Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (32 page)

"Aye. Is there one near here called... Beinn an Aodann?"

She shook her head. "I have never heard that name. Why? Are you ordered to claim some new property for your king?"

He shot her a quick look. "I was just curious. It means... mountain of the face."

"It does. But I havena heard of it." She paused. "Tell me how a privileged English knight knows Gaelic."

"A Highland nurse watched over me from birth. She remained with us until I was old enough to become a page. I never forgot the Gaelic. 'Tis a beautiful language. What of you? Your English is very good." He wanted to deflect her questions away from his upbringing.

"Me? I was born at Elladoune. We were happy here," she whispered. She looked out over the battlement. "And the monks taught us to read some, and taught us English and Latin." She paused. "Gawain, please help me free my brothers—all of them."

The wallwalk ended where it met the largest corner keep at the part of the castle that overlooked the loch. He stopped in the shadows. "I will ask after them. The two in De Soulis's keeping—what were their misdeeds? You have not said."

"Alec and Iain are scarce more than babes. The sheriff took them to keep a tight fist on Inchfillan and the abbot."

Puzzled, he looked askance at her. "Babes?"

"Seven and nine."

"God save us," he murmured. "Children. I did not know."

"You see why I must have them back safely, and soon."

"I will do what I can." He reached out to brush a windblown lock of hair from her brow.

She lifted her head. Her eyes gleamed like the night sky, indigo sparkled with stars.

"You remind me of a swan at times," he murmured. He skimmed his palm along her sleek hair to her shoulder. "Slender, pale, gracefully made." His heart beat fast in his chest. "Faithful. Passionate. Loyal."

"If I am like them at all, it is in my need for my freedom. And in my need for an established home as well...
Ach,"
she said. "You have never lost a home."

"I understand," he said firmly, "more than you think." Like her, he craved liberty and sought his true home. But he stifled one need and pursued the other secretly. Her own passions were clear and candid. He admired that. He loved it.

Reaching out, he traced his fingers along her jaw. She lifted her chin, lengthening her throat. Heart drumming, he leaned toward her.

She shifted her head closer, and he felt her breath upon his lips. He touched her arm slowly. Wanting to pull her close, he knew it must come from her first. He would stand in shadows and moonlight forever if he must, and wait.

A tilt of her head, and the tip of her nose nudged his, seeking. Then her lips touched his in a faerylike caress.

He leaned forward to kiss her full upon the mouth. The taste and feel of her was blissfully familiar to him now. She opened her mouth easily, with a breathy little moan. The sound made him throb, fill, harden. He kissed her again, heart and blood surging.

Passion laced with tenderness streamed through him, followed by a sense of love so pure that it rocked him. His private sadness over his futile search for his home began to lessen. He realized that she was a haven for his spirit and heart.

The evening wind blew through his hair and hers, weaving the dark and light strands together. She pulled back from his kiss.

"Come away," she said breathlessly. "We will be seen."

"We are wed," he murmured, and sought her lips again.

"Come away," she whispered. She turned toward the door of the tower.

He opened the door and drew her inside and up the spiral steps, where moonlight poured over the stone.

* * *

Preceding him as they climbed the stairs, she was aware of her thundering heart, and she was aware, too, of a tumult of anticipation. Beneath it, she felt utter calm and certainty. Their kisses had sparked the hunger that had begun at Avenel.

She wanted to be with him inside the sanctuary of their curtained tied, where passion could burn clean between them. The knots and tangles that surrounded them in the outer world would blissfully dissolve for a while there.

Gawain reached the upper landing and opened the door, waiting for her. His stillness told her that he offered her the chance to stop now, to turn away or change her mind.

She walked past him and drew upon his arm as she went by. He came behind her, closing the door. She turned into his embrace and sought his mouth again, more boldly than before.

Cradling her face, he kissed her again, this time so slowly and thoroughly that she felt herself melt like honey in sunlight. She wanted to sink into his arms, into his skill and surety, into the allure of what was to come.

Her knees felt uncertain, and the floor seemed to drop away beneath her feet. She stepped back toward the bed. Unfastening the silver brooch that closed her plaid, she let the woolen cloth slip to the floor.

The room was dim, with pools of bright and dark created by flickering candlelight. She walked to the bed and sat. The divided curtain parted around her, iron rings chinking.

He stood watching her, utterly still and silent. She realized that he waited because he wanted this decision to be hers: she could end this, or continue it.

The gap between them felt too wide, a tug of the heart. She yearned for his strength, his warmth, his vibrancy. Shifting inside the shelter of the bed, her invitation was clear.

He turned away to remove his belt, kick off his boots, strip off his tunic, slow and deliberate. She knew he still meant to give her time, but she did not need it.

His body gleamed golden in the candle's glow. She had never seen him fully nude, and she drew in a breath, stunned by the elegance and strength of his body. He bent to blow out the flame, and turned in the shadows to face her.

Desire took sure form in a man, she knew, and she studied him, curious, intrigued, wondering. He stepped forward through the divided curtains, placing a knee upon the thick, fragrant heather-stuffed mattress, so that it sank a little.

She rose, kneeling, and drew off her chemise slowly, letting him see her in shadows as she saw him, though her heart pounded at the boldness of it. He drew the curtain shut and moved toward her. Scant light seeped through the fine weave of the cloth.

Inside the private sanctum of the bed's interior, he wrapped his fingers around her arms and pulled her toward him. His body pressed against hers, his skin firm and fiery, touching her all at once. Kneeling with him, she looped her arms around his shoulders and leaned into him, breath quickening.

His kiss was rich and potent, and she opened her mouth to his exploration of her. He slid his hands down the sinuous curve of her spine, his palms hot as they rested upon the lowest slope. Her body curved against his warmth and hardness, and she shifted her hips to deepen the cradle. He groaned low.

When his hand swept her breasts, she felt herself pearl and grow firm beneath his fingers, then between his lips. She arched back, shivering, and he supported her with a hand at the small of her back, kissing, suckling, until she cried out. His touch felt new and alive and astonishing, but her body had an urge, a questing insistence. She wanted—needed—far more from him.

He lowered her to the bed and she stretched out, wrapped in his embrace, closing her eyes at the simple ecstasy of the moment. As he kissed her again, she slid her hands over his shoulders, his back and torso, skin layered smooth over muscle.

The beat of his heart was fast and strong under her palm, and she sank her fingers into the thick silk of his hair. Glossy as midnight, it was the only softness she found in him. The rest was hard strength tempered with tenderness, the quiet hallmark of his character.

He explored her, lips and fingers cajoling and stroking. In turn, she sighed and sought his body with her own hands and lips. She savored its planes, its fluid, shifting grace and power. The sensations of touching and being touched had a potency like dark wine, warming her. Longing for more, she ached inside.

When his fingertips traced lower, she opened to him. Wild yet gentle, rapture stirred and flashed in her, and took her like a storm. Cresting, crying out, she subsided in his arms.

She pulled at his waist, urging him toward her, and he bent to kiss tier again. He slid closer and she moaned, impatient with need: the throbbing inside of her could only be soothed by him.

Carefully, he covered her, sought her, parted her, and slipped inside. A breath, a moment's pause—she felt him there, steady and rigid. The small pain passed, and he eased deep, surging. Another storm, sweet and wild, arose, and she entered its current with him. Love filled her, overflowed in her.

When he kissed her soft on mouth and separated, he reached out for the curtain. Murmuring a protest, she drew him toward her. She did not want their sanctum breached, even by a thread of moonlight. Not yet.

Chapter 23

Late the next day, Gawain stood in the bailey yard of Elladoune. The portcullis had been raised high by two monks, who stood in the yard watching with him as a group of people walked up the hill toward the entrance arch.

Juliana strode in the lead, her hand in the elbow crook of an elderly woman. On her other side was a young man, large and soft-bellied, carrying a basket filled with ducks.

Behind them, Laurie led his horse, on which a woman perched, pretty, dark-haired, and in late pregnancy. Four children walked behind them leading an elderly man by the hand. Behind them came another group of women and children, along with Brother Eonan.

Most of them carried bundles, while the children and the women herded several animals up the hill. He saw two shaggy ponies with netted panniers containing a host of clucking chickens, and behind them, a few goats, several sheep, a small, shaggy, black-haired cow, and two long-legged dogs.

As they straggled through the gate, Juliana walked toward Gawain with the old woman. "Husband," she said, "this is Beithag. She says she would like to be our cook, if you will have her." She murmured to Beithag in Gaelic, so low and rapid he caught only some of it.
Daimheach,
he heard: friend.

"Welcome," he said in Gaelic, smiling.

Beithag peered up at him warily, her eyes dark and keen, her face wizened over strong bones. A plaid
arisaid
covered her from the silvery crown of her head to her feet, a rich weaving of red and brown and dark purple. He frowned slightly, looking at the pattern. A thought flitted in and out of his mind too quickly to grasp. Juliana beckoned to a tall old man who came forward, surrounded by children and panting dogs.

"Here is Beithag's husband, Uilleam MacDuff," Juliana said. "And these are their great-grandchildren..."

Dumbstruck by the old man's name, he hardly took in those of the children. Gawain noticed that Uilleam wore a wrapped and belted plaid, similar in pattern to the cloth worn by Beithag.

MacDuff. Likely one of his own kinsmen, Gawain realized.

Smiling, although his heart pounded, he bid the old man welcome. Uilleam granted and peered at him intently, then hesitated as if he would speak. Gawain waited, wondering if the old man recognized his face; he knew that he resembled his father greatly. If Uilleam saw anything familiar in the Sassenach, he said nothing. Gawain let out a breath.

Uilleam turned away to join his wife. Gawain watched the old man shuffle away, scarcely able to think clearly. The dogs circled him, sniffed him. He petted them, one by one, distracted but outwardly calm.

"And there is the children's mother, Mairead, on Laurie's horse," Juliana went on. "She is the wife of Adhamnain MacDuff, Uilleam and Beithag's son."

Adhamnain.
His own grandfather and father had been called that; it was a common baptismal name among MacDuffs, he knew.

"Her husband is away," Juliana was saying. "And the young man is called Teig." She pointed to the stocky, smiling youth who carried the basket of ducks. He waved to Gawain and grinned at the children, who ran back toward him.

"Is he a MacDuff, too?" Gawain asked.

"He is a nephew to Uilleam. Beithag is a cousin of mine and my mother's. Teig MacDuff is a simple lad, but he is kind, and the children love him. He is strong too, and will work hard in the stables and pens with Uilleam, who knows all there is to know about horses and livestock. The children will help them. Mairead and Beithag and some other women will work in the kitchens with the cooking and brewing. Do you approve?"