Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) (25 page)

“Oh...my! Oh my!
Oh...my!”
Morgan’s cry was a long, keening
sound that hung above her and she felt the whirlpool that her body was starting to spin into growing, ebbing, spinning, then finally slowing, and every bit of it was accompanied by Zander.

His hands went about her thighs, stroking the muscles there as she rode
him, then they were at her hips, making the cadence harden, strengthen. Then,
his hands were on her waist, and he was alternately lifting her, before bringing
her back down, shoving his loins upward every time she descended, and pulling himself away every time she lifted from him.

Moistness grew about them, the feel of mist, a hot steamy mist, and
Morgan hung on for dear life as his strokes got faster, harder, stronger and more violent.

“Oh
God, Morganna...oh love! Oh, God! Oh, Morganna! Oh love! My
love! Mine! Oh yea, love! Yea! Oh...God!”

Zander’s throat was growling the words, filling the gaps in the mist, and
she heard each and every one surround her, then she couldn’t hear a thing but her
own pounding heartbeat and her own scream. Light crashed behind her tightly
closed lids and she held onto Zander like a lifeline while shudder after shudder of
wonder rolled over her, taking her to a place where nothing but joy and love
existed.

Zander was right behind her, and she brought her head down to watch as
he grabbed at her waist and held her to him. Morgan filled her eyes with the
sight of him, holding her affixed to him, as he bucked beneath her, in a rhythm only he could hear and decipher, his mouth open and sending the lowest, most unearthly
groan into existence.

Morgan’s eyes were wide as he seemed to pause in time and motion, suspended in place, his every muscle taut, stretched and defined beneath her as
his loins pulsed over and over into her. Then, he collapsed, the sheen of sweat
filming his body, making it shine as though oiled, and a thing of absolute beauty
to see.

Her mouth was open with the awe when he opened his eyes, and she had
never seen a look so full of love and warmth and surprise.

“Zander?” she whispered.

“Aye?”

“
What…just happened?”

He chuckled. Her eyes widened at how it felt, and that made him laugh
harder. “I’m not a bit certain, myself, love, but I’ll tell you one thing.”

“What?”

“I canna’ move a muscle. There is pudding to every bit of me. I sincerely
hope you’re satisfied with what you’ve accomplished.”

“Seriously?” she
asked.

He grinned, raised his eyebrows and then rolled his eyes before
answering. “Aye. Very serious.”

“That is interesting.”

“You doona’ feel the same?”

She shifted her shoulders. “I d
oona’ feel weak. I feel warm. Like all my
muscles have been given a healing treatment. I doona’ know how to describe it.”

“
Do you ken how very lucky we are, Morganna?” he whispered.

She shook her head.

“I have had women a-fore. I will na’ lie to you. I thought I knew all there
was about love, about this, about my own body. You, Morganna love, have
shattered everything I knew and believed. Without a doubt, what we have is the most amazing thing that any of us can hope to ever find. I hope you realize how very hopeless it is for both of us, now.”

Her eyes were wide and serious, and she caught her every breath for a
fraction of time before letting it out or in. “Hope—less?” she whispered.

“Oh aye. Hopeless. I am completely and totally ruined for any other
woman, and you, my love, are the same. There isna’ a man you will ever find to
replace me.”

“I already knew that.”

He drilled those dark blue eyes into hers. “Good thing, I would say.
Come along, Morganna, and let me up.”

“
I am na’ holding you down.”

“Oh yea, you are. You have the weight of a horse and I have the strength of a MacPhee biscuit. At least roll over, so I can crawl from beneath you and
over to yonder bed.”

“I sleep fine on the floor,” she replied.

He huffed out a breath. “Oh, verra well. If you insist.”

He closed his eyes, opened his mouth and within two breaths was snoring. If it wasn’t for the slight curve of his lips, Morgan would have thought
him sincere. Then, when she jabbed him in the side and got nothing other than a
grunt, she found out he was.

Less than two hours later, Zander stroked her awake, his hand running all
over her, and stopping every so often when he found a particular ridge he liked, or a like impediment. Morgan tried pushing him away. She tried moving, but the male she was atop only moved more. She tried pouting, but that only gained the
feel of fingertips across her lips. So, she opened her eyes.

“You d
oona’ act verra tired to me,” she remarked, when he grinned at her,
and moved his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

“I
canna’ create a bairn without your help,” he said. “And I did put that
assignment to myself. The more times I leave my seed, the more chances I will
have. Doona’ look at me that way, ’tis true. I swear! At least, I think ’tis true. I
have na’ ever tried, so I canna’ state for certain, but Ari says—”

Morgan placed a finger on his lips to stop the words, and didn’t hear the
rest of his mumbled sentence about what Ari said or didn’t say. She smiled softly, and looked away. “You canna’ create a life with me, Zander. ’Tis not
possible.”

“I
can, and I will! At least, I can and will try. The rest is in your
hands...or rather, your belly.”

“I d
oona’ have a proper woman-time, Zander.”

He put a finger beneath her chin and turned her to face him. “As much
woman as you are, it won’t be a problem. Now, are you going to assist me, or
no?”

She pursed her mouth and then ran her tongue along the lower lip,
drawing his eye, and received an immediate reaction near her belly. She smiled
slightly, but had to look away. “I think, I’ll just lie here a little longer, and see what happens,” she whispered, and where she put her hand made him go
perfectly still

She looked up at his wide, surprised eyes.

“
You can sleep if you like,” she whispered.

“I tried sleeping. I even tried sleeping when—” His voice rose a full
octave as she molded her hand about him, and then it started up again. “When—when...you were sleeping...oh,
love!
” He choked on the last word.

“What is so hard about my sleeping?” she asked.

“’Tis hard to sleep –uh...hard...uh....”

Morgan giggled, and Zander responded with a groan and further indication that he was not remotely tired
.

“
Well?” she asked, looking up at him.

“U
h...well,” he licked his lips. “You...you purr!”

“I doo
na’ purr. Cats purr.”

“Oh yea, you do. Oh, Morganna...oh God. Morganna....”

“
My purring, Zander?” she prompted.

“’T
is verra soft, like—like a kitten purr. It...uh...it could be snoring.
That’s it. It’s snoring.”

“I d
oona’ snore!” She lifted her hands from him.

“What...did
I say? What did I...do? Jesu’ Morganna, why did you stop?”

“You said I snore.”

He closed his eyes, trembled a moment, then sucked in on both cheeks
and blew out. Then he opened his eyes. Morgan could have swooned, and she
didn’t even know what it felt like.

“You
do snore, my love. You also smile. ’Tis the same smile you had
that first morn on that Sally Bess’s bed. I verra nearly tore the room apart when I
saw it.”

“
I dinna’ do anything with her, though.”

“I know that, now. Back then, I was a jealous, hulking male, and I dinna’
even know why. I only knew if you had that soft smile on your face, and that
little purr coming from between your lips, then by God, it was me who owned it.
That’s what I knew! I dinna’ ken why it made me so angry, either. It just did.”

“I know why,” Morgan whispered.

“You do?”

“Aye.
’Tis because your instincts knew. You were just a little slow, like
Plato says.” She put her feet on the tops of his to push herself up and connect
her mouth to his.

Zander pulled back and glared at her.
“You will regret all your teasing
now, my fine wench.”

“Really?” She giggled. “How?”

Zander growled, rolled to his feet, and hauled her into his arms. She was
dough in his arms, and felt it. She wondered if he knew.

“I am going to take you now, Morganna. I am going to show
you what it is like. I am going to take my pleasure, and I’m going to make
certain you know of it. I’m going to take and take and take.”

“What
…of me?” she panted, her head flopping on his shoulder making the
room rotate nicely.

“What of
you?” he asked.

Then, he tossed her on his bed, parted her thighs and slammed himself
into the part of her most desirous of it.

Morgan cried out her delight at his entry, and the sound made a
shuddering start deep within her, building with each of his long, slow, savage
thrusts, until she could keep it in no longer. Her cries of satiation blended with
the beams across his ceiling, until they fell back to her and became panting entreaties.

Then it was repeated, again. Again. The experience nearly driving her
insane with the anticipation. Through it all Zander kept his thrusting, sometimes with steady, long, slow movements, sometimes frighteningly intense and passionate, then back to slower and milder, bringing her to the brink and holding
her, before shoving her over the edge and being there to catch her.

And then he gave her his seed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Zander woke her again before daybreak. This time, by blowing gently on
her shoulders. Morgan scrunched them and groaned.

“Come along, Morganna. Time to turn back into Sally Bess. Come
along, love. These costumes doona’ pass the test of daylight. Come along, love….”

She smacked at him, and his breath came again with a chuckle. Then, he
pulled
her legs to the bottom of the bed and started putting the bundles of
material back on, even to flipping her over and tying her basket-affair back into
place.

“
Why Sally Bess! You are more woman than I am used to, darling.
Why, just let me get my sett straight. Now, stop that!”

He was using his orator
’s voice, and it was too loud for the space of one
room. Morgan opened an eye and glared at him.

“
Now, now, night-time love. I will na’ let you waste a moment of energy
on yon stairs. Why...I think I’m up to carrying you. Not that my legs have na’
been weakened, you understand.”

“
What are you doing?” she whispered, as he brought her to her feet to put
the cloak over the entire creation, without having fastened one hook.

“B
uilding my own legend, of course. What other man can heft twenty
stone in weight and still run the steps?” He stopped whispering, winked and started yelling again. “Get the door for me, will you, sweet? My hands are
occupied with a lot of woman!”

They had an audience the entire way. Zander walked through them at
first, and then he did exactly what he’d said he was going to. He ran the stairs, Morgan clinging to his neck the entire time.

“
Up, Morgan lad! Time’s a-wasting, and we’ve practicing to do!”
Zander booted Sheila’s door with a foot that echoed through the hall. “I doona’ know what’s gotten into the lad. A little love play, and he thinks to sleep all
day.”

He bent down and planted a wet kiss on Morgan’s cheek through the
cloak. Then, he put his head back and hollered her name, with the two syllable
way he had. “Mor! Gan!”

The door opened, and a disheveled Sheila stood there, a FitzHugh tartan
wrapped about her nakedness. Zander pushed past her and lowered Morgan
onto her feet. The door shut.

“Get dressed quickly. The Bruce has a strict schedule to keep. He wants to be on the march before sunrise.”

“The Bruce?”

“Aye. Our king. Scotland’s king. He needs you now, Morgan love.
Scotland needs you. Hurry.” He bent, put a kiss in the vicinity of her nose and
started yelling again. “Now lasses! That’s no way to treat a lord. Get the lazy
squire up and out, or I’ll do it—what? I’m not welcome? Well! You doona’ need to push. He’s got to the count of ten, then I’m marching him out without his sett
on!”

Zander opened the door and backed out, pantomiming being pushed out, and the door slammed in his face.

Morgan was still shaking her head and having a hard time with the smile
when they pronounced her ready, her tartan perfect, her silver bands gleaming, all
her dirks on her person, and not a hair of her braid out of place. Then, she was
marched down to the castle’s yard, where legions of people seemed to come out to watch as she tossed knives, shot arrows and flung hand axes.

Then, everything went still.

The sun was just rising when pipes began to play. Everyone parted to
see why, and Morgan’s mouth dropped open along with everyone else’s. It was
the Earl of Argylle, and he wasn’t wearing anything frilly or pretentious, or
remotely English. He was attired in his red, gold and navy
feile-breacan,
a tam
on his shaved head and a claymore at his hip.

“
Has no one ever seen a laird attired a-fore?” he yelled when everyone
stood about open-mouthed.

“Why, my lord Earl. You
look splendid!” Zander’s voice was large and loud. The crowd roared approval.

“
Earl, no longer, young FitzHugh, but a duke! My true king, and
sovereign, Robert the Bruce, has placed a dukedom upon my shoulders, and I
have pledged my clan to freeing Scotland and enjoying my new title. Doona’
stand about with nothing to do! Gather the clan! We march!”

Zander grinned at her.
“Now,
do you see your power?” he whispered to
Morgan.

~ ~ ~

The first campsite wasn’t but two leagues from Castle Argylle, and it could
still be seen from the right treetop, but the distance felt enormous. The swelling groups about The Bruce were numbering in the thousands, and as each clan set up camp, the king seemed to be there, Morgan and Zander at his side.

He was tireless
—it was exhausting to keep with him—and he was regal.
Morgan flew dirks, showed slings, and at one point was given a shaft to show her
hand at it. She held the spear for a time, testing the weight, the rigidity, the
length, how it flexed upward and back down, in her hand with any movement. Zander asked her what she
was doing. Morgan looked over at him, and smiled. Then, she planted her feet
and ripped a hole clean through the center of their target.

Everyone gasped, then cheered. Then,
The Bruce started talking, about
Scotland’s ancestors, her beauty, her strength, her unity, and her freedom.

Zander waited for Morgan to look at him, and she knew
it. She slid
her gaze to his, and lifted her eyebrows like he always did.

“You are amazing,” he whispered.

“’Tis God’s gift, remember?” she replied.

“God has certainly blessed you, I would say, then. I am hopeful our sons
are as blessed.” At her hard look, he sucked in on his cheeks. “Oh verra well,
our daughters, too.”

Morgan turned her face aside to hide
her smile. Then, they were up on horseback and traveling to the next clan, ceaselessly telling all of Scotland’s
glory.

It wasn’t until dark was well and officially on the land, that The Bruce
called a halt, and within moments had tents erected all about the enclosure. Morgan shied away from even looking at Zander. She was going to share his
tent, and it was going to be impossible to resist him. She knew it. He must
know it, but it didn’t make what they did right or sanctioned by God. It still
made her a whore, who just happened to be a talented marksman.

“Come along,
Squire Morgan. My tent awaits. You take the floor.
Assist me.”

He had a candle lit, and was posturing and acting for all interested
watchers as he tied their door flap down, spoke ceaselessly about what was happening right in front of their noses, and banged and knocked tankards and
dishes about. Then he blew out the candle, and Morgan waited.

She was just to the point of thinking he didn’t wish anything of her, when
large hands began their caresses. His body fit behind hers, while he murmured something about being extra-thankful for kilts, cautioned Morgan about sound traveling with the lightest whisper, and proceeded to show her that a kiss
was an excellent way of catching and holding the sound of her cries of ecstasy.

And he gave her his seed, again.

~ ~ ~

The second week of
The Bruce’s tour of the country, they came upon the
Mactarvat and Killoren clans, and they weren’t worrying over anything about Scotland, or The Bruce or the Sassenach. All they wanted was to do battle with
each other. The king’s entire mass of warriors, squires and lasses spread out
along the crests of the valley the two rival clans were facing off in.

The Bruce rode over to where Morgan sat astride Zander’s horse,
Morgan. It had been an easy selection, although the horse was huge. The
stallion Argylle had gifted to her was too unbroken for her to ride, so Zander had
taken it. The one hand-span of difference in size between their mounts made the riders equal in height. It also made them very noticeable.

It had rained all day, but the clouds had broken at midday. The field
sparkled with moisture, hatred and blood-lust were in the air, and it seemed that at any moment the clans facing each other below them would charge each
other.

“What is the situation?” The king asked Zander.

“I believe Mactarvat had some whiskey stolen and reacted by stealing a
lass. They dinna’ know it was the Killoren lass, and they used her. Used her well
and soundly. The Mactarvats dinna’ like it.” Zander explained. “’Twas the
same feud that almost did me in before my squire Morgan came through the mists
and saved me. Isna’ that right, Squire?”

Morgan lowered her head
for a moment to hide the smile.

Robert frowned. “This sounds like an English situation.”

Both Zander and Morgan exchanged glances.

“Aye, it does
,” The Bruce continued. “It sounds as though the English are the reason good Scots
whiskey has to be stolen, and fine Scot lasses have to be taken in payment. The Sassenach have too many rules against whiskey and the making of it. They also have that right of first consummation which the Killoren lass was snatched up to
avoid. The English caused everything.”

“I d
oona’ believe that is what happened,” Morgan said quietly.

He grinned. “True enough, but that’s what I’m going to convince them happened. A Scotsman fighting another Scotsman is a dead man. I d
oona’ want
dead men. I want warriors, live ones. I need warriors. Live ones. That’s why
I’m here. Stop their clan skirmish, Squire Morgan.”

“Stop them?” she asked, eyes wide. He didn’t know what he asked.
“How?”

“That’s why you’re here, Squire Morgan. Why do you ken the good
Lord put you with me here, at this moment, with all your expert marksmanship
and valor and fame? I’ll tell you why. He did it so you could stop these clans
from killing each other, so they can live to free Scotland. Now, stop them. You
will know how. You always know. I will speak when you have done so.”

He rode off and Morgan stared after him, her mouth and throat absolutely
dry. “Zander?” she whispered.

“At your side, my love. What will you need?” he asked.

She got down off the horse and looked for a high, stable spot that would
be easily seen. There was a boulder wedged out over the field. She nodded
toward it. “I’ll need arrows. More than a quiver full. I’ll need that boulder.
Follow me.”

She had the quiver in place before she was atop the rock. She had a longbow ready. She had Zander at her side. “What is the emblem on the farthest
shield?” she asked.

“
Why do you ask it of me? I canna’ even see the fellow carrying it!” Zander looked every bit as offended as his words sounded as he stood beside her,
squinting.

“’T
is a bird, I think. A falcon. I may not have enough arrows in my
quiver.”

“F
or what?”

“Hush!” It was a far piece away, and she had to concentrate if she wanted this to be surprising enough to interrupt warriors at war. She reached
back to get three arrows between her fingers, drew her bow taut and sighted.

A war cry sounded, heralding the charge. Morgan started raining
arrows into the clan bearer’s shield, outlining the bird. She didn’t stop until the
bearer threw it to the ground. The entire line stopped and looked. Then, she
was letting arrows fly at the others. Since this line was more at an angle, all she could do was plant arrows into the ground at their bearer’s feet, surrounding each
with a ring of shafts. Her quiver never emptied. Every time she reached back,
there were more.

Both clans stopped and looked up at her. Morgan was standing alone,
since Zander was flat-out on the rock beside her. She hadn’t even felt him fall.
Then, a rainbow broke the clouds, like an omen, lighting from the sky to the field they had been planning to die on.

“
Morgan, drop!”

“What?”

“D
rop! Now! Beside me! Now!”

She did. There was such an immediate, deafening quiet, she could hear
her own heartbeat. Then, she could hear the king, his voice loud enough to
carry.