The Border Lord's Bride (20 page)

Twice. A third time, and the membrane finally shattered, letting him drive deep into her. He licked the tears from her cheeks, his hot tongue tenderly caressing the salty moisture from her skin. Then he began to move rhythmically within her, slowly, slowly, until she was moaning low against his mouth, her body straining against him, seeking everything he wanted to give her.

It had hurt! Mother of God, it had hurt! But then as quickly as the pain had driven through her, it was gone. And in its place was a feeling of fullness. She was full of him, and he fit her like a well-made leather glove as he plumbed her depths, unleashing feelings such as she had never known existed. Ellen clung to him. Unable to help herself she sank her teeth into his shoulder, biting down hard, and she heard his rumble of laughter as he swore softly. He increased the tempo of his rhythm, and her nails clawed at his back as she wanted more and more.

"Little wildcat," Duncan growled deep in his throat. He caught her wrists, pressing them back on either side of her head. "Look at me, Ellen! Look at me!"

With great effort she opened her eyes, although her eyelids felt leaden. Her gaze met his, and she saw the passion between them reflected. She cried out, and he laughed low as she said, "I canna look more. It is too much! Too much!" Her head was spinning again as her eyes closed, but now behind her eyelids stars burst over and over again. She cried out again, but the sound was lost in the roar of his shout as his juices burst forth within her, and his big body shook with desire fulfilled.

Afterward he lay upon his back, breathing deeply, with Ellen half-conscious upon his chest, and he considered that he was the most fortunate man in all of Scotland. She was a passionate woman, and it had been his good fortune to have awakened her. He stroked the long, soft red-gold hair, now loose, flowing down her shapely back and over her creamy shoulders. She was his wife. His wife! And no one would ever know the fire within her but him. He felt sated and more relaxed than he had in months. Reaching down, he drew the coverlet over them and smiled at her faint murmur of contentment as he did so. He was going to love her. He was! How could he not?

When she awoke several hours later, for she had drifted into sleep within the comfort of his strong arms, Ellen considered her wedding night. She had slept better than she had in many months. She was safe. She was a woman now. How gentle he had been with her. Were all men thus? Balgair wasn‘t. But she didn‘t have to know anything else, because she was Duncan Armstrong‘s wife, and there were no other men in the world for her but him. The coupling between them had been…She sought for a word, but even wonderful didn‘t quite sum up her thoughts. At least they were compatible, she considered. Would they do it every night? Would it be as marvelous as it had been last night? And he had said there would never again be pain when he entered her.

"You‘re awake." His deep, masculine voice startled her.

"Aye," she replied softly.

"You are all right?" he questioned her.

"Perhaps a trifle sore, but that, I expect, is natural," Ellen admitted.

"Your maidenhead was lodged tightly," he told her. "I‘m sorry it had to hurt you as much as it did." His hand stroked her head.

"At least you have no doubts now about my chastity," Ellen replied. "I know some considered that the king might have trifled with me because we were friends."

"I never doubted your innocence," Duncan told her quietly.

"But you could not be certain until last night," Ellen said, but she believed him, for he wasn‘t a man who lied easily. "I‘m glad I was a virgin for you, my lord."

"A virgin no more," he murmured softly, his hand moving past the ends of her hair to fondle her bottom. "I find I am hungry for you once more wee wife." His cock was engorged again with the delicious lust he felt for her.

"But it is light outside our windows," she protested softly.

"Lovemaking may be accomplished at any time of the day or the night, and in any place. I think I must make it my duty to love you in all manner of loci." He chuckled, delighted by her little shocked gasp. Rising from the bed he pulled her up, leading her to the windows. He set her with her hands braced against the sill, bending her forward just enough, and then, taking her by the hips, he whispered to her to spread her legs for him. When she did he slipped his length deep inside her and began to pump himself against her. "You see," he whispered hotly in her ear.

"Anytime. Anywhere. Let me begin a list of the places I shall fuck you, my wee wife: before the hearth here in our bedchamber, and the hearth in the hall, and in the darkness of a horse stall in the stables, and out on the hillside in the heather, and in our tub, and in my lap. I shall take you on your back and from behind; I shall take you on your knees and sitting astride me. You excite me, Ellen, and the thought of educating you arouses me greatly." He pressed a hot kiss on the back of her neck.

He was so big inside of her, and yet her body accepted him easily. The friction of his cock against her sensitive hidden flesh was the most exciting thing she had ever experienced. She could not have imagined being taken in such a manner, or the other ways and places to which he referred. He dominated her with his mastery of passion, but she would one day learn to dominate him, Ellen vowed. The landscape before her blurred, and she sighed as she let herself be carried away again into the heights. She sighed again deeply, and then she shuddered with her release even as he shuddered with his.

It had been every bit as wonderful this second time, Ellen thought as the countryside beyond the windows came into focus again. "I believe I shall look forward to the many times and different places you propose, my lord," she said softly, and she felt his lips on her neck again.

"You‘re a braw lass," he told her, laughing low. Then he picked her up and tucked her back into their bed again.

Ellen gazed at him through half-closed eyes as he climbed into the oak tub again, and quickly washed himself. The water would be cold now, but he didn‘t seem to mind. She watched as he briskly toweled himself dry and pulled on his garments. But then he did something that surprised her entirely: He took the earthenware pitcher from the hot coals of the hearth and poured the warm water into the matching ewer on the little table.

"You‘ll want to bathe a bit, I suspect," he said. "I‘ll await you in the hall, wife." Then he left her, unbarring the door, closing it behind him.

Ellen climbed quickly from their bed. She was shocked at first to note the bloody brown mark on the bedsheet that matched the stains on her thighs. Honest evidence of her innocence lost, she realized. She washed herself slowly, thoughtfully. How odd life was. All her life she had known she would marry Donald MacNab and live her life in the same house in which she had been born. She would be the lady of Lochearn. Yet her fate had been changed in an instant the moment the MacArthurs of Skye had descended upon her home. And now she was a border

lord‘s bride, and far from Lochearn, and all those she had loved were dead at the hands of their treacherous kin. She wondered if Balgair MacArthur had learned yet that he was not the laird of Lochearn except with the permission of the lord of the isles. Or had the MacNabs exacted their revenge over Donald‘s death? It was unlikely she would ever know.

Ellen pulled on a clean chemise and then a fitted blue velvet gown with long, tight sleeves and a vee neckline. The blue was more the color of a sunlit sea than the sky. Sitting down upon the bed, she brushed out her hair and plaited it into a single thick braid, which she fastened with a dark blue ribbon. Standing again, she slipped her feet into her leather house clogs and hurried down to the hall. Her guests would surely be up, and she did not know if they would leave today or remain to visit with Duncan.

The Bruces of Cleit remained one more day to visit. Ellen noted that the brothers spent a great deal of time together laughing, and it was obvious the two Bruces were teasing their Armstrong half brother. She could but imagine what it was all about, and every time Conal Bruce looked her way she felt her cheeks getting hot.

Noticing it, Adair said, "Pay them no mind. Their bodies grow, but men are still boys at heart.

Are you all right?"

"Shouldn‘t I be?" Ellen said.

"He was gentle?"

"Aye," was the answer.

"You are uncomfortable speaking with another woman about these matters," Adair told her sister-in-law, "but you must not be. Certainly your old nurse cannot tell you what you must know, still being a maiden herself. But then, servants exchange information." She smiled. "You should have someone younger to serve you."

"Peigi would be heartbroken," Ellen said.

"Not if your new servant is in Peigi‘s charge," Adair replied.

Ellen laughed. "‘Tis clever," she admitted, and then, seeing Sim, the steward, she called to him to come to her. "Whom among the women would you choose to serve me when Peigi grows too old?" she asked him. "I would like someone who might be trained to my likes and dislikes by Peigi."

"Young Gunna, my lady," Sim answered. "She is sweet-natured, and quick to learn. Her mother is our cook, but Gunna has no talent for it, I fear." He smiled. "I would tell you before someone else does, she is my niece."

"Send her to me," Ellen said. "The lady of Cleit will help me decide. And Sim—not a word to Peigi. She will not be pleased by my decision."

The steward bowed politely. "I understand, my lady, and if I might suggest it, I would send Peigi to you first, that you may explain to her what it is you wish to do. Then she might have a hand in helping you to decide if Gunna is suitable."

"Aye!" Ellen responded. "That is a fine idea, Sim. Thank you."

Sim bowed again, and then hurried off to find both Peigi and Gunna.

"You are fortunate to have such a man as Sim overseeing your house," Adair noted. "And clever to accept his good advice."

"It was good advice," Ellen replied. "Oh, there was news at court you might find interesting. I am astounded I forgot, for it would certainly be of interest to you. The Duchess of Burgundy is sending the Duke of York to Scotland. She seeks King James‘s aid in restoring him to his rightful throne."

Adair grew pale. "My half brother is dead!" She gasped. "He and Edward, his elder, were murdered at Middlesham after the battle of Market Bosworth. The Tudor faction tried to imply that King Richard had killed them, but he didn‘t. They were alive after the Tudor stole the throne."

"Nonetheless I did not misunderstand what was being gossiped about. Margaret of Burgundy champions this young man, and the king wishes to repay King Henry for his treachery along the border. He will irritate the English mightily by sheltering this prince."

"He is no prince!" Adair said heatedly. "He is an impostor, a pretender! And King James knows it, for we spoke on it several years ago. He knows my half brothers are dead, God assoil their innocent and sweet young souls. The page who slept hidden in their bedchamber saw the

murders done, the bodies carried off, and he fled to me at Stanton to tell me of it."

"Where is he?" Ellen asked. "Perhaps he could help expose this alleged duke."

Adair sighed. "He was killed the day Willie Douglas raided my home and carried me off," she answered.

"Then your only witness to this deed is himself dead," Ellen pointed out. "But perhaps this man who calls himself Richard of York is indeed your half brother, and did not die after all," she suggested.

"I do not believe it. The Duchess of Burgundy has every reason to hate Henry Tudor. She is sister to my father, King Edward the Fourth, and my uncle, King Richard the Third. She would hold the Tudors responsible for the downfall of the House of York. She is a Plantagenet, and there are other male heirs of their line with far stronger claims on England‘s throne than Henry Tudor has. As much as I dislike King Henry I know this is simply a grab for power," Adair told her companion.

"I am amazed by you," Ellen said admiringly. "You are a simple bonnet laird‘s wife, and yet you know even more than most of the great lords at court."

Adair smiled. "I have not forgotten my early training, for all that England deserted me. I would rather be a Scot, Ellen, and a bonnet laird‘s mate than to go back to what I once was. There is no future in the past, but I am no fool. I know what it is King James is about. He had best be careful that this duplicity he aims at Henry Tudor doesn‘t turn about to harm him. The Tudors are ruthless, and I do not think our young King James is."

The English had always been a thorn in Scotland‘s side, James thought as he sat by the fire in his privy chamber, a page dozing by his feet. Had there ever been peace between the two kingdoms? Real peace? He thought on the history of his country. Was there ever a time when Scotland and England had not been intertwined? He didn‘t believe so, but James believed the two lands had become more seriously involved when the Norman Duke William had conquered England over five hundred years prior.

The Anglo-Saxon heir to the English throne, Edgar, had fled north with his sisters to the court of King Malcolm of Scotland. Malcolm was known as Ceann Mor, which had several translations, James thought, smiling. Big head. Headman. Great chief. Edgar‘s eldest sister, Margaret, was very beautiful not just physically, but in character as well. Malcolm already had a wife, Ingeborg of Orkney, the widow of a Norse earl. She had given him three children. But Malcolm had married Ingeborg in a pagan ceremony. He married his Anglo-Saxon princess in the Christian rite, and was devoted to her for the rest of their lives. She gave him six sons.

But Malcolm miscalculated the time it would take William the Norman to consolidate his conquest of England. The Scots king attempted to expand his territories, believing that William would be so occupied in the south that he would not be able to defend the north of England.

When William quickly marched north, Malcolm realized his own resources were not equal to that of the Norman. He welcomed the new English king at Abernethy, and took a public oath to be his man. Such action may have saved the day, but it boded badly for future relations between the two countries.