“Without question,” Angus replied.
“And ye love her, aye?” Lady Isobel asked boldly.
“Aye,” Angus added with an amused chuckle, while Magdalene went stiff in his arms. He smoothed a hand down her back to soothe her. “I dae.”
At that point, he twisted his head to try and peer at the woman, but her face was even hidden deeper in his neck. His rubbed his cheek on the top of her head.
“Then dae the right thing. In me eyes, she’s already yer wife.” Lady Isobel said, “I’ll go and control the great hall for ye.”
Magdalene did not dare to look up even after she knew the lady was gone and Angus did not prod her to. They stayed that way with his hand running down her back. Knowing Magdalene was skirting his admission of love, he had mercy on her. “Magdalene, I meant every word I just said, I dae love ye.”
Were the words ready to be spoken? “Angus….” Try as she could no words came after that.
A kiss was dropped on her cheek, “It all right, m'eudail, ye dinnae have to say anything now, we have a celebration to get to.”
She wanted to say the words resting on her chest but they did not come. The moment had passed through and she felt guilt start to curl in her stomach. Where had her bravery from before disappeared to? Pressing her forehead on his collarbone, the best she could do was to nod and smile weakly. “We do.”
Chapter 22
The thunder of a charging horse towards its opponent made Magdalene flinch. A loud splinting sound rent the air as the last of the three lances a knight from the Douglas clan had shattered in half against one of the Stewart’s. Half of the crowd groaned while a good section cheered. The horses canted to a stop at the opposite end of the course and the judge lifted the flag of the Stewart clan to declare him as the winner.
Angus, Magdalene, his mother, the various Lairds, and their wives were on a makeshift pedestal over a large tilt field where the knights jousted. Angus dropped an arm around Magdalene’s waist as a familiar grey horse came into view—Malcolm’s. His brother rarely took up the title of a knight as he preferred to be known as just another soldier but the temptation of jousting had been too much for him to resist. Angus grinned as Malcolm tugged down his helm.
“Your brother is a knight?” Magdalene asked. “I thought he was only a soldier.”
“He doesnae parade it much about, but aye, he is one,” Angus said. “He prefers to be with his friends and be known as a soldier. He is in for a fight though, his opponent is Kenneth Montgomery. Kenneth has at least eleven years on him but Malcolm is a fighter. He learns quickly. See, the first joust is the learning one, they assess each other. Then the second bout is where the real joust begins.”
A trumpet sounded and the two knights assembled at the opposite ends. Both men had the colors of their clan's coat of arms painted on their shield and breastplate and stitched into the horses' caparison. Another trumpet had the horses’ thundering charge echoing through the tiltyard. The crowd was raucous as Malcolm came in with a good blow but Kenneth matched him. Both men’s lances were shattered on the other’s large shields and fragments of splintered wood sailed through the air.
Aggravated cries came from both sides of the crowd and they only got louder when all three jousts ended the same way. It was a stalemate, so both men launched off the horses and grabbed swords to finish the matter off.
“What’s happening?” Magdalene asked, as people rushed to the sidelines, cheering their favorite on.
“They’re sparring to end the match. They’re using blunted swords, nae need to worry,” Angus said, as both men tugged off helms and began to circle each other.
Metal upon metal clashed as both men were feinting to the sides and rushing in. There was even a time when Kenneth’s sword slashed inches from Malcolm’s left ear and Magdalene nearly jumped out of her seat. Angus grabbed her and tugged her back, and she almost landed on his lap.
The two rushed in and their swords locked, arms bulged and feet dug into the ground. The crowd was screaming and hollering at this time as the two parted only to clash again. They came apart and met for the third time before it was abundantly clear it was a stalemate. Both men stepped away and dropped their swords with surrendering bows and friendly handshakes.
The day was getting warmer and Angus gestured for servants to serve cool drinks and ices for all gathered. Further from the tiltyard jugglers performed while a jester ran around entertaining children. Musicians added to the din with the merry sound of tambourines and bagpipes.
“Care to go take closer a look?” Angus offered as he stood.
Nodding, she took his hand and they left the pedestal, down to the crowd. Children ran around them with faces smeared with syrup or cake crumbles and elder men were seated around tables playing games. It was as close to a fair that could be there without the fortune-tellers and acrobats.
While meandering through the crowd, Angus kept his eyes on Magdalene as she looked around. Nobles dressed in their finest apparel of fur-lined dresses and velvet coats mingled with those in cotton and linen. Angus knew this never happened in England where the wealthy did not dare mingle with commoners. It was also a shock to Magdalene.
She pulled him to a stop when a child in a drab brown gown came up to a lady in silk and offered her an apple. The lady smiled and took the fruit from the child. She even crouched down and spoke with the child.
Tears were in Magdalene’s eyes, and seeing them, Angus softly guided her away from the crowd to a quiet corner and cupped her cheek. “What is it, sweeting?”
She shook her head and her eyes were brimming, “Your people are so… different from mine. It’s so… humbling to see.”
Angus sighed and kissed her forehead, “Not to crush yer opinions lass but not all of us Scots are this kind. Some are terribly evil and that is the basis of mankind.”
“Still,” she said while resting her head on his chest. “I think this is the best place for me, not at home. I got tired of how we would exclude some of our people because they don’t have the same money or titles our class has.”
He looked around and saw a private alcove, recessed between two buildings and away from the crowd. He pulled her there and sheltered from watching eyes, took her into an embrace, using gentle touches to smooth back her hair. The memory when he had woken up feel her against him, the warmth of her breath on his chest and the silk of her hair on his neck flared desire into his soul. He had to have her back in his bed, and in his arms again.
Gently, he rubbed his thumb across her lower lip and felt his stomach tighten at the silky feel. He kissed her cheek and dipped to her kiss her neck feeling proud when she shivered under his touch. Trailing kissed up her neck again he found her lips.
He was aiming for gentle but to his surprise, it was Magdalene who kissed him passionately. Instantly, he stopped and allowed her to take over, as he kissed her back deeply and sensually. Desire was rushing down his rigid body as he held her hips tightly and pulled her into him.
“Ye will be the death of me, lass,” Angus groaned as he brushed a hand away from her face. Her eyed glazed off and her lips slipped open which was even more temptation for him. “We have to get back to the celebration.”
Nodding, she took his hand and went back to the festivities. He stopped here and there to greet men and women, some young and others elders, introducing her as only Miss Magdalene. Most only greeted her cordially but spoke to him directly. The great hall was set with a feast and the visiting clans were assembled for the second meal but Magdalene begged off from it.
“I’d like to rest, today was…difficult,” she said quietly while rubbing a hand down his chest. “But you need to go be with your guests. I’ll be rested when you’re done.”
Smiling sympathetically, he kissed her temple. “I understand, go rest. I’ll see ye this evenin’. The rest of the Lairds and I are goin’ to have a talk. Dae ye need me to send Mother to ye?”
“Thank you, but no,” she shook her head. “I don’t need
her. I’ll see you this evening.”
He watched her go and then turned and went to the great hall but stopped when Iain, Laird Montgomery, grabbed his shoulder just inside the doorway. He turned and arched a questioning eyebrow. “Aye?”
“We’ve assembled in yer meeting room,” Iain said. “We have yer gifts for ye and some questions, too.”
“Questions about?”
Iain gave him a deep grey stare, “Dinnae play the fool, Ratagan. Ye ken what we are going to ask ye.”
“I will tell ye now, the lass is nae up for discussion.” Angus huffed under his breath. “We can speak about anythin’ else, but nae her.”
“Which already answers me question,” Iain grinned. “But they will nae let up, Angus. Ye already ken who Douglas is, he will not stop pestering yer about her.”
“All right,” Angus said in a near growl as he strode into the room. The meeting room was wide with thick rush-mats under foot and matching chairs scattered around the room. A tapestry was on the wall and the hearth was lit. “Let me tell all of ye, I respect ye all but Magdalene is nae any of yer business. She had nay place in yer mouths or minds.”
Sly grins and knowing smirks were stamped on the faces of all the Lairds and Angus narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“I ken instead of birthday gifts we should have carried wedding gifts,” Laird Brutus Douglas grinned. “Am I right, men?”
“Aye,” Maxwell grinned. “I looked out when the damned MacTavish came in and the look yer lady gave Ithel could have killed her on the spot. Mark me words, Ratagan, she might be a Sassenach but there’s a fighter in her”
“Thank ye,” Angus growled as he sat. “But no more talking about Magdalene, move on.”
Douglas rolled his eyes and stood, in his hands were a pair of daggers with the strangest hilt he had ever seen. They were twisted and the scabbard had inlaid details. Angus gripped the hilt and marveled. The twist made it perfect for a stab.
“Where did ye get these?”
“A trader of mine went to the east and came back with these,” Douglas said. “Cost me an arm and a leg to barter these off him. Now, he has a seat at me high table and is engaged to me last daughter, so ye better use them.”
“I will,” Angus promised. He spun the blade around and slid his thumb over it. The edge left a thin bead of blood in its wake. He could image plunging this into that witch’s heart. “Sharp, too, thank ye, Douglas.”
Iain stepped forward and handed him a belt and a matching set of rawhide gauntlets. Both arms were studded with steel knobs down the lengths and had tiny iron spikes on the knuckles. Angus whistled lowly, “I’m sure these can do some major damage in a battle. Thank ye, Montgomery.”
Laird Maxwell handed him a wooden chest of light golden wood, with old Celtic symbols engraved in the top and sides. The chest was not large but the detailing around it was intricate and very beautiful. Whoever had done this had to be a master and Angus thanked him as he examined it. He frowned at one symbol and remembered it was like one he had seen at the Druid’s gate.
“Is this a…symbol against evil?” he thought back, trying to match this with what he had seen.
“Aye,” Maxwell said and then Angus was starting to get suspicious.
“I suspect ye are trying to soft walk me to some kind of conclusion here, would ye mind jumping to it instead of dallying?” Angus said as he set the last gift with the others. “I am here kenning ye are about to send me off to war.”
“Ye are in a war,” Iain said calmly from his chair. “If what I’ve heard about this witch is true, then ye will need all this armor to get rid of her. That chest there, that is to stuff her severed head in and throw into a bonfire.”
The witch wasn’t a subject he had wanted to discuss at all, even less on his birthday. He gritted his teeth. “I’m workin’ on it. To get a full idea, I went to see people from both sides of the coin. The priest in Edina dinnae give much but the Druid in Càrn Eige did. She will be sent off to hell as soon as I come up with a plan, to nae die in the process.”
Iain leaned forward, “Ye ken ye can call upon us if ye need help. I have men who will leap at this chance.”
“I have some, too,” Douglas added. “I have a few young bucks who make a habit of leaping off cliffs and lobbying daggers at the other with blindfolds on. If they’re set on killin’ themselves, why not do it for a righteous cause, eh?”
Amused at Douglas’ dry, matter-of-fact tone, Angus shook his head, “Thank ye, but if ye gents mind, I am doing this meself. No one gets the pleasure of sending her off to eternal damnation than me.”
“Well, have at it,” Iain leaned back and cocked his booted heel on the opposite knee. “So, who is this witch?”
Angus told them about his trip to Seabhag Crag and talking with the elder O’Hagan there. From there, to the priest in Edina and the satisfying revelation about who the woman was and how she had ended up in his domain.
“And no one kent to kill her back at Edina?” Maxwell asked.
“She probably dinnae have killed anyone there, so no one kent what she was,” Stewart opined. “She may have waited to come to a lonely place to master her craft. Crafty little bitch, I can tell ye that. Reminds me of me uncle’s old wife, except me uncle’s hag was only good in spending his money and killin’ his dogs.”
Glancing out a window to the deepening dusk, Angus said, “So now the ye ken as much as I dae, ye all should go to the feast. Thank ye for yer gifts.”
“Ye all?” Iain asked. “Yer not comin’?”
“Nay,” Angus said, trying to edge around the crippling need to go see Magdalene, “There is a matter I need to attend to first.”
“And if that attending to is with that Sassenach woman of yers, I ken we won’t be seeing ye until mornin,” Douglas guffawed as he stood, “About time yer happy, Ratagan. I’m glad for ye.”
Rolling his eyes, Angus bade them goodbye at the mouth of the corridor and then took the stairs up to Magdalene’s room.
Magdalene was a vision when she slept. Her head was angled to the side and her hand curled inches away from her face. He quietly shut the door, went over to her and gently moved a lock of her hair from her face.
“God, yer beautiful,” he murmured. His eyes flitted to her elegant hand and he could picture a golden ring resting on her hand, marking her as his wife.
He hesitated on rousing her but when he touched her, she opened one eye before the other. “How long did I sleep?” she groaned.
“Nae long, sweeting,” he replied, while brushing her hair away from those spellbinding eyes. “Probably a couple of hours.”
“Did I miss anything important?” She rubbed her eyes while sitting up.
“Nay,” he said and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “There was nothin’ of importance.”
The soft blush was there again and she licked her lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Angus could only presume what she was seeing on his face and smiled, “Because I am kenning of the kiss we had early today, and I’d be a lying bastard if I dinnae say I want to fulfill me promise to ye.”
“You didn’t make me a promise,” she said frowning lightly.
“I dinnae?” Angus said as he leaned forward to kiss her, “Forgive me, I meant to.”
As she sank back with the kiss he fell forward until he was braced over her by his elbows. The gentle kiss soon turned into a needy one and Angus was ready to join with her again. The question was, was she? She was like to be hesitant but then again, her kiss earlier that had not had one touch of uncertainty to it.
“Lass,” he said while nosing at her cheek. “Will ye have me again?”
“Yes.” Her reply was more breath than speech. “Please.”
Angus reminded himself that he needed to be slow and gentle with her despite the strong urge to take her, own her and make her his was running through his body. Magdalene was quickly becoming adept at returning his kisses and the taste of her lips never failed to awake
n the passion inside him.
He kissed her deeply and when he rested his weight on her, Angus half expected her to feel trapped and push him off—he was a big man, after all. The moan that came from the middle of her chest disagreed. A fevered intensity roared to life with Magdalene’s acceptance of his bulk. She was so soft, with skin like pure fresh cream, and as the kiss went on his blood began to boil.
Trailing his hand down her side, over the dips and curves of her body, he got to the rucked-up side of her gown and slid his hand under it. Her skin—God’s truth—was driving him to the edge. Sliding the bare tips of his finger up her thigh, he grinned into her gasp and then skimmed over to the crest of her thighs. Her back arched as he ran his fingers over her inner thigh and inched closer to her core.
The Highlander's Fiery Bride: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 19