Highland Conqueror (13 page)

“Enough, wife,” he said as he gently tugged her hand away. “Nearly too much.”

“I should not do that?” Jolene suddenly feared she had been too bold, or, worse, had caused discomfort instead of pleasure.

“Ye can do it whene’er ye wish. Tis just that the feel of your soft hand is a pleasure I cannae enjoy for too long.” He smiled faintly at her look of confusion. “I would be done, lass, ere I had given ye any pleasure at all.”

“Oh.” She blushed as he began to unlace her night shift. “Should we not move to the bed?”

“Nay. I have me a craving to love ye right here on this soft sheepskin before the fire.”

She felt a shiver of anticipation go through her body as he carefully removed her shift. Sigimor and the passion they shared were swiftly stripping away her reserve, her uncertainty, and even her modesty. Although her blushes still burned her skin, she felt no more hesitation whenever desire stirred within her. When he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, she moved against him and savored the feel of his warm flesh against her own. She realized that, not only did she no longer feel any hesitation, she was more than willing to go wherever he led her. She was even beginning to have a few ideas of her own.

When he ended the kiss, she was not surprised to hear herself murmur a protest for she did love his kisses. It quickly changed to a murmur of pleasure as he kissed his way to her breasts, all the while caressing her body with his big, strong hands. The feel of his mouth upon her breasts made her tremble, her need growing with every flick of his tongue and each tug of his mouth as he suckled.

The feelings he could stir within her should frighten her, but she found them exhilarating. With each kiss, each caress, Sigimor gave life to an unfettered wildness within her. Jolene decided she liked that part of her, welcomed that woman who let her desire run free. That woman saw no boundaries and heeded no rules. She reached for the pleasure Sigimor offered with both hands and reveled in it. She also tried to return it to
her man in full measure.

For a brief moment, she was puzzled when Sigimor knelt before her instead of pushing her down onto the sheepskin. That confusion faded as he kissed her middle and gently kneaded her bottom. Jolene closed her eyes in pleasure as he slid his hand between her legs. She parted her legs slightly to welcome his caress. She opened her eyes quickly, in shock, when his lips replaced his hand.

“Sigimor?” She called his name in uncertainty more than protest.

“Hush, wife,” he murmured as he kissed her inner thighs. “Gift your husband with this pleasure. Twill be returned to ye twofold, I promise.”

He had not even finished reassuring her when all of her hesitation vanished, that wild sensuous woman within her kicking it aside. Jolene opened herself to his intimate kiss, curling her fingers through his thick hair to steady herself as she trembled beneath the strength of the pleasure washing over her. She cried out for him as she felt her desire begin to peak, but he held her steady, his hands firmly grasping her by the hips, as he drove her to those blinding heights with his mouth.

Jolene was still shaking from the strength of her release when she found herself flat on her back on the sheepskin. A heartbeat later, Sigimor was thrusting himself into her. Her waning passion burst to life once again. She wrapped herself around his strong body, welcoming the ferocity of his love-making as he forced her back up that blissful peak. This time when she shattered and cried out his name, he was with her, his cry of release blending with hers.

It was not until Sigimor had hastily washed them both off and set her in their bed, that Jolene fully regained her senses. That wild, sensual Jolene had fled to parts unknown, leaving plain old Jolene to suffer from an intense bout of mortification. When Sigimor got into bed and pulled her into his arms, she pressed her blush-seared face against his chest. She could almost feel him looking at her, but could not muster the fortitude to meet his gaze.

“Ah, my poor wee wife,” he said, grinning down at the top of her head. “So wild and free when your blood runs hot and so embarrassed by that when it cools, aye?”

She was not sure she appreciated how accurately he had judged her feelings. “Well, how else should I feel after such a gross lapse in proper conduct?”

“Pleasantly sated? Warm and happily drowsy? Grateful that your mon is such a wondrous lover he can make ye scream?”

“I did
not
scream.”

“Och, aye, ye did. My ears are still ringing. I think there were a few
mores
and
dinnae stops
as weel as my name.”

That was more teasing than anyone ought to have to endure, Jolene decided. She reached down and pinched him right where his leg joined with his body, one of the very few softer spots on his body. His grunt of pain pleased her. There was no denying that he could make her crazed with his loving, but there was no need of his boasting about it.

“Cruel mistress,” he said and began to trail his fingers up and down her back as he savored the remnants of desire still lingering in his sated body.

Jolene was so passionate, so easily enflamed by his loving, she inspired him. He would never admit it to her, but he had never been a particularly adventurous or creative lover. Most of the women he had bedded had been the sort a man bought and paid for. He would reach a point where hunger for a woman drove him to seek one out and he would
do so at the nearest inn, tavern, or alehouse. He would select a woman who was both buxom and relatively clean, then bed her. Although he had felt obliged to give her pleasure, he had done only the barest minimum needed to accomplish that. Those women had been no more than a warm body to him in many ways and, selfish though it was, most of his interest had been in gaining his own release from the need that gripped him. If he had not learned that that satisfaction was better if there was some warmth in the woman, he doubted he would have afforded their pleasure what little attention he had.

But Jolene truly inspired him in so many ways. Every gasp she made, every shiver he felt go through her slender body, made him want to enhance her pleasure. The way she yelled his name and how every part of her body seemed affected by her release, inside and out, only made him want to bring her to those heights again and again. In fact, if he could gain a tighter control over his own needs, he would enjoy spending a night seeing how many times he could make her scream. For a moment, he savored the image of loving his wife with his hands and his mouth until she pinned him down and threatened him into riding her hard so that they both found that bliss, together.

He had never used his mouth to bring a woman pleasure before, but he had obviously done it right. Sigimor suspected that knowing he was the only man to ever make love to her added to his enjoyment of pleasuring her in such a way. There were other things he had never done, too, and he was eager to try them with Jolene. There were also a few things he would like her to try on him. His body hardened at the thought and he grinned. Not only was Jolene inspiring him to become a great lover, she was also turning him into a greedy one.

Unfortunately, his greed would have to go unsatisfied, he realized when he looked at her. She was sprawled on top of him like a blanket, sleeping soundly. Considering what they had been through that day, he was not surprised. It was probably only the need to find out who Barbara was that had kept her awake long enough for him to get some loving. He counted himself lucky indeed that she had not fallen ill.

The way she had behaved upon hearing that some woman from his past was hunting him pleased him mightily. Sigimor recognized her sense of possession and had seen the glint of jealousy in her eyes. She was settling down to being his wife, to fully accepting him as her husband. A man ought to be able to build on that, to use a sense of possession and fierce passion to breed love, or, at least, a binding affection. It troubled him a little that he wanted that so badly, but he did, and he was determined to get it.

Keeping one arm around Jolene and crossing the other beneath his head, Sigimor thought about Barbara. Although he had not been a virgin when he met her, she was his first true lover, the first who had not been some common wench bought for an hour or more. She had been the first woman to stir thoughts of love and marriage. Her betrayal had struck him hard, but, he realized, it had really only hurt his pride and struck a nearly killing blow to whatever vanity he had had. It had also driven him back to the sort of woman who wanted to see a man’s coin first, a crude but honest business deal. The occasional thoughts he had had of Barbara had been no more than the musings of a man who slept alone far too often and had, for a brief time in his youth, thought he had found his mate. He kissed the top of Jolene’s head. This time he had no doubt. He just had to make her see it, too.

And Barbara could cause some trouble for him in that endeavor. Sigimor had the strongest feeling that Jolene was not secure in her womanhood, in her ability to keep her
man satisfied. A woman like Barbara would sniff out that weakness in a heartbeat. She could easily destroy whatever advances he had made in binding Jolene to him in heart and mind as well as body.

He could only hope he was wrong in thinking that Barbara was hunting him, but he feared he was exactly right. Sigimor yawned and closed his eyes. If Barbara still had all the ties she used to have, if she was still accepted by all her kinsmen and allies, it would be unwise to refuse her his hospitality if she arrived at Dubheidland’s gates. It might not hurt to try and find out ways to reassure a woman when a past lover tries to whisper poison in her ear. Of course, he could just keep Jolene in his bed until Barbara gave up and went home. Sigimor fell asleep still smiling with pleasure over that plan.

“Harold is still lurking about.”

Jolene sighed and looked at Sigimor as he strode into the solar where she and Fiona played with the children. She had enjoyed the past two days of peace, false as it was. It did not surprise her that Harold had followed them to Scarglas, but she had hoped his inability to reach them would discourage him. Either that or the constant harrassment of the MacFingals. No one told her exactly what they were doing, but they certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves.

“Mayhap that is because he is short of horses upon which to ride away,” she said, settling Fiona’s infant son Ahearn more comfortably in her arms. “Those
were
his horses I saw brought in yestereve, were they not?” She watched in some amusement as Sigimor was suddenly besieged by Reynard, Ciaran, and several other little boys.

“Aye, lass, they were,” he replied, then turned his attention to tickling and wrestling with the boys.

Watching him, Jolene realized he loved children and they loved him. He would be such a good father, she thought as she rubbed little Ahearn’s back, and felt a strange new hunger stir to life inside her. She had always dreamed of having children and now she badly wanted to have Sigimor’s child. Her life just kept getting more and more complicated, she thought ruefully. Harold, a new husband, a woman from Sigimor’s past hunting him down, and, now, a sudden craving for a child from a man she was still not sure she could stay with.

Reynard’s happy laugh caught her attention. He was so blissfully unaware of how much danger he was in. The child was thoroughly enjoying the other children and she realized he had never had much chance to play with other children. As the heir, he had been kept apart from the servants’ children as much as possible. Peter would have been appalled to see his precious heir playing with the bastard children of the old laird MacFingal and his sons, many of them born of common women. In his way, Peter had been a little too proud of his place in the world. He had bred three children among his tenants and servants, yet had never allowed them near his son, just as their father had kept his bastard children away from them. She was ashamed that she had accepted that, seeing it now as grossly unfair. Reynard would obviously have loved having other children about, and who better than his own siblings, illegitimate or not. If she had any say in Reynard’s life when this was over, she would see that that changed.

When Fiona came to collect her sleepy child, Jolene reluctantly handed him over. The brief look of sympathy Fiona gave her told Jolene that the woman understood the sudden need she felt. As Fiona left with the baby, several of the boys trailing after her, Jolene crossed her arms in a vain attempt to lessen the feeling of emptiness she suffered.

Sigimor shooed the boys away and turned his attention to Jolene. He wondered at the fleeting look of sadness he caught on her face before she smiled at him. The mention of Harold usually brought a look of fear.

“So your cousins have not managed to drive Harold away?” she asked as he joined her by the fire and sat down in the heavy oak chair facing her. “I assume that was their intention.”

“Some of it,” replied Sigimor, smiling when the boys suddenly hooted with excitement and ran out of the room. “Off to conquer new lands, I suspect.”

“Reynard is enjoying the company of other children. I suddenly realized that he was kept very much alone, yet ’tis clear he likes to be with other boys, to play with them, and get loud and dirty.”

“There werenae any other children at Drumwich?”

“There were, but none were equal in birth. Peter had three other children, but he did naught for them save make sure they did not starve and always had a roof o’er their heads. My father did the same with his bastards. I was just chiding myself for simply accepting that arrangement.”

“I doubt ye could have changed their minds.”

“Probably not. Your uncle is a very odd fellow,” she began.

“Ye will hear no argument about that.”

She briefly smiled, then continued, “Odd and clearly without restraint. Yet, one cannot fault him on how he cares for his children,
all
of his children. Most lords ignore those children bred outside of the marriage bed, or, as Peter and my father did, toss a few coins their way and think themselves most generous. Yet your uncle gathers them all in, raising them right along with his legitimate sons, and offering them a chance at a better life. He does it with those people who have been cast aside, too.”

“Aye, my uncle collects the lost and the outcast. Always has. He also makes more enemies than friends which is why Ewan is the laird now. Poor Ewan thought his father somewhat mad until Fiona pointed out that he wasnae, that he was simply a spoiled child in a mon’s body.” He grinned when she laughed, but then quickly grew serious again, reaching out to clasp her hand in his. “We will slip away tonight, lass.”

“Ah, I had wondered if that was why you had sought me out and spoke of Harold. After all, he has been about for the whole time we have been here.”

“Aye, I was hoping a clear opportunity would present itself, but it didnae. E’en so, we must leave ere Harold brings our fight to these halls.”

Jolene nodded, knowing he was right, yet reluctant to leave Scarglas. She had been a little overwhelmed at first, but that had faded quickly. For two days she had felt safe, been comfortable, and had found a good friend in Fiona. All that despite Harold’s presence. She hated to give that up, to return to the wearying chore of eluding Harold until they reached Dubheidland where she would have to confront another large group of strangers.

She grimaced faintly as she thought of Reynard. He would not be pleased to leave his new friends and the fun he had playing with them. It did not help that he was really too young to fully comprehend the necessity of leaving.

“Ye will like Dubheidland, lass,” Sigimor said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

“Oh, I am sure I will. I was just thinking that Reynard will not be pleased with this news.”

“Ah, there is that. Do ye want me to speak with him, lass?”

“That would be cowardly of me,” she said, resisting the urge to immediately agree and send him off to see to it.

“Nay. Why should ye want to give him bad news, and that is how he will see it, especially when it will be verra hard to make him understand. Tis my plan, so I will tell him. And, I will make sure Ciaran and a few of the other lads are about when I do.”

“How will that help?”

“With the other lads there he will be wanting to take the news like a mon.”

“Like a man? He is barely three years old!”

“Doesnae matter. He willnae want the lads to think him naught but a wee bairn. And, the older lads will ken that this is how it must be, far better than he will. Reynard is a verra clever lad, better spoken and able to understand a lot more than one would expect of a child his age. Howbeit, sometimes children can get another child to understand things better than any adult can. So the other lads will tell him the truth as they see it after I leave them.”

“In a language he can understand,” Jolene said and nodded. “Then coward I shall choose to be. You may tell him.”

Sigimor sprawled back in his seat and grinned at her. “Ye still look a wee bit guilty. Dinnae thrash yourself o’er it. Ye have had to give the lad a lot of bad news of late and get him to do a lot of things he didnae want to or understand. More than your share. No harm in taking a wee rest from it.”

“I suppose not, though it did not trouble me so much before. I think, ’tis just that it has been a peaceful two days and he is so happy right now.”

“Aye, most like. Now, why did ye look so sad when Fiona took her bairn and I came to sit with ye?”

Caught up in her thoughts of all poor Reynard was being forced to bear because of Harold, Jolene spoke the full truth without thinking. “Ahearn felt so nice in my arms. I am three and twenty, childless when most women my age have already borne a few children.” She blushed as she began to realize what she was confessing. “It was nothing important.”

Sigimor stood up, leaned over and lightly kissed her. “Tis important if ’tis making ye feel sad. Ye were just feeling a natural, womanly craving for your own bairn.” He winked at her as he started out of the room. “Dinnae worry. Ye will be holding your own bairn soon. Aye, I will give ye as many as ye want.”

“Boastful fool,” she said, but he just laughed.

She sighed and looked around the now empty room. Upon her arrival, she would never have thought she would be so reluctant to leave in only two days, but she was. Jolene knew some of that was because she could not be sure she would ever see any of these people ever again. If she told anyone she knew in England about Scarglas and its people, they would think she was insane for wanting to stay, yet she had felt safe here. And welcomed, despite the old laird’s constant grumbling about her being English. She was especially going to miss Fiona, the first true friend she had ever had. They were like souls and had known it instantly, a rare thing that she was loathe to give up.

Then she thought of Sigimor’s boastful promise to give her as many
bairns
as she wanted and nearly wept. Although she had only just acknowledged that craving, it had already settled itself deep into her heart. Yet, she was still not certain she could stay with him and so she dared not dream of such things as little redheaded babies. Even as common sense told her to put aside such thoughts for now, however, the craving remained. So did the sorrow over the chance that she would have to walk away from such dreams.

Afraid she was thinking herself into a deep melancholy, Jolene got up and went to pack her things. This was all Harold’s fault, she told herself, grasping for a cleansing, righteous anger to banish her heartache. If not for his greed, she would still be at
Drumwich, still have Peter, and be preparing herself for some acceptable marriage. She would not have met Sigimor or Fiona. She would certainly not be grieving over the loss of redheaded babies she had not even conceived yet. By the time she reached her bedchamber, she was pleasantly enraged, her sorrow forgotten, and her mind filled with thoughts of all the ways Harold could be forced to pay for his crimes.

“Ye best keep that one,” said Ewan as he moved to stand beside Sigimor in the torchlit bailey.

Sigimor took his gaze from his wife and Fiona saying their farewells in the damp predawn, and frowned at Ewan. “Why wouldnae I?”

“Matters arenae fully settled, are they? E’en when ye put an end to the threat Harold presents, the future of that wee lad is still in question. Because of the promise your wife made to her dying brother, that means her future is uncertain, too.”

“Her future is with me. She is my wife.”

“She is also guardian to that bairn, although no law would recognize her as such. Howbeit, that is what her brother made her when he set the life and welfare of his heir into her wee hands. Dinnae close your eyes to that hard truth.”

“She and I will face what needs doing when the time comes,” Sigimor said and ignored Ewan’s soft curse. “Our two lasses became close verra quickly, aye?”

“Aye,” Ewan replied, accepting the change in subject. “Fiona says they are like souls or some such thing, and saw that in each other almost immediately. She also says that, although your wife doesnae see it, she was verra much alone for most of her life. Fiona then told me that Jolene found this pack of fools a bit overwhelming, so ye had best be prepared for her to feel the same when she first sets foot in Dubheidland. She and the lad were kept apart from others, or so Fiona believes. Her brother was obviously verra blood proud, keeping the lines between the laird and all others verra clearly drawn.”

Sigimor nodded. “Jolene said as much earlier today. Tis a wonder that she isnae tainted by that, isnae haughty at all.” He shrugged. “Mayhap that is why she was alone. She was set in a place she didnae really fit in.”

“Could be. Weel, she fits now, eh? And Fiona wanted me to tell ye that, if ye dinnae keep this one, she will do ye an injury. Of course, I told her that, if ye lost this lass, she wouldnae have to trouble herself, that ye would be bloodied enough already.”

A little troubled by his cousin’s insight, Sigimor just grunted. He did not want to think of what would happen once Harold was dealt with. He had a plan and he would concentrate on that for now. Jolene was his mate and she
would
love him. It was not until he heard Ewan chuckle that he realized he had spoken that last thought aloud.

“A good plan, Cousin,” said Ewan, “and I wish ye luck with it.” He looked at Fiona and smiled faintly. “If ye do get her to say she loves ye, try to get her to say
always
. Your sister’s mon agrees with me. Tis something ye dinnae ken ye want ’til ye hear it. Aye, get her to say
always
.”

Sigimor opened his mouth to ask why, then quickly closed it. The word had already settled into his mind and heart. He
would
hear Jolene say she loved him and he
would
hear her promise him
always
.

“Heed me, Jolene,” said Fiona, holding both of Jolene’s hands in hers, “think verra, verra hard ere ye make your choices. Aye, that wee lad is verra important, but so is what
ye have with Sigimor.”

“I am not sure
what
I have with Sigimor,” Jolene said.

“And ye may nay be sure when the time comes to choose, either. Sigimor is like my Ewan and my brother Connor. My brother Diarmot, too, in many ways. They fought love hard, though they couldnae let go of the women who stirred such unwanted feelings within them. Aye, and sweet words arenae their way, either. Ye have to look at what they
do
, how they act.”

“But, how can I trust my own judgment? I could very easily see only what I want to see, not what is truly there.”

Fiona smiled in complete understanding. “It
is
difficult, but nay impossible. And, if a mon like Sigimor gives ye his heart, ’tis yours forever. When such men love a lass, they love her hard and ne’er waver. They mate, and ’tis truly for life. Few highborn lasses such as we are so blessed in their marriages.”