Rebel Warrior (Medieval Warriors #3) (36 page)

Steinar wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close as Giric stood nearby watching the falcon.

“This is all I desire, little cat. You and the home we will make together.”

“ ’Twas my dream, too, even when I thought you only an English scribe.” He slapped her bottom and though she properly chided him, she was secretly happy, remembering the time she had seen Malcolm do the same to his queen. Then remembering the tunic she had made, she said, “I have something for you when we return to the tower.”

*     *     *

A feeling of exuberant joy seemed to permeate the very walls of the tower on the day of the wedding. Everyone’s face bore a smile.

Catrìona’s work in the village had brought her many friends; Audra’s kindness garnered the people’s love; and Fia was admired for having snagged the bard all the women wanted, many saying the fairies must have aided her.

When Catrìona told Fia of the rumors, she laughed. Rhodri, when he heard of it, vowed to compose an ode to the fairies that had helped him win his bride.

In her chamber, Deidre and a servant, sent by the queen to help the brides, brought out the gowns they had decided to wear: sapphire for Fia because it was Rhodri’s favorite color for her and matched her eyes, gold for Audra for it brought out the gold in her hazel eyes and green that was the color of the forest for Catrìona because Steinar told her he would ever think of her as his tree nymph.

Each wore a circlet of silver and gold around her crown, gifts from the queen, leaving their long tresses free down their backs. After this day they would wear the circlets over the headscarves that would mark them married women.

The night before, Catrìona had given Steinar the blue tunic she made for him, embroidered with silver and gold falcons and quills. “ ’Tis the color of your eyes,” she told him as she proudly placed it into his hands. “It may not be the fine stitching of the other ladies, but know that I did it myself.”

“In truth, I was worried when I saw the tunic you embroidered for Colbán,” Steinar had said. “I believed it a sign you agreed with his request for your hand.”

“At the time, I knew nothing of it,” she had assured him. “Colbán asked me to embroider the tunic. His request, so unforeseen, quite startled me. But the doing of it gave me the idea to make this one for you.” She looked into the face of the man she loved. “The one for Colbán was something I did as one of the queen’s ladies. This one I did for love of the man who would wear it.”

Beaming, he had held it up and studied the silver and gold threads that marked the quills and outlined the falcons, filled in with flaxen thread. She had labored much to get the design just right. “You are too modest, little cat,” he had said. “ ’Tis truly magnificent. I will wear it proudly.”

*     *     *

Margaret stood with her husband, watching her three ladies and the men who would soon be their husbands take their places in front of the chapel door. The Culdee monk in his gray cowl robe who was to perform the ceremony seemed a bit overwhelmed by having to wed three couples, but he managed, in spite of it, to pronounce the words that saw them wed.

All of Dunfermline looked on, smiling their pleasure.

As the couples walked back to the tower for the feast that would follow, Margaret slipped her arm through her husband’s and leaned in to ask in a whisper, “What was it Colbán said to you that made you switch the brides at the last moment?”

“He apologized for being remiss in telling me that Audra had declared she loved him no matter he was from Moray. It seems he returns her affection.”

“What about Catrìona?”

“At the same time he became aware of Audra’s feelings, he realized the redhead favored the scribe. Colbán’s words were, ‘Hurled herself into the scribe’s arms when he rescued her from the Northman, not a glance for me though I lay wounded and bleeding on the deck!’.”

“Ah,” said Margaret, “so my first instinct was correct. ’Twas Catrìona for Steinar all along.”

He pulled her close and kissed her on her cheek. “Just so,
mo cridhe
.”

The celebration that day brought a warm gladness to Margaret’s heart, seeing her ladies happily wed to good men. And that night when she said her prayers, she had much to be thankful for.

*     *     *

The feasting had gone on for some time when, ignoring the jests from the men in the hall, Steinar led Catrìona to the stairs, eager to be alone with his bride. The celebration in the hall would continue late into the night but not with them. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Rhodri and Colbán coming behind him, their brides in tow.

Catrìona’s hand was cold in his as they ascended the stairs.
She is nervous
. He gave her a reassuring look. “Trust me, little cat. I will see my beautiful bride happy this night.”

“You promise?”

He expected to see mirth dancing in her green eyes but, instead, he saw uncertainty and, mayhap, a little fear. “Aye, I promise. Have I not waited months for you, desperate to have you for my own even though I believed the king would give you to another?”

“Yes.” Her green eyes sparkled like jewels. “Oh, yes, you did.”

“Then trust me to be patient this night and make our joining a sweet one.”

They turned down the corridor, her smile telling him all he needed to know.

When they reached the chamber assigned to them, he was glad to see all had been made ready. Candles and a fire in the brazier warmed the room, dominated by the bed, much larger than the one he normally slept in. For that he was grateful. ’Twould give them more room to move about.

His eyes followed Catrìona as she went to the small table set with a pitcher of wine, two silver goblets and a trencher of bread, cheese and fruit. “I love pears and cherries,” she said, idly fingering one of the pears.

My innocent firebrand is stalling.
He smiled to himself, knowing he would make it good for her.

Casting her gaze about the chamber, his bride looked at the two chests at the foot of the bed, hers next to his. “My chest,” she remarked.

“Aye, my love. While we were being wed, the servants moved all of our things here. See, your cloak and mine hang on pegs next to the door. ’Twill be our chamber until we leave for the vale.”

He came up behind her and slid his arms around her slim waist, pulling her back against his chest, loving the feel of her and her scent, as fresh as the forest. Running his lips down the side of her neck, he felt her shiver. “Do not be afraid, little cat. Have I not held you before? And do I not love you?” He turned her in his arms and met her emerald gaze. “Since the king gave me your hand, I have dreamed of this night. Truth be told, mayhap even before.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I, too, have dreamed of this night, though ’twas all shrouded in mist. I knew not what to expect. The queen had a few words with the three of us yesterday and that helped calm my fears.”

He drew her close and nibbled at her ear. “Would you like some wine?”

“A sip, mayhap,” she said, stepping back.

He poured her some wine and handed her the goblet. As she reached for it her gaze fixed on the gold band on her finger.

“The ring is a sign to all you are mine.” He took her goblet and set it aside and pressed his lips to the back of her hand, then pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips over hers. They were soft and warm and tasted of the wine. “Let me show you the joys of love.”

He turned her slowly so he could unlace her gown, brushing aside her thick auburn hair to kiss her neck from ear to nape.

“Ah,” she breathed, inclining her head and giving him greater access to her neck. “You give me shivers.”

“My intention exactly,” he said, running his tongue around the edge of her ear.

Soon he would have her naked and next to him but he intended to take his time, winning her trust, stroking her like a wary falcon.

Once he had removed her belt, he pulled her gown from her shoulders and let it slide to the floor. While he doffed his own tunic and loosened the cross straps around his hosen, she kicked off her shoes and removed her stockings. The glimpses he caught of her bare legs made him eager to touch them. Now she was left in only her undertunic and he in only his hosen.

Her eyes darted to his bare chest reminding him that she had never before seen him like this.

“Aye, I know I have a scar or two. ’Tis a warrior’s fate.”

“I do not mind,” she said. “To me you are beautiful.” She came near and reached out her hand to run her fingers down a scar that crossed one side of his chest. Her eyes grew wide and the pupils darkened when her fingers brushed his nipple causing it to harden.

He covered her hands with his. “I love your fingers on my chest, little cat, but if you continue to touch me like that I may lose the control I vowed to have this night.” Taking her hand, he led her to the bed and pulled back the cover. “In you go. Our nest awaits.”

She climbed in, carefully it appeared to him, as if unsure of the bedding. When she lay back on the pillow and gave him a small smile, his heart melted. “From the first time I glimpsed your fiery red tresses, Catrìona of the Vale, I was lost.”

Climbing onto the bed, he lay beside her and drew her length against his.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, her lips close to his. “You were only a scribe to me then, but I wanted you, too.” Her hand moved over his shoulder and even her tentative touch made him harden in anticipation. “You are warm,” she said, looking into his eyes.

“You have no idea, my love.” Unable to hold back all he was feeling, he kissed her, relieved when she pulled him closer and slipped her hand behind his neck as if to hold him to her.

She returned his kisses, moaning softly.

Desperate to know the feel of her, he ran his hand over her breasts, her waist and her hip. The soft curves of her flesh he felt beneath her thin undertunic were so enticing he had to remind himself to take his time.

He slipped his hand beneath the thin linen and ran his fingers over the skin of her slender thigh. When her hands gripped his shoulders, his body responded and his hand crept higher. He was heading toward the juncture of her thighs but there were too many clothes between them. Tugging up her tunic, he began to remove it. Discerning his intent, she helped him pull it over her head and tossed it to the floor.

Before him lay his beautiful bride revealed in candlelight, her skin like cream and her breasts perfect with nipples the color of wild roses.

Shyly, she tried to pull the cover over her.

“Nay, do not cover yourself. I would see the beauty I have only imagined, the woman who is mine.”

Laying the cover to one side, he peeled off his hosen. Now, as naked as she, he lay alongside her, letting her feel all of him. Slipping one of his legs between hers, he drew her thighs apart, while he cupped her breasts and licked her nipples to hardened buds.

“Oh,” she sighed, her hands holding his head to her breasts.

Her breathing came faster and when he looked up, her eyes were dark with passion and her lips open for his kiss. “ ’Tis meant to bring you pleasure and ready you for our joining.”

He pulled her close and kissed her, then slid his hand to the nest of dark red curls at the juncture of her thighs and felt her delicate folds, already wet. His aroused flesh pressed against her thigh, his body urging haste. He stifled the desire to mount her and gently circled the bud he knew would bring her near her peak, but he had no intention of allowing her to find release before they were joined as one.

She began to move against his hand and he obliged her with strokes designed to raise her passion. His own was racing and his breathing heavy. Finally, sensing the time was right, he rolled on top of her and let her feel his hardened shaft against her wet flesh.

She raised her hips in invitation and moved against him while he kissed her.

He raised his head. “ ’Tis time, my love.”

“Yea,” she whispered and reached again for his kiss.

Positioning himself over her welcoming flesh, he slid into her tight sheath, filling her completely.

A deep moan sounded from her throat as he claimed her. He stilled, relieved he had not hurt her. It might have been all her riding around the vale or falling off logs into streams, but the little blood he knew they would find in the morning would not be that of a maiden roughly used, but one who was prepared and gently loved.

Her passion did not subside but rose with his and soon they were moving together. “Oh, Steinar,” she gasped as her breath came more rapidly.

The pressure rose, leaving him unable to speak. His heart pounded in his chest and their sweat mingled, making their bodies slick against each other.

Sensing her release drawing near, he whispered, “Just let go, my love.”

She expelled a breath and her muscles clenched around him, giving him a pleasure he had not known before and demanding his own release. A last deep thrust and his seed flooded her womb.

For a moment, joined together, her arms tight around him, he seemed to float, utterly content. Catrìona was finally his.
But why was this so different?
“ ’Twas love,” his mind silently whispered. Not just the joining of two bodies, but of two souls.

He rolled to lie next to her and pulled her into his side, feeling the length of her soft warm body as she laid her head on his shoulder.

She placed her palm on his chest, still damp with sweat. “Was it all right?” Her voice sounded unsure.

“Aye, little cat,” he said, covering her hand with his and kissing her temple. “It was much better than that. I cannot even describe how wonderful it was, but ’tis clear our nights will bring us much joy and should God bless us, many children.”

“I would like children,” she said, entwining her fingers in the hair on his chest. Then as if she thought she had forgotten something important, she said, “I enjoyed our joining.”

He chuckled. “I could tell that you did.”

The candles burned low but there was sufficient light for him to see her smiling. “Steinar,” she said.

“Aye?”

“You are mine, are you not?”

“Aye, lass, only yours and forever.” Behind him was England and a past he could not, did not, want to bring back. No longer the exile, he now had a home. He belonged to Catrìona and she to him. And both of them belonged to Scotland. “Sleep, little cat and know I will hold you. I vow you will have only good dreams this night.”