
“Och, believe me, he doled out plenty. If I had to choose a victor after all our years of clashing swords, I’d say we were pretty evenly matched. But he’s a year older than I. That made a difference in the beginning.” Eoin held up his finger. “Though not with the piping.”
Helen threaded her fingers through Eoin’s and marveled at how much larger he was than her—in every way. His hands were enormous and made hers appear almost childlike. Odd, but she couldn’t even recall what Aleck’s hands looked like, or whether they were large or small. Most certainly, she hadn’t ever shared such a tender moment with him. Such a pity. And I will stop thinking about that vile man from here out.
“What else do you like to do?” Eoin asked.
Helen blinked, drawing herself back to the enjoyment of the moment. “I love to read. Mother always said if she didn’t find something for me to do, I would spend every waking hour with my nose in a book.”
“If only there were a plethora of books available for such an endeavor.”
“My sentiments exactly.” She brushed her fingers along the fine dark hairs on his arm. “I must have read every book in Kilchurn’s library dozens of times.”
“My word, you do love to read.”
“Aye. Gyllis brought a book for me to read just the other day—a romantic tale.”
“Now that sounds interesting.” He kissed her temple. “Would you read to me?”
“You wouldn’t grow bored?”
“Not if you were reading, my love.”
Helen slipped off the bed, tiptoed into the main chamber and retrieved the book from the table. When she returned, Eoin had situated the candelabra to provide good light, and arranged the pillows for comfort.
How wonderful it was to be with a man who actually cared enough to do simple things like fluffing the pillows.
He opened his arms and beckoned her to him. “Come and tell me what this story’s about.”
“It would be my pleasure, sir knight.” Helen climbed up and snuggled into his arms. She opened the cover and read the title. “The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle.” She looked at Eoin and grinned. “The story begins when the mystical knight, Sir Gromer Somer Joure, challenges King Arthur to discover what women desire most, or face dire consequences.”
He rested his chin on her shoulder and peered at the pages. “You have me entranced already.”
“Oh, believe me, it gets so much more riveting.”
As Helen read, Eoin listened to every word as if he were captivated by the fairy tale. How a rugged and powerful warrior such as the Chieftain of Clan Gregor could be completely enthralled by one of her books amazed her. He suited her in every way. He treated her respectfully and he loved Maggie. He’d shown her what it was like for a man and a woman who were truly in love to express their feelings in the joining of their bodies. When she lay with Eoin it was not sinful. Their love was a gift from heaven and she would cherish every moment they shared for the rest of their days.
The following day was too cold for a bath outside and Helen asked Eoin to bring the wooden basin inside. “Miss Maggie’s skin is chafing. I know they say ’tis bad to bathe a bairn more than once a month, but where Maggie’s concerned, her skin always looks better after a bath.”
“I say do whatever is best for the lass.” Eoin put the big basin beside the fire and picked up a bucket. “I’ll go to the burn and fill this.”
“Thank you.” Helen looked in the kettle suspended over the fire. “The water’s nearly boiled.”
From her rug, Maggie clapped her hands.
“Are you looking forward to the bath?”
“Babababababababa.”
“I agree.” Helen lifted the babe into her arms. “I rather enjoy a tub of warm water, myself.”
The wind whipped through the door before Eoin stepped inside. “My oath, I think we may have our first snow soon.”
Helen shivered. “Oh no. We cannot weather a harsh wi
nter this year.”
“’Tis still early.” He strode across the floorboards and dumped the bucket of water into the basin. “If we do see snow, it should only be a dusting and will be gone by the morrow.”
“I suppose it is God’s will, whatever happens.” Helen inclined her head toward the kettle. “Would you please pour in the hot water as well?”
“My pleasure m’lady.”
Once the bath was filled, Eoin swirled his hand in the water. “’Tis nice and warm. Perhaps I should set another kettle to boiling in case…ah…” The brawny Highlander could make her melt with a single arch of his eyebrow.
Helen chuckled. “I don’t suppose it would be proper to bathe in front of the wee one.”
“Are you jesting? I doubt she’d mind.”
Helen set the bairn in the tub while Eoin headed outside with the kettle. “He’s a bit brazen to suggest each of us strip down and bare our nether parts in the main chamber.”
Maggie bubbled and splashed her hands in the water.
“You seem to think there’s nothing wrong with that idea in the slightest.” Helen reached for a cake of soap. “I’ll tell you, nothing of the like would have been allowed at Kilchurn Castle. Why, if one of my mother’s daughters so much as left her chamber wearing but a shift, she would be sorely punished.”
“Bubub,” Maggie replied, reaching for the soap.
Helen held it out. The bairn squeezed the cake with both hands. The blasted think slipped up and hit Helen between the eyes. “You little rascal.”
Maggie chirped with laughter.
Eoin pushed through the door and hastened to the hearth. “I’ll just add a couple of logs to the fire. ’Tis really starting to blow a gale.”
Helen used a cloth to finish bathing Maggie and avoid further incidents with the soap.
Eoin finished his task and sat across from her. A rolling laugh snorted through his nose. “What happened to you?”
Helen touched her fingers to her forehead and wiped off a blob of soap. “You think that’s funny do you?”
Maggie splashed her hands and water sloshed across Eoin’s shirt. He gaped at the bairn. “So now you’re after me are you?” He dipped his fingers in the water and flicked it at Helen. “I think Miss Maggie rather enjoys getting us wet.”
As if on cue, Maggie clapped both hands in the water and, with rolling laughter, doused them both.
“Look at this.” Helen gestured to her soaked apron with a snort. “I do believe the wee lass wants us to join her whether ’tis proper or nay.”
27
Aleck had wasted no time establishing his rule over his new lands on the Isle of Islay. Only after he’d felt confident there would be no retribution by the locals did he finally head for home to celebrate his victory at Mingary. Everything had fallen into place for him in the past month. Aleck threw his head back and laughed. He cared not what his men might think. He’d put up with Eoin MacGregor’s contemptuous attitude for six months, but who had come out the champion? Eoin was a lowly chieftain who paid fealty to the Campbells of Glenorchy. The smug bastard didn’t even own a castle and Aleck doubted he could afford to pay a mason to build one.
Aleck laughed again. Oh, how he’d used the MacGregors to fight off Alexander MacDonald’s men. The greatest ruse? Eoin had made it all possible. He and Sir Grant had fought off the henchmen while Aleck raced ahead and challenged Alexander himself. God bless Grant, he was a good hand.
And Eoin had stood aside and allowed Aleck to claim victory. The onion-eyed milksop. He’ll never amount to anything.
Heavy clouds rolled in and the calm seas turned into angry swells, but Aleck wouldn’t allow that minor inconvenience to darken his mood. He’d move Mary to the castle on Islay where she could take charge of the servants. He’d winter with the widow in his arms, but Mingary would always be his primary estate.
He again chuckled. Now that he had won the king’s favor, he needn’t worry about Duncan Campbell. Many women died in childbirth. With his excuse for Helen’s death, she would no longer cause Aleck consternation. Perhaps he could make an alliance with the house of Stewart with Maggie’s hand. God, he hated the name Maggie. The sooner he sent Helen’s bitch away from his lands, the better. At least he would profit from a formidable alliance first, and now that he’d been granted additional lands, he could use a small portion for the child’s dowry to entice the right suitor.
Mayhap the king will be so kind as to grant me an earldom?
By the time Mingary Castle appeared as a grey speck on the horizon, Aleck had convinced himself that, for the rest of his life, Scotland would be his oyster. He would continue to impress the king and continue to gain lands owned by his now distant and disowned relations, the MacDonalds. By the time they laid him to rest, he would be the most powerful man in Scotland, second only to the king himself.
As they approached the fortress, a small birlinn bobbed in the waves, moored near the sea gate. Aleck didn’t recognize the boat and wondered who on earth would pay Mingary a visit so close to St. Crispin’s Day.
Something unpleasant needled at the back of his neck. He glanced at Grant. “Do you recognize that birlinn?”
“Nay.” The henchman frowned and scratched his chin. “Perhaps Lady Helen’s mother has come to call.”
Aleck narrowed his gaze. At times he believed his henchman a bit soft-hearted, especially in matters where Helen was involved. Aleck had frequently reminded Grant that it behooved him to remember who paid his wages—and kept his mother fed. “Hold your tongue and your insolence. The next time you make such an untoward statement, I shall cut that useless thing out.”
“Forgive me, m’lord. I couldn’t help but wonder how Lady Helen has fared during the lengthy duration of our absence.” Grant bowed his head and moved toward the stern.
Blast him, and blast any man who has a soft spot for that woman. Aleck expected to receive word of the birth of his son any day and then he would finally be free to dispose of Helen.
Aleck’s heart twisted. Was that birlinn from Duntulm Castle, bringing word that Mary had delivered his son? Of course. Why shouldn’t his good fortune continue?
Once the galley pulled onto the shore, Aleck hastened toward the keep.
An old guard fell in step beside him. “Welcome back m’laird. I…um…there’s something I should t-tell you.”
Aleck dismissed him with a flick of his wrist. “I see we have guests. I trust it is a messenger from Duntulm.” He walked into the great hall with purpose.
A monk wearing a brown habit stood and bowed. “Sir Aleck MacIain, I presume?”
“Aye.” That his uncle opted to send a cleric struck him as odd. “And what news have you for me?”
“I’ve a missive from the Pope—was told I could deliver it only to you. I’ve been here for a fortnight.”
The grey-haired guard stood in the doorway and wrung his hands, his gaze trailing to the stairwell.
Aleck frowned at the monk. “What the devil would the Pope want with me?”
“I am merely a messenger of God—not of the Devil.”
Plucking the missive from the holy man’s fingers, Aleck examined the stamp. Indeed, it bore the seal of His Holiness. He slid his finger under the wax and shook open the folded velum.
His blood boiled.
He didn’t care if Mary birthed a toad, he would kill Helen for her finch-brained madness. He glared at the nervous sentry. “Did you know about this?”
“T-to what are you referring, m’laird?” Samuel asked with all color draining from his face.
“Did you know Lady Helen applied to the Pope for an annulment?”
“L-lady Helen did that?”
“No, you dull-witted imbecile. She requested to be interred as a saint.” Aleck marched up to the soldier and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.
“I-I’ve been trying to tell you…” Samuel shot a panicked look to the monk. “Lady Helen escaped three months ago.”
“Excuse me? My wife escape
d three months past and this is the first I’ve heard of it? Why in God’s name did I not receive a missive with such disturbing news?” Aleck shook the guard and pushed him away.
Samuel stumbled. “I—”
The monk hastened across the floor. “In using the term ‘escaped’, I can think of nothing else but you were holding your, now annulled wife, prisoner?” The man crossed himself as though he’d uttered blasphemy.
Aleck glared. If he weren’t a holy emissary in the service of the Pope, he’d run the dull-witted swine through. “You, sir, should mind your own affairs.” He pointed in the direction of the sea gate. “You’ve delivered your missive, now be gone with you.”
“Very well, but first I require your signature and seal to recognize your marriage has been dissolved in the eyes of God, and you henceforth have no claim over the Lady Helen of Glenorchy.”
With his nostrils flaring, Aleck drew his dirk from his belt. “I will acknowledge no such thing and I shall cut your tongue out for uttering such ungodly accusations. In fact, I deem your missive a forgery of the most disturbing nature.”
The cleric drew back. “I assure you, I am in the services of His Holiness, Pope Alexander VI, and any actions against me will be considered an act against the Pontiff, the church, and Almighty God himself!”
Aleck raised his dirk and lunged. “Be gone with you afore I make good my threat.”
The monk hastened to the door. “You will be severely punished for this come the Day of Judgment.”
With a bellowing roar, Aleck started after the bumbling magpie.
Some errant cur grabbed his arm and stopped him. Blindly, MacIain reeled around with a fist.
Sir Grant blocked the blow and clamped his fingers tighter around Aleck’s wrist, making the dirk drop to the floorboards. “All your good deeds will be for naught if the king hears you’ve attacked a Benedictine monk who delivered a document from the Pope.”
Aleck jerked his arm away and rubbed it. “I’d like to wrestle that bastard to the floor and cut out his tongue.”
