The King's Mistress (29 page)

“I happened to be walking by the chamber and found Cassandra drenched to the skin, holding my beautiful laddie beneath the water.” Using the heels of his hands, Britt dashed the tears from his eyes. “Ian had apparently struggled, fought to live, and she in her madness had had to work to hold him under water. Blind with rage, I slung her across the room, scooped up my bonnie babe and tried to breathe life back into him, but ’twas too late.”

Genny, having apparently heard enough and not wanting to hear more, tugged on his hand. “Come.”

He knew without being told that she would lead him to the loft where they would make love until the new moon rose. Knowing a child might come forth from the union, he pulled her close. “Nay, you need to hear it all.” He led her to the chair and bid she sit.

“Gen, I tried to kill her that day.” He related his finding Cassandra, who’d fled to the hall, and his strangling her, only to be foiled by his father. He told her about his fury when his father refused to bring her to judgment and the conditions he’d asserted for her confinement.

“So she escaped and somehow died?”

Britt told her what transpired upon his return to Skye. “So there you have it. In the end, she still died by my father’s hand, and I am free at last.”

Genny wiped the tears from her cheeks and shook her head. “I don’t know how you’ve endured such sadness.”

He crossed the room and knelt before her. Taking her hands in his, he brought them to his lips. What he now had to tell her would prove the hardest of all to say, for it could mean losing her forever.

“Gen, I did not tell you all this in an effort to garner your sympathy. The truth is that I love you beyond reason, nearly lost my mind when I saw you sail away. I wish to make you mine before God and man, but before I can ask you to bind your life with mine, you need ken one more thing.” The smile that had been taking shape on her lovely countenance slowly shifted to one of wariness, her lower lip catching betwixt her teeth. “With me, it could happen again. I could sire another babe with misshapen legs.”

There. He’d said it aloud. In a cruel twist of fate, his body, perfect as few were in trunk and limb, had flawed seed. The truth hurt as little had, but she either had to accept the possibility of having a child like his precious Ian, or she needed to send him away and find another more worthy of her. He could not—would not—go through the anguish again.

She studied him for too long a while, then said, “Since you’ve been honest with me, I too must be honest with you.”

His heart sank. Fearing he might be physically ill, he started to rise, but she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Nay. You asked, and so now you must hear.” She shifted her hands to either side of his face. “Look at me.”

When he did, she said, “Had you posed this question to me the day you crossed yon threshold for the first time, I, having never been in love and never wanting to be, would have said nay, I would not knowingly lie with a man who might give me such a bairn. But I now ken we’re all flawed in one way or another…I mayhap more than many. In my ignorance and vanity, I’d initially blamed everyone but myself for becoming the lover of a married man. But no more. I’ve come to see that I love you beyond measure. Should we have a bairn who is not perfect, I promise he or she”—she grinned—“or
they
will be treasured, for my bairns will be conceived in love with a man I can no longer imagine living without.” Fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks. “I thought I’d lost you and found it almost impossible to breathe. I love you, Britt MacKinnon, and so will love any and all bairns we make, whether they be physically perfect or not.”

Britt had trouble breathing. “Are you certain?”

She smiled, and her adorable dimple came out of hiding. “Aye, absolutely certain.”

Laughing, he stood and pulled her into his arms, then swung her in a huge circle, sending her skirts flying. After kissing her soundly, he said, “Then we must find a priest, for I will make you mine before the cock crows.”

“Oh no, we can’t.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because, dearest, I shan’t marry without Greer at my side. We’ve gone through too much not to share this, the most important day in my life.”

“Humph.” Britt had given little thought to her twin since Genny had run off. The sisters likely had few secrets betwixt them, and Greer had no love for him. Nor he for her. He trusted her no more than he did Yolande.

His decision on what to do next made, he smiled down at the love of his life. “As you lust. We shall formally wed in Ireland, but first I need ken which man among your sept is the most respected, influential.”

“I suppose that would be Smithy. He’s the eldest and—
Eeeee
!”

Grabbing her by the waist, Britt caught Genny up as if she were but a bairn of three, gave her hurdies a gentle squeeze, making her squeal again, and strode out the door.

Fists beating his shoulder, Genny shouted, “Have you lost your mind, MacKinnon?”

“Nay, just doing what needs to be done, love.”

“What’s he doin’ to ye, Lady Armstrong?” the tallest of the laddies following them asked. “Should I fetch Da for ye?”

“No!” The last thing she needed was their parents coming to look too. Her face had to be scarlet from all the caresses Britt had administered to her thighs and bottom as he carried her toward the village, not to mention all the delicious things he’d told her he was about to do to her, how he would kiss her—in ways even Hildy had neglected to mention—the moment his mission was done.

Running to keep up with Britt’s long strides, another lad said, “Gold spurs! The giant’s a knight!”

She heard the clang of steel on steel before catching the pungent scent of sulfur rising off the coals burning in the smithy’s forge. Britt finally stopped and lowered her to her feet.

Growling, having no idea what Britt was about, she raked the hair off her face and tried to straighten her gown as Britt slipped an arm about her waist.

“Good day,” Britt called to the smithy as he ushered her toward the shade of the stable.

Smithy, a burly man a head shorter than Britt but equal in width, looked from Britt to her, then back to Britt. With hammer in hand, he glowered at Britt. “Are ye all right, m’lady?”

Mortified, she huffed. “Aye, though
he
might not be for much longer.”

“And who might
he
be?”

Keeping a firm hold on her waist, Britt bowed. “Sir Britt MacKinnon of the clan MacKinnon of Skye at your service, and I’ve come to ask a boon for my lady and myself.”

“A boon, ye say?”

“I wish you and these gentlemen”—he pointed to two younger men, who, curious, had gathered round—“to bear witness to my handfasting to Lady Geneen.”

“Handfasting?” Genny sputtered. “You said we’d
marry
!”

He grinned. “And we shall.” To Smithy, he said, “She’s yet to select day and place. You ken my situation. She’s most fair and fulsome, and I am a mere mortal…”

A look of understanding seemed to pass betwixt the men, and Britt nodded. “So ye see we need be bound by the auld laws.”

Smithy looked at Genny. “Is this so, m’lady? Ye’ve agreed to join with this Canteran?”

Fearing Britt might bristle at the Lowlanders’ derogatory term for their northern neighbors, Genny rushed to assure Smithy. “Aye, I’ve agreed, for he’s an honorable knight of girth and sword.”

“Humph!” Smithy eyed Britt again, then said to Genny, “All right, then. Hold out yer arms, m’lady.”

Having no idea why, she did as he bid. Smithy squeezed the flesh of her upper arms, then grasped her hands and ran his thumbs over her calloused palms. Looking at Britt, he said, “Just making sure ye have the right one. With them ye can never tell who’s who lest ye look real hard or one of ’em sings. Yers can’t.”

As Genny glowered at Smithy, Britt grinned. “So I’ve noted.”

“Then get on with it, sir. I ain’t got all day.”

Britt took her hands in his and, looking deep into her eyes, said, “Before these witnesses, I, Britt Alexander MacKinnon of Skye, take you, Geneen Armstrong of Buddle, to wife.” He repeated it twice more then added, “Not for just a year and a day but for all the days of my life.”

Heart swelling, she wrapped her arms about his neck. Into the warmth of their mixed breath, she whispered, “I accept.”

“Make way!” a woman shouted, elbowing her way through the crowd that had taken shape around them. “’Tis true, then? One of our ladies is hitched?”

Recognizing the voice, Genny mentally winced. “Mrs. MacFee, how good to see you. Aye, ’tis true and more.”

The woman examined Genny from hair to slippers, all of which were in disturbing disarray. “And which Lady Armstrong might ye be?”

Genny sighed. “Lady Geneen.”

“Ah, our tax collector.”

Since her tone held no malice, Genny said, “Britt, may I present our midwife, Mrs. Maude MacFee.”

Britt took the old woman’s hand, plump as dough, and bowed deeply. “Britt MacKinnon of Skye at your service, m’lady.”

Auld Maude turned crimson, then, collecting herself, flapped her apron at one and all. “Away to me croft, the lot of ye. Can’t be having a wedding without buns and mead. ’Twould be unchristian. Hie now, ’fore I change my mind.”

A cheer went up. Maude had a knack not only for birthing babes but for making the best mead among the villagers. Someone pulled a whistle from their belt, and to a shrill tune, they all marched to the midwife’s croft.

“Saint Columba, I thought they’d never let us go.” Britt, stripped of his clothing, collapsed onto the bed, pulled Genny to his chest and draped a thigh over hers. Feeling her breath against his throat, her delightful pink-tipped breasts pressing against his chest, he ran his hands over the sweet velvet of her skin and sighed.
Mine! Every luscious curve, every sunlit tress, all mine.

Snuggling into his embrace, she patted his cheek. “You’ve none to blame but yourself. Had you not started the sleight of hand, pulling coins from behind the wee ones’ ears, we might have escaped the merriment sooner.”

“True, but they were so determined to make our union a joyous occasion, how could I deny them?” Word had already reached the villagers that their king was dead. When pressed for answers, he’d told them an heir was on the way. But the adults knew the ways of nature, that the babe could be stillborn or frail. That even a healthy son might not prevent war. So he’d provided them what little joy he could.

And now ’twas his turn to celebrate the fact that he had the woman he loved in his arms.

Lulled by excellent ale and hearty food, he began their lovemaking in leisurely, luxurious fashion, him taking his time worshiping his hard-won prize, Genny relaxed and giving. As he stroked, she purred. As they kissed, her flesh heated much like a well-tended fire. Her soft breaths became pants. His gentle stroking betwixt her thighs caused her to gasp. Feeling her grow exceedingly slick and arch beneath his fingers, he rolled and settled between her thighs. Looking into her eyes, he smiled and told her, “I’ve dreamed of this every night since first making love to you.”

“Britt.”

“Hmm?”

“Shhh.” She grasped his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. Her hips arched to meet his, and slick with need, she welcomed him home.

Unlike their first mating, this time there was no anxiety, only wonder. This lovely blonde goddess beneath him—his ladywife—knowing the truth, still loved and wanted him. The knowledge made it all that more difficult to bide his time. None too soon she, panting, went rigid beneath him.
That’s the lass
.

Keening his name, she shuddered, her womb throbbing, bidding him come, and so he did.

Chest heaving, glistening with sweat, Britt collapsed onto his forearms above her, then, garnering what strength he had, slowly rolled onto his back, taking her with him.

Genny, heaving an equally contented sigh, rested her head on Britt’s chest, deciding this coming together was even better than their first. “Oh my. If this is to be expected with every joining, I might not survive to see my next birthday.”

Britt, his eyes closed and breath slowing, stroked her back. “When is it?”

“The first day of June. And unlike last year, I shall celebrate with Greer.” At which point she would apologize to her sister. If Greer felt like this—after being loved and held by the king—then she understood how her sister had come to be with child. “Do you think word of the king’s death has reached Ireland yet?”

“I’d be surprised if it hasn’t, given the amount of trade conducted betwixt our countries.”

“Might Greer have already heard?”

“That will depend on how close she is to a port and how politically connected your aunt is.”

“I’ve no idea about either.”
Lord, don’t let me have to be the bearer of such sad tidings.

With the crook of his finger, Britt lifted her chin from his chest to better look into her eyes. Sounding aghast, he asked, “Are you saying you had no idea where you were bound when you boarded that cog?”

“Well, I, uhmm…knew the name of her estate.”

“Good God almighty.”

Hoping to distract, she said, “Kenning we’d be wed in just weeks, why did you handfast with me?” Did he fear she’d renege on her promise?

He huffed and settled back against the pillow. “We ken not what the morrow may bring,
a ghraidh
. War could erupt, taking me from you. The cog could flounder, and I could be lost. I thought it imperative you have my name so if need be, you could seek refuge with my family.”

“Stop.” She shuddered. “I refuse to give a moment’s thought to losing you.”

“Thank you, but denial provides no protection. We may have just made a bairn.”

A bairn. Not wishing to cause him worry but deciding she had to be prepared for the worst, she asked, “You said Ian would never have walked. What precisely was wrong?”

“He was perfect…except for his lower limbs. They were of normal size but shaped like…” Britt bowed his arms in a circle, flexing his wrist inward at an awkward angle.

“You mean clubbed?”

He shrugged. “We had no word for it, since none within our sept had seen such before.”