Munro groaned with pleasure. She loved the sound he made. She loved the power she held over him when she stroked him like this.
They kissed and touched. Touched and kissed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and discovered the window seat was just the right height.
He slid into her and she rocked back, overcome by the pleasure of the feel of him deep inside her, overcome by her feelings for him. "Munro," she cried, wrapping her arms and legs tighter around him as he thrust into her.
"Elen." He cradled her in his arms, pulling her against his bare chest so she could feel his heart pounding against her breast. She could hear his moans of pleasure in her ear.
All too soon, the moment was over, bursting in a shower of white-hot light and twinkling stars. Exquisite pleasure surged through her body as her muscles contracted and relaxed. She hung onto him, her arms flung over his back, overwhelmed by the feelings she had for this man.
She wanted to say those three words and yet... yet they would not come to the tip of her tongue.
Perhaps tomorrow, she thought drowsily as he lifted her from the window seat to carry her to the bed. Perhaps tomorrow.
* * *
"I nae understand," Cerdic said, lying on his back in the darkness.
"What is there to understand?" Rosalyn jerked at the wool blankets and furs piled on their bed so they reached the tip of her nose. "I nae want to."
He stared at her in the darkness, but could not make out her face. "But ye always want to." He reached out hesitantly to rest his hand on her. "What is wrong, love?"
She exhaled impatiently. "Does anything have to be wrong? I simply nae want ye pawing all over me tonight. 'Twas a nasty ride home from Dunblane, and I am tired and want to go to sleep."
He pulled his hand away and lay back. "All right. Ye get your rest. I must rise early tomorrow and ride with my brother, but I will be certain I nae wake ye. I'll be quiet as a mouse."
She shot upright in the bed. "Ye ride with him?"
He glanced at her, thinking she was behaving strangely, even for Rosalyn. "Aye. He asked me to ride with him."
"But 'tis dangerous."
"Of course 'tis dangerous," he said, irritated with her. "Which is why these reavers have to be caught. Ye know they shot the steward's lad today. Someone could have been killed. My brother could have been killed, Rosalyn."
She flopped onto her back again. "'Twould serve him right if someone did pierce his greedy heart with an arrow. Then ye would be the laird of Rancoff." She giggled and leaned toward him. "And of Dunblane, for that matter."
"What do ye speak of? 'Tis nonsense and ill luck to even say such a thing." He crossed himself. "Nae say such a thing again."
She leaned over him, bringing her face close to his.
"I nae care what game my sister plays in her keep. The Earl of Rancoff, your brother, is now laird of Dunblane. If the reavers killed him, ye would be laird to it all—and I would be the laird's wife."
He gave her a push. Just the thought of something happening to Munro made him sick to his stomach. He loved his brother. Just because Munro made him angry, made him feel like a failure sometimes, didn't mean he didn't love him. He would be lost without him. "I said I willnae hear such talk." He pulled on his pillow and rolled away from her. "No one is going to kill my brother. Now go to sleep."
She lay down again. "Of course no one is going to kill your brother. I simply remind ye of your responsibilities. To Rancoff. To your brother. If he died, it would be your duty to see his wife was well cared for, as well as the keep he took with her dowry."
"Rosalyn," Cerdic said firmly. "I said that will be enough of that talk. I willnae have it from ye." He closed his eyes. "Now good night."
"Good night," she answered softly.
Chapter 24
"So there has been no sign of the reavers?" Elen questioned, running a brush through her hair. A fortnight had passed since Robert's injury. Munro and his men had been searching high and low for the outlaws, but so far, they had not been located. Fortunately, no tenants on Dunblane or Rancoff land had been attacked since the house burning. "'Tis odd, don't ye think?"
"We've found naught but a few cold campfires and some carcasses from the cattle they slaughtered for the best meats." Munro sat on a stool by the bed and slipped into his boots. "And there is word that the devils hit well south of here three days ago."
Already dressed for the day, she turned from the window, tying her hair back in a long green ribbon. In the past two weeks, things had been good between them. Somehow, going to him that night at Rancoff had changed her. Elen was beginning to feel more comfortable with the idea of being a wife—Munro's wife. More comfortable with forging a relationship that might be different than that of most husbands and wives, but acceptable to them both.
"So will ye go out in search of them again?"
He shook his head. "I see no reason. My guess is they have moved further south for warmer weather. I have doubled the patrols on Rancoff land, as ye have here. I see no reason to continue the hunt."
"Makes sense to me." She tossed a mantle over her back and pinned it at her shoulder. The wool wrap was green and burgundy, Clan Forrest colors. "Which means ye could help with this wall." She met his gaze, lifting her shoulder uncertainly. "If ye've the time, of course."
He rose from the stool. "If I've the time?" He dropped a hand on her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her temple. "For ye, my love, I would lift the stones upon my shoulder myself if ye asked."
She laughed. "And put your back out so ye will be no good to me in my bed? I think not." She wrinkled her nose, enjoying this easy banter with him. "If ye could simply direct the placement of the stones today, 'twould suffice."
"And where will ye be?" He followed her out the door and down the steps.
"I promised Robert I would check on him this morning. He is itching to get from his bed, but his mother willnae release him without my consent." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "I will return as quickly as I can, but Finley will be here to give ye aid until I return."
She did not miss his frown before she turned away. "My steward hasnae given trouble, has he?"
"No trouble."
"Well, he had better not," she said firmly, thinking of what she had caught him doing the night of the king's visit. She had had a stern talk with him the very next day. She had expressed her disappointment, her anger, and her forgiveness, then promised to let the subject drop so long as it never happened again. Since then, he had been greatly contrite with her, certainly more than Rosalyn.
"I simply think he doesnae like me," Munro said. "And never will."
"He doesnae have to like ye." She waited at the bottom of the tower for her husband, taking a moment to admire his handsome, roguish good looks. "He only has to serve ye."
* * *
Hours later, Munro stood outside the bailey wall, watching men use pulleys and levers to lift a rock the size of a calf into place. Scaffolding had been built on both sides of the wall, but all of the men on the outside were now on the ground as the boulder was raised. Others with mortar trowels ran to and fro, trying to even out the mortar as the rock was swung over and slowly lowered into place.
It was a cold December day, but the sky was clear and Munro could smell the ocean. It was days like this that he appreciated most here in the Highlands. The sky. The sunshine. Sweat on his brow from honest work. It was days like this when he wondered if heaven did not exist at all in the afterlife, if heaven was what a man made of his life here on earth.
"Easy!" Munro called, lifting both hands into the air as the rock swung dangerously close to a man's head. "Ye want to squash him like an insect?" he shouted. "Finley!" He opened his arms wide in question, as if to say, What are ye doing? Your job is to direct these men.
Finley muttered something Munro could not hear and probably did not care to hear. He simply wanted the job completed and safely so. He was hoping to get the job finished early enough in the day to go fishing. He did not
go out often in a boat, and he missed it. As a young man here on these lands, it had been one of his favorite leisure activities. He was hoping that maybe he could even convince Elen to go with him.
The rock began to sway again, and men's hands flew as they lowered one rope while raising another. Munro shoved his sleeve up impatiently. He had already shed his mantle, but was still warm from the exertion of moving the swaying rocks this way and that to return them to the wall in their proper places.
"Someone will have to get onto the scaffolding again," Finley said from the other side of the swaying rock. "They cannae seem to get it into place."
Munro gazed at the wall, at the rock, and at the wall again. Finley was right. The men on the other side, on the scaffolding, could not yet reach the boulder to guide it. Someone needed to be up high, but he had brought the men down off this scaffolding because he thought it unsafe with the rock swinging so unsteadily on the pulleys and ropes.
"I'll go," Munro declared.
"M'lord," Finley protested. "Elen wouldnae want ye—"
Munro frowned. "She is my wife, nae my dictator." He grasped one of the poles that supported the scaffolding and leaped up onto its deck.
"Now, slowly," Munro commanded, waving his arms. "That's it. Easy. Easy, lads."
The gray granite rock moved closer to the wall and to the opening that awaited it. Munro grasped one of the ropes to swing the rock a little to the left so that it fell into place on center. "Just a wee bit more," he called, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he pulled with all his might "Keep coming."
The pulleys squeaked and the ropes groaned as the rock eased into place. "Excellent," Munro called. "Now—"
One of the ropes snapped. The scaffolding fell from beneath him, and the boulder rushed toward him.
Munro had no idea what happened next. All he knew was that a man's life did not flash before him at the moment just prior to death. He did not think of the sins he had committed in the past, of his mistakes. He did not think of the pleasures he had experienced in life. As he fell, he thought of how angry Elen would be with him when she found out he had allowed himself to be crushed to death by a rock.
Munro threw his arms outward as if diving into a loch, as he had done as a lad. He hit the ground hard and could not tell if the terrible crash that followed was his breaking bones or the scaffolding splintering under the weight of the rock.
He lay on his stomach, arms out, his cheek pressed to the snowy, muddy ground, his eyes closed.
Men shouted and confusion broke out. Munro could hear them all talking at once. Running about.
"M-m'lord?"
Munro opened one eye to see Finley on his hands and knees beside him. The man's pitted face was as pale as the snow.
"Christ's bones," Munro muttered, raising up on his knees. "That hurt."
The workmen had all gathered around and were still talking. Now that they could see that the laird of Rancoff was in one piece, everyone hurried to tell each other what they had heard, what they had seen—how they had thought the rope wasn't safe, the scaffold wasn't strong enough.
Munro sat up and drew his knees to his chest. He was wet and muddy and bits of gravel clung to his clothes. He had gotten the wind knocked out him when he hit the ground, and he was still waiting for his breath to come more evenly. "What the hell happened?" he snapped at Finley.
The man's chin quivered. "I nae know, m'lord. It happened so fast."
"Someone bumped into the leg of the scaffold, m'lord," a man called.
"Who?" someone asked.
"Who?" cried another.
Munro gave a wave as he got to his feet. "It doesnae matter who." He winced and ran his hand over his hip where he knew he would ache tonight. "'Twas an accident." He surveyed the damage. The scaffolding was a pile of sheared poles and split wood, with the rock resting right in the middle. At least none of the wall had been knocked down. "Let's get this cleaned up before your mistress returns home," he ordered. "Or we will all be in hot water."
* * *
"Ye are nae becoming accident prone, are ye?" Elen asked, lifting a washrag to run it over Munro's shoulder.
He groaned and lay back further in the tub. He did not usually take leisurely baths. A pan and a washrag and soap were usually sufficient for him, but when Elen had suggested that soaking in hot water might ease the pain in his aching body, he had agreed to the pampering. Now he lay in the great copper tub before the hearth in Dunblane's master bedchamber. Elen was washing his back and they were sharing a warm wine caudle. Perhaps this bathing was not such a bad idea after all.
"Nay, I am not becoming accident prone," he said. "These things happen, and ye know it."
"But a few days ago, ye tripped on the cellar steps and nearly fell to your death."
"I didnae trip. The stone was loose and the torch had gone out on the stairwell."
"And now a rock nearly falls on your pate," she teased, running the rag over his wet head. "Ye sound accident prone to me."
Water trickled over his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. "Give me that." He grabbed the rag from her hand and tossed it into the water at his feet.
She laughed as the water splashed up and over and ran down the side of the oval tub. "Well, at least the wall is now complete," she said, peering into his eyes. "And no one was hurt."
"I didnae get to go fishing, though," he grumbled.
"Fishing?"
"Aye, I wanted to go fishing whilst the weather was still good, if I could scrounge up a boat. I fear my old one has dry-rotted, it's been so long since I took her out."
She ran her hands over his wet shoulders and hugged him. "So go fishing tomorrow. There is a small boat down near my water's edge. Belongs to Bonny Joe, but he's laid up with the gout. He won't mind if ye take it, so long as ye take his family some fish."
He leaned against her and closed his eyes, luxuriating in the touch of her hands on his chest. "I say I want to go fishing, but all married men realize who dictates such matters. I can only go if my wife allows me. She is a slave driver, ye know."
She cupped water in her hand and splashed it in his face. He caught her hand and pulled her close to him over his shoulder so that a loose strand of her hair dipped into the warm bath water.
"You're getting me wet," she protested, without real protest.
"Exactly what I was thinking." He put out his arms to her. "Take off that sleeping gown and climb in with me. No need to waste all this hot water on just one bath."
She stood up, smiling. "And what will ye do with me, m'lord, if ye get me naked in the tub?" She lifted the linen gown over her head to reveal her slender, muscular body beneath.
"What will I do?" He reached out to her to steady her as she stepped into the tub, then sat back, lowering her onto his lap. Her hair was piled up on her head in a haphazardly beguiling way, her green eyes sparkling. "What do ye think I will do with ye?" he asked, holding her beneath her breasts. "Why, just what ye want me to do with ye, lass." He pulled her down onto his chest, and she laughed as water splashed onto the floor and their lips met.
* * *
Munro walked along the beach, his gear in a bag thrown over one shoulder, and gazed up at the sun. The day had turned out to be clear again, with no smell of snow in the air, but he was not setting out nearly as early in the day as he had intended. First, a mare in Dunblane's barn had somehow injured her leg. Because Munro was good with a needle and thread and because he had a way with the ponies, it was only natural that he sew her up. Finley had offered to find someone else, but Munro had reasoned it wouldn't take long.
Then a herd of cattle being brought closer to Dunblane's keep for the winter had taken leave of their senses and bolted across the peat bog, headed straight for the beach. Several men were trying to round them up and bring them back to the keep. They probably could have done without his help, but he had felt obligated when he saw the men were making little progress.
He gazed at the wet sand at his feet. Now he was on h
is way at last. He didn't think he would catch any fish; he just wanted to go out on the water before the winter became too harsh.
He found the boat at the water's edge just above the high tide mark, right where Elen had said it would be. It appeared old, but sturdy enough, and someone had recently added a coat of pitch to the hull. He tossed his bag and pole into the bottom of the tiny sailboat and began to drag it toward the water. Netting fish was more efficient, but that took two men, and he wasn't as interested in catching fish as in going for a short sail and getting away from his responsibilities for a time.
Munro pushed the boat off and jumped inside. He had dressed warmly in wool and added a canvas sheet with a hole cut for his head. It would protect him from the splashing, frigid water. Just off the shore, he hoisted the small rectangular sail, and the boat took off over the water.
Munro sailed straight out into the ocean with the intent of soon coming around. There was no need for him to go out far. Just beyond the jetty would be sufficient. There he could bring down the sail and, if it wasn't too rough, he could let her drift while he fished. His father had taught him to fish, and it was a pastime they had always enjoyed together.
Just beyond the jetty, out in the open ocean, Munro heard a horrific crack. The boat swayed and the mast swung toward him like a war halberd swung by an Englishman. He managed to grasp the edge of the boat and throw himself down into the bow. The canvas sails ripped, lines snapped, and the mast catapulted into the water.
Munro watched in disbelief as the mast sank off the starboard side, dragging the sails down with it.
He heard Elen's voice in his head: Ye are nae becoming accident prone?
Munro sat in the bottom of the boat and stared at the place where the mast had been secured in the center. Damnation. Without a mast, it was going to be a long afternoon—a long evening. And, of course, the tide was going out, dragging him with it even as he sat in the boat like a bumpkin and stared into the water where the mast had disappeared beneath the green sea.
Highland Lady Page 24