A Dangerous Love (48 page)

Then, leaning over him, she began to lick his body with her hot little tongue. “I will soothe you, my husband, and you will go off tomorrow knowing you must return home to me.” She nipped at his nipples with her teeth, then licked them quickly before moving down his torso. She kissed his belly, and her tongue foraged within his navel.

He groaned with delight at her passion, but then he took charge, catching her in his arms and kissing her until she was dizzy. He felt her hands caressing him, and, sliding between her soft thighs, he sought for her love jewel with his mouth and tongue, playing with her until her pungent milky juices were flowing. Then, mounting her, he filled her with his lust until they were both re-plete, their bodies tangled together, their hearts beating wildly with desire satisfied.

“It can only be this once tonight, my honey love,” he apologized. “I must keep my strength for the morrow.”

Then, with Adair wrapped in his arms, they slept for several hours.

Conal Bruce awoke with the first scrap of light in the sky. June brought very long days. Outside he heard a birdcall, and then another. Beside him Adair slumbered, curled tightly against him. For several long minutes more he enjoyed the feel of her, the scent of her body in his nostrils. He would carry this memory into the battle to be, wherever and whenever it was fought.

Finally he arose, stifling a groan of regret as he did. He peed in the chamber pot, washed himself in the chamber basin, and dressed quickly. As he was pulling on his boots Adair awoke from her deep sleep.

“Is it time?” she asked him.

“Almost. I’m going to the hall to eat,” he said, bending to give her a quick kiss.

“I will be down shortly,” she said as he left the room.

In the hall the men were gathering. Flora and Grizel were bringing in the trenchers of oat stirabout. Young Jack followed, placing butter, bread, and cheese upon the trestles. Then, along with the women, he helped fill the men’s cups with bitter ale. Conal Bruce slid into his place at the high board.

“You look like you had a good night,” Duncan said with a wicked grin.

“And you look like you had a hard night,” Conal said with an equally wicked grin.

“Agnes wanted to bid us a farewell. Murdoc is still with her. She swears he’ll be with us when we ride out,”

Duncan said. “With Ian’s lot we’ll number fifty. He’s bringing twenty men, and his captain, who was our da’s bastard. They’re only a few months apart in age. Our father got a son on Mam’s serving woman while she was full with Ian. She was furious with him, but she never held it against Tam’s mother.”

“Fortunately our da had no by-blows,” the laird noted. “Mam was very strict. She would have been more than put out with me, the way I treated Adair when I first brought her to Cleit,” Conal Bruce said with a smile.

“She would have been more put out with Adair for not wedding you when you first asked her.” Duncan laughed. “And here is the wicked wench now, come to bid us farewell,” he said. “Good morning, madam.”

Adair busied herself making certain that her husband and the others were well fed. God only knew when they would eat decently again. And then the hall was empty-ing and only Conal Bruce remained. She pressed a bit more bread and cheese on him. “You will be careful,”

she said quietly. “And you will come home to me safely.

We still must make a son for Cleit, my lord.”

“We will,” he promised her. “This business is not apt to take long. It will be fierce, but brief, I am certain. We will have the summer ahead.”

They walked together into the courtyard of the keep, where the men were now mounted and waiting for their laird, young Murdoc among them, looking slightly worn. Adair straightened Conal’s red Bruce plaid, bur-nishing his silver clan badge with her sleeve. He mounted his horse and, bending, kissed her swiftly.

Then, gathering the reins in his gloved hands, the laird of Cleit raised his hand and signaled his troop to depart.

Only once did he glance back at her, and she waved her hand in reply.

Adair stood at the gates of Cleit Keep, watching as her husband and his men rode down the hill. She stood for some minutes gazing as men and horses gradually faded from her view. Then, with a sigh, she ordered the gates of the keep closed, and retired back into the hall to help the women clean up the remains of the morning meal.

The young Beiste shadowed her everywhere in the next few weeks. He never allowed her out of his line of vision, and insisted on sleeping in her bedchamber at night. It was as if he understood that the master of the house was gone, and it was up to him to watch over Adair.

The countryside was suddenly very still, as if waiting for something to happen. They saw no one, even from the heights of the keep, where a man watched the day long and through the night, for with the brief nights there was really no time when they might let down their guard. Adair ate in the kitchens with Elsbeth and the others. During the day she occupied herself with her small gardens. The herbs, both cooking and medicinal, were growing well now. And she had managed to bring life again into the flower garden that had once belonged to the previous lady of the keep. The time passed very slowly, and then one day the watch on the heights called down that there was a rider who appeared to be making his way toward Cleit.

When he was almost to the gates Adair came into the
courtyard. “Do not open the gates until we know who he is,” she said.

“He’s wearing the Hepburn plaid,” the watch called down.

Then the man at arms on the gates opened the small portal window and, peering out, said, “Who are you, and state your business.”

“Hercules Hepburn, with a message from my master to the lady of Cleit,” came the reply.

“Open the gates and let him through,” Adair said.

The man at arms opened half the gate, just enough to allow the rider through. He entered and, dismounting, went immediately to Adair, bowing politely. “My master wanted you to know that all is well,” he said, seeing the concern in her face.

Relief poured through Adair. “Come into the hall, Hercules Hepburn, and have some wine,” she invited the man. He was a huge fellow standing close to seven feet tall.

Inside she poured the rider his wine, watched while he drank it down, and then refilled his goblet as she invited him to sit by the fire. Seating herself opposite him, she leaned forward and asked, “What has happened?

You say my husband is safe?”

“Aye, and the battle decisively won, my lady,” was his reply.

“Let me call our folk into the hall, Hercules Hepburn, so they may hear what you have to say,” Adair said.

Three of the men at arms came, for the other two remained on duty. Elsbeth, Flora, Grizel, and Jack came up from the kitchens. Gathering about Adair and her guest, they waited expectantly for him to speak.

Hercules Hepburn drained half of his second goblet of wine, and began. “At Sauchieburn on the Stirling plain the battle was met. It was fought near Bannockburn, the very site your husband’s ancestor, Robert Bruce, fought a great battle. And in the same month too!” It was obvious Hercules Hepburn was a great storyteller.

“Ahhhhh,” his listeners murmured, fascinated.

“The Highlands stood for the king. The earls of Huntley and Crawford, their Gordon and Lindsay clansmen, the burghal levees from Edinburgh, and clansmen from many of the northern clans came to support the king,” Hercules Hepburn said. “And there we stood, facing their great army, badly outnumbered, but with the right on our side. Prince James was magnifi-cent. He rallied the forces of Angus and Argyll, Douglases and Campbells, the Hepburns, the Bruces, the Armstrongs, the Homes. Even the bishop of Glasgow sent men to the prince’s aid. Most good border names, but there was one Highland laird who stood out. He was the Leslie of Glenkirk, and he came with his clansmen to support the prince. A tall man who fought like the devil himself.”

“My husband?” Adair said anxiously.

“Alive and well, madam. Not a scratch on him, I am pleased to tell you. But let me continue. The battle went on for several hours, and though outnumbered by the king’s forces our men fought far more fiercely. The Highlanders and the others in the king’s service fell before us, slaughtered by our swords and spears. And it is said that when James the Third saw that the battle would not end in his favor, he fled the fray. At Beaton’s Mill his horse stumbled and threw him, the witnesses reported.

“Two cottage wives, not knowing who he was, but seeing he was injured, dragged him into the mill for his safety. It is reported that he asked for a priest. One of the women ran from the mill, crying for a religious. She returned with a man who claimed to be one. The king asked to be left alone with the cleric in order to make his confession. Shortly afterward the priest departed.

When the two women returned to see what they might do to aid the injured man, they found him stabbed in the heart, dead. They fled screaming from the mill, and sought help from the men coming from the battle.”

“Jesu!”
Adair whispered, and all those listening crossed themselves.

“It is not known who assassinated the old king, but Scotland has a new and undisputed king, James, the fourth Stewart of that name. May God protect him!”

“Aye! God protect our King James!” the assembled responded.

“I thank you for coming and reassuring us that my husband is safe,” Adair said. “Do you know when he will return to Cleit?”

“The king asked those who had supported him to come to see him crowned at Scone on the twenty-fifth day of this month,” Hercules Hepburn answered her.

“Your man will return home to you after the coronation, madam.”

Adair nodded. “You will stay the night?” she asked.

“Nay, but thank you,” he replied. “There is little darkness in June, half the day left, and a fine border moon tonight to ride by. I can reach Hailes, and then I must return to join my master.”

“But you will eat?” Adair tempted him with a smile.

“Aye, a bit of food would be appreciated,” Hercules Hepburn admitted.

Elsbeth fed him, admiring his appetite, for this Hepburn had been well named. He was a big man with a great appetite. And then he had departed Cleit. Before he had left Adair had given him a verbal message for her husband.

“Tell Conal Bruce,” she said, “that he is not to dally amid the festivities of the coronation, for we have business to take care of here.”

“I’ll tell him,” Hercules Hepburn replied, and then, mounting his horse, galloped forth from the keep, his horse heading north once again.

O
n the last day of June, Conal Bruce came home to Cleit. His two brothers and twenty Bruce clansmen rode with him. There were also seventeen Armstrongs in the laird’s party, but the laird of Duffdour was not among them. Adair was in the courtyard to greet her husband and his brothers. They appeared tired and worn. Young Murdoc’s shoulder was bandaged, and Adair could see the bandage needed changing. She insisted on taking him to her apothecary first. He sat silent as she carefully removed his binding and examined the wound. It was a deep slash, but whoever had tended to Murdoc had seen that the injury was well cleaned, and there was no infection, although the edges of the long cut oozed just slightly. She cleansed the injured area, rubbed an ointment made from polenta, mint, and salt mixed with a bit of goose fat into it, and rebandaged the wound with clean strips of cloth.

“You’ll live,” she told him, and he gave her a weak smile.

“It was horrible,” he said softly. “I’ve seen enough blood and carnage to last me a lifetime, Adair. I know a man is supposed to be strong, but I am so glad to be alive. Don’t tell my brothers what I said. I don’t want
them ashamed of me.” His eyes filled with tears that began to slip down his handsome young face.

Adair put her arms about him. “It’s all right, Murdoc.

I won’t tell.”

“I’m the same age as the king, and yet he was so brave,” Murdoc replied.

“I suspect he weeps too in the privacy of his chamber,” Adair said. “All men do, though they will not admit to it. I saw my uncle grieve deeply over the loss of his wife and his little son. Being strong and being a man does not mean you cannot sorrow.”

The hall quickly filled up, and the women were kept busy bringing food and drink to the trestles, the high board having been served first.

Adair waited for Conal to tell her what she wanted to know. Where was Ian Armstrong, and why was Duncan looking so sad? And then she could bear it no longer.

“Where is the laird of Duffdour?” she asked.

“Seated on your left,” Conal Bruce said.

Adair turned to Duncan questioningly.

“My brother was killed at Sauchieburn,” Duncan said. “As he was unwed Duffdour is now mine, and I am its laird. I will be leaving Cleit tomorrow.”

“I am sorry that you have lost your brother,” Adair replied, “and yet that loss has made you a man of property and authority, Duncan.”

“Cleit is my home,” Duncan answered. “I was just a little boy when I came here. I barely remember Duffdour. I did not visit Ian a great deal. He did not like having me about, as he felt it sapped his power to have both our father’s sons in his house. He loved Duffdour, and he will not even be buried there. Like most who fell at Sauchieburn, he was buried on the battlefield where he died.”

“My uncle died on the battlefield at Bosworth,”

Adair said softly. “And my last husband, Andrew Lynbridge, and Dark Walter, my captain, and so many good
Stanton men too. I am sorry, Duncan, but I do understand.”

“Thank you, Adair. I will miss you,” he told her.

“You will have to cease your wicked ways now,
my
lord
,” she addressed him formally. “You are now the laird of Duffdour, and must take a wife to continue your Armstrong family line.”

“But where will I find a woman of such eminent good sense as you, Adair?” he teased her. She had lifted the burden of his sorrow from him with her gentleness and practical nature. And she was right: He was going to have to take a wife.

“She is out there just waiting for you, Duncan, but you’ll not find her at Agnes Carr’s cottage,” Adair teased him back.