Read Just Beyond Tomorrow Online
Authors: Bertrice Small
Just Beyond Tomorrow (16 page)
“Look, my lord, here is the Yule log,” Flanna answered him, neatly changing the subject. She had no intention of getting into a discussion with him about Brae. He had returned it to her and said she might make it habitable again. It would be from there that she would marshal men for King Charles Stuart. Patrick did not want Glenkirk or his Leslies involved, and she would respect that as he had respected her love for Brae.
The guests began to cheer the passage of the great Yule log as it was dragged into the hall to the fireplace above which hung the portrait of the first Patrick Leslie. The three Stuart children sat atop the log as it was brought along, singing an ancient Christmas song in Latin that traditionally accompanied the Yule log. They jumped off the huge timber as it reached the great hearth and helped push it into place. Then Lady Sabrina Stuart took the flame handed to her by Angus and lit the kindling beneath the log. A great shout went up from those present in the Great Hall of Glenkirk.
“Well done, daughter!” Charlie said, and he picked Sabrina up and carried her about the hall, laughing before depositing her once more at the high board with the rest of the family.
“Papa, you missed the lucky bird,” Sabrina said. “He was quite wonderful in his green and his bells, and he jumped every bit as high as you do when he danced.”
“Did he?”
Charlie pretended surprise. “I thought that no one could leap as I do. 'Tis a Stuart trait, or so I am told. My father, Prince Henry, was a fine dancer with a nicely turned leg, my mother has said. Your Uncle Henry would remember, as would your Aunt India.”
Charlie pretended surprise. “I thought that no one could leap as I do. 'Tis a Stuart trait, or so I am told. My father, Prince Henry, was a fine dancer with a nicely turned leg, my mother has said. Your Uncle Henry would remember, as would your Aunt India.”
“I miss the family,” Sabrina said wistfully. “I wish you didn't have to go away, Papa, but I know that cousin Charles needs you.”
“I hae been given to understand that the gentlemen who came wi' the king from France were nae welcome any longer. They are said to be ungodly, Lady Sabrina,” Mr. Edie ventured, and he looked toward the Duke of Lundy. “Is it so, sir?”
“There are those who are not pleased with the king's lifelong companions, it is true, Mr. Edie,” the duke replied, “but they cannot expect the king, who is a loyal and good man, to send away those who have supported him faithfully. Many have grown up with my cousin. I believe it is up to the kirk to lead these men into the ways of righteousness rather than flinging them out into the darkness of their continuing sins. Would you not agree?”
There was a gleam of humor in Mr. Edie's eye as he answered the duke. “I am a simple country parson, my lord. I cannot judge my betters, nor can I instruct them in their behavior.”
“You are a wise man, sir,” the duke replied with a chuckle.
“We live in difficult times,” the minister said quietly, “but here at Glenkirk we are isolated from evil, and we follow the laws of our land. That is all, I believe, God requires of us.”
Around them, and below the high board, the guests ate heartily of the beef, and capon, and salmon that was served up. There was venison, and game pies, and platters of roasted rabbits passed around. Each table had breads, crocks of creamy butter, and small wheels of cheese. The high board had bowls of carrots and peas, and a platter of artichokes that had been steamed in wine. There was wine, ale, and cider aplenty. Then the apple tarts were brought in along with bowls of clotted cream. As Mary had predicted, the children were delirious with their delight at this special treat. And when the food was cleared away, Patrick and Flanna stood before the high board, and distributed the presents to the clansmen, the clanswomen, and the children.
More ale and wine was drunk. A piper began to play. The men began to dance. At first the dances were careful and studied, but then they grew wilder and more passionate. Finally Patrick and Charlie arose. Swords were placed upon the stone floor of the hall. The two brothers began to dance. Patrick was the taller by an inch. His black hair was cropped close. His green-gold eyes glittered as, wrapped in his green kilt with its narrow red and white stripes, he danced amid the crossed swords. A sardonic smile upon his equally handsome face, Charlie Stuart, his dark auburn hair tied back, his amber eyes sparkling, danced with his younger brother wrapped in his red Stuart plaid. The music grew fiercer as the brothers danced in concert until with a final shriek the pipes stopped as suddenly as they had begun. The siblings fell into each other's arms, laughing as the hall erupted into cheers of congratulations, and the clansmen spilled out onto the floor to clap the two men on their backs and shake their hands.
Promptly at midnight the feasting ended, and the hall emptied as the inhabitants of Glenkirk made their way to the village church where Mr. Edie was prepared to preside over the first service of the day.
“Pray God he doesna sermonize long tonight,” the duke murmured to his wife, patting her on her bottom through her skirts. “ 'Tis cold, and I've a fancy to bed ye, Flanna Leslie.”
“ 'Tis hardly a godly thought, my lord,” she whispered back.
“But is it ungodly, wife?” he asked her.
“Hush!” she scolded him. “Mr. Edie is about to begin.”
To their surprise the minister spoke but briefly. The sacrament was dispensed, and they were once again outside in the night. It had begun to snow.
“Aunt Flanna said it would,” Sabrina said smugly.
“That was three days ago,” Freddie said half scornfully.
“Ah, laddie, it takes time for the snow to come on the wind from the north,” Flanna told them. “ 'Tis right on time.”
“Thank you for my pearwood comb,” Sabrina said as they reentered the castle. “I love the red deer carved on it. I have never seen a comb like it.”
“That is because I made it for ye,” Flanna told the child. “Angus taught me to carve years ago when I was yer age.”
Patrick listened with interest. Here was something he wouldn't have imagined about Flanna. That she could carve and was artistic. When they lay together abed afterward he asked her about it.
“What made ye want to learn such a common skill?” he wondered.
“My mother had died,” she replied. “I couldna stop thinking about it, or believing it would nae hae happened if she had nae nursed her niece who died, and from whom she had caught the contagion. I believe I was slowly going mad. Angus saw it, and he took me in hand. My mother had carved little figures of birds and animals. He said she had always hoped I would learn her skill. So I began to learn. I had to concentrate so hard upon what I was doing that I could nae longer think about my mother, or how she had died. It was very clever of Angus, dinna ye think?”
“He is yer blood, isna he?” Patrick said.
“He was my grandfather Andrew Gordon's bastard,” Flanna said. “My grandmother Gordon raised him. He was seven when my mother was born. I never knew until Mama was about to die. She told me then because she said she didna want me to be alone. My grandfather educated him as if he were his heir. My mother, of course, was his only legitimate offspring. She and my uncle loved each other dearly.”
Patrick nodded. “The More-Leslies descend from a bastard line,” he said. “They hae always been loyal to us. Yer uncle is a good man.”
“Aye, he is,” Flanna said. Then she burrowed into his shoulder. “Ye dinna gie me my present yet,” she said to him.
“Is the deed to Brae nae enough for ye?” he teased her.
“Ye would gie me what was already mine, my lord? I canna believe ye're a pinchpenny. Fie!” She hit him a light blow to the shoulder.
He chortled. “Get up, madame, and remove yer night garment,” he instructed her.
“What, sir, is this ye demand of me?” she asked him.
“If ye want yer giftie, lass, ye'll obey yer man, or must I beat ye into obedience?” he said, a smile touching the corners of his lips.
Curious now, Flanna arose from their warm bed and pulled off her simple white night garment.
“Now unbraid yer hair,” he commanded her. “I want to see that fiery mass spilling over yer shoulders and down yer back.”
Even more fascinated, Flanna complied, her fingers unweaving her thick plait, combing through her tresses until her long hair flowed all about her. “Well, my lord?” she queried him.
Patrick Leslie climbed from their bed and, reaching beneath the pillows, drew forth a long strand of black pearls which he looped over her head. Then, setting her back, he stared, pleased, at the round ebony beads upon her milky white skin, its pureness broken only by the brilliant red-gold of her hair. He felt himself hardening, his lust fully engaged at the seductive picture she made, naked, with those pearls.
Flanna had never before seen black pearls, but from the look of them, she realized whatever they were they were valuable. They were smooth to the touch and slid through her fingers like liquid silk as she examined them. “What are they called?” she asked as her eyes met his.
“Pearls,” he said.
He wanted her!
He wanted her!
“I hae a wee strand of pearls that were Mam's,” Flanna said, “but they are white.” She could see his manhood poking out beneath his nightshirt. “These are magnificent, my lord, thank ye,” she told him, and slipping her arms about his neck, she kissed him.
He pulled her hard against himâso hard that the pearls bit into her tender fleshâand she cried out, surprised. His mouth was fierce and demanding. His tongue fenced with hers. His lips moved from her mouth and began to travel over her face, her throat, her shoulders. He knelt before her and kissed her breasts. She murmured softly. His tongue licked slowly over her nipple. His mouth closed upon it, and he began to suckle her. One of his hands held her by a buttock. The fingers of his other hand began to push into her sheath, and finding her already wet, he thrust hard even as his teeth came down upon the nipple.
Flanna felt herself going weak with the pleasure he gave her. She pushed herself against him, encouraging him. Her hands pulled at his dark hair. She moaned as his mouth moved to her other breast, his fingers relentlessly thrusting, thrusting. Her love juices spilled forth as she reached her first peak. He groaned and, pulling his hand away from her, sucked his fingers hungrily as she sagged half fainting against him. “Ye're a wicked man, Patrick Leslie,” she said low, and then bending down, she began to tease at his ear with her tongue.
His breath hissed from between his lips. Then he pulled her down roughly onto the floor by their bed, and covering her body with his own, he entered her in a sharp, swift thrust. Flanna wrapped her legs about her husband's torso. Her fingers dug deeply into the muscles of his shoulders and back. As he began to move rhythmically upon her, she clawed at his flesh.
“Ahh, the cat will scratch, will she?” he husked, thrusting harder and harder against her. “Ye're a wicked little wanton, wife, but by God I hae nae ever wanted a woman before the way I want ye, Flanna!”
His words sent her heart racing furiously. It was the closest he had come in their brief acquaintance to saying that he cared at all for her. She wanted him to love her. She didn't understand what love was all about, but she knew that she wanted it. She cared for him. She didn't know how such a thing had happened, for he was a very aggravating man, but Flanna knew she cared for Patrick.
Was it love?
She didn't know, and if it was, would she know? But she did know she wanted him to care for her.
Was it love?
She didn't know, and if it was, would she know? But she did know she wanted him to care for her.
“I never knew until ye wed me how it could be between a man and a woman,” she admitted. “Dinna stop loving me, Patrick!
Dinna stop!
Ye make me feel as I hae never felt before, and I like it.”
Dinna stop!
Ye make me feel as I hae never felt before, and I like it.”
He laughed, and it was a joyous sound. “Shut yer mouth, woman, and let me love ye, then. I canna, it surprises me, get enough of ye.”
Their bodies moved together, finding a passionate cadence that pleased them both as they writhed and strove to seek perfection. Their limbs were intertwined. Their hearts raced. Their mouths were dry with a surfeit of lust, yet their bodies were wet with their exertions. He knew what he strove for. She didn't. Her ignorance was exciting, and he worked to bring her to a little death such as she had never before known. His mouth found hers again.
She was almost unconscious with the immense font of pleasure welling up in her body. It was like an enormous wave that threatened to overwhelm her, and suddenly Flanna, feeling out of control, began to panic; but Patrick calmed her, murmuring softly against her mouth.
“Nah, nah, lassie, let it happen. 'Twill be the greatest pleasure ye hae ever known. Trust me, lovey.”
And she did, and was quickly swept up and away in a rush of such incredible enjoyment that she believed she was dying, and to her astonishment she didn't care. Warmth suffused her body. She felt weightless. She soared while about her her world exploded with delight. And then as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. She felt herself falling into a darkness that reached up to enfold her tenderly.
His own pleasure mushroomed with hers, erupted, and then burst forth in a flood of his love juices even as she cried out and fainted in his arms. He collapsed atop her, gasping with their exertions. Then, coming to himself, he rolled away, cradling her in his arms as he did so. His big hand caressed the tangled mass of her red-gold hair. It was soft and fragrant. Even now it sent his senses reeling.
Jesu,
he thought to himself.
I love her! I love this impossible, wild girl I took to wife only for her property, but I can't say it to her. What if she didn't believe me? How can this have happened?
Jesu,
he thought to himself.
I love her! I love this impossible, wild girl I took to wife only for her property, but I can't say it to her. What if she didn't believe me? How can this have happened?
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