by Paula Quinn
“Perhaps,” he replied cautiously.
“Do ye intend to pursue it?” she asked. “Yer claim to the throne?”
“I canna say,” he answered. “I kent nothing of this myself until verra recently. I came here because I wanted to learn what happened to my faither, only to find myself pulled inextricably into this, this… this tangled web of intrigue!”
“Ye will be in verra grave danger if the king discovers who ye are,” she whispered, her throat growing tight.
“Aye,” Alexander said. “’Tis why I felt the need to tell ye all.”
“Is this how ye have the sword… the Kingslayer?” she asked, slowly continuing to piece the facts together.
“Aye,” he said. “’Twas given into yer uncle’s keeping and he gave it to me.”
“Then Uncle kens who ye are?”
“Aye, he kens all,” Alex said.
“Who else?” she asked, her alarm growing.
“Only Faither Gregor… and now ye,” Alex answered. “Ye had a right to this knowledge, Sibylla. I could ne’er ask ye to be my wife without awareness of the danger.”
“Yer wife?” she repeated.
“Aye,” he answered her with a slow, sly grin. “Ye canna marry the prince if ye are already wed.”
“’Tis true? Ye will marry me?” She felt breathless, almost dizzy at the liberation from the crushing weight that had threatened to suffocate her soul. But her elation just as quickly evaporated when she realized the risk. “B-but do ye ken the cost?” she asked. “If ’tis discovered, we will both be put to death.”
“Living without ye is worse than death,” Alex declared solemnly. “I would die by the sword rather than give ye to another… But the choice must be yers.”
“Did ye think anything ye said would change my mind, Alexander?” she asked.
“I hoped ’twould nae, but I can promise ye nothing but my heart.”
“’Tis enough for me,” she said.
“Are ye truly certain about this, Sibylla?” he asked, mixed hope and uncertainty clouding his eyes.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” she answered.
Urgency shone in his gaze as he took her into his arms. “I must leave again in the morn, but this first will be done.”
“How?” she asked.
“I have a plan. Can ye contrive to meet me in the queen’s chapel during compline?”
“Aye,” Sibylla’s bobbed her head vigorously. “I will tell them I go to pray privately for the king.”
Alexander nodded. “Until then, mo ghaol.”
My love.
Then, claiming one last quick kiss, he released her and turned for the door.
*
The waiting was interminable, akin to a slow torture. When the cathedral bells sounded, Sibylla donned her mantle and left her chamber, bound with the others for the cathedral’s last prayer service. Ducking into an alcove, she waited until the corridor had emptied and darted out the nearest exit, through the gardens to the gate leading to the queen’s private chapel.
Sighting two figures inside, she froze on the threshold. She’d expected to find Alexander waiting but hadn’t anticipated anyone else. Had they been discovered? She exhaled in relief when Father Gregor turned to the light and revealed his rotund face.
“Sibylla!” Alex rushed toward her, closing both of his large, warm hands over hers. “Come, mo ghaol. There isna much time.” Taking her hands in his, Alex led her to where Father Gregor stood waiting behind the altar.
“Are ye decided, lass?” the priest asked.
“Aye,” Sibylla whispered.
Clasping their hands together, the priest looked to Alexander.
His eyes never leaving hers, Alex softly spoke the words that filled her pounding heart to the very brim. “Before God, I take this woman unto me as my lawful wife, to love and protect until the last breath leaves my body.”
“And ye, Sibylla?” the priest prompted.
Returning Alexander’s earnest, clear gaze, she declared. “Before God, with ye as my witness, I take this man unto me as my lawful husband, to love and honor until the last breath leaves my body.”
Faither Gregor cast his eyes heavenward. “May the God of all creation bless this union.”
When he finished Sibylla, looked questioningly to the priest. “’Tis done then? We are wed?”
“Not quite,” Father Gregor’s face reddened. “There is… er… one more… er… requirement.”
“Of course.” Sibylla stifled a giggle. “Ye havena kissed me, Alexander!”
She then rose on her toes to offer her lips. Alexander claimed what she offered with a kiss of aching tenderness that left her wanting so much more.
When he released her, the priest cleared his throat with an embarrassed look. “That isna quite what I meant… ye must also consummate this union for it to be legally binding.”
“Consummate?” Sibylla turned wide eyes on the priest. “But how is this to be? We are in a chapel surrounded by a monastery!”
“’Tis nae without risk,” the abbot replied, “but with due discretion, ’tis nae an insurmountable problem. The monks have declared a late prayer vigil for the king.” He produced a black robe and offered it to Sibylla. “If ye would cloak yerself once more as before, ye and Alexander could pass the next hour alone in my chamber.”
“Only an hour?” Sibylla repeated in dismay as she accepted the garment.
“An hour at most, lass,” the priest warned. “Any longer and yer absence will surely be remarked upon.”
Alexander reached out to cup her chin with his warm fingers. “’Tis nae what I wished for us, mo ghaol,” he said softly, apologetically. “But ’tis all we have for the nonce.”
“Many things are nae as we wish,” she said, “but I suppose we must make the best of what time has been given us.”
*
Alex’s heart beat in his throat as he led the cloaked Sibylla to the place where their bodies would bring to completion the promise he and Sibylla had made to one another. Following her inside the Spartan chamber, he softly closed the door.
The room contained a simple, straw-stuffed pallet on the floor, a wooden chair and a table with a lowly-burning oil lamp. He reached for it with sweating palms. “Shall I douse it?” he asked.
“Do ye wish to?” Sibylla asked, dropping back her cowl, and looking as uncertain as he felt.
“Nae,” he said. “I wish to look upon ye… if ye’d allow it.”
“I, too, wish to look upon ye,” she replied, her pale face blooming pink with a blush.
His body was rigid with anticipation as he took a step toward her. Once their bodies were joined, the marriage would be irrevocable. He’d never wanted, or feared, anything so much in his life. He desired Sibylla beyond reason, but couldn’t suppress the self-doubts. Could he truly be the husband that she needed? The kind of man she deserved? He didn’t know the answer. He prayed that he could be… that he would be… that he would never disappoint her.
To his surprise, she raised her chin and came toward him. “I want this, Alexander,” she whispered, and drew the monk’s robe over her head. “I dinna fear it. Let us now become one in both spirit and in flesh.”
He could barely suppress the trembling as he reached out to hold her face in both hands. “Ye dinna ken how much I want ye, Sibylla. From the first time we kissed, I havena been able to put ye from my mind. Ye are constantly in my thoughts… in my dreams.”
“Aye? And precisely what do ye dream of, dear Alexander?” she asked, her eyes dancing with mischief.
“Of touching ye.” He stroked a thumb along her face. “Of kissing ye.”
He leaned in closer to brush her sweetly yielding lips with his own. Sibylla breathed a soft sigh into his mouth as she opened to his kiss. Her eager response sent a flood of heat to his groin. His pulse pounded as he deepened his exploration, drawing her closer, tighter as his passion flamed. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she echoed his moans as they struggled to remove the ga
rments that still created a barrier between them.
Her flesh was warm, sweetly scented, and smooth as silk as he tested the weight of her small, round breast in his palms, and tasted the salt of her skin on his tongue.
Sibylla. Beautiful, intelligent, stubborn Sibylla.
Her warmth and scent engulfed him as their hands joined and fingers entwined. Her name spilled from his mouth over and over as he lost himself in learning her body.
He’d never dreamed that this moment would come… that she would truly be his.
Her gasp broke the silence as he breached her. She went still beneath him. He also froze. “Sibylla, mo chridhe. Are ye a’right?” he asked, afraid to move inside her, and almost afraid to breath.
“Aye.” Her gaze sought his as she nodded. “I kenned ’twould hurt a bit,” she answered with a wince. “But I wasna prepared.”
Damn. Damn. Damn. What a clumsy lout he must be. “I’m so sorry, mo chridhe,” he said. “What can I do to ease yer discomfort?”
“Kiss me, Alexander,” she replied smiling up at him. “I feel only pleasure whene’er ye kiss me.”
When he began to move again, soft sounds of mutual pleasure filled the air. Before long, she was moving and panting beneath him, holding him tight as he stifled his cry and spilled himself inside her.
*
Lost in wonderment, Sibylla lay still beneath Alexander’s damp and spent body. Alexander had been everything she could have desired—gentle and tender, considerate, and passionate, but nothing could have prepared her for the actually moment he breached her body. It was painful and glorious all at once, as he bathed her in his warmth and musky scent. Though she understood what would happen between them, her imagination never could have conjured the overwhelming sensations. There was pain but after had come pleasure, pleasure that assailed her with tiny ripples that spread from deep inside her womb, causing her mind to blur and her body to quiver.
After a time, he rolled to his side and pulled her into the crook of his arm. Sibylla curled into his body and rested her head on his chest, relishing his warmth and the strong, steady drum of his heartbeat. Holding her close, he said nothing for a long time, and then finally broke the silence with a sigh. “Was it so verra bad for ye?” he asked.
“Nae!” she insisted, adding more hesitantly, “would ye think me a wanton if I told ye I liked it?”
“I wouldna think a wanton wife is a bad thing at all, so long as she saves her passion only for her husband,” he replied.
“I love ye, Alexander Mac Malcolm,” Sibylla whispered. “There will ne’er be any other for me.”
“Nor me,” he replied. “Ne’er forget it, mo chridhe, whatever may happen.”
He lapsed into another silence but tension, rather than satisfaction, was written on his face.
“Does something more trouble ye, Alexander?” she prompted.
“Aye,” he confessed. “I curse myself for taking my pleasure in ye.”
“Curse yerself? I dinna understand,” she said, feeling wounded by his words. Why did he seem to regret their act of love when she had suffered pain, but nevertheless had taken delight in it?
Alexander sighed. “Because I have only further endangered ye this night.”
“But I acted of my own free will,” Sibylla said.
“But what if ye are even now with child?” he asked. “If ye are, ye will both be in peril and ’tis all my fault.”
“I understood and accepted the risks in taking ye to husband.”
“Yer grandmother foretold this, Sibylla,” Alex said.
“She did?”
“Aye. I thought her touched in the head at the time… but now her words return to haunt me.”
“What did she say?” Sibylla asked, growing anxious. Her grandmother had an uncanny ability to predict things… mostly unpleasant things.
“She said we will have two sons and many daughters who will sire two great clans.”
Many children and two great clans? Sibylla couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Then ye have naught to fear. Our babe is, indeed, safe.”
“But there is more,” Alex continued, looking grim. “She said they will also be cursed, that our sons will be at war with one another until the verra last drop of blood is shed.”
Sibylla felt the smile fade from her face. “Ye fear ’twill all come to pass?”
“I dinna ken what to believe,” he said, “but it fills me with disquiet.”
“Ye have kept much from me,” she said. “But ye ken as well as I, that ’twas God who brought us together, and now ye must have faith that He will bless and protect us.”
“Aye,” he agreed, adding with a twitch of his mouth, “’tis ironic, indeed, that ’twould now be ye who would bolster my faith.”
A soft knock sounded on the door just as they were lapsing into slumber. “Prayer time soon draws to a close,” Father Gregor whispered.
“One moment.” Alex rose and answered through the door as Sibylla scrambled to don her clothes. Alex dragged his own tunic over his head and then helped her back into her gown. “I wish it could have been different,” he murmured.
“Nae I,” she replied with a soft smile. “I dinna regret any of it… except the secrecy.”
“’Tis only for a time,” he said. “The prince is two years from coming of age to wed, and the king will nae live much longer. Once he passes, the betrothal could easily be broken.”
“I pray ye are right, Alexander. I fear the consequences if ye are wrong.”
He pressed a finger to her mouth. “Pray speak nae more of it. Faith, remember? We must both learn to take each day as it comes.”
She kissed his finger before removing it from her lips. “Be sure that I will count all of those days… and all of the nights that we are apart.”
The priest knocked once more. “Pray make haste, my lady,” Father Gregor urged. “Ye must return at once to the palace.”
“I must leave at daybreak, but will return to ye as soon as I am able,” Alexander promised and then sealed the pact with one last desperate kiss. “There is a storm brewing in the Highlands. I willna have ye face it alone.”
Epilogue
At their parting, Sibylla had fought the urge to throw herself into Alexander’s arms and beg him to take her home. Her heart ached for her family and home at Kilmuir. She even longed for her old life of gathering herbs and carding wool. Though her spirt was burdened with these memories, her sense of duty had prevailed. If she had any true hope of helping her family, she must stay put.
This had been a night of great revelations. She was housed in a royal palace and betrothed to a prince, while secretly wed to another. She had fallen in love with a lowly monk, only to learn he was a prince in disguise. Their fates were entwined in so many ways.
Would Alexander, like Domnall, seek to claim the throne? Or would he choose to remain anonymous and work from the shadows? There was danger in such a life, but she finally had a purpose, a destiny. One way or another, Scotland would soon be reborn.
Her dreams that night were filled with many strange things. The boy king, Malcolm, stood at Scone, a shining crown of gold atop his head. At his command, a great cloud descended. The fog was so thick it obscured even the Grampian Mountains. From the fog, a dark knight suddenly emerged. Sword in hand, he charged forth on a fire-breathing destrier, laying waste to everything in its path. Heavy with child, Sibylla found herself among the many women and children fleeing toward the mountains for fear of perishing from his fire and sword. Suddenly, a castle came into view, a fortress of impenetrable walls, hidden by mountains and surrounded by water, offering refuge.
The gates opened and another man came forth, his arms open wide, as if welcoming the weary. As she approached, his face became clearer. He was tall and lean with dark, shaggy hair. And though his face was bearded, she could never mistake Alexander’s earnest, gray eyes. He rushed toward her, tugging her into a passionate embrace. Feeling as if her heart would burst, Sibylla awoke with a start.
>
It was all so vivid, so real, and terrifying. Yet, in the end, Alexander offered her safety and protection. Was it all just imagined? Or was it, in truth, a vision of things to come?
The Sons of Scotland Series
Virtue
Valor
Victoria Vane
About Victoria Vane
Victoria Vane is a bestselling, award-winning author of historical and contemporary romance whose books have received numerous accolades that include a 2016 RONE Award for BEAUTY AND THE BULL RIDER, 2015 Red Carpet Award for JEWEL OF THE EAST, 2014 RONE Award for TREACHEROUS TEMPTATIONS, and 2012 Library Journal Best E-Book romance for THE DEVIL DEVERE series. Victoria also has a passion for historical fashion and lives in the beautiful upstate of South Carolina with her husband, two sons, a little black dog, and an Arabian horse.
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HISTORICAL ROMANCES
TREACHEROUS TEMPATIONS
THE SHEIK RETOLD
A BREACH OF PROMISE
A PLEDGE OF PASSION
THE REDEMPTION OF JULIAN PRICE
WORLD OF DE WOLFE PACK
BRETON WOLFE
IVAR THE RED
THE BASTARD OF BRITTANY
SONS OF SCOTLAND
VIRTUE
VALOR
VENGEANCE (coming Summer 2018)
THE DEVIL DEVERE SERIES
A WILD NIGHT’S BRIDE (#1)
THE VIRGIN HUNTRESS (#2)
THE DEVIL YOU KNOW (#3)
THE DEVIL’S MATCH (#4)
A DEVIL’S TOUCH (4.5)
JEWEL OF THE EAST (#5)
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCES
SLOW HAND
ROUGH RIDER
SHARP SHOOTIN’ COWBOY
SADDLE UP
HELL ON HEELS
TWO TO WRANGLE