The Border Lord and the Lady (29 page)

Understanding, he waited until she had him stripped and then, taking her hand, said, “Let us get into bed.” Their nakedness would not seem so intimidating within the bed and beneath the covers, he knew. But once there he drew back the coverlet to admire her body. Cicely found herself inspecting his as closely, rising up on one elbow.

Ian was very tall, and his frame matched his height, which was
four inches over six feet. He was lean without being thin, and well muscled. His shoulders were broad, as was his hairy chest, which moved into a narrow waist and hips. His legs and arms were long and also furred. Then, for the first time she looked upon his manhood lying supine within a nest of thick, dark fur. Curious, she reached out and touched it gingerly.

“Why isn’t it hard?” she asked him. “It felt hard before.”

“It does not remain hard all the time. Only when it is eager for coupling does it gain its strength,” he explained.

“Your feet are enormous,” she noted, and they were. Long and slender, with big toes to match their size. “But all in all I find you most pleasing,” she told him.

He chuckled at her remark. “I find you most pleasing as well,” Ian replied.

Cicely lay back. “Are you going to kiss me?” she asked him.

He was relieved by her query. She hadn’t really been afraid before the hearth in the hall, and if she had been he sensed her uneasiness was now gone. Leaning over, he began kissing her while his hand began roaming across her slender but lush frame. Their kisses grew deeper and more impassioned. He felt his cock stir. “I want you to touch me, ladyfaire,” Ian said to her. “Are you not curious to do so?”

“I didn’t know if I should,” Cicely answered him. Then, leaning up again on her elbow, she began caressing him shyly, trailing her fingers across his chest. A fingertip touched one of his nipples, and then rubbed it. “Is it sensitive like mine are?” she asked.

“Aye,” he answered.

Her hand investigated him further, fingers sliding through the curly hair on his chest, down to his navel, and finally to his groin, where she hesitated.

“Touch it,” he said softly. He was practically trembling in his anticipation of the feel of her small hand.

Cicely ran a curious finger down the length of his manhood then looked to him.

“Take it in your hand.” His voice was almost pleading, which she thought odd.

She carefully wrapped her hand about him. The manhood was soft, yet she felt it pulsing with life as her fingers tightened about it. She squeezed him gently and he groaned. Still holding him, she looked at the laird questioningly. “Am I hurting you?”

“Nay, far from it,” he said with a small smile.

Suddenly a startled look came into her eyes. “It is hardening! And it is growing within my hand!” Her eyes widened as, unable to tear her gaze away, she watched with amazement as his manhood grew hard and long while thickening until her fingers could no longer contain him, and she released her hold upon him, looking questioningly at him.

He took the hand that had been holding him and kissed the palm. Then, pressing her back into the pillows upon the bed, he began to kiss her lush mouth, and then his lips trailed down her body, her throat, her shoulders, her chest. He took one of her nipples into his mouth and began to suck upon it.

Cicely moaned with surprise, and her hand began to caress the nape of his neck, moving up to slide into his thick, dark brown hair, digging into his scalp with strong fingers. “That feels good, my lord,” she told him as he suckled upon her. “Don’t stop!”

Slowly, slowly he stoked her passions. He moved to her other breast and his other hand slid between her thighs. She was very wet, and, pushing past her nether lips, he thrust two fingers into her. “Ohh!” It felt so good, but she wanted to experience his long, thick cock inside her once more. She didn’t care if there was pain. “I want you inside me,” she whispered hotly into his ear. “I need it!”

His desire for her was too great to deny her. In the nights to come he would take more time, educate her further in the pleasures of bedsport, but now he needed her too. He covered her with his body and drove deep.

Cicely cried out as he filled her, surprised that there was no pain
this time and at how eagerly her body received him. She wrapped herself about him, encouraging him, so that they quickly experienced a crescendo of such utter satisfaction that it left them both replete with pure delight. She nestled against him, and shortly fell asleep.

Ian Douglas lay awake. He could hardly believe it. She was
his
! His ladyfaire was his, and no other man would have her. Finally exhausted by his physical efforts and his happiness, he fell asleep briefly. But, unable to sleep for long, he arose from her bed, drew the coverlet over her, put on his clothing again, and went from her chamber. Hurrying downstairs, he snatched up a cloak and let himself out of a small side door in the rear of the house.

While the night was overcast, the winter moon was full; it backlit the clouds and reflected on the snow, making it possible for him to find his way down into his village. The laird made his way to the priest’s house and knocked upon the door. His uncle finally came to open it, looking irritable.

“What is it that you want, nephew?” Father Ambrose demanded to know.

“I want you up at the house first thing in the morning,” the laird said. “You’ll marry Cicely and me. I want no further delays.”

“Cicely now, is it?” The priest chuckled. “She’s willing?”

“She’s willing,” Ian answered with a grin.

“Come in, come in!” his uncle said. “We must write up the marriage agreement before I can bless your union. And what brought about this change of heart on the lady’s part, nephew? Or perhaps I should not know, for then I expect I would have to give you both a most severe penance.” He chortled again. “Let me fetch the parchment. There’s whiskey on the table. Pour us both a dram, and refresh my fire. It’s almost out, and ’tis damnably cold in here.”

The two men each performed their individual duties, and then, the fire blazing once more, they sat down at the priest’s table with their dram cups. The parchment was spread, the quill inked, and Father Ambrose began to write quickly.

“It’s mostly the usual,” he said. “If there is anything special you want written into the contract tell me now.” The quill scratched quickly across the yellow vellum.

“I will return half of her dower portion to her,” the laird said.

“What?” The priest was shocked.

“Her dower is said to be large, Uncle. And by keeping my word to Cicely, I prove to her that I want her not for her dower but for herself. What can she do with the monies? She will use them for our home, our children. In a sense it is the same as having it myself, but that it is she who will control that small portion. It means a great deal to my ladyfaire, Uncle. I have promised, and will not break my word.”

“Very well, very well,” the priest said. “Is there anything more foolish than a man totally in love with his woman? I think not.” His quill scratched swiftly across the parchment. Finally he was finished. “There! It is done. It’s simple, but legal in both the eyes of the Church and the laws of Scotland. I will bring it up to the house in the morning. You can both sign it, Lord Grey and I will witness it, and I’ll marry you. Now, get out! You took me from a warm bed.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” the laird said, and he departed, walking back through the icy winter’s night to his home. He did not rejoin Cicely, but rather went to his own chamber and lay down. The dawn came a bit earlier in February, but he would be ready. He slept for several hours, and when he arose he went down to the kitchens to find Mab busily at work with Flora and Bessie. They were just now taking the fresh loaves from the oven.

“My lord, good morning to you,” Mab said, bobbing a curtsy. Her two helpers followed suit.

“There will be a wedding today, Mab!” the laird declared, smiling broadly.

“Lord bless us all!” the old lady cried. “My lady has at last agreed!”

“Last night,” he told her. “And I’ll not delay a moment longer.”

“Delay what?” Orva came into the kitchens.

“They’re going to be wed today!” Bessie burst out.

“Blessed Mother!” Orva exclaimed. “My lady said aye?”

“After a wee bit of my persuasion, she did,” Ian admitted.

“Tam, Artair!” Orva called. “Hot water for my lady’s bath. Quickly now, for she’ll not be wed without washing.” She looked at the laird, her nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. “And you had best wash yourself too,” she said.

“Aye,” he agreed, surprising the others. “I could probably use a good bath. I’ll have mine here before the kitchen hearth.”

“Get the large cauldron,” Mab ordered. “The water will need time to heat, for ’twill be icy from the well.”

Orva hurried from the kitchens. How much of her advice had the laird taken? she wondered. Her question was quickly answered when she entered her mistress’s bedchamber. Cicely was naked in her bed, sitting up with a dreamy smile upon her face. “Good morning, my child,” Orva greeted her.

Cicely’s eyes focused. “Good morning,” she said.

“The laird says you are to marry this day,” Orva responded.

“Aye, we are,” Cicely replied. “Oh, Orva, I was so wrong about him. He is the kindest man in the world, and he really does love me. I need not dissemble with you. You surely know what happened last night, but none of it was done without my acquiescence. And when afterwards I offered to allow him his freedom he refused most firmly. Oh, I know he is not sophisticated like Andrew Gordon, or well dressed, or well connected, but I think I am falling in love with him. And I know that because he loves me he will be a good husband to me, and a good father to our children.”

“Aye.” Orva nodded, her eyes tearing up. “He will be, and your father would be happy for you, my child.”

“Orva! What am I to wear? ’Tis my wedding day!”

“First you will bathe, and the laird is bathing too in the kitchens,” Orva informed her mistress. “It will take a little time for the water to be heated and brought up.”

“Ohh, Orva! He is bathing for me!” Cicely sighed happily. Then she said, “Will you go and tell Maggie and her husband what has transpired?”

“Aye, my lady, I will. Now you stay right there in your bed until your bath is ready,” Orva told her young mistress before she hurried off to oversee all the preparations necessary to having this wedding today.

In the kitchen a small oak tub was brought for the laird. Tam was sent to his master’s chamber to fetch the clean clothing Ian Douglas would wear today. The laird had never felt it necessary to have a body servant, like other men of his class. Mab sent Bessie and Flora from the kitchen, saying they were too young to be regaled with such splendor as the laird’s naked body would present to them.

“But you’re not going,” Bessie complained.

“I helped his mother birth him,” Mab said. “I know what he has.” Then, she shooed her two giggling helpers into the pantry and locked the door behind them. “Use your time to organize the dry food stores,” she called to them through the door. Then going back into the kitchen, she handed her master a sliver of soap and a rough towel.

“Aren’t you leaving too?” he asked her mischievously.

“You’ve nothing I haven’t seen, my lord, and if I go who will be left to prepare the wedding breakfast?” she said to him. Then she went about her business.

He laughed. Then, stripping off his garments, he stepped into the small round tub.
Aye,
he thought as he sat down.
We need a much larger tub, and I did promise my ladyfaire to have the cooper build one. He can spend the rest of the winter doing it.
Taking up the small washing cloth, he soaped it, and then scrubbed himself. His knees poking up touched his chin as he leaned forward to wash between his toes.

“Scrub that mop of yours,” Mab said. “I’ll rinse it for you.”

He followed her advice, gasping as she poured first one, and then a second pitcher of lukewarm water over his head. Finally satisfied with
his ablutions, he stood up, the water sluicing down his body. Reaching for the toweling, he rubbed himself as dry as he could before stepping from the tub onto the stone floor of the kitchen, wrapping the cloth about his loins.

Tam came back into the kitchen. “I think I have what you want, my lord,” he said nervously. He lay the laird’s clothing upon a chair by the table.

Ian Douglas nodded, reaching for his clean, soft linen chemise. It had long sleeves, and came to just below his thighs. He put it on, and then drew on one of the new silk shirts Cicely had made for him, lacing the neck up neatly. The shirt had wide sleeves but was fitted at the wrists. Next he picked up a length of gray-black-and-white plaid, and wrapped it about his loins, securing it with a wide black leather belt.

“I’ll help you with your stockings, my lord,” Tam said, kneeling and rolling them up his master’s calves. The laird stepped into a pair of heelless dark leather shoes the serving man placed before him.

“Sit down!” Mab ordered him. Then to his surprise she pulled a wooden comb with large teeth from her pocket, and combed his damp hair out over and over until it was almost dry. Satisfied, she tied the length with the narrow length of leather he used daily. “You’re ready,” the serving woman said. “Now go up into the hall and await your bride.”

Ian Douglas bent and gave the old woman a kiss on her withered cheek. “Let the lasses out of the larder now, old woman,” he said with a grin.

Mab swatted at him. “As if I’d forget them,” she said, pretending to sound offended. “Get along with you now, my lord!”

He ran up the stairs into the hall to find his uncle had arrived. There was a narrow linen cloth down the center of the high board, and a crucifix between the two silver candlesticks that usually decorated the table. The marriage contract was spread out upon it, along with an inkstand and a quill.