Enchantress Mine (59 page)

With a grin he stood, shaking the excess water from his long body, taking the rough cloth she handed him to dry off his head and his skin. The anteroom was chilly, but when he again reentered the bedchamber, he found she had closed the wooden shutters upon the single window that lit the room, and a small fire burned within the tiny corner fireplace. For a moment he did not see her, and then as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he found her comfortably settled upon the big bed, nude.

“Now, my lord, having done my wifely duty by seeing to your cleanliness, I will now attend to your other needs if you would have me do so.”

He let his eyes travel over her in leisurely fashion. The child to be born in a few months’ time had already rounded her belly pleasantly. For some reason she looked lusher to his eye than he could seem to remember her. She was infinitely tempting, and even the faint doubt niggling deep within his mind could not deter his desire for her.

Leaning upon an elbow, Mairin looked up at him. The bucket of cold water that she had dumped over him had certainly not dampened his desire for her. His manhood thrust straight out from his body. Her violet eyes twinkled as she fastened her gaze upon it, and then looked up to meet his smoldering glance. “Not even some willing serf wench, my lord?” she teased him.

“Nay, enchantress,” he said softly, and lowered himself to the bed beside her. Their lips met in a tender kiss, and then another and another. Gently he pressed her back into the bed, kissing soft kisses upon her cheekbones, her eyelids, along the side of her face to the shadowed hollow beneath her earlobe which he then nibbled.

Mairin felt herself relaxing for the first time in months. It was as if they had never been parted, and she sighed with pleasured contentment. Reaching up she stroked the back of his neck with her hand.

“There is no one for me but you, enchantress,” he whispered in her ear. His lips traveled along the line of her shoulder, and then moved on to her beautiful breasts which in her pregnancy were extremely sensitive. He kissed their rigid little nipples, and then he began to lick each one in its turn. His tongue seemed almost hard, and as it lapped at her tender flesh, his hands caressed her body, kneading at a breast, smoothing over her torso. He turned her against him so that her bottom pressed against his manhood, and for several long sweet minutes he simply fondled her breasts. Then he gently enclosed her belly within his two hands and, to his surprise, he felt the faint, fluttering movement of the child.

“He kicks hard for someone so small,” Josselin said softly.

“He will need to be strong, my love,” she answered him, and turned herself so that they faced one another.

“I would have you,” he said to her, “but only if you do not think it would hurt the child.”

“We did not hurt Maude. Indeed, I believe our innocent desire for one another is good for the child.” She opened her thighs to him, and he slid between them, easing one of her legs under him and the other over him.

Reaching down, Josselin touched her with his fingers and found that she was moist and ready for him. Tenderly he penetrated her, and the look of joy upon her face as his pulsing manhood filled her brought him almost to tears. Her violet eyes seemed to fill her pale face, and when he saw the glistening silver beads of her own tears upon that fair face, he knew that she felt as deeply as did he. Together they loved one another with gentle passion until they were transported together by ecstasy into that enraptured world known only to lovers.

Afterward as she lay sleeping, sated and content with his lovemaking, Josselin gazed down upon his slumbering wife, and asked himself how he could possibly doubt her. If she said the child was his, it was his—and yet the tiniest shred of doubt niggled at him. He, himself, had been born a bastard, but there had been no doubt as to who his parents were. His mother had been above reproach in her morals. She had never known another man but his father. He had to forget. He had to swallow his doubts, for if he did not, he would lose his wife, and Mairin, he realized, meant more to him than anyone, or anything else in the world.

The Scots court lacked the sophistication and the elegance of King William’s court, but it had a rough charm that Josselin found himself enjoying. The influence of young Queen Margaret was beginning to be felt, however, and the wives and daughters of the nobility found they liked the delicacy, the good manners, and the charm the queen had brought with her. Away from the king’s house, though, the men behaved as they had always behaved. Josselin found himself hunting for stag and game birds, and fishing for salmon and trout with Angus Leslie and his friends throughout most of the summer.

He returned each evening relaxed and content, and Mairin would bathe him as she had that first day. Their evenings were spent within the Great Hall eating and socializing with their new friends, listening to the pipers who played wild and haunting tunes upon their instruments that could set a strong man to weeping, and watching the men dancing dances so old that their real meanings had been lost somewhere in the mists of time.

The king had a bard, an old man who stood six feet, six inches in height, had a mane of snow white hair, and a voice as clear and pure as mountain air. His name was Seosaidh mac Caimbeul, and when he sang his stories of days past, battles won, and loves lost, there was a silence in the Great Hall so deep that a man might drown within it.

The king’s infant son, Edward, thrived at his mother’s breast, and the court rejoiced with Malcolm Ceann Mor and his wife. Margaret’s labor had been relatively easy and trouble-free, and she was anxious to have more children. Her friendship for Mairin had not abated and, as Mairin had been by her side, so she promised would she be by Mairin’s side when her time came. Both Mairin and Josselin had acknowledged the fact that their child would be born in Edinburgh, for the wedding of the queen’s sister would not be celebrated until close to the end of August.

Angus Leslie had thanked Mairin over and over again for giving him the courage to approach Christina. As Mairin had predicted, he had quickly become a man in love, and having the love so eagerly returned by the flaxen-haired princess had been almost more happiness than he could bear. Seeing them together made Mairin happy, a happiness that was increased by her own joy at having been reunited with her husband.

The royal wedding was a happy occasion for the Scots court. The late summer weather was perfect—clear and warm—rather than misty and dank.

“ ’Twill be guid grouse hunting soon,” remarked Angus during the feasting that accompanied his marriage celebration. “Will ye come to Glenkirk, Joss?”

“I would like to, Angus, but the child is due shortly, and then as soon as Mairin feels we can travel, we must return to England. I should be there now overseeing the castle I am building, and Mairin is anxious about Maude. The child will probably not remember her. Only one thing has kept us here, and now that your wedding has been celebrated, the king will set a date for the trial by combat of Eric Longsword.”

“He’s been allowed to practice under guard, ye know,” said Angus.

“I know. I asked the king to allow him that privilege. I will not fight with a man who has been kept inactive in a dark cell for several months. It would not be honorable.”

“Is it honorable, my lord de Combourg, to keep a bridegroom from his bride?” The princess Christina had come up beside them to slip her hand onto her husband’s arm. She was a very pretty girl, and particularly radiant this day in cloth-of-gold gown, pearls braided into her flaxen hair.

Angus Leslie brushed her forehead with a kiss. “I promise never to ignore ye again, lassie,” he said lovingly.

Josselin smiled and, unnoticed, slipped away from the bridal couple to seek his wife. He found her sitting quietly with the queen. There was a luminescent quality about Mairin these days that seemed to grow even as her belly grew with the child. She seemed more content than she had in months. Reaching her, he bent and kissed the top of her red-gold head. “Your matchmaking is to be commended, lady. I have never seen a happier couple.”

“But for ourselves,” she answered him pertly, looking up at him with a smile.

“God works his will in varied ways, does he not?” said the queen. “I wonder, if Mairin had not pointed it out to us, whether we would have seen Christina’s love for Angus Leslie. Like me, she might have gone on believing she was destined for the church, and that isn’t the case at all.”

“Seeing little Edward so robust and filled with life,” replied Mairin, “I know it was God’s will that you wed with the king.”

“What is this about the king?” demanded Malcolm Ceann Mor, coming up to join their little group.

“We were discussing the will of God, and how that will has brought us all great happiness because we listened and obeyed our Lord,” answered the queen.

“Think ye that I am God’s instrument, lady?” teased the king. “I will admit to having a goodly instrument, but I never considered that it was doing God’s will. Perhaps I have been wrong.”

“My lord!” The queen blushed rosy, but she nonetheless scolded her husband, “Beware of sacrilege lest God punish you for such heedless words in a manner you might not like.”

“Heaven forfend,” chuckled the king. Then he grew serious, and he turned to Josselin. “This matter between Eric Longsword and yourself. Ye are determined to trial by combat?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“So be it then, Josselin de Combourg. You will meet yer enemy on the first day of September. Are ye agreed?”

“Aye,” came the short reply. “The sooner the better, for we must get home to Aelfleah.”

“If you fight upon the first and sustain no serious injuries, my lord, we might depart for home several days afterwards,” said Mairin.

“What of the child? Would it be safe? I thought you meant to stay here until its birth.”

“The child is due toward the end of the month. If we traveled slowly and carefully, I think we could reach Aelfleah in time. I think I should rather take that chance, Josselin, and be home for the birth.”

“Let us wait and see, Mairin,” he answered her. “I don’t want to endanger you in any way.”

It warmed her heart that he was so careful and considerate of her welfare and that of the child. The danger was minimal. It was his life that concerned her. This combat in which he would engage to assuage his honor could not be a mounted combat, for Eric Longsword had not been trained in such warfare. Mounted combat was something the Normans had brought to England. Therefore, the two men would fight a hand-to-hand combat on foot using swords. Only death would end the battle.

“I do not want you watching our combat,” Josselin told his wife the night before the trial.

“What kind of a woman do you think I am that I would not stand proud while you slay our enemy?” she demanded of him.

“You are near to term with the child. You have never seen a trial by combat, have you?”

She shook her head. “Nay.”

“It is a fight to the death, Mairin. Our weapons will not be blunted to prevent serious injury. Both Eric Longsword and I will enter the arena knowing full well that only one of us is to come out alive, and even if, God forbid, I do not survive, Eric’s death is already a certainty, for King Malcolm will have him executed.”

“Then why even bother to fight him, Josselin?”

“We have been over this before, Mairin. Our honor must be avenged. As for Eric, he will seek to kill me because he feels if he cannot have you then I should not either.”

She shuddered, then said, “Men are fools, I think, but then as the queen would undoubtedly say, God has given us women no other choice.”

Josselin laughed and put his arms about her. “Do not fret, enchantress. God is on my side in this matter. I will triumph over Eric Longsword.”

She pulled away from him irritably. “I will see that your squire, Loial, has all your equipment in good order,” and she moved away from him.

“She is afraid,” said Dagda, who had been standing near them, and had heard everything.

“I wish she would not watch tomorrow.”

“I regret you cannot stop her, my lord, but if you cannot, then you must put her out of your mind and concentrate upon the business of killing Eric Longsword. Do not allow your fears for Mairin to take over your mind or you will not be able to keep control of yourself. You could lose your life.”

Josselin nodded. “I know,” he said, “but I will not lose, Dagda. Even if he kills me, I will kill him first.”

“Do not speak of dying, my lord. It is bad luck. Tomorrow you will meet Eric Longsword upon the field of combat, and you will slay him as quickly and as cleanly as you can.”

Mairin could not sleep that night. Restlessly she paced the small antechamber, and finally unable to be contained by those four walls, she picked up her cloak and hurried to the chapel. Kneeling in the calm serenity of the holy place, she felt calmer. Margaret had been responsible for the little chapel, actually a small stone room within a tower of the king’s house. It was a simple place with its carved oak altar upon which two golden candlesticks with pure wax tapers now burnt. As she completed her rosary, she became aware of another within the little chapel, and looked to see the queen’s confessor, Father Turgot, standing before her.

“Would you like me to pray with you, my lady Mairin?” he asked her. He was a stern, but kindly man.

“Please,” she answered him, and he knelt with her.

When they had finished their prayers he asked her, “Shall I hear your confession, my lady?”

“Oh, yes!” she told him, honored that he should ask her, for he usually heard no confession but the queen’s. She was suddenly very aware that she had not been to confession since her arrival in Edinburgh. What would Father Turgot think of her? Placing her hands in his she began the words of contrition, and if the priest was shocked by what she told him, he gave no sign of it.