Then he discovered her, and for a moment he could not move, too mesmerized for thought or word.
Elen lay upon the great four-postered bed on the wolf's pelt he had given her. She was naked, her pale skin and long limbs surrounded by the soft, thick fur of the pelt gleaming in the darkness. She was watching him, her head propped upon a pillow, her eyes half closed.
"Wife..." he whispered, fearing he was dreaming.
"Munro."
He walked slowly to the bed, unfastening the clasp of his brooch, and let the burgundy and green plaid fall to the floor.
"Ye ne'er fail to amaze me," he murmured, his voice already thick with desire for her.
"I nae ken what ye mean. We are wed and I am yours." A smile played on the corners of her rosy lips. "Which means ye are mine."
Munro kicked off his shoes and grasped the back of his shirt to pull it off over his head. He tossed it to the floor. "Does this mean we have called a truce?" He sat down on the edge of the bed. His hand ached to cup her bare breast, yet he hesitated. She was so ravishing, as exquisite as any painting he had ever seen, and he feared if he touched her, it might mar the moment.
"Only a bedchamber truce," she sighed.
He rolled onto his stomach over the bedlinens and the pelt to reach her. "A bedchamber truce?" He breathed deeply, enveloped by the scent of her warm skin, her hair. "Is this some trick?"
She laughed sleepily, her voice a delight to his ears. "Nae a trick, m'lord."
"Then why—"
"I considered putting up a fight." She reached out to him, drawing him over her. "I considered barring the door. Flinging insults, daring ye to break it down with our king below in the great hall, but..."
He lowered his head over hers, drinking in her green eyes and the colors they reflected—browns, yellows, like the eyes of a jeweled cat in the darkness.
"But?" he breathed, thinking surely he had died and risen to heaven.
"It wasnae what I wanted." She lifted her head from the pillow to press her lips to his. Her tongue flicked over his lower lip. "This is what I wanted. And I am used to getting what I want." She gazed into his eyes. "On the morrow, I vow I will be angry with ye again for doing this to me."
Munro lowered his mouth over hers, unable to hold back any longer. "I would expect no less of ye," he growled in his throat.
Their mouths met, tongues twisted.
"Your clothes," she whispered when they were both breathless from the kiss.
He fumbled with the plaid around his waist, feeling as if he were a lad again. He was already swollen, throbbing for want of her. He tossed away his hose and at last he, too, was naked upon the wolf pelt. He covered her body with his, stretching out over her, thrilled by the softness of her curves that melded so well to his muscle and hardness.
They fit so perfectly together.
Elen dragged her nails over his back and as he met her gaze, the silent communication was profound. She loved him. She just didn't know it yet.
Munro lowered his head, sliding his mouth downward. He encircled her areola with the tip of his tongue. She moaned. He took her nipple between his lips, between his teeth, and suckled gently. She lifted her hips, grinding against him. He suckled one breast and then the other, taking his time, praying to sweet God that he could last long enough to take her.
Elen writhed beneath him on the wolf pelt as she caressed his back, his buttocks. She moved against his hardness, stroking him with her thighs.
He slid lower, kissing a lazy path downward. She ran her fingers through his hair and groaned, "Munro, please..."
"Shhh," he whispered. "We have all night."
"Nay. Ye will kill me with your attentions. Just—"
He kissed her below her navel, silencing her, and felt her relax deeper into the pelt. He kissed lower, delighting in the salty taste of her silky skin.
Elen wondered what had possessed her to strip off her clothes and lie naked in her bed to wait for him. Just because she wanted him did not mean she should have given in so easily. But to give in was so exquisite. Elen lifted her hips to meet his mouth as Munro kissed even lower.
As his mouth met the bed of curls at the apex of her thighs, she felt her worries swirl away from her. Suddenly she could not think. Nothing mattered. Not the unwanted marriage, not the king, not even Dunblane. All that mattered was this man and the feelings that rolled over her like waves on the shore.
His tongue flicked to taste her, and whatever conscious thought still remained with her slipped away. He made her mad with passion... wild. She twisted and turned beneath him, begged for release.
Munro took his sweet time, seeming to enjoy her heady torture.
"Munro," she begged. "Please... I need..."
"What?" he murmured, his breath hot in her ear.
She lifted her lashes, meeting and holding his gaze. "I need ye," she whispered, lifting her hips to the hardness that pressed against her thigh.
"This?" he breathed, pressing the tip of his swollen manhood to the place that ached for him.
She lifted up, grasping his bare buttocks, pulling him toward her.
They laughed together in joy, in relief as he slid into her. And suddenly Elen was riding one continuous wave of climax—a place where there seemed to be no beginning, no end, only the sweet ecstasy of the pleasure... and of Munro.
Chapter 21
Elen lifted her hand in farewell as the king rode over the drawbridge. "God bless," she shouted, clutching the king's writ of her land retention in her hand. "Long live King Robert!"
"Until we meet again," Munro, standing beside her, called.
When the last of Robert's men had crossed over the drawbridge, Elen turned to Munro. "I suppose ye shall be off this morning, m'lord."
He blinked. "Off?"
She strode across the bailey, her boots sinking into the mud and muck created by the snow and so many horsemen. This morning she wore her usual utilitarian garb, having carefully folded the golden gown and placed it in a trunk. "To your keep, of course. Winter is coming. I know ye have much to do."
Munro chuckled. "Actually, my keep is well prepared for winter, as are my tenants. And what matters need attending can be dealt with by Cerdic." He followed her through the entryway, over the oubliette, into the great hall.
She lifted a shoulder. "I suppose ye could make Rancoff Castle ready for the king's daughter ye must care for. The lass will need a place to sleep."
After Elen had gone to bed, the king had asked a personal favor of Munro. He had requested Munro and Elen offer their protection to an illegitimate daughter Robert had only recently discovered he had. Apparently the girl's mother had died and this by-blow of the king's had nowhere to go. Robert did not feel taking her into his own household was proper, but he wanted to see her well cared for.
The king had promised Munro he would take her off their hands as soon as he had time to provide a suitable dowry and find a husband for her among his loyal supporters. He'd explained that the lass was sixteen, angry and headstrong, but it was his opinion Elen could handle her as well as anyone. And with the forthcoming of children, God willing, the king had suggested, a well-born woman and mannerly lass in the household would be helpful.
Elen had not been thrilled with the idea of taking in the lass when Munro told her, but she had enough sense to realize she could not refuse Robert, especially considering the documents he had provided her with this morning.
"Oh," Munro said. "I wouldnae leave the lass with your sister. Nae telling what ill habits she might pick up there. Robert specifically said he thought your influence would be good for the lass."
Elen frowned as she walked into the great hall. The entire chamber was in a shambles in the aftermath of the hasty wedding and Robert's visit. The men who had slept here last night had risen to bid the king farewell, but pallets still lay about. Benches had been piled high to make room for the sleepers, and tables were still littered with food.
Munro strode past Elen to the fireplace. "I
have no intention of returning to my keep. Nae today, nae tomorrow, perhaps nae until the spring thaw."
Elen eyed him, willing to play along with his game for the moment; after all, she had started it, hadn't she?
Last night had been so wonderful that now, in the light of day, it seemed as if it had been a dream. It had to have been a dream. How else could she explain the feelings coursing through her? Last night there had been no one in her world but Munro. Last night no one had mattered but Munro. Last night she had loved him. But this morning she had awakened to anger and general annoyance. She wanted him to go home. The king had said they must wed. He had not said they must live together.
"But who will run your keep?" she asked her husband sweetly, carefully folding the documents in her hands. She would place them in her father's leather chest for safekeeping. "Surely ye willnae trust your brother and my sister. Rancoff's walls would tumble in a matter of months."
"My steward, Rob, is a good mon. Competent. And I will ride to Rancoff daily to see that all is well." He held out his chilled hands to the blazing fire. "But I will sleep here with ye, wife. Unless, of course, ye prefer to move your belongings to Rancoff's keep for the winter and reside with your sister." He almost laughed the last words.
Elen felt heat rise in her face. She knew he was baiting her, but she could not help herself. "Rancoff?" she fumed. "I willnae sleep at Rancoff. Ye willnae take me from these walls until ye carry me to the kirkyard in my coffin, Munro Forrest." She paced the hearth. "And reside with my sister? I would sooner reside with a nest of rodents."
He chuckled. "Good. Then it is settled, wife. I will bring my belongings here."
Elen glared at him, knowing he repeatedly addressed her as wife simply to irk her. She lowered her voice so that the others milling about the hall, beginning to clean up, could not eavesdrop. "I nae wish your belongings in my chamber, Munro."
"'Tis not what ye said last night," he teased.
Her cheeks grew hotter. They had made love not once, not twice, but three times last night. On the bed. On the floor. In the window seat. She did not know what had gotten into her to behave so brazenly. They had fallen asleep only as the sun began to rise, and then had soon been awakened with word that the king was anxious to be on his way.
Elen rubbed her temples. She was tired and did not have the energy to argue with Munro. Yesterday, when she had married him against her will, she had not really thought of the day-to-day consequences of married life. She had not thought they might live together. Having him live at Rancoff and visit her bed sounded like a far more satisfactory arrangement, but he did not seem to see matters her way. She would work on him.
"Place your belongings in whatever chamber ye choose, m'lord," she said with a flutter of her hand. "In hell's chambers, for all I care. I've matters to attend. Last night the reavers struck again on my lands while we made merry. I ride there to see the damage."
"Do ye wish me to go with ye?"
She gave him a look that did not require an answer. "Were I ye," she said, walking away, "I would be patrolling my own lands, m'lord. These reavers grow bolder by the passing day. With my Rosalyn and your Cerdic guarding your keep, the reavers may well walk away with stone from your walls."
Munro accepted bread and a cup of ale a maidservant offered him. "Then have a pleasant day, wife," he called after her. "I recall I do have business at Rancoff today, after all, but I willnae be home late. A bet to collect involving a naked rider."
She stared at him. Sometimes the man made no sense, but right now she did not care what he was talking about. She just wanted to get away from him and away from all these feelings he produced inside her.
"I will see ye tonight," he told her good-naturedly.
Tonight. The word reverberated in her head as she walked out of the hall, headed for her own chamber to lay the land rights safely away. Just thinking about nightfall, about Munro in her bed, sent tingles of pleasure up her spine. If she could keep Munro out of her hair during the day, mayhap having him here at night would not be so bad after all.
* * *
"'Tis cold in here," Rosalyn complained, dragging her chair closer to the fireplace in Rancoff's great hall. "'Twas always warmer at Dunblane."
Cerdic looked up from the column of figures he was attempting to add again for the third time. Each time he had almost completed the task, she interrupted him with another lament. He exhaled, steadying his patience. "'Tis cold in here because 'tis cold outside, my love. Snowing. Would ye like me to fetch another mantle for ye from our chamber?"
"I would like for ye to take me south is what I would like," she snapped.
He glanced down at the figures before him. He loved Rosalyn dearly, he truly did, but he was quickly discovering she was not the wife he had hoped she would be. When all went her way, she could be so charming, so full of fun, so exciting between the sheets. But when life was not as she would like it, she was petty, annoying, and downright mean. She had no patience with the men and women who served the keep, and she was unreasonably demanding, contributing nothing. Her world was very small, and she was most definitely in the center of it.
"Did ye hear me?" she shrilled. "What have ye to say of traveling south? We could probably beg hospitality from one of my cousins."
"I must remain here and try to run my brother's keep," he mumbled, having wanted to avoid the subject, knowing what her reaction would be.
"Run your brother's keep!" She rose from her chair. "And for what in return? He willnae give ye neither coin nor rights to any of this land so ye might earn something. He makes ye work as if you were a slave to this barren bit of rock and heather. 'Tis not right he should have everything and ye have nothing." She stood behind him, her hands on her shapely hips. "Well?" she demanded. "What have ye to say for yourself?"
He said nothing because he had nothing to say. Munro had asked him to take over more of the day-today business of Rancoff so he might remain at Dunblane with his new wife. What could Cerdic say? He couldnae refuse him, else where would he go? He had no place to live but here, no keep to provide his wife but his brother's. And he truly did wish to be a part of Rancoff, a part of his brother's life, though he realized he had not shown it very well in the past.
"Are ye deaf?" she shouted. "Speak up. Stand up for yourself for once!"
Suddenly the anger that had been simmering deep inside bubbled up and out of him. "What would ye have me do, eh?" He slammed his fist down on the table, and Rosalyn jumped. "What would ye have me do?" he repeated. "I have naught left but my brother's hospitality. No coin. No lands. Naught!"
Rosalyn's eyes were wide with surprise. He had never raised his voice to her.
"I have nae choice but to do as he asks." He rose out of his chair, slamming it backward in anger. She was right. It was not fair that Munro had everything and he hadn't a pot to piss in. "'Tis nae fair, nae right, but short of killing the bastard, I am stuck." He gave her a push. "And ye are stuck with me now!"
Rosalyn gave a cry as she fell.
Immediately feeling guilty, Cerdic reached her side and caught her in his arms. "I am sorry, my love. 'Struth I am. I just lost my temper. I nae meant it, nae meant to say that about Munro."
She stared at him, a strange look on her face that appeared to be a mixture of fear and excitement. "Ye've a right to be angry." She slid her arms upward over his chest to his shoulders. "Just nae hurt me, my love. I'll do what ye ask. I willnae fight ye."
He realized then she was sexually excited by his outburst. Her excitement fueled his. He turned her in his arms and roughly pushed her backward so she leaned against the table.
"Cerdic," she simpered, pressing kisses to his neck.
He lifted her skirts, raised his own plaid, and thrust savagely into her, right there at his brother's dining table.
Rosalyn cried out in pain... whimpered with pleasure.
Cerdic squeezed his eyes shut as he rammed into her again. God's bones, he loved this woman. He would do anything for her.
Anything at all.
* * *
Elen slowly climbed the stairs to her chamber, her feet feeling as if they were hewn of iron. She was cold, damp, and tired beyond reason. The day had turned out to be a long one. She had ridden westward with three of her clansmen to speak with the tenants who had been attacked by the reavers. Their small thatch barn had been burned and their livestock taken.
From there, Elen and her men had ridden farther west, hoping to pick up a trail. But the reavers had been clever, and the newly fallen snow had covered whatever tracks they might have left.
Elen and her men had visited several other tenants on the far reaches of her property and warned them of the reavers. Their ride home was long and cold, made longer and more miserable by the falling snow and dim visibility. By the time she arrived home, the hearth in the great hall had been banked. A servant informed her Lord Rancoff had retired to their chamber, and there was a meal and a hot caudle waiting for her.
Elen didn't know why, but as she climbed the cold stairwell, she was annoyed by Munro's evening arrangements. Just because they were wed did not mean he could make decisions for her or change her habits. She did not take her evening meal in her chamber; she took it in the hall with her men, just as her father had. That Munro had been thoughtful in arranging a meal made her feel no better. Perhaps he was simply attempting to be controlling, rather than thoughtful.
She entered her room to find Munro seated at her father's small writing table. He appeared to be penning a letter. The moment she walked in, he was on his feet.
"Good evening," he said warmly.
"'Tis not," she grumbled.
He removed her damp hare mantle from her shoulders. "'Tis late. I was concerned. I had expected ye home sooner."
He was trying to control her. "The ride was long," she snapped. "We found a few tracks, and I wanted to attempt to trace the reavers." She sat on the edge of the bed to pull off her boots. "I think we should get this straight between us now, Munro." She met his gaze.
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