He breathed in deeply again. All was quiet in the castle at this time of night. Everyone was abed, ready to rise the next day with the sun, so it could begin all over again. A way of life that had been going on for centuries here. His chest tightened. He was determined that it would continue for centuries more.
As always, when he was alone, and his mind had a chance at reflection, his thoughts turned to Roseann. He still hadn’t spotted her, not even once, around the castle today. A fact that caused a small frisson of concern to shiver through him.
He was so tired he could barely stand, and his eyes ached in his skull, from poring over documents. But he needed to speak to her before the day was done. She might be fast asleep now, but the need was imperative. He must find out what she was feeling and thinking, now that she realized that their efforts to put off the betrothal had all been for naught. He simply had no idea what path her mind was traveling upon now, whether she would stay with him, in these bitter circumstances, or if she was thinking something else entirely…
Suddenly, he heard soft footsteps, descending down the staircase towards him. He turned, bracing himself. He didn’t feel like dealing with anyone else today. Wearily, he plastered a smile onto his face.
His eyes widened as he saw the silhouette of the woman. She was in darkness, holding a candle aloft so that her shadow fell on the wall behind her. His heart gripped tightly in his chest as he realized who it was.
It was Roseann, walking slowly towards him. She held the candle higher so that her face was illuminated. Her amber eyes glowed like fireflies. Her dark hair was loose, falling in soft curls down her back.
His heart seized again, just at the sight of her face. How was it possible that it was like new, every time that he beheld her? That it was as fresh as the day that he had first laid eyes on her?
“Roseann…” he breathed, moving towards her, as if in a dream.
But she stepped back, putting a hand up, to stop him. “Laird,” she whispered. “I know that you are weary. Go to your chamber, and I will meet you there so that we can talk privately.”
He frowned slightly, moving towards her again. He wanted to hold her in his arms, just for a minute. But she smiled, somewhat enigmatically, turning around and drifting back up the staircase. His eyes followed her until she had disappeared.
Slowly, he smiled. Then he turned, walking quickly towards his chambers, his heart beating a tune in his chest. The anticipation of finally seeing her after the long weary day had dissipated his weariness in one fell swoop. He felt energized, as if he could run the length of the castle entirely.
He was pouring mead into two goblets when the knock came. He carefully put the goblets down, walking towards the door and opening it.
She was standing there, wrapped in a dark velvet cloak, the hood drawn low over her head so that he could only see the tip of her nose, and the sweep of her cheekbones. Her skin looked as pale as the moon in the sky on a black night.
Without a word, she brushed past him and into the room. He closed the door firmly, bolting it. There was simply no way that anyone was going to disturb them until they had spoken at last. Even if the castle walls came crashing down around them.
She walked to the center of the room, turning around slowly towards him. The black cloak she was wearing skimmed the ground, swishing around her feet. She still didn’t raise her head, not even an inch.
For some reason, he felt a small frisson of foreboding run through him. She wasn’t acting like herself at all, and the long dark cloak that she was wearing gave her an almost otherworldly appearance. He was suddenly reminded of a Druid ritual that he had spied on a hillside, one dark night when he had been young. They had worn dark cloaks, moving together in some strange mystical dance, beneath the full moon.
“Roseann?” His voice came out croaky. “What are ye doin’, my love?”
She didn’t raise her head an inch, nor did she answer him. He took a small step towards her.
Suddenly, she looked up. He gasped.
And in one fluid movement, she shed the cloak, so that it came tumbling to the ground, falling in undulating waves around her.
He kept staring at her, unable to move. It was as if he was rooted to the spot.
She was completely naked underneath the cloak, and she straightened her shoulders so that he could see her form clearly. His eyes trailed over her full, creamy breasts with the rosy nipples at their centers, her soft curves, and the dark triangle of hair at the top of her legs.
His loins tightened, so intensely that it was almost painful. She was stunningly beautiful—a vision of perfect womanhood. The sight of her body alone would have been enough to have floored him. But there was something else on her body, which arrested his vision.
She was covered in softly swirling blue paint, the patterns drawn in detail over her legs and her abdomen. She had also painted her breasts. Vaguely, he recognized the symbols. They were old Celtic ones that he had seen sometimes on cave walls or in old manuscripts.
She looked like an ancient Celtic fertility goddess from days long gone, before the Holy Church had taken over this land.
His eyes widened further, how had she done this? How had she found the symbols? And why?
Slowly, she walked towards him.
“I dinnae understand,” he said, his voice ragged.
She took a deep breath, gazing up at him, her eyes alight, glimmering in the candlelight.
“I am yours,” she whispered. “For all of time. There shall never be another man for me. I wanted to show you how strongly I feel. I wanted to use the symbols of your ancient people, to express my love for you and your country…”
He swallowed a lump that had thickened in his throat at her words. Slowly, he raised a hand, reverently touching her, as if she really was an ancient goddess that had suddenly taken human form. As if she were a goddess incarnate.
“Roseann, my love…”
But she placed a finger on his lips, gazing at him steadily. “No words,” she whispered. “Not now. This time is not about words. I am the goddess, now, and you will obey me.”
He stared at her. Slowly, he smiled, nodding. Where had this wild, confident woman suddenly come from? He was used to taking the lead between them in such matters, knowing how inexperienced she was. He had taken her maidenhead, after all.
But the woman standing before him, proudly naked with blue Celtic symbols painted over her body, was no longer the shy maiden he had first taken. This was a woman who knew what she wanted and had no compunction about showing him.
His heart swelled with delight. She was his woman. A woman he was proud to call his own—a woman who owned her sensuality.
He was just about to open his mouth to tell her when he remembered that she didn’t want him to speak. His eyes narrowed as he watched, seeing what she would do next.
He didn’t have to wait long. She took a deep breath, then slowly started to undress him. She didn’t even look at him, as she took off each item, discarding them on the ground until he was as naked as she was.
The air was cool on his skin, but he was so hot, it barely caused a goose bump. He could feel his manhood risen and hard, jutting forward. The sight of her alone had hardened him, but the confident touch of her hands on him had almost driven him to the point of no return. He wanted to grab her, this instant, and plunge into her, seeking the release they both sorely needed.
His fingers itched with the desire to grab her, but he resisted the impulse. Slowly, with feather-light touches, she trailed her fingers over his chest, into the red hair that curled there, and down his abdomen until she was grasping his manhood firmly, in both hands.
He groaned aloud, closing his eyes. Slowly, surely, she moved him back and forth, in an agony of sensation. He felt a drop of moisture ooze from his tip, just for her.
His eyes were still closed, as with sure fingers she worked him, making him ache with need. And then suddenly, he felt a warm wetness close over the tip of his manhood, enclosing it.
The shock was so intense that he cried out in surprise as well as pleasure. He opened his eyes, in a haze, staring down at her.
She gazed up at him, her amber eyes warm, and glinting with a strange, powerful light.
“Go and lie down,” she said in a firm voice. “Go and lie down on the bed. Now.”
23
In a daze, he did what she wanted, lying down on the bed, gazing at her intensely. His manhood was aching for release. He could see it glistening with wetness from her mouth and the droplets of his own desire.
She walked slowly towards him, tossing back her long dark hair until she was standing at the bed, staring down at him. Her eyes traveled the length of his body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, lingering on his swollen manhood.
He gazed at her through narrowed eyes, pulsing with desire, once again restraining the urge to grab her roughly and plow himself into her. He knew that he mustn’t do that. She was the one in control here, and she seemed to be delighting in the role.
Slowly, carefully, she climbed up on him, until she was poised above his manhood. And then, like she was slipping on a glove, she lowered herself down upon him, straddling him tightly.
He gasped, at the first wondrous moment, of feeling her slippery warmth of being inside her. It was always the same. That very first moment of being in her always took his breath away.
She flung her shoulders back, proudly, so that he could see her whole body. The creamy full breasts, jiggling slightly, and the splay of her hips resting against his pubic bone. He could just see the dark triangle of her maidenhair disappearing into the fiery tufts of his own.
Slowly, she started to move against him. At first, it was so agonizingly slow that he couldn’t stop the upward thrust of his hips against her. But gradually, she started quickening her pace, almost sliding against him, back and forth, in a rhythm as old as time.
She tossed back her hair, riding him so confidently that he could barely breathe. It was so agonizingly good that he couldn’t stop himself placing his hands upon her hips. Her flesh was so hot as if on fire.
Her movements quickened again until she was almost bouncing upon him, up and down. Suddenly, she threw her head back, groaning. He felt her muscles inside start to clench and unclench, and he knew that she was very close. So close that she was making her familiar mewling noises, that he always knew signified her moment of fulfillment was just about upon her.
Suddenly, she twisted upon him, crying out. He felt her climax tearing through her, gripping him tightly. The sight of her in her moment of ecstasy was so beautiful that he couldn’t wait another second. He gripped her tightly as his own shot through him, filling her completely. He cried out, too, unable to restrain himself, as the bolts of pleasure peaked to a delirious level.
Slowly, she sank down upon him, until she was resting on his chest, breathing hard. He felt himself slip out of her. He was panting hard himself.
For a few moments, he was unable to do anything, as the aftershocks shuddered through him, and delicious tiredness overtook him. Then slowly, he lifted one hand, stroking her damp, dark hair gently off her face.
“My love,” he whispered roughly, gazing down at her, his eyes warm. “My love…”
“Shhhh,” she whispered back, her amber eyes warm as well. “Just rest now, my love. You are tired. You have had a long, trying day. Just rest…”
Her words dripped over him like honey. He could barely keep his eyes open. The weariness that had gripped him like a vise all day, and that had vanished in the last hour with her, suddenly washed over him again.
His eyelids fluttered, but he resisted it. He needed to speak to her. They hadn’t talked about anything: not Lady Sineag’s shock announcement, nor what they would do now. The fierce lovemaking had consumed everything. And while he had loved it, just as he loved how she had taken control of it, it was imperative that they figure out how to go forward together.
But her hands were on his shoulders, gently kneading the muscles. He groaned softly, feeling himself begin to melt into the bed. His eyelids fluttered again, and suddenly, sleep took him, like a sword.
Roseann carefully wrapped the black cloak around herself. For a moment, she stared back at him, lying on the bed.
He was deeply asleep, lines of weariness etched upon his face. He had flung one arm above his head. Her eyes traveled down the length of his body again, now still. His manhood was soft and small now, almost curled upon his inner thigh, nestling within its pit of fiery red hair.
Her heart twisted. She shouldn’t linger any longer, but she knew that this would be the last time that she would gaze upon his body. That body that she felt like an extension of her own, now. The body that had awakened her to such extreme delights. Delights that she had never dreamed possible.
A single tear fell down her face. It had never been possible to talk to him about what she must now do. Lady Sineag had gagged her, as surely as if she had physically put a rag into her mouth. If she told him that she must leave, it would jeopardize the safety of her family and her home.
She shuddered with pain. She had wanted to say farewell to him, but that too had been impossible. So, she had said farewell to him with her love. She had said farewell with her body. It would be the last time they would join together, and they would both always remember it.
She sighed deeply, shuddering again, clutching the cloak tighter around her naked body. She needed to get back to her own chambers, wash, and prepare for the journey that she must take. The journey that she was being forced to make.
“Farewell, my love,” she whispered to the man sleeping on the bed. He didn’t stir.
And then, she walked out of the room, closing the door quietly and firmly behind her.
The moon was full in the sky, shedding a white light into the courtyard. Roseann walked swiftly through the darkness, making her way towards the stables.
It was so silent she could hear her own footsteps on the stones. She clutched the bag that she had hastily packed. She had done it so quickly; she barely registered what she had taken.
Before she had made her way into the courtyard, she had stolen into the kitchens, moving about the silent space. Usually, it was full of people, coming and going. The stillness had been strangely eerie, and she had barely been able to see. But she had managed to find some food, only bread and cheese, and had filled a flask with water for the journey.
She was almost there. The main stable gate was closed, but it wouldn’t take much to unlatch it. She struggled with the weight of it for a moment, but eventually, it gave way, letting her peer into the stables.
The horses were all standing there silently, resting their heads over their corrals. She heard a soft neigh. Slowly, she approached the first horse, gazing deeply into its warm brown eyes.
It was the dappled horse that she had ridden when MacCain had taken her to the loch that day to meet Domhnall. She smiled slightly at the memory. She had been still trying to fight her love for him, then. She had still believed that it was possible to do so.
She realized now that it was useless. She loved him, and she would love him forever. She had meant what she had said when she had told him that she was his. They might never be able to be together, but she would always be his. There could be no other man for her.
She spoke to the horse gently, reassuringly, as she led it out of the corral. It didn’t take her long to saddle it. She led the beast slowly through the courtyard by the reins. She knew a side way to leave the castle without alerting the main guards. She would mount the horse and start riding as soon as she was clear of Coirecrag. The last thing she needed now was for a guard to spot her and tell Domhnall.
The wind was howling around the castle walls when she finally made her way out. For a moment she stopped, gazing around. It was so dark, she could barely see the track that she must take.
She shivered for a moment. The reality of the situation suddenly hit her forcefully. She was about to ride by herself on these tracks towards
England. She had made the journey enough to know her way, now, but she also knew that it was beset with danger.
And she was a woman alone. She didn’t even have Nigel, the woodcutter’s son, for protection anymore. He had returned to England, as soon as the Laird had cleared them of being spies. She must make this journey by herself.
She had never felt more alone or more vulnerable in her life.
She gazed back at Coirecrag. It was enormous, rearing like a dark stone fortress in the night. The moon was low in the sky, almost hovering above the hills, so close she felt she could reach out and touch it.
She took a deep breath. In that, at least, she was lucky. The moon would guide her way. It could have been a completely black night, and she would be forced to ride with her heart in her mouth, for fear that she would ride into a ditch.
A Pledge of Passion to the Highlander Page 16